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zeroeightzeroone · 3 months

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i'm proud of you - han jisung

love collection

genre: soft, comfort

synopsis: after a long day and an even longer past couple of weeks, jisung needs you

pairings: fem!reader (infp) x idol!han jisung (istp)

warnings: ji is stressed

wc ~2.2k | moodboard

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

j.one<3: i need you i'm coming over i'll be there in 30

you: i'll unlock the door in 25

taking into account how busy jisung has been the past couple of weeks and the way he's texting you, something is going on with him.

its that time of the year when stray kids are preparing for their comeback and for the past couple of weeks, along with the other members' schedules, jisung's schedule has been packed to the brim. he's been in and out of the recording studio, the dance practice room, attending interviews and pre-recordings to prepare with the rest of the boys, basically working non-stop.

of course, jisung loves his job and is grateful for the opportunity to write, produce and release his music–something he is very passionate about–to the world. but at the end of the day, much like any other job, it can pile up and become incredibly overwhelming. sometimes, you have to take a step back to breathe and return to a better headspace.

along with your boyfriend's schedule, yours has also been packed to the brim. thus, neither of you had the opportunity to spend too much time with the other over the past couple of weeks. the extent of your time together consisting of short, sweet text messages throughout the day, if you were lucky a short phone call before bed to exchange goodnight's.

jisung has reached his limit, he's hit a breaking point. he knows that if he doesn't get at least one night to take a break he may go insane. he needs to take a step back, he needs to take a breather, he needs you.

being one-third of 3racha meant chan had the opportunity to see jisung a bit more than the others, which also meant he had the opportunity to see jisung's well-being take a critical hit and suffer as the days went on. seeing how the boys were exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally, chan immediately went to the company to talk with their management and request they take–at the least–a day off.

despite jisung having a key to your apartment, you unlock the door twenty-five minutes before his expected arrival. and a little over five minutes later, he's standing outside your front door and softly knocking to notify you of his arrival. the knocks prompt you off the couch and onto your feet, making your way to the entrance as jisung shuts the door behind him.

your assumption that something is going on is only confirmed when jisung avoids your gaze while discarding his shoes, no words leaving his pouted lips. it's clear he isn't in the best place mentally or emotionally, while you aren't a hundred percent sure of the details, you do know that–much like his texts–he needs you and that you'll be there for him in any way possible.

now that his feet are only clad with his cotton socks, jisung takes a couple steps towards you and places a lingering kiss on your forehead, his shoulders relax the slightest bit as his hands find yours. when he pulls away, he's still avoiding your gaze, but being with him for as long as you have; you don't take it personally. hand in hand, jisung trails behind you as you walk through the apartment and into your bedroom. following quietly and waiting patiently whilst you approach the dresser, pulling out a pair of his sweatpants from the drawer of his clothes.

you turn to him, glancing down at his black denim jeans, "it'll be more comfortable? it's up to you though."

jisung extends his arms and takes the sweatpants out of your hands and into his own. he quickly changes out of the jeans, which are now in a pile on the floor and into the grey sweatpants, you turn to climb into your bed but jisung's hand is suddenly wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

your head cocked in confusion, you stare at your boyfriend.

jisung, who came over clad in a black hoodie, quickly removes the thick fabric from his body. the white long-sleeved shirt he wears underneath rises along with the fabric before it slumps back in place once the hoodie is discarded. you watch jisung with curious eyes as he steps towards you, pulling the hoodie over your head, the fabric bunching up around your neck and shoulders.

he can definitely see the way your cheeks are burning up.

your boyfriend moves your arms around, pulling them through the sleeves before he adjusts the thick fabric around your body. a hum of satisfaction leaves him before he crawls into your bed and makes himself comfortable under the covers.

jisung loves you in his clothes, that fact stays consistent no matter how he's feeling.

snapping out of your daze, you follow suit and crawl under the covers next to jisung who chooses to be the small spoon today. his arms wrapped around your waist, his head resting on your stomach. you feel the way his body relaxes the slightest bit as he nuzzles into your side, pulling you impossibly closer to him. one of your hands ends up in his dark hair, gently carding through the shaggy locks whilst the other one gently caresses his cheekbone.

a wave of comfort washes over jisung at the feeling of your fingertips grazing his scalp, coupled with the feeling of your arms around his body, holding him close, your warmth radiating onto him as a trembling breath leaves his lips. once again, jisung nuzzles into your side but this time to his his face in the fabric of the hoodie. hiding the way his already glossy eyes brim with tears along his waterline, the warm droplets soaking up into the thick fabric. the first whimper that leaves jisung has you immediately holding him tighter, continuing to run your fingers through his hair and reminding him that you're here.

your heart aches at the sound of your boyfriend's cries.

being with jisung for as long as you have, you knew not to take his habit of avoiding your gaze personally. you're very familiar with his habit of avoiding direct eye contact with anyone when he's feeling down or particularly stressed out. you aren't entirely sure of the reason why, but you believe that what isn't seen in jisung's other facial expressions is shown in his eyes. thus, when he is upset or down, avoiding eye contact also means hiding the inner turmoil that is clearly present in his eyes.

with how observant you are, jisung became aware early on in your relationship that it didn't take you long to pick up on this habit of his. it's now something you look out for whenever jisung is feeling distant or in the dumps, it took a while but you eventually found a couple of methods that worked best when jisung fell into this distressed state.

over the years, you have become a lifeline in jisung's life. you are his place of comfort, a home where his heart belongs, where it feels safe. which is precisely why he avoids making eye contact with you in an emotionally sensitive state. the sight of your warm and welcoming eyes would result in an immediate breakdown. the way your eyes sparkle up at him, swimming with concern and a yearning for him would immediately break down his walls, allowing him to be vulnerable around you. allowing his emotions to spill out into your open arms, ready to be a pillar of support for him.

for the next couple of moments, you continue to run your fingers through jisung's hair as he holds your body close and cries into your side. when his sobs gradually become hiccups and sniffles, that's when you take the opportunity to say a couple of words.

"if you wanna talk about it, i'm here," you say softly, "if not, i'm still here."

you crane your head to look down at your boyfriend who moves his head to look up at you, his round eyes puffy and glossy, his eyelashes clumped together with tears. jisung nods, a small smile playing on his lips–one that's more genuine than the others he forced out earlier.

"thank you," he sniffles, his voice is the slightest bit raspy.

you shake your head, moving the hand that isn't in his hair to his cheek to wipe some of his tears. admiration bubbling up inside when jisung leans into your touch.

the both of you fall into a comfortable silence, relishing in the presence of your lover and the warmth that radiates off their body. a presence and a feeling that your busy lives have depraved you both of the past couple of weeks.

despite prolonged periods where you and jisung are deprived of physical affection from the other due to your busy schedules, being able to be under the other's touch, cradled in the other's arms for even just a few moments feels like a reward for all that's been accomplished in your separate lives. being in the arms of your lover exudes a feeling of comfort, and tranquillity, that eventually everything will fall into place, a feeling of reassurance that your hard work is paying off.

sometimes you find it crazy how a simple touch from jisung can turn everything upside down. you could be having a terrible day and he could pull you into his arms and all of a sudden your day ends on a high note.

jisung shares the same sentiment, after weeks of grinding through work that's been piling on and on, being with you, in your arms is just what he needed. you are just what he needs.

you watch with curiosity as jisung moves higher on the bed and onto his back. he locks eyes with you and extends his arms in your direction.

"i wanna hold my baby," he opens and closes his fists, beckoning you into his hold.

you hesitate for a moment, thinking you're here to comfort him. but your boyfriend notices your hesitation and takes it upon himself to pull you into his arms. you rest your cheek against his chest while he holds you tightly. you adjust your head and look up at your boyfriend, whose eyes are still puffy and slightly red. he scrunches his nose when he looks down at you, indicating that he's feeling much better than when he first arrived.

you giggle at his antics.

jisung places a hand on your cheek, much like you did earlier, and caresses your cheekbone gently. gazing down at you with clear adoration in his eyes, unbeknownst to your boyfriend, the corners of his lips tugging upwards as he looks down at you.

he sighs, "work's been a lot lately," you nod and he continues, "i want to make sure i'm putting my best foot forward and doing my best work but it's hard when there's so much going on. i don't wanna disappoint you, the other members, stay."

he takes a moment to think.

"at the same time, i know it's unrealistic to think i–or anyone really– could possibly please everyone. there's always gonna be people that aren't pleased with the things you do and that's life, right?"

your eyes scan over your boyfriend's face as he walks both you and himself through his thoughts.

"which is why i shouldn't be scared of disappointing people if i choose to take a break, to take care of myself when things get overwhelming," he sighs, "but at the same time it's so hard to break out of the mindset where taking breaks means not being productive, i'm so used to thinking that way, you know?"

you hum in acknowledgment, "i know, baby."

"at the very least, i realized sooner rather than later this time. i'm able to take a break earlier instead of further down the line."

"i'm proud of you for taking a much-needed break. you've been working so hard, love."

"thank you, my y/n," jisung's eyes sparkle down at you.

"i understand how you feel, i get like that sometimes to, which you know already," he nods, "i know how hard you work and stay knows how hard you work to give them and show them your best work."

you adjust the position you're lying in so you get a better view of jisung's face.

"i've seen the work you've put out and ones that you haven't yet, they're all amazing. absolute works of art and a testament of your hard work, passion and dedication to your craft."

your boyfriend's eyes dart away from yours as his cheeks flush, heart skipping a beat at your words. jisung always gets quite flustered when he hears kind words praising his work, but he gets particularly flustered when he hears them from you.

"you do your best when you also feel your best. it's definitely easier said than done to extend the compassion and value to yourself since we are, are own biggest critics. nevertheless, i'll be here to reassure you that stay would love to hear that you were able to rest and take breaks in the middle of working hard. i'll always be here to tell you that you're working so hard and are more than deserving of a break, to rest."

jisung leans down to place a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger for a moment before he pulls away with a lazy smile.

"you've been working so hard, you've been doing amazing. you're doing so well and i'm so proud of you, han jisung."

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letsgetrowdy43 · 1 year

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can you do something for mark estapa with the prompt “just let me take care of you?"

She's Got a Temper

Mark was an avid fighter, everyone knew it, whether it was on or off the ice that boy was always finding himself in conflict. The only exception being her, he was so gentle with her. Trading in the aggression for gentle touches and longing glances.

They weren’t officially dating, they didn’t need the label to prove that they were in love with one another. Besides everyone knew that she was Mark's girl, the girl who could perfectly balance his emotions with just simply being around.

This brought us to now, a loud party in the senior hockey boy's house, a typical weekend night. She’d stuck by Ethan and Duker most of the night waiting for Mark to finally arrive after his late night Friday class.

“Where’s stop sign?” Luke asked as he joined in the beer pong-watching gallery, a big showdown between Mackie and Luca. “Just texted me that he’s on the way” she smiled as Luca did a celebratory dance around the kitchen, rubbing the loss right in Mackie’s face, gaining laughs and hollers from the people surrounding.

“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go get another beer” she looked over to Ethan who nodded and ushered for her to grab him one as well. The one thing about these parties is beside the boys, her own best friends, and the few people she shared classes with, she knew absolutely no one.

Walking up to the back door where hers and Eddy’s shared twenty-four pack was she saw someone talking something from it. “I’m sorry, that’s not yours bud” she grinned with furrowed brows and waited for him to put it back. “Are you sure?” “I’m like a hundred percent sure those are mine,” she said making her grin fall and her lips going tight-lipped as she looked between him and the box clearly labelled “Y/N/N and Eddy’s!!”

He laughed and scanned the girl, “pretty girls don’t drink beer,” he joked, but not a single laugh left her lips. "That is rather sexist of you" she in a dry tone.

He was tall, not that tall, but definitely had some inches on her, taking notice as he made a step a little closer to get a better look at her. The interaction was getting a little too much for her, “are you gonna put it back? Or are you just gonna stand there checking me out?” “I love a girl with an attitude” she scoffed.

He was merely inches away from her face, too close for comfort before his free hand found the dip in her hip. She laughed dryly before turning around to walk away, deciding her beer wasn’t worth her next actions.

“Oh come on, I just wanted to show you a fun time” he laughed sickly before she turned around, her fist connected with his nose. Gasps erupted as his grip on her waist tightened, “get your hand off of me” she spat before kicking him right in the groin as he fell to his knees.

A laugh left Grano’s lips before he walked over to the girl to usher her away from the guy groaning on the floor, “you think she’s bad, wouldn’t want to piss off her boyfriend” the much taller hockey boy said to the guy who was wounded on the floor. “One second ” she put her hand up to make the boy stop pulling her away, she bent down and ripped the two cans of beer from his arms before standing back up and smiling again as Nick smiled at her now cheery attitude before walking her back to the boys.

“Keep your eyes on this one” Grano laughed while passing her off to Mark whose smile faltered after looking at her bruised knuckles. “Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be fighting one?” Mark asked sweetly while taking her hand into his to look at the broken skin. She pouted, “he stole my beer” Mark looked up at her and laughed as she handed Ethan his beer.

“You’re gonna need ice,” he said dropping her hand and walking over to the fridge. “It’s fine Mark, really” she smiled and kissed him on the cheek as he rolled his eyes at her dismissals. “Just let me take care of you” he mumbled and placed another kiss on her temple before walking over to the freezer to get an ice pack.

Thank you she said, putting an ice pack on her knuckles before finding comfort under his arms, placing a soft kiss on his chest as he pulled her in closer.

“Anything for you babe” he mumbled before returning to watching the boys with their cup-pong antics

#rowans100followercelly<3 #mark estapa #mark estapa x reader #nick granowitz #umich imagine #umich hockey #umich blurbs #hockey au #hockey #hockey boys

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borathae · 2 years

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↳ Index [Chapter 01 - Oolong]

Warnings: short mentions of car accidents & memory loss but it’s nothing major, a lil bit of creepiness but again nothing major

Wordcount: 8.1k

a/n: and so it begins, one of the softest, most comforting stories i have ever written :(

Three years ago you were living a different life. You have no memory of this life, but you were told that you were.

You were living in the big city, where people didn’t know you and millions of stories lived out collectively at the same place and the same time. You had a job at one of Korea's biggest banks, something along the lines of director of finances. At least that’s what they told you in the hospital.

You had a big apartment, so big that your mouth fell open when you returned to it once your rehab was over.

You also had lots of friends, so you were told, but in the countless months you spent in the hospital just two of them visited you. Strange for someone with supposedly dozens and dozens of friends. At least with the memory loss you didn’t feel heartbroken about the fact that the majority of them didn’t want to see you. You couldn’t really blame them either. You can’t even imagine how you would have reacted if you had gotten a call that your friend was in a car accident and that the chances of survival were at twenty percent. You did however survive, waking up after two months in a coma, totally confused and unable to remember your own name.

Walking was hard at first, actually, everything was hard at first. Your fingers weren’t used to holding things anymore and even breathing was hard on some days.

But with time and the loving care of your nurses, you learned to be human again. The doctors called you a miracle and that you must have been given a second chance by the universe.

And so you took that second chance and decided to leave your past life behind. You left the big city to instead move into the little cottage on the countryside, which your grandparents had apparently left you. You quit your job, knowing fully well they wouldn’t have taken you back either way and with just the essentials stuffed into a little moving van started the journey to your new life just one month after being released.

That was already three years ago and there wasn’t a moment you regret your decision. With your savings you bought a little tea shop and turned it into your new profession. Nowadays it is the most popular tea shop - slash bakery - in your town. With a population of around 800 people it is probably not hard to become popular, especially because you were the only tea shop in your village, but you were proud of your achievement nonetheless. Just last spring you were even able to expand your business and hire your first ever employee.

The former is currently sweeping the floor clean when you enter the tea shop, a happy melody is on his lips and his body is swaying in a little dance.

“Good morning Hoseok. You seem cheerful today”, you greet the red-haired man.

He stops dancing to bow his head, sending you a bright smile.

“Good morning ma’am. I am really happy today, thank you for asking. How about you ma’am?” he says loudly, pronouncing every syllable with care.

“How often do I have to tell you to talk casually to me?” you chuckle fondly, making Hoseok blush in embarrassment.

“Ah, I always forget, forgive me, force of habit”, he confesses, scratching the back of his neck.

“No worries”, you assure him to which he visibly relaxes his shoulders, “tell me, is Jimin here already?”

Hoseok shrugs his shoulders. “I haven’t checked the kitchen yet. I just came here and started cleaning right away.”

“Alright, thank you. I’ll go check on him then.”

“Yes ma’am”, Hoseok nods obediently before continuing his work.

You smile fondly. He will never change.

When you enter the kitchen, it already smells like freshly baked goods and upbeat music plays softly through the old radio on the counter. Jimin is kneading a ball of bright green dough when you pat his shoulder in greeting.

“Oh!” he startles, jumping at the contact.

“It’s just me. Don’t worry”, you laugh at the shocked expression on his round face when he turns.

His face relaxes, the frown turning into his signature smile.

“You startled me, wow”, he chuckles, “Glad you came however, I wanted to talk to you either way.”

“Talk to me? Did something happen?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“We ran out of strawberries last night and I only realised after having kneaded the dough”, he explains, pointing at the green rice dough he worked on previously.

“Don’t worry, I called the Kims this morning. They will deliver fresh fruits at around lunch time today.”

“Oh that is terribly late though”, he mumbles, scratching his chin. Pieces of dough stuck to his skin.

“Then how about you fill the pies with something else today?” you suggest, cleaning off his chin with gentle fingers, “we still have some raspberries in the freezer.”

Jimin thinks for a moment, grabbing his chin again. New dough sticks to his skin, almost making you chuckle. How endearing.

“Maybe this could work. The taste would be different of course, but I could replace the vanilla with marzipan and then top the pies off with some almonds”, his eyes light up, “this could actually work. Thank you, I was already giving up.”

You brush the dough away one more time, making him lower his eyes in bashfulness.

“Glad I could help. Those pies sound delicious.”

He smiles brightly, his eyes turning into little crescent moons.

“Then back to work I would say. I have so much to do”, he sings excitedly, skipping back to the freezer room.

“Have fun baking. I’ll be in the front if you need me”, you call after him and leave the kitchen to finally get ready for today.

The day starts off calm as always. Your regulars visit you to get a cup of Hoseok’s town-famous vanilla oolong. Mrs Oh and her small, fragile husband come at exactly nine twenty, sitting down on the small, round table in the corner of the bakery. Like always they talk loudly about the weather and how it will soon be winter, yes even in summer it will soon be winter in their eyes, and share a glass of water from which they both drink for a good hour. Once Mrs Oh and her husband left with a loaf of fresh rye bread, the town’s mayor struts through the door, fixing his colourful tie before greeting you with a loud “hello the mayor’s here”. You ask him “Mister Mayor, are you late for work again?” to which he laughs and shakes his head. Like always he tells you “the telly kept me up last night and my alarm clock is broken” and then gets a big paper cup of Hoseok’s town-famous vanilla oolong. He’ll comment on Hoseok’s hair colour, “where do you get dye like this?” and then strut out of the tea shop to make his way to the town hall. At exactly ten minutes before twelve the elementary teacher Miss Jang and her daughter Sooha get their three strawberry pies - today they are raspberry pies - and Sooha gets her warm milk with honey. And just like that the morning at the bakery comes to an end.

Hoseok puts his jeans jacket on, fixing the collar. He looks at the mirror on the wall, brushing through his hair. Jimin comes out a moment later, apron left in the kitchen and instead a grey, long coat sits on his shoulders. He joins Hoseok by the mirror, checking his face for any traces of flour. Then they both turn to you, both of them smiling brightly.

“You want to join us boss?” Hoseok asks.

“We want to try old Mister Choi’s new mussel soup today”, Jimin says.

“You guys go without me today, the Kims will arrive in around ten minutes and I need to welcome them”, you tell them, to which both pout in distaste.

“Should we get some takeout for you?” Hoseok asks, to which you dismiss him with a wave of your hand.

“I’m okay guys, don’t worry about me and enjoy your lunch break.”

“Yes ma’am thank you ma'am”, Hoseok says, nodding obediently.

You watch the two men leave the shop. Jimin is hitting Hoseok's arm gently, scolding him for being so formal with you to which the latter mumbles a quiet “can’t help it.”

Chuckling fondly to yourself, you finish cleaning the last tables and as you rinse your cleaning rag, you can already hear the shrill horn of the Kims’ truck.

You raise your head, watching a turquoise truck pull up in front of the café and then two men get out. They are waving at you through the windows the moment they lay eyes on you.

“Taehyung, Namjoon hello, you look good today”, you greet them.

“You too”, Taehyung smiles before his straw hat slips down to his nose, “the new apron looks pretty”, he says, fixing the hat with a boyish grin.

“Doesn’t it? Hoseok sewed new aprons for us. I think the bees go lovely with the season”, you explain.

“True, true. Bees are very summery”, Taehyung agrees, nodding his head so vigorously that his straw hat slips down to his nose a second time.

As he is busy fixing his hat once again, you turn your attention to Namjoon. He is rummaging around in the back of the truck, back hunched and grunts of exhaustion leaving him.

“Do you need help?” you offer to which Namjoon raises his head. He looks over the rim of the trucks railing, the lenses of his round glasses smeared with dirt as always.

“I’m good”, he says, eyes wandering over to Taehyung.

“Taehyung! Stop fumblin’ wit' your hat and help me, will ya?” he orders to which Taehyung straightens up in an instant.

He nods obediently, holding his hat to prevent it from slipping down a third time.

“Comin’ hyung!”

You follow Taehyung to the rear end of the truck, watching the two men unload the eight boxes of fresh fruit.

“I expected the three of you today. Where’s Seokjin?”

“Milka gave birth and he is helpin’ with the delivery”, Namjoon explains.

“Finally, I was scared the old cow doesn’t wanna let go of her baby”, Taehyung jokes.

“Wow congrats”, you look at Taehyung, “you already have a name for the baby?”

“Yes of course”, Taehyung jumps from the truck, cleaning his hands on his dungarees, “Schoki, which means chocolate in German, because he is gon’ be just as brown as chocolate”, he explains proudly.

“What a name. Milka and Schoki, one could think you are a chocolate factory”, you chuckle.

“Right? The little rascal is gon' ruin our image with all those silly names”, Namjoon says, ruffling through Taehyung's hair fondly.

The latter complains with a loud whine, face covered behind the knocked down hat.

“Stop babyin’ me hyung, I’m only a year younger than you.”

“At heart you’ll always stay my little baby brother”, Namjoon ruffles Taehyung's hair some more, which only makes Taehyung pout just that harder.

He had just fixed his hat and now it’s all tilted again.

“You two, I swear to heavens”, you chuckle, watching their cute antics with fond eyes.

Namjoon jumps off the truck as well, picking up two boxes. He peeks at you over the boxes.

“Where d'you want us to put them?”

“Oh yeah right! The deliveries, I totally forgot. Put them in the freezer room like always. Thank you”, you tell them, opening the doors for them.

Once all the boxes are stored in the kitchen, it is already time for the two brothers to leave again. You aren’t the only customer they need to attend to today. Their farm is highly successful. The bakeries and restaurants from neighbouring towns also rely on their high-quality produce and the day of deliveries has only started for them.

“I’ll tell Seokjin you said hi”, Namjoon says after having rolled the windows down.

“Thank you, I’ll come visit you guys soon, promise. I want to meet Schoki”, you tell them.

“Yes please do”, Taehyung calls from the driver's seat, head peeking from behind Namjoon.

“I promise. See you guys”, you smile.

“See you”, they say in unison, rolling up their windows and then Taehyung finally drives off.

One hour later Jimin and Hoseok come back from their lunch break, both carrying a take-out for you despite you telling them not to worry about you. They never listen. Once you ate your food, because neither Jimin nor Hoseok would let you go back to work on an empty stomach, you join Hoseok at the counter, ready to serve the many afternoon customers. Most of the customers you get in the afternoon are tourists. As your little town is surrounded by mountains and many hiking trails, tourists are a daily occurrence in your tea shop. Today a group of loudly chatting Europeans came over to buy two sandwiches each.”We need the calories if we want to reach the mountain top”, one of them told you. “That’s the right mindset”, you agree and wish them luck on their hike. Later in the evening you can watch them strut past the tea shop, faces heated from the walk.

At exactly six thirty you close the shop like always. Jimin is the first to leave, driving home with his old, squeaking bike whilst whistling a happy melody. Hoseok is the next to leave, but not before bowing deeply at you and wishing you a good night. You scold him for being so formal, which makes him blush and stutter a cute apology. Once Hoseok is gone as well, you lock the doors and begin your way home.

The tea shop isn’t that far away from your cottage, just a few hills up and down and then you can already see the small river making its way through the weeping willows and your house right at the riverbed.

Like always, your little black cat Levi is waiting for you by the door, meowing loudly and circling your legs until you pick him up.

“Hello Levi, I missed you too. Did you have a lovely day?” you ask, hugging him to your chest.

He meows loudly, wiggling vehemently.

“Fine I’m already putting you down. Geez”, you murmur.

Levi shakes himself, looks up at you with his grey eyes and meows loudly.

“You are acting as if I didn’t feed you in the morning. Come on, I’ll give you your dinner”, you say, walking to the kitchen to give your poor starving boy some food.

Two hours later you are in bed, ready to end the day with Levi by your feet and the book, you had read mere seconds earlier, on the bedside table.

“Good night Levi”, you tell him, turning off your lights and snuggling into your pillow.

Three years ago your life was totally different. Nowadays, your life has a routine. You know what you were going to do at a specific time of your day and you know who you were going to meet where and when. To some it may seem boring, but to you it is perfect. Simple and yet never boring.

The sun wakes you the next morning. Levi is cuddled to your chest, purring quietly. You roll onto your back, careful not to wake him and listen to the first birds singing their songs.

“Good morning Levi”, you say, stretching your arms above your head and sitting up afterwards.

Levi raises his head, hissing a cute complaint for waking him before he jumps to his feet and crawls into your lap.

“Someone is cuddly today”, you chuckle, stroking his soft fur, “come let’s get breakfast.”

His ears twitch at that and a moment later he is off the bed and struts to his empty bowl. He likes chicken the most, it’s making his tail wag the quickest and his little meows sound just that much cuter. Whilst Levi is eating his breakfast, you make yourself a big cup of black tea and make your way to your sunroom afterwards. Levi follows you of course. He does not want to miss out on whatever you plan on doing.

“Wow, look how nice it is today”, you gush, watching the green leaves of the willows dance in the breeze. You pull the rocking chair, which has previously stood next to the bookshelf, into the middle of the sunroom and sit down on it afterwards.

The sun is surprisingly warm for the time of the year. The blanket, you had wanted to throw over your legs to keep yourself warm, lays forgotten on the couch. Levi will make it his' later when you are gone for work.

You close your eyes and sigh happily, leaning back in your rocking chair.

“The weather is getting warmer again, Levi. Isn’t that great? Soon we will be able to have breakfast outside.”

Levi raises his little head and looks up at you for a moment until lying down to sleep again.

“I love the sun so much. Wouldn’t you agree Levi?” you ask, looking down at him.

The cat’s ears twitch, but other than that he doesn’t move an inch.

“I knew you would say that”, you smile fondly. You take a sip of your tea and lean back again, closing your eyes once more.

“Moments like this with you are what life is all about”, you sigh, smiling to yourself.

You sit like this for quite some time, rocking back and forth in your rocking chair whilst listening to the birds sing outside and drinking your tea. You would have probably continued doing exactly that when a sudden object hadn’t blocked the sun so rudely.

You peel your eyes open to see who robbed you of your precious peace. A big, grey truck with the words “Jeon’s Rice & Moving Service” parks on the other side of the river, blocking the sunlight from you. The car doors open and three men get out. Two are dressed in grey uniforms, their shoulders broad and their arms big. The Jeon brothers, you know them. The third guy however must be their client. He is dressed completely in black and is significantly smaller than the other guys.

“Huh?” you straighten up, eyes glued to the three men.

They are talking for a moment, looking at a clipboard, which the smaller man is holding. Soon they seem to come to a conclusion and get to work in an instant.

“This can’t be”, you mumble, watching them carry furniture into the old cottage across the river from you.

“Look Levi, someone is finally moving into the Old House”, you tell him, not even expecting an answer from him.

The Old House has been empty ever since you moved here. It probably has been empty for a long time before that, but you never really asked for how long. You just knew that everyone in town simply called it “the Old House”. The paint had started to come off the bricks and dark ivy covered everything else. The windows looked rotten, definitely letting in the hot air in summer and the freezing winds in winter. You are also pretty sure that the black-tiled roof has holes all over. The inside you had never seen, but you aren’t particularly sad about that. Looking at the outside of the Old House is enough for you to imagine the inside state of it.

The broker must have either made an amazing offer or the buyer must be crazy. You aren’t really able to explain the miracle unfolding in front of your eyes otherwise.

You are definitely going to pay the new, and probably crazy, neighbour a visit after work. You would love to do it right now, but you are already running terribly late.

“Take watch for me Levi, I’ll be back soon. I expect updates”, you tell him, getting up to leave the house.

Levi simply meows and then goes back to sleep.

You can’t help yourself from stopping in front of the house when you pass by it, waiting for someone to come outside. One of the moving people comes out first. The younger brother, he is a few years younger than you, his cheeks puffy and his eyes as big as those of a deer. He looks at you, confused for a moment.

“Oh? Noona, good day. What are you doing here?” he asks, head tilting to the side.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just trying to figure out who would be crazy enough to buy the Old House.”

He laughs, clearly amused.

“Not me if you’re wondering. I’m just here to help him move. You know he called my father last night and asked for our help.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where your dad’s weird moving business actually has customers.”

He snorts, “yeah me neither, he made me and hyung drive all the way to Daegu.”

“So he is a city guy...what does a guy from the city want with such a rundown house?” you wonder out loud.

He shrugs his shoulders, resting his hand on his hips.

“Don’t ask me, I’m just doing my job”, he grins playfully.

“Of course you are, sorry I asked”, you give him a quick apologetic smile, which he dismisses with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it noona.”

“Jeon Jungkook!” someone yells from the inside and a moment later his older brother appears at the door frame, “stop chatting up the neighbours and help us unload. Father doesn’t pay you for talking! Good morning ___!”

“Morning Junghyun!”

“I’m coming hyung, sorry!” Jungkook calls before he turns to you. He is blushing with a boyish grin on his face, “sorry noona, I have to go again. Duty’s calling.”

“Sure I have to go to work anyways. It was nice talking to you Jungkook, greet your parents from me will ‘ya?” you send him a friendly smile, which he returns happily.

“I will. Have a nice day. Bye bye”, he waves at you and a moment later storms off into the direction of the house.

You arrive at the tea shop at the same time Hoseok does on his Vespa. He gets off hurriedly when he sees you, not even giving himself time to take off his helmet before he already bows at you, greeting you loudly.

“Good morning ma’am. I’m sorry I’m late, my dog threw up all over my carpet this morning and I had to clean everything up!”

“It’s okay I’m late too, don’t worry about it. I hope Mikey’s okay though.”

Hoseok takes off his helmet, ruffling through his hair to fix it and nods. “He is fine, the rascal just ate his food too fast and got a belly ache. It’s his own fault.”

“You can sing me a song of that, Levi’s the same”, you chuckle fondly.

Hoseok joins you, holding the door open for you. Once inside, he helps you get out of your coat and hangs it up on the coat hanger next to his jeans jacket.

“But why are you late ma’am? It’s not like you to run late”, Hoseok asks, joining you behind the counter after he flipped the sign to open on the door.

“The most peculiar thing happened to me this morning. You won’t believe me when I tell you, but someone moved into the Old House.”

Hoseoks eyes grow big, “What? The Old House? Who in their right mind would move into that?”

“Apparently some guy from the city.”

“Someone from the city? Why would someone from the city want to live in the Old House?” Hoseok mumbles, clearly thinking out loud. Suddenly his face lights up, as if he had an idea, “what if he doesn’t even want to live here, but instead he wants to turn the Old House into a bed and breakfast or something. Or a pension or a hotel?”

You shudder at the thought.

“Don’t say that, just imagining that gives me goosebumps.”

“Why? It would be amazing for our business.”

“Yes of course, but-“, you lower your voice just slightly, making Hoseok lean closer, “-imagine all the ruckus I would have to go through each and every day. And all the people who would stare at me when I’m in my sunroom. No thank you.”

Hoseok gasps, hiding his mouth behind his hands.

“I didn’t even think of that”, he whispers, “oh no, that wouldn’t be good. I’m sorry that I even suggested that ma’am”, he says loudly, bowing at an almost ninety degree angle.

You laugh, pulling Hoseok up by his shoulder.

“You rascal, how often do I have to tell you to stop being so formal with me?” you chuckle, nudging his arm gently.

“Ah, I did it again. I’m really trying to change that, but it’s just so hard. I feel like I would insult you if I started being informal with you”, he blushes, scratching the tip of his nose shyly.

“It’s been almost a year since you started working here. Don’t worry, you won’t insult me”, you pat his shoulder, “you can loosen up.”

“Okay thank you ma’am. I mean! Thank you boss.”

You scoff in amusement, “okay that’s fine for now”, you chuckle, shaking your head.

Soon your tea shop routine starts. Mrs Oh and her husband visit you like always, later the mayor and around lunch break Miss Jang and Sooha. Hoseok, Jimin and you go to the old Choi for lunch and open the tea shop two hours later again, ready to welcome your afternoon guests. The afternoon is surprisingly busy today, it is as if the entire town decided to go for a cup of tea, even Hoseok, who normally never breaks a sweat, has to stop at one point to wipe his forehead on the sleeve of his flannel. For some reason everyone in town seemed to have noticed what was going on at the Old House, you had lost count of how many times you had the same conversation about the crazy city guy and the fear that he would turn the Old House into a hotel. People in this town apparently all think alike, but that’s their charm after all.

Hoseok and Jimin leave the tea shop before you, like they always do, but not before Jimin didn’t give you a big box of leftover cookies to greet your new neighbour with. “Maybe that will sway him not to ruin our town”, he said and then drove off with his squeaky bike. Hoseok drives off five minutes later, telling you to act crazy so the city guy thinks people in this town are bad for hotel business. You told him that you will try it with a smile on your lips. You close up afterwards, making your way home.

When you are close enough to actually see the Old House, you notice the moving van had already left for the day. So they must have finished the work already, hopefully your neighbour is still here and didn’t go back to the city for the night.

Wait. You stop, watching the lights flicker on inside. There is electricity in this house?

“So it isn’t all rotten in there”, you mumble, starting to walk up the hill until you reach the fence gate. It is open and you take it as your invitation to officially set foot on the property.

You look around the garden when you walk through it. The trees are tall and old, shielding off most of the stars and painting the scrubs in a dark shadow. It is a lot colder underneath the trees than outside on the road, making you shiver. If this property wouldn’t be that creepy, you would find walking here a lot nicer.

“Huh?” you gasp once you arrive at the front door, “it’s opened?” Should you just enter? No, that would be trespassing, he doesn’t even know you yet and neither do you. What if he owns a machete and starts stabbing you when you burst into his house like that? You shiver at the thought, thinking about turning on your heels and just running away.

“No, get yourself together. We aren’t in the movies here”, you mumble, tightening your fingers on the cookie box. You press on the door bell with all your might, only to scream up in total horror when bright bolts of lightning cut through the air the moment you press the rusty doorbell.

A loud yell rings from inside as well when all of the lights go out in a reaction to your little accident. You can hear heavy footsteps scurry around, mixing with very graphic and angry cursing.

This is so embarrassing, you just want to turn around and run away, but before you can leave your neighbour to figure out on his own what had caused the bypass, the front door opens swiftly.

“Who’s there? I heard you scream”, a deep and very angry voice growls. A white light from a headlamp blinds you, making you squint your eyes. You can’t see anything other than that stupid light.

"Y-you?"

“H-hello sir. I’m your neighbour, sorry for interrupting your work, but I just came here to welcome you to the village”, you stutter, shielding your eyes from the light.

Silence then a quiet cough as he clears his throat.

“Did you cause the short? You didn’t press the doorbell did you?” he straight up ignores you, still shining the blinding light directly into your eyes.

“Uhm, would it be possible for you to turn those lights off? They really hurt my eyes”, you ignore his questions for the sake of your eyes.

“Oh, my bad. Sure”, he says a lot calmer and turns the lights off.

You blink, trying to adjust to the new darkness. When you finally get rid of the annoying blue dots in your eyes, you look at him, expecting to finally see his face.

However, all you see is a figure lingering in the shadows, shielding its face from the street lamps behind his door. All you can clearly see are long, pale fingers grasping the wood, the fingernails dirty from working and the nail beds bitten bloody. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps on staring at you in silence.

“I have cookies.”

The fingers leave the door and soon a pale arm appears. It is covered in dirt and dust.

“Thank you”, he murmurs, grasping the box of cookies most tenderly.

And then the hand disappears inside again.

This is creepy. Far too creepy for you to want to stay any longer.

“Uhm, okay. Anyways, welcome to the village and I hope you’ll be able to fix the issue. Feel free to send me the bill if the damage is a lot bigger. Sorry again for the short.”

He hums deeply, his shadowy head nodding.

“Okay, uhm”, you take a step back, “I’ll be going then”, you get down the three stairs, “Good night”, you say, walking down the path with your back turned to the road and your eyes fixed on the door. He is still staring at you from the darkness, not moving an inch.

Only when you are finally on the road and have closed the fence door behind you, do you turn around, starting to sprint down the hill to the safety of your house.

You stop running when you reach your door, already tasting blood in your mouth from panting. With shaky fingers you somehow manage to open your door, not even opening it completely before you slip inside and throw it closed again. You lock it quickly, checking twice if you actually did and only then do you feel yourself starting to relax. You shudder, hugging yourself.

“What the actual hell was that?” you mumble, rushing into the living room to close all your blinds. Levi is meowing by your feet, complaining about having to starve the entire day, but you don’t pay him any attention, you just want to make sure everything is closed and nobody can look into your house.

“Levi the scariest thing just happened to me”, you pick him up, snuggling his small body to your chest. He starts to lick your face, purring quietly, “I just wanted to welcome the neighbour and he just stared at me. He acted like he was the next new horror movie antagonist.”

Levi tilts his head to the side, listening to you intently.

“It gave me the creeps, look”, you show him your arm, “I still have goosebumps because of it.”

Levi meows, wiggling in your arms. It makes you giggle and instantly feel better.

“I know Levi, I know you were worried about me. But mommy’s here now, don’t worry about me anymore”, you coo, hugging him tighter to your body, “let’s go feed you and then cuddle in the bed. Mommy really needs that tonight.”

The Old House greets you the next morning, standing against the sun cold and menacingly and casting long, creepy shadows. You clutch your tea cup tighter, swallowing loudly.

“Is it just me or is the Old House smirking at me in a taunting way?” you ask Levi. He looks up from his food for a moment, meows once and then goes back to eating his chicken far too quickly.

“That’s it, I’m not drinking my tea in the sunroom today”, you decide, closing the doors to it and pulling the thick curtains in front of them.

Your living room is good too, the sofa is really comfortable and you can watch Levi eat his breakfast, which is good too. Yes everything is better than sitting in a room entirely made out of glass and getting watched by the Old House.

Which still doesn’t save you from having to pass it on your way to work, the aspect of it already making you shiver. If walking past it wasn’t scary enough, a cold wind starts howling the moment you are directly in front of the Old House. The wood creaks, the windows rattle and the long grasses dance like a wild sea in the storm. You shiver, quickening your steps.

“Hey ___!” a male voice suddenly cuts through the wind, making your blood freeze in your veins.

Oh god, is this your neighbour? Did he see you? Is he running up to you? You don’t dare to turn around, but you can hear his footsteps coming closer. You can’t move, you can’t run away. It is like you are frozen on the spot. He could straight up murder you and you wouldn’t be able to move. Is this how you are going to die? In broad daylight on your way to work? Murdered by your creepy neighbour, what a wonderful way to go.

“Good morning Miss”, he stops running, now leaning against the fence with his arms. You can see his shadow in the corners of your eyes and yet you can’t move.

“If you are going to kill me, just do it already”, you stutter, sweating even though you were freezing cold.

“Kill you?” he breaks into loud, heartfelt laughter, “why would I want to kill you?”

Surprised by his reaction, and sweet laugh, your body suddenly works again. You turn to stare at him in a mixture of shock and confusion. Your confusion only grows when you finally get a good look at his face. You had expected to see a monster. Fallen-in cheeks, blue chapped lips and murderous, bloodshot eyes. But instead a man your age smiles back at you. Cheeks puffy and glowing in the sunlight, lips pink and pouty and his dark brown eyes sparkle in friendliness.

“Now I’m confused”, you can’t stop your mouth from falling open. How is that possible? How does he look so normal, handsome even, but act so creepy?

“You probably expected a creep because of how I acted last night, right?” he chuckles, tilting his head to the side.

“Honestly I did”, you confess, still wary. Maybe this is his plan, get you to trust him with his cute smile and then bash your head in when you aren’t looking. He wouldn’t be the first serial killer using his charms to lure naïve women to their demise.

“I think I owe you an apology for how I acted last night. I couldn’t sleep because of how embarrassed by my behaviour I was. I promise you I am not a serial killer”, he smiles, lowering his head.

“This is exactly something a serial killer would say.”

He chuckles, scratching his neck.

“I’m not helping myself here”, he looks at you shyly, “the truth is, I am really scared of social interactions, especially unplanned ones and when you stood at my doorstep last night my brain kind of shut off. Not an excuse to be a total creep, but I hope I at least could ease your nerves a little.”

You study his face for a moment. As much as you try to find any evil in his eyes, you can’t. Maybe he is actually telling the truth right now.

“Maybe. I don’t know yet”, you say finally.

“Good enough for me”, he sends you a shy smile, “I’m Min Yoongi by the way, but you can call me Yoongi if you want to”, he says, offering you his hand to shake.

You don’t accept it, bowing your head instead.

“Hello”, you send him an unsure smile.

“Hey”, he grins, “and you are? I don’t think you’ve told me your name yet.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m ___.”

“___?” he repeats.

You nod.

“What a beautiful name”, he smiles again, brushing strands of his blond hair out of his face.

“Thank you.”

For a moment neither one of you knows what to say. Yoongi just simply lets his eyes travel over your face, while you grow more restless with every passing second spent in silence.

“Anyways I’ll go now-“, “I tried your cookies and-“, you say at the same time.

“Oh sorry”, Yoongi chuckles, scratching the tip of his nose with his little finger. It leaves a stain of dirt behind.

“Sorry”, you mumble.

“You first”, Yoongi says, pointing his hand at you.

“O-okay. Uhm, I think I’ll be going now or else I’ll be late to work.”

“Of course. Gosh, silly me is keeping you up. Sorry.”

“No worries.”

You would normally ask him what he had wanted to tell you, but he is studying your face again with that weird almost longing sparkle in his eyes and it is starting to creep you out.

You take a step back, clearing your throat.

“It was nice talking to you. Have a nice day”, you say quickly.

Yoongi nods his head, smiling again.

“The honour was all mine”, he pauses for a moment, “___”, he says quietly.

“Good morning ma'am!” Hoseok greets you loudly, stopping his task of sweeping the ground in front of the tea shop to bow at you. He had watched you walk down the narrow street for quite a while now, wondering why you looked so uneasy. He was worried, imagining the worst possible scenario in that overthinking head of his’. What if Levi died under unknown circumstances? What if you dropped your favourite mug? What if the Old House will actually be turned into a hotel?

“Morning Hoseok”, you mumble, forcing a quick smile to your face and entering the tea shop afterwards.

It is not that Hoseok annoys you, but rather you are far too lost in your own thoughts to function. The neighbour, Min Yoongi, told you that you can trust him, but why do you still feel so creeped out by him? Is it the way he said your name once he found out? He sounded so charmed by your name, it makes you feel weird.

“Boss? Are you okay?” Hoseok follows you inside, having abandoned the broom outside next to the ficus trees.

“Hm?” you look up at him, raising an eyebrow in confusion, “what do you mean?”

“You look really worried. Is the Old House actually going to be a hotel?”

At that Jimin looks up from the table as well, getting to his feet to join Hoseok in front of the counter.

“What’s the matter boss? You okay?” he asks.

“Of course I am okay, it’s sweet you are so worried about me, but I’m okay”, you dismiss them, turning around to get the water cookers ready.

“Is the Old House getting turned into a hotel?” Jimin asks.

Hoseok looks at Jimin then at you, swallowing in worry.

“No of course not”, you send them a reassuring smile, “it is just a guy, Min Yoongi, who moved here. I think, at least.”

They both visibly relax.

“It is just that he is giving me weird vibes. Last night when I wanted to give him the cookies I accidentally caused a short and when he opened the door he scolded me, understandably, but-“

Hoseok gasps before even knowing the big reveal.

“-but then he kind of froze and creeped back into the shadows and didn’t even say a word like a total weirdo”, you shudder.

“Ooooh creepy”, Hoseok whispers, slightly scared.

“This is just like a documentary I watched a few weeks ago. A young, handsome man moved into an empty house across the street from a woman and then weird things started to happen. Her flower beds had footsteps all over them, her windows were smeared as if someone had pressed their face against the glass and weird love letters started appearing at her doorstep. Turns out the new neighbour was actually a serial killer, who escaped from an asylum. He fell in love with the woman and wanted her all to himself and when she refused, he skinned her alive and wore her face as a mask. But the man was never found, he fled before the police could catch him and has been missing ever since”, Jimin says mindlessly.

Both you and Hoseok complain with a loud whine, grabbing each other in fear.

“What the hell? Why are you telling me that?” you almost yell at him, scared to the bones.

“Seriously bro, why would you say that?” Hoseok whines, close to tears.

“I don’t know”, Jimin shrugs his shoulders, “it just kind of reminded me of the documentary.”

Hoseok tightens his arms around you, your own fingers clutching his shirt. Jimin studies your faces before breaking into loud laughter.

“I’m just messing with you guys. There was no documentary, I made it all up”, he wheezes, “you should see your faces, it’s hilarious”, he cackles, holding his stomach.

“Jimiiiin”, Hoseok whines, hitting Jimin repeatedly with a rag, “don’t. say. things. like. that. It’s not funny.”

Jimins laughter grows.

“I could fire you over that Park Jimin! If your cakes weren’t so damn delicious you would be out the door by now”, you hiss, only making Jimin laugh harder.

He sends you a quick finger heart before hugging you, rocking you from side to side.

“Sorry boss, please don’t be angry at me”, he sings sweetly.

You wiggle out of his arms, giving his chest a nudge.

“Go to work and deliver the best cakes I have ever tasted and maybe I won’t be angry with you anymore”, you tell him, earning a thumbs-up from him.

“I will boss, I won’t disappoint”, he says, storming off into the kitchen before Hoseok can throw the rag at his face.

“Don’t come back out for the rest of the day, rascal!” Hoseok calls after him, pouting.

The door swings closed, Jimin's giggles are still echoing through the tea shop.

“I swear to heavens this man just gave me the biggest fright”, you mumble, clutching your chest where your heart is racing.

“Same, I was so scared”, Hoseok whines, leaning onto the counter with his elbows to catch his breath. He looks at you, still worried slightly, “what are you going to do about that Min Yoongi dude though? What if he still turns out to be a creep?”

You shrug your shoulders, “I don’t know, we’ll see how everything will develop. Maybe he is actually nice and was just nervous to see me last night. I mean come on, everyone's a little weird when meeting new people. Can you still remember when you were even too scared to look into my eyes for the first two months of working here?”

Hoseok blushes, “don’t remind me boss, I was so weird back then.”

“See? And now you aren’t anymore, you just needed a little time to warm up to Jimin and me. Maybe my neighbour is the same and he is actually a pretty sweet guy.”

“I really hope he is”, Hoseok mumbles, turning his attention to today’s first customers afterwards.

Hoseok and Jimin wait for you tonight, both of them seeming still worried about you. Even Jimin, who had joked so cruelly about the whole situation, seems uneasy now that night has come. He watches you with hawk-like eyes when you lock the tea shop doors, following you to Hoseok, who is waiting by his Vespa for you and Jimin.

“Boss, I want to drive you home today”, Hoseok says confidently.

“What? Ah no-“, you shake your head, “-you don’t need to do that, I’m totally okay.”

“No, I really want to drive you home today and make sure that you are home safely”, he insists, already handing you his helmet.

“That’s a good idea hyung”, Jimin says, pushing you to Hoseok's Vespa by your shoulders.

“Guys come on”, you complain only to be silenced by Jimin putting the helmet on your head and fastening the chin strap.

“Seriously?” you ask him, cocking up an eyebrow at him.

He nods confidently.

“Yes”, he smiles innocently, acting cute on purpose, “please let Hoseok drive you home today boss, I’ll sleep so much better if you do. And you know how bad my cakes taste if I had a bad night’s sleep. Do you really want to sell disgusting cakes tomorrow?”

“I see, emotional blackmail”, you click your tongue, “fine, I’ll let Hoseok drive me home”, you give in with a loud sigh, climbing on the Vespa behind Hoseok and wrapping your arms around his middle.

Hoseok and Jimin exchange a proud look, probably giving each other that weird mental high-five they always do.

“See you tomorrow boss”, Jimin says, nudging your arm one last time.

“See you tomor-woah”, you squeal, tightening your arms around Hoseok when he suddenly drives off without warning.

Hoseok is probably the worst Vespa driver you have ever had the honour to drive with. It is not that he doesn’t know what he is doing, but he is driving like a maniac, speeding up and down the narrow roads as if they were highways. At some points you were scared he might even crash into one of the many house walls, but somehow he always manages to steer away in the last moment.

Your knees are wobbly once he arrives at your house and your heart is racing so quickly, one could have believed you ran a marathon. You get off, having to hold onto Hoseok's arms in order not to fall down.

“Where did you learn to drive?” you pant, making Hoseok blush.

“Why? I had everything under control don’t worry”, he mumbles.

“You weren’t even wearing a helmet, you could have died. You drove like a madman.”

“Hey boss, don’t worry. I honestly had everything under control”, he pats your arm, “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow.”

“Please don’t, I'd rather get murdered by my neighbour than having to drive with you again.”

“Hey”, Hoseok whines, pouting, “don’t say that boss, it’s making me sad.”

“Sorry”, you send him a quick smile, “still, you don’t need to do that Hobi, it’s such a big detour for you.”

Hoseok shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t care, your safety is far more important than me having to get up ten minutes earlier than usual.”

“You are so sweet, did I tell you that lately?” you give his cheek a soft pinch, making him blush again, “fine if it makes you feel better I’ll drive with you tomorrow again.”

“Yay”, Hoseok bursts in happiness, smiling so brightly it could be considered blinding, “see you tomorrow then. And don’t forget to lock the doors tonight.”

“I won’t, thank you for driving me. Sleep tight.”

“Good night boss”, Hoseoks smiles, putting on his helmet and getting on his Vespa. He gives you a quick wave and then he already off, driving off into the night like a madman.

#yoongi romance #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts romance #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #bts x you #bangtan romance #bangtan fluff #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fanfiction #bangtan x reader #bangtan x you #fanfic: only yesterday

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maple-the-awesome · 8 months

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We'll Meet Again...I Know When || Chapter 28

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x GN Reader

Words: 3,252

Overview: Given your old-fashioned personality and obsession with all things 1940s to 1980s, it’s no wonder that most people refer to you as an ‘old soul’ who would’ve rather lived back then than in the modern era. Little do they know, you already did, but with your previous life as Hollie Stark cut short, you’ve been left with some…unfinished business, to say the least. Top of your list? Finally getting to marry your thought-to-be-lost fiancé.

Series Masterlist 🤎 Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: LEFT ON READ

You hate the sun and its terrible habit of waking you up every morning. Sure, it can be a nice natural alarm when you want to walk up early, but believe it or not, sometimes you actually like sleeping in, especially after such an...'eventful' night.

You're not entirely certain what the exact time is right now. The sun's light appears relatively dim, so it must be sunrise or at least no later than seven. Normally, you'd have plenty of time to be lazy then if this were one of your days off, however prior promises were unfortunately made, requiring your presence elsewhere during the youngest hours of today.

Now while half of you is tempted to become conveniently forgetful of such arrangements, you're also aware that doing so would be a dangerous game. You have a perfect record of being trustworthy, thus your absences would no doubt cause concern. Concern leads to questions and questions lead to investigations which may produce rather embarrassing results in the case that anyone were to stumble across you in this position: completely nude aside from a thin comforter draped over half your body with an equally compromised man lying fast asleep beside you. What a meaningless yet annoying scandal that could cause particularly if your poor brother were to find out. He'd likely have a heart attack once realizing his dear little sister carries more of that troubling Stark charm than he anticipated.

It's a struggle to make a proper decision: roll the dice or play it safe? Honestly, you could go for either the more you dwell here. You do adore how peaceful Bucky looks as he sleeps, his lips slightly parted for each breath and hair not as neatly maintained as he typically keeps it (although your fingers might be to blame for that).

Come to think of it, this is the first time you've ever seen him in such a vulnerable state. You've fallen asleep around him before, usually after long nights waiting at the lab, however there's never been a situation where he has risked drifting off himself. Forever the gentleman, Bucky would refuse any overnight stays at your apartment, fussing over how 'inappropriate' it would be and how 'rumors would swirl', but you've longed deciphered that glimmer of desire in his eyes during each of those conversations. Although a gentleman, he's still a man completely infatuated with his gal. All he needed was a little push - a reminder that the feeling is very much mutual meaning there's no reason for dancing around the bush.

There was no hidden motivation or even a plan, in fact you're not hundred percent sure why things went the way they did last night. Perhaps you wanted to express your relief over your boyfriend having survived his latest dangerous mission. Maybe it was because of those drinks at the bar and how well they paired with Bucky's flirtatious whispers against your ear. Or it could've simply been something you've put off for far too long until you were no longer strong enough to set aside the temptations you feel everyday with this man you consider yourself so lucky to have...That would be a very suitable explanation...

To put it short, you had a veeery good night. Bucky didn't leave any question as to how much he loves you, reminding you more times than you could count between each pant and moan. The bliss remains even now, lingering in your thoughts as you finally make up your mind and cuddle closer to his sleeping form. Fuck working in a lab or training for another mission. You've both sacrificed so much for this damn world already, the least it can do is give you these seconds in return; to let you soak up this joy and hope for the future.

You can't wait to finally be wed, almost tempted to just jump the gun yet again by waking Bucky up and dragging him down to the nearest courthouse. Surely, he'd have no true objections, after all, the sooner he can call you his wife, the sooner you can both drop this act of pretending you can actually survive even a second without each other nearby at all times.

...If you had gone with your heart then, would anything have changed? You often find yourself overthinking that sort of stuff especially during the mornings where you just stare up at your ceiling feeling particularly empty inside. If you had married Bucky sooner, would he have been more careful? If you begged enough, would he have even gone that day? Hell, in your worst moments, you whimper at the thought of never having existed as (Y/n) in that case. Assuming that your purpose for remembering Hollie is to be with Bucky, maybe there wouldn't have been any need for it had you accomplished the task in the 40's...Although, anymore, you're convinced that isn't the actual purpose for these cursed, lingering memories...

If your regrets from the past make you feel bad, then thinking about (Y/n)'s exact purpose makes you feel even worse. Are you sure you're meant to be with Bucky romantically? It doesn't seem like the universe is setting that up. Him 'dying', you actually dying, all the current turmoil between (Y/n) and him now...sometimes you're convinced you were never meant to be his lover, in this life or Hollie's. Maybe you're just supposed to make amends somehow or maybe this is all just some cruel game life's playing to torture you; the universe didn't expect you to find Bucky again and now it's punishing you for changing destiny's course.

Your thoughts wander so far that you almost miss the sound of your phone buzzing in the corner. Turning away from the window you've been mindlessly staring out of for the last hour, you place your coffee mug on the table and exchange it with the device.

"...Hey."

"Wow. Nice to see that someone actually answers their phone," If only Sam knew you just spent a few seconds debating whether to pick up or not.

"Yeah, I've noticed that when your friend group consists largely of 'superheroes', they're usually pretty difficult to get a hold of. You just happened to call the one normal person with no social life," It's said as a joke, although deep down, it doesn't feel like one, "What's wrong? You piss everyone else off?"

"No...just Bucky apparently. He's been ignoring me like some kind of plague. 'won't call back or nothing."

"Welcome to the club," You roll your eyes bitterly while reaching for your mug again.

"He's ignoring you, too?" The annoyance from Sam's voice is dropped and quickly replaced with genuine surprise, "How'd that come about? You guys are practically attached to the hip from what I've seen! Even when a whole ocean apart, weren't you guys always going on 'Zoom dates' or something? Hell, I think you were making Steve jealous there, stealing his best friend..."

Sam trails off slightly and you imagine he visibly cringes over having brought up the topic. While he doesn't quite know exactly how you feel about it, he does remember how awfully distant you were after Steve went back in time. Rumor even has it that you both had an argument over the matter (not that Sam was eavesdropping or anything). Since then, he's avoided mentioning Steve around you. The way he sees it, if he's been having a hard time with the changes that came with your mutual friend's decisions, surely you're still feeling the burn yourself. You did know Cap a lot longer than himself.

Fortunately, you don't react openly to the topic nor do you comment on it much to Sam's relief. You merely focus on his previous line of questioning instead, "We're, uh...on break at the moment, I suppose you could say."

"Damn...What happened?" It's probably not his place to ask, seeing as neither of you have spoken much in the months following the Snap, however he can't ignore his own curiosity and worry.

Sam might not like Bucky and admittedly, he's never had the chance to properly befriend you seeing that your paths usually only cross when your lives are in danger, but he'd be a fool not to see how whipped the two of you have always seemed for each other, in fact last he hear through the grapevine, you were practically living together with some of your other friends placing bets on whether you're supposed to be secretly married or not. With that said, it's concerning to learn your relationship has apparently fallen apart within such a short amount of time.

You inhale through your nose heavily, finally bothered by one of his questions, although you don't completely shy away from it. You just take your time answering while fiddling with the bracelet on your wrist, "...Steve...told you about all the Hollie stuff...right?"

"...Bucky...I'm Holiday Stark..."

Your blood feels cold, body shaking even as you force yourself to maintain eye contact with him, desperately yet hopelessly wishing you could read his mind since his outward reaction gives you so little to work with.

He doesn't mock amusement like Natasha did. He doesn't get angry like Steve. He doesn't show increasing annoyance like Tony...He stares. He simply stares at you, eyes difficult to decipher, although that slight tremble of his lips and the whimper-like sound that he tries unsuccessfully to swallow aren't.

"...J-James?" You're beginning to panic, realizing just how sick he suddenly appears - face pale and blank with shock. This is exactly what you were afraid of. Regardless of his promises, those vows were spoken while believing you to be someone you're not - someone truthful and perfect. Until now, you've only been (Y/n), a life that brought upon no complicated feelings nor gave him any reason to look twice. In his eyes, mere seconds ago, you could do nothing to change that perspective, however it turns out he was just lacking the proper imagination to understand a scenario where you could...the same scenario you've landed yourselves in now.

When Bucky drops your hand - one you forgot he was holding given how limp his grip had gone - a wave of emotions overtake you before you can push them away again.

At first glance, you’ve always seemed good at playing things off and pretending you’re unfazed, a ‘picture of maturity’, as some have said. It helps that you’re usually able to sweet talk yourself out of stuff, utilizing that Stark-charm to either leave everyone speechless or on your side, but for some reason your mouth feels dry and your brain fuzzy. You felt this way when letting the others in on your secret, but not to this extent. Staring back at Bucky, feeling your world of lies and secrets crumble down on top of you in a crushing weight, you feel too terrified to think because deep down, despite all this ‘incredible’ reincarnation stuff, you’re still just an ordinary human who’s scared shitless to lose the one thing who makes you feel just that: human.

"I-I can prove it! Ask me anything! Ask me any question only Hollie could answer - something only she'd know a-and I'll know it, too! I swear! Bucky, I promise. You know me. I'd never lie about anything like this! I'd never do anything to hurt you -!" You cry in an avalanche of words moving so quickly that you can barely keep track of them. You reach towards his hand, called to feel comfort by his touch again like an injured child would their mothers, yet he pushes himself away, inching further towards the other end of the couch until his back hits the arm. With him, he takes your shattered heart.

"...I believe you," He whispers after a moment, although his voice isn't consoling. He spits out the claim while actively avoiding eye contact, his primary focus being on that silver ring around your finger which always seems fond of taunting him by the way it so easily catches in the light.

...He knew when he first saw it. He would know that ring anywhere. It wasn't yours - at least that's immediately what he had thought back then. 'That's Hollie's ring,' he wanted to point out, perhaps even demand it back. That's his doll's ring - the only one he thought was worthy of being on her finger. To him, it was only ever a design, but after HYDRA, Bucky had made sure to research Hollie’s life and countless pictures of her proved she had the ring made exactly as he had imagined it. It looked identical to the one you wear.

He thought he was going crazy, yet it still kept him up for nights afterwards, wondering what excuses could explain its location on your finger, in the twenty-first century no less. You could’ve found it or perhaps Steve gave it to you as a gift. Sometimes Bucky even felt nauseous at the thought that maybe - just maybe - you were a descendant of Hollie. She didn’t remarry (he checked), but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have had lovers. Hell, it wasn’t like he was entirely out of the question himself. They did...do it together, not to mention he was never quite certain what your relationship with Tony was.

…Of course, none of those reasons felt quite right. As upset as he may be with Steve, Bucky doesn’t believe he’d give anyone a version of Hollie’s ring at least without approval first. He asked you about your relationship with Tony once, breathing in a sigh of relief when you confirmed Stark to be a friend after only some hesitation Bucky didn’t second guess at the time because in that moment, he’d rather gloss over such a detail and just be thankful he hasn’t been attracted to his grandchild or anything like that this whole time.

Bucky never asked you. He never even drew attention to the ring while in your presence aside from sometimes letting his thumb run over it when holding hands or cuddling. He decided to conclude that maybe he wasn’t that original after all and that a very similar design was later made for the general public. It had nothing to do with Hollie. It was just a coincidence he didn’t need to bother you with. That was the extent of Bucky’s investigative thinking which makes him feel incredibly stupid now.

This whole time…Nine years…For nine fucking years, it’s been you. All those complex and private details you knew about his life - things even he couldn’t remember himself. The way you always seemed so comfortable around him as if you were facing a dear friend, not a monstrous killer. How close Steve and Tony were to you. Your smile and laughter...Your weird yet adorable habits…Your bad habits…Your jokes…Your manner of speaking…Your manner of teasing…Your eyes…It always felt so familiar - like looking into the past through warped glass yet never did Bucky think in a million years it would be you - that it would be Hollie looking back at him the whole damn time.

“...Bucky please…P-Please just talk to me,” You plead in a whimper, your hands frozen in front of you as you struggle to decide how to address this. In fairy tales, this would be the joyful moment everyone’s been waiting for. Two lovers reunite against all odds before living happily ever after together, but this is real life. Perhaps fairy tale endings happen occasionally for those lucky folks the universe actually likes, but for you - for (Y/n) and Hollie - you’ve never known what that kind of ending could feel like. You’ve only ever been given teasing tastes of it just to be led down a dark hole to moments like this - moments of heartache.

“I…I need to go.”

You suck in a breath when Bucky suddenly stands straight, your entire body feeling as if it’s going through its own personal earthquake, “O-Okay…Okay, um…I’ll, uh, I-I’ll just give you some sp-space then…”

Your voice squeaks and you try to sniff, yet that does nothing to stop the burning in your nose nor the tears in your eyes. You curse yourself for crying in front of him, still more concerned about what kind of guilt it might give him rather than worrying about your own emotions…Maybe because you’ve long convinced yourself that you deserve it and that you’re used to it…

Bucky hesitates there, almost looking down at you, however he knows by your sniffle that if he does that, this will only be made a lot harder for you both. So, with hurried footsteps, he slips on his boots and leaves the apartment in silence aside from the slam of the door, the whirling of the box fan, and your cries that soon break through.

"...Do you think I'm crazy Sam?"

"Yes," His answer is prompt, although his voice grows soft for the next part, "You gotta admit, it's an insane story: 'Girl who was somehow magically reborn with all her past memories eventually meets her past life's boyfriend and BOOM! They're in love in this life, too!' …Sounds like a bad fanfiction."

“I don’t know if you can say we're ‘in love’ anymore…At least not mutually…” You mumble dejectedly before groaning and running a hand over your face, "...I should've never gotten involved with him - with anyone for that matter. It would've been easier for them all if Hollie just stayed dead instead of forcing them to dig her back up again -”

"- Now I wouldn't necessarily say that. Sure, it’s probably not the easiest pill to swallow initially, I mean, I saw firsthand how pissy Steve was around you that day, but didn’t you see how happy he was afterwards? Put yourself in his shoes. He was torn away from the life he knew best into the modern century with basically nothing until you came along. You were his friend then - someone who could understand fairly well what he had to go through. Your relationship was special because of that. I reckon it was the same for Stark. He had to have been pretty little when Hollie died, right? I don't know about him, but if my aunt was murdered, I'd want some form of closure. No better way to get that than her showing up in a different life, happy and safe."

Sam has a point. Tony mentioned the guilt he had suffered for years thinking it was somehow his fault Hollie died. Coming back as (Y/n), you were able to assure him how much you’ve always loved him and how he wasn’t at fault for what happened. He never avoided the topic of his late aunt again and threw a huge birthday party for himself the next year…

"Do me a favor and try not to beat yourself up over this too much, alright? We've already gone through enough shit as it is. I'm sure Bucky will come around eventually like Steve and Tony did, just give him some time for it to sink in. It's a lot to come to terms with, after all, especially probably for him of all people. You were...you know?"

You nod as if Sam could see it, “...I just hope he doesn't take too long, not for my sake, but for his own. Bucky isn't like Steve or Tony. He isn't the type to simply walk away and let stuff roll off his shoulders either. He's overthinking this - I know he is. He’s letting it dig into him like he's done something wrong when all of the blame is mine alone. I’m the one who lied to him. I’m the one who kept this a secret…I wish he could just understand that…”

NEXT CHAPTER ->

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heli0s-writes · 3 years

Text

Clumsy

Summary: Serendipity, it’s the only way Steve can describe it. His ma was right: he’d always been slow.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader

A/N: Fluff with a tiny sprinkle of Steve angst because I love one sad boi. Written for @wkemeup‘s 4K Challenge like an entire year ago!! I’m so sorry, Kas!! The prompt was Bright Eyes’ “First Day of My Life”. 2.8k words.

It was supposed to rain.

Thunderclaps rolled in the distance all morning. Moisture hung heavy in the air and the earth smelled like wet already--- salty, thick, sweet. The app on his phone blinked gray clouds straight across the screen. Seventy-three degrees and a nine-five percent chance of precipitation. Winds NE 20 miles per hour.

But at 2:30 in the afternoon when Steve slides into the car, it’s clear and blue.

So he figures it’s coincidence and poor meteorology when the engine quietly rumbles to life. He fixes the collar of his shirt, checks for hotels around the midway point, and sends an uneasy look to the empty passenger seat.

Then, he makes his way to where you are.

The two-lane country road stretches on. Winding and curving, pitch-black and howling with wind and wildlife. Bugs splatter on the windshield and he mechanically sprays a bit of fluid, wiping them off, the squeaks giving his radio a bit of rhythm in all this late-night talk. It’ll be another half hour before he gets to the hotel and he’s still wrestling with himself if he should even break.

No reason to now. He can drive all night. No reason to other than his pride.

“So what is it?”

There’s an imprint in the seat. An outline of a warm body folding soft creases in the leather. Late night talk radio fizzles out, and he’s tired, so he can’t get too upset at his brain for seeing the shape even though it’s been months since anyone’s sat there.

He chances a look over, then quickly back ahead because sure—the sedan is small, but this tiny strip of pavement feels even smaller. Too right and he’ll careen into the woods, too left and if another car’s coming around the bend Steve would roll out alive, but he’d be the only one.

He looks again.

Legs folded. Bare feet. Ankles crossed on the dash. Casually sitting with one hand on your phone and the other one behind your head, face lit incandescent by the screen. It was the first time he’d been alone with you after New York; he remembers this.

You hadn’t even given a glance sideways at him, still fixed on the screen, thumb sliding up and focused on mission details in a perfect picture of indifference.

“Your whole thing. Mister Red-White-and-Broody, most eligible bachelor in all of America—which, by the way, is so far up your ass all fifty states might as well be coming out of your mouth—”

“Stop it.”

“Okay, Rogers.” A smirk. His last name slipping between your lips like military title. “Fine, you’re all gilded in the front, suffering in the back. So—” You turned finally, pulled your feet back and tucked them under your body, “What is it?”

Steve pretended to think, left hand clenching a fraction tighter on the wheel, feeling its strength beneath his grip. His face remained impassive and dedicated forward, turning the seconds in his head, counting down the appropriate time for his reply.

It was a game, certainly. Your assertion, your poise, hand propping up your head—all of it. Your entire being was a foil to one Steven Grant Rogers and he was strapped with you for half a week. Already the car ride was beginning to foreshadow what was quickly seeming to be a long assignment.

“It’s my job—”

“So weak.”

“I’m busy—”

“Are you even trying to lie?”

You were known to do this: lay out a path of questions that only gave your company the pretense of a genuine conversation. You’d lead them like a wrangler leading horses to water, knowing they wouldn’t drink, but giving them just enough time to stare at their own reflection in the pool before you’d yank the harness elsewhere.

It was always a short path, but what you lacked in subtlety you made up for with honesty.

Agitated, Steve snapped before he could rein himself back in.

“What are you, my psychologist?” Horse.

“You don’t have one. You are the only Avengers Tower resident who has run off every psychologist on Stark’s payroll. So--” a twist of your torso, your back pressed up against the door handle as you stared at the outline of his side profile. Wrangler.

The question dangled in front of his gritted teeth. The answer he’d known long ago was behind two perfect calcium rows, pressed up, trying to find its way through the cracks.

What’s your thing? We fought together. We live together. We suffered a cataclysmic event in the form of aliens together---so why doesn’t anybody know you?

You leaned forward, body tilting until it almost touched your former footrest. Your head sloped to find his face and when he flicked his eyes sharply to yours, Steve knew it wasn’t sharp enough.

“You don’t want to be vulnerable.”

You’d led him through the brief route of your inquisition and had seen all you cared to see. Your voice bounced off the window when you closed your eyes and turned away.

“Steve,” you sighed, mouth going to the side in a smile. “Vulnerability is clumsy, but it’s the only thing worth anything.”

He had thought: No, it isn’t. He’d spent too long being vulnerable already, and he couldn’t afford it again. Twenty years of a miserable half-life and seventy years of sleep and suddenly the world was new and different and strange. Coming back into his body was new and different and strange but it was the body that afforded him invulnerability.

Mostly, anyway.

Steve decided, then, at least he could make up for that lump of mortality—that lump of weakness—with performance.

So, he became the blacksmith to his feeble Brooklyn boy heart. Forged carbon steel, gold-plated, immaculately polished like his own shield at press conferences. Smoothed himself into a monumental display of impeccable posturing and hid the boy away where no one could reach him. Let him go back to sleep, too. Frozen in a time long passed, long forgotten.

He wasn’t Steve Rogers anymore because no one knew Steve Rogers anymore; it was the only way he could carry on. Didn’t you know?

No, he supposed, you didn’t.

On the ride back you surrendered yourself to the backseat, laying down in the most comfortable position the sedan would allow, and chatted his ear off the entire ride home. Called him Steve and looked at him through the rearview mirror. Eyes met eyes, and yours crinkled at the edges with some secret knowledge.

By the end of it, all he could think about was how he didn’t mind the conversation and that his first name even sounded a little nice coming out of your mouth.

You shimmer in the passenger side until your hair hangs a little longer. His brown leather jacket is around your shoulders. A stretch of your arms. A stretch of your lips. Months passed and Rogers befell the man you knew during the Manhattan Crisis while he became Steve.

Steve on missions and in the field—On your six, Steve! Keep up, old boy. Steve at the tower and Steve in the gym— don’t touch my weights, Steve, you’ll throw your back out.

Steve getting the door and pouring the whiskey and letting you wear his jacket when you were cold. Finding you across rooms at parties because there was an easiness to your presence that calmed the crowd. Shooting pool and watching movies. Up late and out late and laughing until the early hours.

He was Steve, your friend, because he finally allowed himself to have a friend.

You change. Shimmer again until your hair is pulled back from your swollen face. A hospital gown crinkled around your shoulders. Asleep, cold. Too close to death, too close to him. He couldn’t even sit by your bedside, only standing by the door, shuffling from one wall to the other and watched the monitors with a too-loud and static-filled brain.

He was hesitantly Steve when you stepped too close to him on the balcony nights later, hand precariously hovering over that fragile boy heart, finally pressing down on it, feeling his delicate pulse thawing and crawling towards you. Tipsy smile and you tasted like whiskey and easy joy.

The kiss was clumsy, like you’d said. Vulnerability threw him back to the 40’s, all gangly limbed and ill, his lungs malfunctioning, his breath smothered in his mouth. He stumbled, but the banister held him up.

You didn’t mind that his knees felt boneless. You chalked it up to too much drink, but the touch of your still-bruised cheek abruptly burned down his throat—warm and smooth and cataclysmic until he caught sight of the way you winced as his hand cupped your tender face. Steve stepped back, then, and apologized for what he said should have never happened.

There was a small quiver from your shoulder before you quietly went back inside.

He cursed himself on the balcony. Cursed letting it all happen in the first place. Captain Rogers watched your retreating steps, burying the spark and the fire. And the boy must have cried in his ice-block coffin when he buried him again, too.

“Don’t look at me like that.” God, he’s going crazy. Poor night-vision and an addled brain causing him to scold an empty seat. “You stopped talking to me.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens the way it does when you’re too deep in his head and he can’t get you out. Days without hearing from you smeared together in careful steps of a cagey dance. Comments always presented as half-truths—riddles he struggled to deconstruct. Breadcrumbs never leaving enough of a trail to lead him anywhere. He wants the harness back. Wants back your confident hand.

“You could have said something.” Steve scoffs, because you always had something to say. “Anything. You could have said anything. We were—friends.”

And hell, doesn’t that sound stupid out loud? Maybe it’s best that he’s got nothing but infinity beyond the sedan’s glaring brights and a million thoughts of unsaid words. It’s all useless, anyway. Best that he can get it all out now, talking to your ghost. It keeps all his thoughts in his head and keeps him from yelling every time he sees you not-looking, not-smiling, not-talking to him.

Steve flicks the wipers on again. Shuts off the radio. Shuts off the navigation. Takes the car off cruise-control to give himself something to do. He’ll stop overnight, after all.

Suddenly then, in the distance, two glowing eyes greet him steadily. Measured paces, in a firm and crisp trajectory, growing closer and closer. Glaring and vivid, beating the monotonous grind of nighttime out of him. His pinky moves, and his high beams flip to low beams, white giving way to yellow and the glistening road signs and tree-shadows in the distance slowly diminish.

Bleached spectral glaring of leaves and road signs soften ochre and brown, indigo dark. For a fleeting moment, even Steve’s enhanced eyes feel half-blind again as he readjusts to the pitch-black night barely lit. The car coming toward him does the same, highs blinking low and they pass each other in quiet understanding. In blind trust on the dark road, dependent on each other’s good faith to see it through.

He thinks of Sarah Rogers in a tiny Brooklyn kitchen, floral wallpaper yellowed and peeling behind her. One hand on an apron-clad hip, cooking interrupted by her son stumbling in dripping blood down his shirt, her other hand clenched around a wet kitchen rag.

“Steven Grant Rogers! Oh—wretched! What else can I say,” she’d sigh as she pressed it to his nose, “You do whatever you please, anyhow. You just put this on your face—and don’t think it’ll get you out of doing the dishes, either.”

“But—” he’d attempt.

She’d put up her hand, “Lord have mercy on any young woman that’ll have you. May she have your poor mother’s patient heart.”

His ma always called him slow. A dolt through and through. Quick to temper, but laborious to do much else. Common sense always took its sweet time-- took the long path home to get to Steve Rogers. In seventy-odd years, he hasn’t changed.

Better than coincidence and better than poor meteorology. Serendipity. It’s the only way he can describe it.

Like finding a crumpled up twenty in his pocket—or in his case, a five—enough then for a week’s worth of meals. Like having that nightmare— the one right before the plane crashes and instead of going down with it, he wakes up. Like expecting to drive five hours through a storm and stopping overnight, but instead it’s clear and blue as far as he can see.

The rush, the relief, the deafening joy that shuts everything else up and out.

Sarah Rogers was right: he’d always been slow.

So he careens back onto the highway from the service road, steadying his foot on the pedal and flies about fifteen miles faster than the speed limit says he should. The car is vibrating to a thrilled beat inside his chest. Steve can’t help smiling.

It was supposed to rain. All the way to the next mid-morning but the sky parts a brilliant orange sunrise and he nearly sprints to the door. He doesn’t wait for it to open all the way before he barrels in. A sliver of parting wood is enough, and Steve throws it wide with his enormous shoulders, kicking it shut firmly with his boot.

The imprint of your body on the couch is still warm—you, halfway across the room in alarm—real and even warmer when Steve gathers you into his arms. He’s been awake for over 24 hours, talking to himself, talking to your hallucination, so he apologizes when his teeth click against yours in a frantic kiss.

“Rogers--!”

You pull away, dazed, a little bit pissed off, but you cow the swirl of emotions into professionalism. “What are you—you’re not supposed to be here until late—did you drive through--”

“Steve,” he interrupts, “Steve.”

He’s so tired of the long road. Can’t stand another second of maneuvering in the dark down winding paths or broken streetlight avenues you’re not at the end of so he keeps his next phrase short: “I really like you.”

You raise your brow and brush the back of your knuckles over your lips, the light from the balcony streaming over your face. His hand tenderly brushes your cheek, the same one he touched all those months ago and you blink in surprise. Quick, calculating movements even as you lean gently into his touch.

“Steve��” you say slowly before your mouth pinches together in a poor attempt to hide the smirk threatening to surface. “You drove all night to… ask me to call you Steve.”

“Well,” he shrugs, “And the mission.”

“Right, the mission. The debrief didn’t mention that it required a lot of… kissing.”

“It came up recently; I haven’t adjusted the file yet.” He grins at your rolling eyes, your swollen lips peeling back to reveal a joyful display of teeth at his stubborn defiance.

“Took you long enough,” you mumble.

You place your hand over his chest, over his heart.

You kiss him and Steve hears himself sighing into your mouth. His cheeks flush with embarrassment, but you’re not letting go, and he presses his lips to yours a little slower, a little firmer, learning the ways you like to feel him there.

“Steve,” you breathe, and it paints him in the most galvanized care. “Steve,” you say again, and his eyes slip shut, like he’s being laid to rest. And maybe he is. Finally weary of lugging around all his armor, all his pretense.

The boy emerges, thawing toward his name held sweetly in your mouth.

He fumbles with his awkward limbs—a newly birthed foal trying to find its footing—but you’re patient and enduring. He takes in his trembling body—knobby knees and gangly elbows. Inept gait still learning how to be. He takes the sights—white casting over the balcony. You, even brighter.

It was supposed to rain, but you link your fingers through his, leading him toward the open doors, smiling against a backdrop of sherbet swirls. He stumbles, but you’ve got him. A few short steps, just a few more, and Steve kisses you again in the sunbathed daybreak, resurrected and anew.

#marvel #fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #steve x you #steve rogers imagines #fluff #angst

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albaedhoe · 3 years

Text

four shots of espressos

pairing : albedo x barista!reader

summary : although it wasn’t any of your business, you begin question if it’s even legal to give this much espressos in one drink alone.

a/n : it’s not angst for once :) Since I’m from the uk, I will be using education terms that’s from here since that’s what I’m most familiar with :’) Secondary school = ages 11-18. Idk what the equivalent of A-levels are in other countries but you do them when you’re 17-18.

modern!au, coffee shop!au

tag :: @anormalguyreader

Determined to partake in something he enjoyed for his final years of secondary school education, Albedo took on art, biology and chemistry. Although the amount of work that goes into doing them was hard to keep up with at first, it wasn’t something he was foreign to nor did he regret his decision.

Only recently moving into his own apartment so that he could walk to his new school his original one didn’t enable him to do what he wanted. Albedo still needed to adjust to his different surroundings. Along the way he had found a quaint and quiet coffee shop, a perfect environment to concentrate on work. His apartment was starting to become too dull for him to find inspiration anyways.

In later months, Albedo would be thankful to whatever higher power lead him to this specific shop. Because he found a muse. One that would entertain his imagination and creativity no matter how many times he’d seen the same thing over and over again. His muse-

Stepping into the café, the scent of caffeine and baked goods filled Albedo’s senses. A bell above the door rang, its ringing alerting a staff member’s ears and the uni student watched as they perked up from behind the counter.

“Good morning! What can I get you today?” The workers voice was cheery but could do nothing to hide the fatigue hiding behind it, not knowing whether to find it unsettling or not, Albedo chose to mentally congratulate them for trying at least. Snapping out of his own thoughts, Albedo realised he’s been starting for a good few seconds.

“Uhm...”

Clearing his voice to try again, Albedo walks closer to the counter so that he wasn’t awkwardly at the front of the door. “I’d like a large black coffee with four shots espresso, please.”

-was none other than you.

Though this story between you and albedo was no love at first sight nor was it the kind that others would be envious of, you found yourself slowly finding comfort in his familiar presence and appreciating his rather good looking visuals. You’ve seen him around campus, always either sketching and painting intensely or solving quantitive chemistry equations on a lonesome bench or the corner of the library.

For weeks on end, you would exchange nothing more than good mornings or good evenings when passing by each other. Most individuals would be rather unsatisfied with that type of relationship, but you didn’t mind it. For you and him would already partake in plentiful conversations in your family-owned shop. Most days it just being you, him, your Spotify playlist and the usual older citizens in the shop.

“A large black coffee with four shots of espresso...again...”

Delicately placing the almost overflowing cup onto an empty space on the table, the tray in your hands trembled with the loss of mass. Looking down at the messy assortment of pens, pencils and paints, you shift your weight on one foot and flipped the tray under your arm. “So, what’s the project this time?” You ask.

“Thanks,” Albedo mutters, not looking up from the A3 sheet of paper and taking a sip from his drink. You watch as a frustrated sigh escape Albedo’s lips, the heat from his breath dissipates unto the air. “My teacher had asked us to create a ten pages portfolio of ‘the present time’, I don’t know what that meant but they had only said ‘you will understand what I mean when it happens’.”

“Yikes...How much is it worth?”

“twenty percent of my overall grade.”

“Double yikes,” you wince, understanding how Albedo felt.

“...”

“Well-” You start but was cut off by the bell of the door jingling, a child and mother entering the establishment. “Good Morning! I’ll be there in a second!” Turning back to your friend, you continued with what you were going to say. “If you need any help just call me!” Giving him a quick, reassuring smile, you rush behind the counter.

Albedo started to sketch the sight infront of him. He didn’t know what came over him, but the rising rays of the sun that peaked through the half open curtains had kissed your face so gently and serenely. Your soft smile when you interacted with the mother’s child through the glass panes, pointing at which pastry they wanted to try. Albedo did not know what you had said that made you, the mother and child giggle, perhaps a joke you made? Nevertheless, the sound of your laughter was an equivalent to wind chimes that danced with the breeze.

Stopping his sketching to truly take in what he had just drawn, Albedo tilts his head in fascination. It was a simple side angle of you, crouched on the ground with knees to your chest and hands resting on the tops of them. Your facial expression was endearing as you talked to the child at the other side of the counter, and the corners of your eyes crinkled in genuine kindness.

Maybe this is what his teacher had meant.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #x reader #albedo #albedo x reader #genshin #genshin x reader

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

to the touch | pjm

pairing: park jimin x oc (ft. brother yoongi)

genre: mutual pining, fluff, cute crushes, brothers best friend

warnings: JIMIN that's it

words: 5, 216

summary: he's back

“You’re … you’re here?” You squeak and it’s not one of your best moments even if you were sure Yoongi would argue otherwise and that you rarely had average moments, to begin with. But there was something about spontaneity and surprise that threw you off in the worst way possible and made your brain short-circuit to the point where you’re unable to throw coherent thoughts together. And this was definitely a surprise, one that you’d never expected to happen because—

“I am,” Jimin says curtly, tossing you a firm nod of his head when he pushes you aside and steps into your apartment like he’s been year a thousand times. But in reality, it’s his first time standing at your doorstep, first time knocking on your door, and definitely the first step he’s ever had the chance to get a glimpse of how your living room looks like.

You’re still gaping at the entrance with the door open and you’re sure if any of your neighbors were to step out of their homes, they’d just see a lone girl outside that looked a little too unnerved to bother. When you snap out of it and turn your body to face your visitor, he’s already made himself comfortable on your couch and it’s hard to piece together the fact that Jimin was quite in fact in your living room, and lounging on your couch, staring at your television like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“W-What—how?” You croak because there are about ten million different thoughts running through your head but the most pressing one is how Jimin looked … different.

A good difference, for sure. He’s always been handsome and unreasonably so. Especially with the way that he’s dyed his hair back to black and the gentle fluff of how it lays atop his head. You note that he still kept his style despite him going MIA for three years and wore slacks that shaped his legs (and butt) beautifully with a casual shirt tucked into the waistband of his pants. It was unfair how effortlessly good-looking he was on a spontaneous occasion while you looked anything but, especially with your sweats and old tank top.

But Jimin had always been a little hard to read. Terrifying and brassy all at once but never obstructive—although you’d argue that his presence was the obstruction as it is of how distracted you feel whenever he was around you years ago. It’s like you never learned how to accommodate his presence because he happened to fill every space with just his body even if he wasn’t that tall.

“I thought I’d pay a visit. Your brother gave me your address.” He says, finally turning his head to face you, and its still blank like every expression you remember made towards you. You expected nothing more or nothing less than the way he stares you over and makes you feel like the outsider in your own home.

“Yoongi …” You grit, cursing your brother mentally and hoping he’d make use of that stupid sibling telepathy power he claims he has to receive your gripe.

You clear your throat as you awkwardly shuffle closer towards the couch and hover awkwardly by the arm of the sofa to keep your distance. It’s been years and it’s still a little unfamiliar to see Jimin right in front of you, and not someone you kept at the back of your mind.

“You could’ve called …” You say softly while fiddling with your thumbs. Jimin just raises an eyebrow at you and you feel stupid for saying that already.

Some things don’t change and it’s proven when your heart still beats the same when he’s around you. You cursed at yourself for being weak-willed because you thought time would help you get over your silly crush on Jimin but you also long acknowledged the fact that it wasn’t just a crush. It was more.

You hated falling for the cliches of crushing on your brother’s best friend, especially one that was just emotionally reserved and detached ninety percent of the time. The only conversations you remember having with Jimin were the ones that you were blushing at him when he looked at you a little longer than usual, or when he drove you to and from school when Yoongi left for university.

But then he disappeared, without saying goodbye and you only found out from his parents that he got into a dance program abroad and packed his things and left. Obviously, twenty-year-old you was devastated because you somehow convinced yourself that he enjoyed your presence even if he was huffing and puffing every five minutes when you’d fall into a ramble of your own.

He changed his number and he wasn’t a social media person so you had no idea what he was doing or how he was, besides the occasional mention of his name in conversations you had with your brother. It sucked. Majorly. Because you really liked him even if he was cold because you knew that Jimin was a good person. A cold and shitty person wouldn’t pat you on your head before your wisdom teeth extraction and mumble it’s okay if he wasn’t kind.

“The place is nice.” He ignores your statement and glances around your apartment and you feel smaller. You do feel a little relieved that he approved of the place, and you did spend hours browsing through catalogues and going through roommates until you decided that this was perfect. Granted, it was a little pricey but you valued comfort and a decent workplace to really get you motivated.

“Thank you.” You mumble, still shifting on the balls of your feet and Jimin just raises an eyebrow at your impersonal stance. You know he wouldn’t point it out because he wasn’t that kind of guy, but his face often spoke for him so you swallowed all the concerns you had and took a seat at the edge of the sofa, as far away from him as possible.

“Do you live alone?” He asks. You’re about to respond but he doesn’t let you.

“It’s dangerous if you do. Do you really just answer the door for anyone without checking who it is? You’ll get yourself into some serious trouble if you aren’t careful.” He chides you.

You want to scoff at him because you were an adult and you’ve learnt a few things along the road to adulthood. Jimin was always a little on edge most of the time and you knew he was just bad at expressing his emotions so you never faulted him for it. But now, you were a little older and not as naive—but unfortunately still very much into him.

“God Jimin, it’s fine—”

The door opens and both your heads immediately turn to the source, and Jimin is sharp with his movements and you try to not allow your heart to flutter when he tugs you closer to him and hides your body with his own as if he thought it was an intruder. But you knew better, so you knew it was—

“Tae. You’re back early.” You greet your roommate who only eyes the man on the couch who has you situated behind him like he was your personal shield. His bag is tugged over his shoulder and you see a few of his art supplies threatening to fall out so you hop off the couch to help him with his belongings, and Jimin’s gaze just burns harder onto the back of your skull.

When you’re close enough, Taehyung leans in and gives a brief glance over at Jimin who is still piercing him with a fierce gaze.

“Why is your booty call staring at me like I’ve murdered ten kittens?” Taehyung whisper yells and you glare at him, pinching his hip because just because he thought he was being quiet didn’t mean that he could easily get rid of his naturally loud voice.

“That is not my booty call!” You respond equally as agitated, “That’s … Jimin.”

Taehyung’s eyes bulge out of his socket when he looks over your shoulder once more to still see Jimin glaring at the two of you.

“Why is he so fucking scary? You said he was nice!” Taehyung hisses.

“He is nice!” You weakly defend, “He’s just … scary looking?”

You know it doesn’t convince Taehyung because he’s sighing and dropping his belongings to the floor, offering Jimin as sincere of a smile as he can muster even though you’re fully aware that he’s terrified of the man on your living room couch.

“Hi! I didn’t know _____ was having guests over. I’m Taehyung.” He smiles brightly at said guest but Jimin just blinks at his cordiality and then looks over to you.

“Is he your boyfriend?” The question throws you off guard and you can tell that Taehyung even more terrified when Jimin completely ignores his presence even though he was the tallest person in the room.

You splutter for a response even if the answer to that was obvious. But Jimin had a shitty way of interrogating people, even if it probably would work in legal settings because he was just terrifying enough for you to stumble over your words and make you look guiltier than you were.

“Unfortunately not.” Taehyung thinks he’s saving you when he lightly jokes with Jimin. And you want to facepalm because Jimin was aloof and impartial to everything, and had horrible skills of reading the room because you were sure that Jimin thought that Taehyung wanted to get in your pants.

“Tae, would you excuse us for a second?” You smile stiffly at Taehyung who is quick to oblige as he darts into his room.

Jimin now has his arms folded across his chest in a manner that makes him look more hostile, but you knew him well enough that you suppose he just had a lot of questions.

“Did you really have to be like that?” You ask irritably as Jimin scoffs at you.

“Please, do enlighten me. All I did was ask you a simple question, which you couldn’t even answer. What was that about?” Jimin responds equally as displeased but you had so many questions and you didn’t need to deal with his mini tantrum right now, especially between the walls of your own home.

“Don’t turn this on me! You turned up to my house unannounced after three years of no contact and you expect me to bend at your will? What do you take me for? A puppet?” You retaliate with petulancy and you can tell Jimin is slowly getting more annoyed by the second but won’t blow up just yet. Or probably because you had another person in the house.

“Am I not allowed to visit?” Jimin raises an eyebrow.

You scoff at his audacity because Jimin was seriously so bad at reading emotions. You weren’t even sure why you liked him but your heart never made reasonable decisions for you.

“We haven’t spoken in years, Jimin!” You throw your hands in the air, “I didn’t even know where you were or what you were doing because you disappeared like you were running away from a crime!”

“Did I need to update you on my whereabouts?” You know his question is genuine even though it was posed a little rough and you want to pull at your hair because obviously, you wanted to know! Jimin was the person you spent the most time with, outside of school, and one day he wasn’t anymore.

“Of course! I thought we were—I thought … why did you just disappear?” For some reason, it was hard to say that you and Jimin were friends either because the only reason why he’d ever tolerate you in the first place was that he was a good friend to Yoongi and you were just someone that came with it by association. He never outwardly said that he hated spending time with you but he never said he enjoyed it either.

Jimin raises an eyebrow and stands up, and you notice that he still towers over you. He walks towards you slowly, and you feel all the hotter under his intense scrutiny that you just want to retreat to your bedroom and forget this ever happened.

“You don’t need to know.” He says and you feel yourself deflate, “I wanted to visit because your brother’s worried about you.”

The confession just annoys you because you knew to a certain extent that Jimin wouldn’t be here from … wherever he was … if it was only for your brother. He had to give a shit somewhere deep down in him enough to make an effort to get your address from your brother, then turn up on your doorstep unannounced with his usual impassioned stare.

“Oh fuck off, will you? I’m not a little girl anymore. I can take care of myself.” You bite back.

Jimin shoots you an unimpressed stare at your snappishness and he won't lie and say that he was pleasantly surprised to see you after a long time. You were always pretty, in an unconventional way, he supposes. You never made an effort to look nice but just did with the way you approached life, even when you were younger. But now that you were standing in front of him with a bite that you didn't have when he left, he's intrigued.

"You weren't so rude before I left." He smirks at you.

His gaze also makes you burn and you avoid his eyes when it searches for yours. You hate that his tone makes you feel funny and that you wanted him to be a little mean.

"Yeah, well—that's what happens when you don't see someone after three years with no contact or notice. They change. They get a little annoyed because someone is just too emotionally constipated to ever make any effort to keep in touch." You narrow your eyes at him.

"Why are you throwing a hissy fit? Needed me to keep you company?" He prompts.

You flush but still glare at him.

"Whatever, Jimin. I just would've appreciated it if you called. Or at least have done something to let me know that you were alive." You mutter.

Somehow, he's managed to cage you in with his body against the back of the sofa, and your breath hitches when you feel his broad chest pressed on yours. You didn't realise it happened until he places his arms by your side, effectively leaving you with no room to leave. You gulp because this is the closest you've ever been to Jimin and you feel dizzy. He smells fresh like laundry and flowers. It's a huge juxtaposition to his demeanour, but he smells good and you want to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"Why would I? You're Yoongi's sister. Not my girlfriend." He smirks.

You huff and roll your eyes. The reminder stings a little and you know he's baiting you.

"So? Were we not at least friends?" You snap.

He wants to laugh because you're obviously annoyed at the casual way he referred to you as Yoongi's little sister. You're frowning but attempting to pretend that it didn't bother you.

Jimin would be lying if he said he was never interested. Because he was, undoubtedly so. But back then when you were still navigating your way at the beginning of adulthood with Yoongi constantly breathing down his neck, he would have never done anything to compromise his friendship with your brother; or lead you on. But now you were standing in front of him, soft and sweet with a little edge to you that draws him in.

"Do you usually have crushes on your friends?" He pushes.

Your eyes widen and snap up to look at his teasing expression. His smirk is apparent against the rest of his face and you feel absolutely mortified that he's so close to you when he called you out.

"W-What? A crush? I didn't have a crush on you!" You rebuff him with a stuttery voice and you weakly try to push him away.

But he locks you in position with his hands around your wrist as he leans down and crowds you further with his presence.

"You didn't?" He feigns hurt, then he pulls away abruptly and you're immediately chasing his warmth, "Shame. I would've liked that a lot."

You gape at him when he shuffles away, putting some distance between the two of you as he dusts his hands on his slacks, giving you a curt smile; one that never reached his eyes but that was still Jimin being friendly.

"Y-You what ...?" You squeak.

Jimin shrugs and walks towards your door and you're half-terrified and half-relieved at the prospect of him leaving. But you're more terrified because you don't know if you'll ever see him again and with your current interaction you don't think you'll ever get over him.

"Usually a cute girl crushing on me would be a huge ego boost ... but you didn't, so ..." He trails off.

You bite your lips as you play with your hands. You know he's teasing you and you didn't know when he's gotten so forward, or good at this game. But you suppose Jimin has always been charming too, even if he was bad at emotions. He was good at playing them. And the way he rakes his eyes over your body only to bite his lip makes you burn in want.

He's about to turn the knob of your door but you reach out to grab his wrist before your mind can tell you it's a bad idea.

"W-What if I ... what if I ..." You mumble, hands wrapped loosely around his wrist as he turns around, leaning against the door the way boys do that was super hot for no reason.

"Speak up, bunny."

The nickname only makes you blush harder because it reminded you of all the times he's ever called you that stupid childhood nickname that somehow followed you up until adulthood. But you had to admit the way that Jimin uses it makes you feel ...warm. Like you want him to call you bunny for whatever reason he does so.

"WhatifIdid ...?" You mutter quickly and softly that Jimin leans in to get a better listen, also prompting you to speak louder.

"Couldn't hear you." He sing-songs.

You grit your teeth and swallow your pride because even after three years, you were soft and pliant for Park Jimin even if he was hot to the touch. You just wanted to please him.

"What if I did?" You say a little louder, braver, with determined eyes, "What if I did have a crush on you?"

He grins at you in Jimin fashion that was still a little reserved but warm because you knew him. You knew that was what he wanted to hear. So, he rests his body against the door and gestures his finger in a come-hither motion to get you to step closer, which you oblige. It should've been offensive that he could summon you so easily, but Jimin was a lot of things but he would never take advantage of your passiveness.

"I don't know. What would you have done if I hadn't left? Play friends? Family maybe?" He teases.

You scrunch your nose at the prospect of playing family with him because you've heard that phrase way too many times. Your parents at one point kept on saying how you had two older brothers instead of one because Jimin was always there, but they were blissfully unaware of your crush and the way you'd frown at the suggestion.

"We would've hung out more ..." You mumble.

Jimin snorts but cocks his head for you to continue.

"What's the point of this?" You huff, shutting your eyes when you can feel his gaze on you.

"You tell me. You were the one with the crush."

You want to correct him and say am the one with the crush, but you bite your tongue.

"You're the one who wants to know." You respond with indignation.

He chuckles, low and deep before he tilts your chin upwards with his index finger.

"You're still a little girl, aren't you ______?" You think it's the first time Jimin has called your name the entire time he's been here and you almost whine with the sultry look he's giving you.

Jimin applauds his self-control because you were a sight to behold. Even if you were in sweats and a tank, with your glasses drooping slightly down your nose and tangled hair, you still were so appealing even if you didn't know. You looked comfortable, homey and it did make Jimin burn with an ugly monster to know that 'Tae' could see you like this daily.

"Am not." You growl, but he only thinks you look like an angry bunny.

"You are. You don't know how to ask for things, hm?" He hums, tracing a finger up your jaw to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"I so do know how to ask for things that I want. I do it all the time." You retort petulantly like you had a point to prove but Jimin only chuckles darkly.

"Then what do you want right now?"

Jimin's question is expected but it also throws you off-guard.

"R-Right n-now?" You stutter.

He tuts as if he expected your bewildered and shocked expression.

"When else but now, bunny?" He whispers as his gaze has you locked in a trance when your eyes dart to his lips when he drags his tongue over it. You're entrapped in him because his mouth suddenly looked really inviting.

"I really wanna ..." You mumble, ears flushing a pretty shade of red and you lean into Jimin's hand when he cradles your cheek gently.

Jimin was capable of being gentle, even though he chose not to. But he never was, though there was something about you that made his territorial, made him want to fight. He didn't know when he started feeling this way but he supposed it was a flurry of emotions and the accumulation of the times he's spent with you throughout the years. Three years didn't do him justice and only made him think of you more. He knew he was hard to read, and frankly even harder to understand. Jimin also knew that you were fully aware of this fact. But that didn't deter you in trying to get to know him, to prick yourself against all his edges that were harder to accept.

You were sweet and naive, a type of person that Jimin would usually scoff at. But your one-dimensional and idealistic view of the world was fresh to him, even if that meant you were living in your head most of the time. It never took away from the fact that you were kind and understanding. The type of person that cracked all of Jimin's harshness made him want to try.

But it didn't mean he wasn't going to have his fun. He liked seeing you like this, gentle and warm, close to him as you look at him with a hazy expression.

"Wanna do what?" He prods, reaching his hand to the back of your hair to tug your face closer to his, but maintaining enough distance to prompt you to make the first move.

Jimin would do it. But he wanted to be sure that you wanted this, and not the idea of him. Sure, he was giving you hints and nudging you, but he also was aware of the fact that you'd never say or do anything that you didn't want. You were always clear-cut about this type of thing.

"You know ... that ... thing ..." You mumble, shifting on your feet as he glances down to your face.

You still looked unsure, but you leaned into his hold regardless, and Jimin took that as a good sign. You just need a little push.

"You know I'm not that bright. You need to tell me, bunny." He says gently.

You can't stop the small whimper in the back of your throat at the nickname and it's taking everything in Jimin's willpower to not take you against this wall. He would, but you deserved sweet things and he wanted to try be that for you.

"I ... I wanna ..." You whisper, "Wanna ... kiss you."

You clutch his t-shirt in his hands and when you glance up he's grinning widely as if he's won the lottery.

He nods his head ever so softly, and you take that as a cue to lean in.

When you do kiss him, you already feel your knees buckling because it's like everything you dreamed and more. Jimin was the right amount of assertive and gentle that makes you chase his mouth even if you were pressed up against him. He takes the lead eventually when his hand cups your jaw to angle your mouth deeper into his, and your body flush against his.

You feel like a teenager again having your first kiss, but it may as well be because you've always wondered what it was like to share your first kiss with Jimin back in high school.

"Is that all?" He whispers against your lips, but before you can respond—

"Oh fuck, I'm sorry!" You hear Taehyung squeak and that makes you pull away from Jimin, highly embarrassed to be caught making out with him against your door like a horny teenager.

You want to curse at Taehyung but he's already ducking into the kitchen before you can get any words out.

Jimin doesn't look affected, if anything, he looks pleased. The moment you shared a clear testament of who you belonged to and Jimin loved the fact of people knowing it was him.

When you look at Jimin, you're equally parts flushed from the kiss but giddy too. You give him a shy smile, and Jimin just chuckles lowly at your bashfulness.

"I'll see you around, ______," Jimin smirks at you when he reaches for the doorknob to leave. You follow him out, wanting a little more privacy even if it was in the hallway of your apartment complex.

When Jimin steps out and with you behind him, you swing on your feet as he observes your next actions. You clear your throat, even though you were confused and glad—because that was the closest thing you could get from Jimin that was affection so you'd take it.

"So ... what does this ..." You mumble, before shaking your head.

Jimin raises an eyebrow.

"What did I say about asking for what you want?" He berates you as if he was speaking to a child, but his tone is still curt and a little detached, but very like Jimin. You know that it's him and you like that anyways.

"Don't make me say it ... it's already embarrassing as it is ..." You whine, burying your head into his t-shirt.

Jimin welcomes the sudden closeness and pats you softly on the head. It's a little stiff because he still isn't used to physical affection that wasn't 'intimate', but he did say he would try for you.

"Again: I'm not that bright." He teases.

You roll your eyes, but then bite your lips when you see he's waiting for a response.

"... what does this mean for us?" You ask softly.

Jimin smiles at you and decides to grant you a gentle kiss to your forehead. A kiss that was so domestic and soft that you feel your heart soar.

"Check your phone." Is all he says when he waves you goodbye, as you stare at him dumbly, heart still fluttering and cheeks burning.

When you return back into your home, you lean against your door as you press a hand to your chest to feel the way your heart beats rapidly against it. You feel weak in the knees but so blissful that you let out a squeal into the palm of your hands.

Once you've calmed down, and offered Taehyung a look that said you'll explain later—you rush to check your phone, only to smile at what lies on the screen.

Unknown Number [17:21]: hi bunny

Unknown Number [17:21]: save my contact

Unknown Number [17:21]: make sure that when people see it they'll know you're mine

Unknown Number [17:22]: see you soon

Unknown Number [17:22]: if you're still a little slow ... it's jimin

Unknown Number [17:25]: ❤️

You notice the heart emoji was sent a few minutes after the rest of his texts, which showed you that he may have contemplated whether or not to send it. You feel your heart flutter, as you plop back onto your bed, a wide grin splaying on your face.

extra scene

"I'm sorry ... what?" Yoongi chokes on the piece of meat he just shoved into his mouth as he stares at his best friend in the face as if he'd grown another head. But as usual, he seemed to only attract people that were vastly similar to him, and Jimin's face is unreadable as ever. But Yoongi knows he's serious and not fucking around because he's looking intently at the older boy for a response.

"So?" Jimin says casually, leaning into his seat and Yoongi needs to chug down a glass of water to ensure that the food goes down all the way before he can say anything to the question Jimin just posed him with.

"You want my sister's address ... to ... I'm sorry, correct me if I'm wrong but I had a fall and I may have a concussion so I don't know if I'm hearing things right," Yoongi deadpans but Jimin just rolls his eyes at the older one's dramatics before nodding his head for him to continue.

"You want her address to ... confess to her?" Yoongi says hesitantly and Jimin nods his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But it wasn't. Because as long as Yoongi's known Jimin, he's been all detached and broody, uninterested in everything and everyone. He's never shown the slightest interest in anyone and usually opted for casual hookups than actual relationships so clearly, Yoongi is a little skeptical.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi asks baffled.

Jimin nods, folding his arms across his chest.

"Yes. I went for a medical check-up that day and my doctor said he's never seen results as impeccable as mine." Jimin says blandly.

Yoongi scoffs.

"You're just not ... the dating type, you know? Much less ... with my sister?" It sounds weird to even Yoongi's ears. He grew out of his childish mindset and had no problem with Jimin dating you, but it was still weird to see his best friend showing interest in you.

"I like her. And I respect you. Which is why I came to you before I did anything."

Yoongi gapes at his best friend, who looks much softer than he usually does.

"Wow ... I just ..." Yoongi exhales, "Damn."

Jimin offers a small smile before gesturing to their food.

"At least we can really be brothers now." Yoongi jokes, sliding a piece of paper with your address on it to Jimin.

Jimin smiles fondly at the paper before tucking it into his shirt jacket.

The image of you in white, smiling and looking only at him drives him to see you the next day.

#bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts jimin #jimin imagine #jimin fluff #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #park jimin fluff #park jimin fic #fluff #mutual pining #cute

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bandaigaeru · 3 years

Text

comfort place - yang jeongin

→genre: friends to lovers →synopsis: comfort can manifest itself in many forms. some find it in the fantastical world of the arts. others find it in sports. but, for you, comfort is a person. →word count: 6.5k →pairing: jeongin x gender neutral reader →warnings: drunk jeongin, mentions of puking

“Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“That,” your eyes go wide as you nod at his stature. He’s hunched over your trash can. Blue gloves shield his hands as he digs.

“Oh. I think I lost my earring or something.”

“And your first instinct was to search my trash can?” you quirk an eyebrow. Perhaps you should mention that this isn’t just any trash can, it’s your kitchen one. Full of discarded, burnt ramen and your roommate’s weird protein shakes that will clog your drain otherwise.

He nods, as though this is the most normal first step to a lost earring. Yang Jeongin is many things, but being questionable is one of his strongest traits.

You slip behind him to get to the fridge. Water bottles line the right half, more commonly known as your roommate’s side. You reach for one.

“What are you doing on March twenty-fifth?” he asks, arms deep in your trashcan. He’s really going to endure this conversation without a single shred of his pride disappearing.

You try not to look at him as you glance at the calendar. Two weeks away, the small square for that Saturday reads “NATIONALS” in large red letters.

You hum to yourself. “Dog sitting.”

“What?” he looks at you, eyes squinted in confusion, “Why?”

“Danceracha’s going out of town for the dance contest. I told you this.”

He exhales a deep, surrendering sigh as he straightens his back and plucks the gloves off. He shakes his hands in the cool air before starting for your sink. The calm stream of water trickles out. “Man. That sucks.”

“Why?” you question. Your fingertips draw marks of condensation along the plastic.

“I was gonna invite you to a party,” he mutters. A pout comes to his lips. For a moment, your heart drops. He looks the same as when you met him. All those years, long with memories but short in quantity, whizz past you.

“Party?” you repeat.

“Yeah,” he nudges the water stream off.

Parties and Jeongin don’t mix well. History has proven this.

“Whose party is it?” you start for the living room, knowing he’ll follow.

“You don’t know him,” he says, his voice never once fading because, indeed, he’s on your tail.

“Okay, but what’s his name?”

“Chan. Actually,” he hesitates, “you might know him.”

As you sink into the couch, chipped leather scratching your legs, you glance at him. His eyebrows are scrunched into his thinking stance. Then, his features light up once he finds the answer. “Do you remember sophomore year’s biology class?”

You nod.

“Remember when that senior came in to make fun of Mr. Lee?”

Again, you nod.

“His best friend is Chan. You probably saw them in our freshman yearbook for spirit week. They dressed up as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum for Twins Day.”

Your mouth forms into an acknowledging part. “Got it.” In fact, the recurring image instantly pops into your head. You can thank all the hours spent staring at it with stifled laughter for that.

“So what’s the party for?”

He shrugs, “Some college achievement shit.”

“And you got invited?” you laugh. Jeongin barely made it out of high school. He took one harrowed glance at the local campus and nearly cried. You don’t blame him, though. That place is stressful. Even as a freshman you can say this.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m cool, you know? I don’t need to be in academics for them to know that.”

“Sure,” you nod.

“I’m serious!” His lips quirk up in a defensive manner that sends a spark through your chest.

Among other things, Jeongin is confusing. Questionable and confusing. These are the words you say when someone asks you what he’s like. Because seriously, why does he always do things so infuriating yet endearing?

He runs a hand through his hair as he unlocks his phone. His thumb works quickly to swipe through a message log before he tilts the phone so you can see. “See?”

The conversation in question is short, a maximum of four texts. The details blur as he snatches his phone back as quickly as he showed it. Again, infuriating.

“Are you planning on going alone, then?”

This question makes him freeze. He stares at the wall wielding a mounted TV, whose black screen reflects the image of him by your side, shoulder to shoulder. A small smile tilts his lips. “I guess. People want me there. So I’ll find my niche.”

See? Endearing.

You have no doubts that he can find a place to fit in. He did it in high school and he’ll proceed to do it in the future. That’s just how he is. Plus, maybe he can allow someone else to feel safe too. Like he did for you.

ii.

High school is a demon with a comforting smile. When you’re forced to transition, they tell you it’s all fun. Sunshine and rainbows, if you will. What they don’t tell you is that luck will always make it so you don’t get any of your friends in your classes. And this, with your contradicting lunch shifts, will slowly force you out of the friend group you had stuck with since elementary school.

Perpetual tears are stocked behind your eyes. Waiting for the perfect moment to fall because let’s be honest, any minor inconvenience could push you over the edge. Stress does that to you.

In third period of your second week, your math teacher announces that she’s decided on her seating chart. She makes you line up against the walls as she grabs her reference sheet, lined with the images of desks, names scribbled atop them. “Jeongin,” she says, pointing to a desk in the front row.

A boy a few feet away from you steps out from the crowd to claim his desk. He’s wearing an oversized maroon hoodie whose back is marked “Yang” in white letters.

Your teacher stops at the seat next to him. She glances at you and your heart drops. “Y/N,” she points to a desk.

Sitting up front is worse than the incessant plagues of high school drama. All eyes permanently burn into the back of your head, even when not a single soul acknowledges you.

As you try to settle into your seat, back a little stiff from trying to shrink yourself into a tiny marble, the boy beside you leans over. “Hey, you okay?”

For the first time, your eyes lock. His remind you of the innocence of childhood, that blank yet full gaze. You nearly melt, but instead, your back loosens.

“Yeah. I just don’t like sitting in the front,” you chuckle awkwardly.

He smiles. Not one of the pity ones, but a real toothy smile. “Aww. Me neither, I always feel like everyone’s watching me.”

Finally, a person who gets it.

“But I just have to trick myself into not caring,” he says, glancing at the whiteboard. Shadows of poorly erased marker line the corners.

Abruptly, after his serene gaze, he jumps back to you. “Do you like coffee by any chance?”

Despite the initial shock of the question, you say, “Yeah, I do.”

As it turns out, his family owns this huge coffee shop right next to the bookstore you used to frequent. His mom was rather happy to see a new face. On that day, she accepted you as family.

And math didn’t turn out to be so hard that year.

iii.

The apartment grows quiet after Jeongin inevitably has to leave. Your roommate’s dog comes trotting out from his room. His nose is upturned, scouting for a soul to give him attention.

“Come here, Kkami,” you pat the empty spot on the couch beside you. He runs the rest of the way. Instead of resting on the couch cushion, he prefers your lap. This pickiness he obtained from his owner.

Hyunjin’s anything but a bad roommate. He does the dishes, sweeps when he finds a large puff of Kkami’s fur traveling your hardwood like a tumbleweed, even brings home coffee when you have a huge study night ahead of you. However, when it comes to you and Jeongin, your mutual hangouts on weekends, he has a very specific need. And that’s to be around you two as little as possible.

He claims it’s because he can’t stand third-wheeling. Jeongin refuses to understand this concept. “If we’re not dating, it’s not third-wheeling?” he’d said, numerous times.

Hyunjin won’t budge on the subject.

The tune set as Jeongin’s ringtone, chosen by him, plagues the air. You reach for your phone, placing a protective hand on Kkami’s side to prevent him from falling.

“Hello?”

“Problem: What would you do if your brother told you he got a girlfriend?”

You squint at your reflection in the TV between scene transitions. It looks odd without him beside you. “Which brother?”

“Guess which one would make me more dumbfounded. Hint, it’s not the older one.”

“Your younger brother got someone before you?” you snicker. Jeongin holds his pride in his individuality. Losing to a younger brother with something like this is hilarious.

“This isn’t funny! Should I be a serious big brother and talk to him or should I just seethe in silence?”

“Neither. Leave him alone.”

He does something akin to a whine. “But-”

You stick up a finger, though he can’t see you as you interrupt, “C’mon, Jeongin. He’s a teenager. Let him be.”

Sometimes, it feels like he’s the outsider and you’re the true, reasonable sibling.

He sighs. You imagine him pushing his hair out of his eyes and staring up at his ceiling. All lost in the possibilities that lay before him, since you and him both know he won’t listen to you.

“Can I hang up now?” you ask, glancing at the front door.

“Are you gonna abandon me for your significant other too?”

You scoff as the front door opens. “You’re ridiculous.”

Hyunjin steps into the apartment. His hair is damp with sweat and lays jagged in front of his eyes. You raise a hand to wave.

“It’s a real question, though. You know whoever it is will be jealous of me.” Now, you know, he’s just prodding for a reaction. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

“Yes, Jeongin. I would one hundred percent drop you for some person who offers emotional stimulation,” you monotonously chide.

Hyunjin gives you a curious look as he passes. You would think he’d be used to this by now.

“Okay but,” Jeongin’s voice grows low as he settles onto his bed, “would you really? Tell me you won’t.”

“I won’t,” you press your back deeper into the couch. It’s not like you’ve had many romantic opportunities since meeting him. Jeongin, though also needy, is more interesting than anyone else you’ve met. He’s a shiny emerald among a sea of charcoal.

“Good,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. The image of his little dimple indenting makes you mirror the sentiment.

“Now can I hang up?”

“Fine,” he sighs.

Through a laugh, you manage, “Goodnight. Love you.”

“Love you too.” And then the line goes dead.

iv.

“Are you sure you don’t like him?” must be a trendy replacement for ‘good morning.’

“Who?” you ask, rubbing your eye as you start for the cereal cabinet.

“Jeongin. Who else?” Hyunjin says. He sits at the kitchen table. A plate of freshly heated blueberry waffles sits before him.

Without turning to him, you say, “I’m sure.”

It’s a reflex, really.

He exhales in the most exaggerated way possible to grab your attention. His eyes are cold with the hunger for an answer. A real one.

“I don’t like him,” you say slowly, allowing each word time to sink into the air.

The thought has surely crossed your mind. It’d be unrealistic to say you’ve never pondered the great possibility of being in love with your best friend. But ultimately, you don’t think you are. Sure, you’d take a bullet for Jeongin. Just not in the ‘wow I’m madly in love with you’ kind of way. You tell yourself it’s in the ‘you’re going to do so much good for the world’ kind of way.

“Fine,” Hyunjin admits, picking up one of his waffles and taking a caveman bite.

Most of breakfast is quiet as you sit opposite him, staring into your bowl. Your milky reflection takes you off guard a few times.

“You know,” Hyunjin says after a while, his voice raw and a little croaky. He has to bring a hand to cover his mouth as he clears his throat. “You should get him to stay with you while I’m away.”

As you look back up at him, he adds defensively, “I’m not trying to play Cupid.”

You shrug, “He probably has other plans.”

Yet when you text him a few hours later, he jumps on it. “It’ll be like a sleepover! Don’t you miss when we did those?”

You did, but you don’t admit it.

The week of nationals arrives too quickly for your mind to process. One minute, you’re studying for an upcoming exam and the next there’s a knock on your bedroom door. It doesn’t wait for a sound before opening.

“Hey, I’m leaving.”

Hyunjin’s dressed in black sweatpants and a black hoodie, which covers his messy hair. Perfect for his night of sleeping on the bus. A duffel bag packed and puffy hangs off his shoulder.

“Good luck,” you smile up at him.

“Thanks. Don’t try sneaking into the venue with your rat like you did last year,” he returns the smile.

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea,” you rush to defend yourself.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right. You still played into it.”

“And we got to support you as your lovely friends.”

“You were the only people cheering during the contemporary dance,” he mumbles, stepping back into the hall.

“To be fair, we couldn’t realize because we were so involved!” you shout to match the increasing distance.

“Right!” he calls, a laugh shaking his words.

Studying is now a failed mission. Every time you glance at the words printed on the textbook’s glossed pages, they just blur together until your mind drifts to Jeongin. When is he coming over? He said he’d be here by seven. It’s roughly a quarter past. He has a key, so it’s not like you have to be free when he gets here.

When you succumb and close the textbook, you hear shuffling in the living room. Shortly followed by Kkami’s familiar barking, which he only pursues when someone’s here.

The feeling of a generously excited puppy fills you as you follow the source.

“Hi,” you smile.

Jeongin has treated himself to a coffee. He must have just worked a shift.

“Hi,” he hands you the paper cup.

“Oh, is this for me?” you take it. It’s hot against your palms.

“Yeah. It’s hot chocolate. Thought you might want it.”

He drops his backpack, likely stuffed with potential party outfits, by the couch. He stands and scans your face as you take the first sip of the drink. The sweetness takes over and makes you shiver, but the warmth minimizes the shiver to nothing. Surely enough, this is his mother’s hot chocolate.

“Thank you,” you say, looking into his eyes. The living room light has speckled his eyes with stars.

“Of course.”

A moment passes of just looking at each other. Not a single word. You’re not even sure if you’re remembering to breathe.

It breaks when he glances at the TV. “Movie time?”

Settling on the couch doesn’t take long. He sits close enough to you, resting his head on your shoulder. He’s done this for as long as you remember, but why does it feel so close all of a sudden?

He chooses the movie. A tradition you’ve established ever since you accidentally chose a movie so repulsively awful you had to take a break from watching movies at all. The teasing was barely bearable.

Even now, when someone says something similar to that movie, you shiver.

“Are we feeling sci-fi?” he asks.

You almost shrug until you remember where his head is. “I don’t care,” you say instead.

He chooses a romance movie, his safe pick.

And he falls asleep not even ten minutes in.

Hyunjin’s question returns to you in neon lights. Certainly, this tight feeling in your chest couldn’t be akin to liking someone. When you like someone, there’s always a telltale sign. There’s a bright moment of realization. That’s never come for you. Even now, all you can do is question. Question. Question. Question.

vi.

Jeongin’s party outfit is the most conspicuous thing ever. A light blue tee from middle school that has all his classmate’s signatures on the back. Black jeans with holes at the knees. You can’t tell if he’s going to a child’s party or not.

He catches your tilted gaze, matched with the furrowed eyebrows, and huffs. “Would you rather I get puke on a good shirt?”

You blink. “I’d rather you not puke on yourself.”

A noise close to laughter bursts past his lips. “Ha. Funny. I won’t reach that point. I’m thinking people puking on me.”

You nod. Jeongin’s a lightweight, from what you know. But hey, if it helps him sleep at night.

He departs after a long phone call with Chan. He offers a little wave as he opens the door. “I’ll give you live updates.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I will.”

And indeed, he follows through. Selfies bombard your phone every three minutes. One is taken with Chan, but it’s so shaky and dark that they look like blobs with highlighted cheeks.

These only make you more confused. Maybe Hyunjin was right. But you don’t want him to be. Nothing makes you feel more foolish than catching feelings for a friend who is just that. Friend. That painful, heartbreaking word.

You open Hyunjin’s message log, prepared to reach out and ask if he can help you break down what you’re feeling, but his contact transitions to consuming your entire screen—perfect timing, he’s calling.

“Hello?”

“Guess what?” His voice is drowned out by external shouts.

“What?”

“We took second place!”

“Congrats,” you smile to yourself, leaning against the couch arm.

“It’s all thanks to Felix’s freestyle. That surprise category threw us off, but he really came through,” he rambles. He tells you about all his points and each error, which ultimately seem mundane but apparently make a difference in his detail loving mind.

“Anyway, I just wanted to call. See how you’re doing, you know.”

“I’m doing good,” you nod as though to convince yourself.

“How’s Jeongin?”

“At a party,” you say as your phone buzzes again. Another selfie. This time, he’s in a lonesome bathroom and posing in the mirror. A peace sign that surrounds his eye. That stupid dimple makes your heart jump.

Hyunjin giggles at something on his end and says something not aimed at you. He quickly returns to his serious tone with, “How are you really feeling? Don’t bullshit me.”

You stifle a laugh. Resting your head on the back of the couch, you glare at the ceiling, “Confused.”

“About Jeongin?”

He slips into a quieter place. You sigh. Why are your hands shaking all of a sudden? “Yeah.”

“Well,” he starts, “I pushed you into thinking about it for a reason.”

“He doesn’t like me like that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because friends don’t like friends like that.”

“But you like him like that, so doesn’t that ruin your statement?”

You sit in the silence for a minute. “I guess so.”

His breath is amplified and you can hear each inhale and exhale. “You’ll probably just brush this off, but I think you have a shot.”

You nod. “Sure. A shot at going to the moon maybe. A shot at Jeongin liking me? No way.”

“Look, pessimism isn’t gonna get you anywhere. If you’re too much of a pussy to talk to him, I will. But not because I want to, because it’s terrible seeing you sulk,” he mutters.

A round of applause for your roommate.

“Just give me some time. I still don’t know if I like him,” you glance at the dog, who’s cuddled up on a pile of blankets. Why can’t your life be that simple?

“Not trying to force you or anything, but I think you know the answer to that.”

He’s probably right. It’s not like you can retaliate anyway. There’s a distant knock before he says, “Sorry. I gotta go. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

The following silence is truly suffocating.

vii.

That party changes everything.

Jeongin stumbles home, each step a potential path to faceplanting. It’s this exact stumble that forces him to trip over a box.

The noise draws you from sleep. Through squinted eyes, you stare at him as he tries to regain his balance. His arms are splayed out, searching for a stable support beam.

“Jeongin?” you whisper, though you know it’s him. Who else would be drunkenly returning home at, you glance at your phone, three in the morning?

“Y/N,” he gasps. Your voice prompts him to follow it.

As you stand, he finds his way through the narrow path between couch and coffee table. He throws his arms around you.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, words meshing together.

“I missed you too?” It’s only been six hours.

He holds you at arms length, palms resting on your shoulders. “I love you,” he slurs, eyes drunkenly taking a long blink.

“I love you too?”

“No, like, I really love you. ‘The moon is beautiful’ type of stuff,” he nods.

You’re not sure what he means by this. But it doesn’t matter if you try to question him, because he continues.

“I think about the future a lot,” he says, hands falling to his sides before he falls onto the couch. “Nothing’s ever consistent. But you’re always there.”

“That’s-” you begin.

He wasn’t finished. “I think our wedding would be nice.”

Now, he goes silent as you stand there in shock. He thinks about that? How often?

The moment your lips part to ask these things, a light snore escapes his lips. You grab a blanket from your room, the Totoro one he loves, and you gently cover him. You lean over his face. His cheeks are a little swollen, as are his lips. You push his hair away from his eyes before going to your room. You’re careful not to make a noise as you shut the door.

He’s gone by the time you wake up. For the first twenty-four hours, you shrug it off as a painful hangover he’s just sleeping through.

Most hangovers don’t last a week, though.

One time, sitting beneath a sky littered with stars, Jeongin released a deep breath. “Do you think we’ll ever stop being friends?”

Jeongin’s not insecure about many things, as his philosophy is that if one person finds something unattractive, there’s a hoard who will think otherwise. But this topic is an exception.

“Unless you do something unthinkably terrible, no,” you mumble. And you truly meant it.

So, Jeongin: You haven’t done anything unthinkable.Why have you disappeared?

Life without Jeongin has been incredibly boring. It’s prompted an imminent heartache. Attending class is a lame option considering your bed is so much more comfortable. You never knew missing someone could form a black hole in your body, consuming each grain of energy.

Hyunjin’s the only reason you’re eating. Since he knows you’re not up for any meal, he brings you snacks and another bottle of water—to add to the mountain of empty bottles on your desk.

“Do I need to go break his ankles?” Hyunjin asks one day, nearly a month after his tournament.

You shrug. You know he’s joking, but laughter doesn’t seem to bubble up. It’s lost in the dark cave that is this confusing state.

“I texted him today. No response yet,” Hyunjin adds.

You nod. You got the same treatment, but you stopped trying a while ago.

“Have you gone to the coffee shop? To see his mom or something?”

You shake your head. “No point in it. He doesn’t tell her much. Plus I don’t want to pin her against him or anything.”

Hyunjin sighs. He doesn’t know what else to say, or offer, or do to help you. Not that you’re a lost cause, but he’s starting to lose the ounce of hope he had. To him, you’re too good for this. Telling and convincing you of that is a difficult task.

When he leaves you alone, you cry again. At this point, your eyes hurt when you aren’t crying. But hey, at least you’re sleeping nice. The desperate need to escape can do that to you.

viii.

You tell Hyunjin your conclusion at dinner—something he’s finally tricked you into eating. “I think I love him.”

He nods. “Yeah. Didn’t we already establish that?”

You push the noodles around. “I didn’t want to admit it.”

“Why?”

Averted gaze set to the ramen, though his remains scalding. “I don’t know.”

He reaches across the table to regain your focus. He knows the noodles aren’t that interesting. “That’s okay. Look, we can go beat his ass if you want. Or we can hunt him down and hold him hostage-”

He stops when he sees the small hint of a smile turning your lips up. One of his own appears, and in his mind, he’s breaking into a congratulatory dance. The crack in the sadness is exposed, and it’s slowly breaking further. All that’s next is revealing the ravine of happiness.

After dinner, you sit on the couch and decide to watch a movie. Unlike Jeongin, he gives you movie pick. It reminds you of the bitter taste that’s overcome your mouth since he up and left.

Halfway through the movie, some shitty one Jeongin and you watched a few months ago, Kkami barks at the couch. He looks between you and the crack behind it as if to say, “Hello? Get my bone!”

You glance at Hyunjin, who also waits for you to get up and retrieve the dog’s lost bone. Normally you take turns with this task, but he seems to have forgotten it’s been his turn for the last five times.

With a muted sigh, you pull yourself off the couch. Hyunjin doesn’t even bother to pause the movie. Jeongin wouldn’t do that.

You lower yourself to look into the dark tunnel. With a blind hand you swipe against the floor. A small object connects with the palm of your hand. You drag it out. A small metal earring glares back at you. You drop it in the pocket of your hoodie—which was a gift from Jeongin as you drifted into adulthood. You return to the bone search with a sting in your eyes.

ix.

Happiness is a fragile object.

At the same hour that Jeongin had said the unthinkable, your phone buzzes loudly against your side. Ultimately, this brings you back to the post-sleep daze as you trudge to answer it. Looking at the contact is the last of your concerns.

“Hello?” Your voice is raw. A long gulp of water would be kindly appreciated.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” This is a voice you’ve never heard before. You pull back to look at the contact and, unsurprisingly, there isn’t one. All that stares back is a string of numbers, unique to this person.

“Yeah?”

“Hi, sorry for the late call. I’m Chan-” you nearly hang up out of defensive instinct, but you let him finish. “I kind of need a favor right now.”

“What kind of favor?”

In the background, there’s a loud retching noise. “Um, so Jeongin, right?” Chan nervously laughs.

“We’re not really-” you start.

He interrupts, “I know. But he’s been talking about you nonstop. He’s really a wimp, you know. Actually, I guess I’m not really asking for a favor. I’m doing you a favor.”

You know where he’s going with this. “I’m sorry, Chan, but I don’t think that’s a-”

“Hush,” he says before his voice distances.

“Y/N? It’s Y/N?” the familiar, slurred voice asks.

He wasn’t going to give you an option. Deep down, you’re kind of grateful for that.

When Chan returns to the phone, he says, “I can send you the address. We’re on the first floor, so it shouldn’t be too bad. I would offer to come pick you up, but I’m babysitting.” At these final words, he laughs.

You consider waking up Hyunjin to take you—he’s the one with the car—but you think against it when you realize it’s only a five minute walk.

Despite the daytime weather that is clear sky and sun that hugs your skin, the nighttime

version is a little less welcoming. Indeed the air is breezeless, but it’s a bitter cold. Grabbing a hoodie would have been smart, but alas.

Chan opens the door with a smile. “Hi, come on in.”

He points to a closed door, “Jeongin’s in there. He should be decent. Just a little pukey.”

You follow his directions, while he starts for the couch. At least he’s allowing privacy, you think. You knock lightly on the door. After a long trial of waiting with no response, you slowly push the door open.

His cheek is resting on the cold porcelain of the bathtub. Through dazed and squinted eyes, he looks at you. “Hi?”

“Hey,” you say, stepping into his space for the first time in over a month. Despite the stain of puke on his shirt, you realize that he hasn’t changed much. What physical changes can someone go through in a month? Well. Everything.

You appreciate your mind for allowing his appearance to never leave. Otherwise, you might have looked at him just now and been disgusted. Because it’s Jeongin, and because of this weird tugging feeling in your chest, you don’t. In its place, you look at him as though he holds the world’s most valuable object.

He tries to sit up, nearly falls on his face, but manages. “Do you hate me?”

“No. I don’t think so,” you squat next to him. The familiar weight of his head meets with your shoulder.

“I shouldn’t say this,” he laughs. His mind is going a mile a minute, but his lips refuse to go at an accompanying speed. “I love you.”

You stare at the top of his head. “I love you too.”

“Really?” he lifts his head. He seems to search your eyes for the similar sparkle his hold.

“Yeah,” you nod. You decide to save your cheesy comments until the morning. No point in wasting them if he won’t remember this when he wakes up.

“Did you know that I,” he says, trying to lift himself to his feet. He leans a little too far on a foot, prompting you to rush and steady him. “thought you and Hyunjin were dating for the longest time.” He laughs again.

You squint at him, “Is that why you disappeared?”

A drunk smile finds his lips and his cheeks glow beneath the bathroom light. “Guilty.”

“You’re stupid for thinking it’d ever be anyone but you,” you whisper, glancing anywhere but him. You could say this to the mirror too. Stupid for thinking it could be anyone but him.

He’s ridiculous. Ridiculous enough to allow his smile to drop a little as he leans closer to your face. “I’m going to kiss you,” he whispers.

You watch as he leans a little bit closer. Bit by bit. You even close your eyes at one point. At the last minute, when his breath begins to mingle with yours, he pulls away. “No. Let me brush my teeth first.”

You watch in a stunned silence as he stumbles to the living room. “Do you have a spare toothbrush I could use?” he asks Chan.

Chan responds quietly with, “Yeah, under the sink.”

You beat Jeongin to it, offering him the packaged toothbrush.

“Thanks, love,” he says.

Questionable Jeongin who calls you pet names. You like it, though you’ll try your hardest not to admit it. That’d only feed into his questionable choices.

Minty Jeongin has sobered up a little bit. Instead of kissing you immediately after rinsing his mouth, he stares.

“What?” you prompt.

“Nothing.”

And then he leans in and kisses you. In all honesty, it’s exactly how you imagined kissing him. There’s no stereotypical sparks. It’s just Jeongin, whose lips happen to be on yours. That’s enough. Afterward, though, you acknowledge that Cloud 9 is beneath your feet.

Chan drives you and Jeongin back to your apartment after a difficult talk and one final puke. (The puker looks at you when he feels it coming and asks, “Can you hold my hair back?”)

As you’re helping Jeongin out of the car, Chan leans back in the driver seat and glares a strong eye at Jeonign, “Run away again and I will beat your ass.”

Jeongin chuckles. “Right. Catch me first.” As he says this, he throws his arm over your shoulder for stability. Though, he’s sober enough to walk on his own now. The occasional stumble, sure, but he’s not in dire need of someone to guide him.

You take it as his way of saying he plans on staying.

However, when you make it into the apartment, you don’t bear right to the couch.

Keeping him close will prevent him sneaking out and running away again. That’s a thing of the past, and you’ll make sure of it.

He doesn’t even complain.

“Don’t puke on me, please,” you whisper as you climb into bed. He follows shortly after. Arms naturally find your waist as he pulls you closer to him.

He hums. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dreamless sleep takes over you, but the entire time you’re aware of his arms and his proximity. In a way, it’s better than dreaming.

It’s even better when you wake up before him. His lips are a pretty shade of pink and for a moment you forget about his eventful night. You press a light kiss to his cheek.

His eyes don’t open, nor does he stir. He’s in that beautiful, drunken sleep. You try not to laugh at the thought of his hangover to come. God, he’s going to be so whiny.

You try to slip out of his arms, but the death grip only becomes tighter. He whines a little, mutters something like, “Don’t go.”

After a few more minutes of just staring at the sleeping boy, boredom takes over. Yeah, staring is nice and all, whatever, but it reaches a certain intolerable point. Ten minutes is that point.

You nudge him, “Jeongin, let go. I need to go to the bathroom.”

“No,” he mutters, burying his face deeper into the pillow.

“Jeongin.”

“What?”

“Let go.”

His eyes finally open. They hold a small sense of surprise, which prompts you to tease, “What? Do you need a breakdown of what happened? Were you seriously that out of it?”

“No. Well, a little,” he stumbles over the words.

“What do you remember?”

“Puking,” he winces as he laughs. There’s that signature headache.

“You don’t remember kissing me?”

Wide eyes stare back at you. His lip shakes as he tries to force words out. “What?”

You laugh quietly. “Yeah. You did that.”

“I’m sorry,” he sits up. His vacant arms feel cold.

“No it’s okay. You only kissed me because I told you I loved you,” you sit up to match him.

His head turns to look at you. Tufts of hair stick up in an oddly symmetrical way. “Really? Since when?”

You nod. “Yeah. Time frame is unknown, but I think the feeling might have always been there. So you wasted a month of your life hiding.”

He tips his head, “Hey now, I had a valid reason.”

Your eyes squint at him. “It could have been avoided if you answered my texts. Or Hyunjin’s. Or if you checked your voicemail. Or-”

“Okay, I get it,” he nods, leaning in to shut you up. He presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say how weird it feels to kiss his best friend—but he’s incredibly excited to get used to it.

“It’s fine. I think. My grades kind of tanked,” you comment, glancing at your desk. The tower of water bottles still stands. Somewhere buried beneath them are your abandoned papers.

“Because of me?” his voice is soft, as are his eyes as he fights back the sting of tears. Of all his intentions, this wasn’t one of them.

This look pains you. “Kinda. I thought I had lost my comfort place.”

In order to disguise his tears, he pulls you into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be good to you. We can make latte art together at the shop and stargaze at stupid hours. Whatever you want.”

You laugh into his shoulder. “Is that a promise?”

He sniffles. “Yes. I love you. That’s the second promise.”

xi.

Hyunjin’s reaction is lackluster. A forced gasp as he waves his hands in surprise. “Wow. I totally didn’t give Chan your number or anything,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. He called me trying to drop him,” he points at Jeongin, “on me.”

“And you didn’t want to get out of bed?” Jeongin asks, bringing his mug of freshly brewed coffee to his lips.

“No,” Hyunjin sticks a finger up in defense. “Kkami wouldn’t let me move.”

What he means is: Yes, I didn’t want to get up but allow me to use my dog as a ploy.

You and Jeongin share a glance to confirm this thought. You burst out laughing.

“Do not tell me you’ve developed a couple's telepathy already,” Hyunjin whines, throwing his head back as he begins to pace the kitchen.

Jeongin begs your stare again. He wiggles his eyebrows to pseudo-communicate.

“I’m going to retail therapy,” Hyunjin sighs, dragging his keys off the counter before starting for the door.

A loud fit of laughter fills the air as the door shakes in its frame.

“He’s so overdramatic,” Jeongin manages, wiping a stray tear away from his eye.

You allow this time to watch him intently. All of his details flood over you with definitive clarity. His skin has gotten its first film of tan now that spring is in full swing. A change of season which you had missed out on together. It’s okay, he’ll take you to see the cherry blossoms next year.

“Oh, I found your earring, by the way,” you say when he catches you staring.

“Really? Where was it?” On instinct, he brings his hand up to his right ear. The lobes are not blinged, but it’s still worth checking.

“Behind the couch.”

He gapes at you. “How’d it get back there?”

“How would I know?”

You allow a silence to lay upon you as his face twists to think. All at once, it lights up again, “Ah. It was probably when we had that wrestling match. I didn’t have the back on because my ear was itchy or something.”

Interesting Jeongin. Questionable Jeongin.

Yang Jeongin is many things. Home. Comfort. Love. Above all else, he’s a friend. Who you happen to kiss from time to time.

#posted on april fools because surprise haha #also because i don’t think this is my best but eh #yang jeongin #jeongin x reader #jeongin imagine #jeongin oneshot #stray kids oneshot #skz oneshot #stray kids jeongin #stray kids imagine #skz imagine #bandaigaeru

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unmaskedagain · 4 years

Text

Truth is Subjective

This post is based off a prompt by #galahadwilder. I give all credit to them for the idea.

This did not turn out the way I wanted it to. AT ALL. I completely missing the mark; or in this case prompt. I couldn’t figure out how to make it work like I had envisioned when I first read the prompt. And now I’m just like ugh. L

When Ladybug saw Alya frantically waving her down from where she was on top of her apartment roof. It was, nearly after midnight. She just finished off an Akuma. However, emotions had been running high among the students in her class so Ladybug didn’t hesitate to see what was wrong. Alya made not have been her best friend, or any type of friend, anymore but Ladybug was still a hero.

A hero who was not happy to see Lila Rossi standing next to her.

The Italian girl looked pleasant at first glance but anger was clear in her eyes. Alya had her phone out. It took all of two seconds for Marinette to figure out what was going on. Alya wanted an interview with Ladybug and her supposed best friend. Lila was sure Ladybug would reveal the truth like she did last time.

Marinette fought to keep the grin off her face. She had idea. A rather wicked idea. She had taken to spending a lot of time with Jagged and Penny and Audrey Bourgeois, watching how they manipulated the news to better suit their individual brands. She now know that even if she told Alya what a liar Lila was, Lila could and would easily spin it to say that “Ladybug said that to protect me”. And Alya would just believe it.

Not this time, Marinette vowed.

“Ladybug!” Alya beamed and immediately jumped into the interview, “I’ve been trying to catch you for months.”

“I know,” Ladybug said coolly.

Marinette had decided that if Alya couldn’t check her facts, then Ladybug couldn’t work with her. She had been reporting too much false information and more or less become a site dedicated to shipping Ladybug with Chat Noir and promoting Lila’s B.S.

Alya didn’t seem to notice the frost in the air. “We’re live streaming for the Ladyblog,” She said. “Ladybug and Lila Rossi; best friends forever.” She said waving her phone between the two. “Ladybug, Lila what’s it look being friends. Lila said she helped you rescue a bunch of people when you still lived in Italy. Before you became Ladybug!”

Lila looked sick, “Now, it was so long ago. She probably doesn’t remember.”

“I’m sorry, Alya, but this interview is over,” Ladybug responded and before reporter could protest, she added. “I refuse to give an interview with my stalker.”

It was like the wind was punched out of Alya, “Sta- Stalker?”

Lila just stared with her mouth opened.

Ladybug nodded gravely, while inwardly Marinette cheered, “Stalker. What else would you call someone who constantly follows you around? Interfere with my rescues. Fantasize scenarios where we’re close personal friends and tells people about it. Try to convince everyone that those tales are real. Maybe it’s a coincidence that she transferred into only class in the entire school, out of all the public schools in France that has had the most akumas thus students I see regularly. Despite her mother being an important diplomat? Who knows?” Ladybug pitched her nose. “For god’s sake, Alya, she even got close to you, the only journalist I deal with on a continuity. You keeping spinning out her stories; feeding her delusions. Why do think I started avoiding you? I saw you were friends with her. I can’t be around her. I won’t.”

It went silent. Alya’s mouth had dropped opened. She looked shocked and slightly ill. Lila looked like she was considering murder. Marinette was five seconds away from doing her happy dance.

“Alya,” Ladybug said seriously. “Be honest, Lila’s said so many stories about so many celebrities but there’s no real evidence backing it up. Her grand adventures with Jagged Stone, Prince Ali, Clara Nightingale; it’s all in her head. At least point, I’m started to think they may have been her past obsessions. She claimed I healed her so many of different diseases, I thought someone was going to try to give me saint hood. Do you really think Jagged Stone would write a song about an underage girl without her parents knowing? Or that Clara Nightingale stole her dance moves. Do you know how bad that looks? Not to mention that model kid Adrien Agreste. From what I heard, what she’s doing to him is borderline sexual harassment. I think they’re victims,” She stressed the word. “Like me. If I wasn’t concerned about my secret identity, I’d have gone to the police by now.”

“Police!” Lila squeaked.

Ladybug shook her head, “I know people. Maybe I can just do a cease and desist order on the Ladyblog. But this has to stop,” She told Alya. “It’s the middle of the night, which is dangerous enough as it is. But there was an akuma as well. You called me, again in the middle of the night, to meet with my stalker. Do you know how scary that is? How that makes me feel?” She asked.

“I’m sorry!” Alya said with tears in hers, her phone still streaming. “I didn’t know.”

Ladybug threw up her hands, “You didn’t even bother to ask! At any time in the last year, you could’ve checked with me that you were reporting the truth.”

Alya sobbed. Lila just glared. She was too busy thinking of ways she could spend this.

Ladybug looked around, with suspicious, “Do your parents even know where you are?”

“Well, I, I mean,” The glasses wearing girl stuttered.

Marinette raised her hands in surrender, “No. I’m done. You’ve gone too far. You put yourself in danger. And you put me in danger. All for an interview. No more. You obviously don’t take this seriously; being a journalist, your blog, your life, anything. I’m done. I won’t work with you again. I can’t risk it.”

And with that Ladybug, yo’yo’d away. When she transformed back to normal and safely got to her house, Marinette fell to the floor laughing. Tikki joined her. Revenge was sweet.

The bluenette plopped down her bed. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow. For months and months she had been accused of bullying Lila, of being jealous, by tomorrow all of France would know what happened on the rooftop.

Lila wasn’t outed as liar like she thought she would be. No, Marinette, Rossi got a much worse fate.

When Marinette woke up the next morning, it was like the world had caught on fire. Nadja was having field day. Celebrities Lila had said she knew vocally denounced every knowing the girl. The world cried, “Poor Ladybug.”

Marinette blinked at the sheer quiet of her class. She had expected chaos. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe Lila was able to spin it around for the class.

No that wasn’t right. Nino was comforting Alya, who had red eyes and messy hair.

“What’s going on,” She asked Adrien, one of the few people who were still friendly with her in class. She may not have had a crush on him anymore but she still thought he was a decent friend.

“You don’t know?” Alix asked, with shock on her face. “How could you not know? All of Paris is talking about Ladybug’s stalker.”

Marinette scratched the back on her head, a look of faux-confusion on her face, “I got up late again, I didn’t have time to look anything up,” Looks of understanding came from the students. “Wait! Stalker?!” She took a dramatic pause. “…You know?”

Alya stood up angrily, “You knew!”

Marinette took a hasty step back, “Of course I knew. Don’t you remember I got you your first interview with Ladybug? I know her.” Alya looked somewhat placated but still angry. She told me all about it. She was really freaked out. But I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” She defended. “I don’t break my promise. Yet I tried to warn you as best I could. I tried to warn everyone.” Marinette shrugged. “And look what happened. Most of us aren’t even friends anymore.”

Her words were a slap to the face. Most of her former friends had the grace to look ashamed.

Marinette just shrugged again and went her seat.

“I’m ruined,” Alya cried into Nino’s shoulder. “My fans hate me. Half of them think I was lying to them. The other half hate me because I hurt Ladybug. How was I supposed to know Lila was a nutjob?”

“You could’ve fact checked,” Marinette told her. “Listen to me even one of the hundred times I told you she was lying. Asked Ladybug. Asked Chat Noir. Read the twenty percent of the Ladyblog’s comments that she said was lying. You could’ve done a lot to find out the truth.” She stared hard at her former friend. “You chose not to.”

Alya cried harder.

“Harsh, dudette,” Nino glared at her.

Coldness went down Marinette’s back. She stood up, “Harsh!” Marinette yelled, everyone flinched back. “Yeah maybe it’s a bit harsh. But you know what was worse? Losing all my friends. Being called a liar. A jealous psycho. Being bullied by people who I’ve known forever. Getting mean, nasty texts that could have the sender charged with harassment.”

The bluenette glared around the room; at the paling, stunned faces of the other students.

“Harsh,” She hissed at Nino. “Well I’m sorry if the truth is a little harsh. But I think after falling for so many lies, maybe Alya deserves the truth for once. You all do.”

Alya pulled away from Nino, and nodded. “She’s right,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m so sorry.”

Marinette looked at Alya, her former bestie. Nino the boy she thought always had her back until he stabbed her in it. Kim, her friend since they were in diapers, who had no problem accusing Marinette of awful things. Alix and Mylene, who led the charge against her. Nathanial who had sat and done nothing when they spilled and destroy her designs.

“Sorry’s not always enough,” Marinette admitted, hurt filling her. “There’s another truth for you.”

“My dad’s furious,” Adrien said, gaining everyone attention. “Everyone knows he insisted Lila do the photoshoots with me. An insider even revealed that I made it clear I was bother by Lila. They think he doesn’t take sexual harassment at work seriously. Brand’s taking a hit.”

“Ladybug must be so scared,” Sabrina put in. “My dad told me about some crazy stalker cases he’s seen. They got really obsessive. One guy even kidnapped a kid because he though it looked like his and this woman’s future child. Said the child was theirs. Dad wants me to stay away from Lila. He doesn’t want me getting her attention. Who knows what she’d do?”

Sabrina words sent shivers through the students. A few who watched true crime stories looked particularly green.

“We should’ve caught on,” Alix frowned. “None of her stories even made sense. Saved a cat from being hit by a plane? Really? Are we morons?”

“Something must be seriously wrong with her,” Rose offered. “Maybe she just needs help.”

“She needs a nice white jacket,” Kim growled. “And a padded cell.”

“Where is Lila?” Marinette asked.

Surprising it was Juleka who answered, “Hiding in her house. Reporters everywhere want a one on one with Ladybug’s Stalker. Her face is all over the news. She’s trending on Twitter. So’s the Ladyblog.”

Alya groaned. Her blog, her life’s work was finally getting the attention she always wanted but in the worst possible way.

Nino hugged his girlfriend, “At least no one will ever be fool again,” He offered.

“Undoubtable,” Max agreed. “I foresee that Lila is well on way to be the most famous stalker in recent history. They’ll use her as a textbook example one day, if this carries on. People will base their doctorates on her mental health.”

Marinette smirked.

Lila was going to get the all attention she’d ever want.

#ml salt #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #class salt #lila salt #galahadwilder

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everwitch-magiks · 4 years

Text

dance with somebody (ch. 1)

It’s the first kegster of his senior year, the first kegster after his first fucking win as captain of the Samwell Men's Hockey Team, and Dex just-

Dex needs a moment.

The porch is empty. Dex settles down, sets aside his half-empty can of beer. Looks down the road of frat houses, all in various stages of Saturday night festivities. The water polo frat, Dex thinks, is gonna have one hell of a post party cleanup.

Inside the Haus, someone’s put on I wanna dance with somebody. Dex almost smiles.

It’s maybe a little weird, how he doesn’t even have to be in there to know exactly what’s going on.

Bully and Hops are dancing, and Louis is definitely not. He’ll be off in a corner, talking to whoever will listen (Whiskey, most likely, since he’s always off to the side if he can help it) about how he can’t understand why he hasn’t been appointed officially in charge of all kegster playlists, yet. Tango, meanwhile, is probably still trying to get Farmer and her friends to explain all the rules of volleyball, in detail, unless Ford has staged her usual intervention. Chowder will be wherever Farmer is, the Scones are still riding that sweet, sweet high of their first NCAA victory… And then there’s Nursey.

Somehow, there’s always Nursey.

He’s there in the early mornings, when Dex thinks he’ll hit the gym before anyone else, his smiles casual and his chirps gentle. He shows up every so often when Dex gets out of class, with Dex’s favourite flat white from Annie’s and a wry smile, and drags Dex along to Founders where they’ll sit together in near silence and mostly not study. Or, actually, Nursey kind of studies for real. Dex… Well.

Lately, Dex can't say he's been all that productive, when Nursey is around.

It really shouldn’t feel as novel as it does. The elements of a crush were always there. If Dex hadn’t meticulously labeled those flaring emotions as something entirely different, those first couple of years, the two of them might've gotten here a whole lot sooner.

Because they’re finally kind of getting somewhere, aren’t they? Unless Dex has been reading Nursey completely wrong, lately. Except he can’t have, not really – the way Nursey’s been staying so close to him, out of choice, those soft smiles and clearly intentional touches. Earlier that same evening, Nursey had let his hand rest on the small of Dex’s back, gently and deliberately and not for the first time. Dex isn’t actually sure what might've happened between them if he’d turned towards Nursey, just then, and met his eyes directly.

Maybe, Dex thinks, he’s finally ready to find that out. To take that leap. See where they land.

The door opens, then closes.

“Hey. Sorry if I’m bothering you.”

Dex turns around, offers a brief smile. He nods towards the empty space next to him.

Whiskey walks over, and sits down.

Dex picks up his can of beer and holds it up towards Whiskey.

“Really good game, tonight.”

Whiskey clinks his bottle against it, almost dutifully.

Dex takes a long drink. Whiskey drinks, too. He’s quiet, which is completely on brand, yet for some reason he seems a little more restless than usually.

“You baked pie,” Whiskey says, after a moment.

Which is not what Dex expected, at all. But at least it’s something.

“Did you get a slice?”

“I did, yeah. It was pretty good.”

“Tried my best.” Dex shrugs. “Obviously, I’ll never live up to Bitty’s legendary baking legacy.”

“You don’t have to,” Whiskey says, and then he pauses, as though he’s choosing his words very carefully. “You don’t have to be the same captain Bitty was.”

“Oh, I could never be.” Dex sips his beer. “We’re similar, though, in a lot of ways. I think that’s part of why I’ve come to look up to him so much.”

“That’s… Yeah.” Whiskey looks away. “I mean, I voted for him, too.”

“You got his dibs,” Dex says, and it’s not quite a question. “That’s pretty cool.”

For some reason, that makes Whiskey grimace.

“Honestly? I’m still not sure why.”

Dex looks at Whiskey, then, really looks at him. Finds that the tension he’s so used to seeing in Whiskey’s shoulders isn’t quite there, anymore. Acknowledges that the usually guarded look in Whiskey’s eyes has given way to something tentatively curious, yet still hesitant. Above all, though, Whiskey looks like he’s so, so tired, like there’s something constantly exhausting him. Like every breath of fresh air just leaves him more drained than the one before.

And if that isn’t a feeling Dex finds all too familiar.

“You know, I actually voted for you,” Dex says. “As captain.”

Whiskey startles – no, flinches. Dex has never seen him look so bewildered.

“You bring a lot to this team,” Dex continues firmly. “You make our best plays, and you always look out for everyone on the ice. You don’t make a big fuss about it, but I always know you’re going to have my back, no matter what. You lead by example.”

“Bitty led by example,” Whiskey says – argues, almost. “By being loud, and proud, and one hundred percent unapologetically himself at all times. And I’m not… That's just not me.”

“You don’t have to be like Bitty, any more than I do,” Dex says, gently. “You know that, right? There’s literally one million other versions of being proud of who you are. It’s okay to find one that you're comfortable with. It’s okay if that takes time.”

Whiskey leans back, abruptly – he looks almost as if he’d very much like to take off, running, rather than acknowledge any part of what Dex has just said. Yet then he stills. Something shifts in his expression.

“You and Nurse,” he says, simply.

Dex draws in a breath. Whiskey is watching him intently.

"I mean, yeah," Dex says. Because somehow, he owes Whiskey this. "Me and Nursey."

Whiskey nods, slowly.

"Huh."

"It's not… We haven't really talked about it, yet."

That makes Whiskey look surprised.

"Some things take time," Dex adds, completely aware of how he’s repeating himself. "And, like, there's no rush. There's not going to be a finish line. No prize for getting there first."

“But you know what you want,” Whiskey says. His voice is a little hoarse, compared to before. “You know who you are.”

“You’ll get there,” Dex says, quietly but firmly. “Whatever that means for you. It’ll be difficult, and it might take time. But you’ll make it through.”

Whiskey merely shrugs.

They’re both quiet for a long moment, after that.

Then Whiskey gets up.

“Think I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Okay.” Dex smiles towards him. “See you at team breakfast, tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Yet Whiskey lingers for a moment, almost if there’s something more he means to say. “Thank you. I mean, for the company.”

“Anytime,” Dex says, and finds that he really means it. “You can always talk to me, Whiskey. About anything.”

Whiskey nods once more, his expression unchanging, before quickly heading inside.

Dex watches him go.

He’d like to keep a much closer eye on Whiskey, from this moment on. He can’t, though. Whiskey would realize immediately. And that’s no good – it’s got to be on Whiskey’s terms, or not at all.

It's something Dex knows from experience.

The door opens again.

It's Nursey.

"Whiskey just came in, looking like, super unchill." Nursey closes the door behind him. "Did something happen?"

"He's a bit stressed, but he's okay."

"Oh. Good, then." Nursey walks over, yet he doesn't sit down. Instead he leans against the banister in a way that’s probably supposed to look casual, and glances towards Dex from the side. “Are you okay, though?”

“Of course I am.”

Nursey frowns. “You seemed a bit out of it, earlier.”

“Earlier tonight?”

“Before the game.”

“Ah,” Dex says. Because of course Nursey would pick up on what Dex had been trying so hard to conceal. On the very reason why he’s come out to the porch, all by himself, while a seriously ‘swasome kegster is still going on inside. “I guess I’m just not really used to it all, yet? The whole captain bit.”

Nursey hums. “You’re not in this alone, you know. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And, like, if you wanted to have an alternate? You could do that. I’m sure the team would be cool with it.”

“Actually,” Dex says, “I’ve sort of been thinking about that for a while now.”

Nursey grins.

“Oh, man. Chowder’s gonna freak out so hard, when you ask him.”

“What makes you so certain I’m not going to ask you?”

Nursey turns to stare at him, abruptly.

“That’s a joke, right? God, please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s mostly a joke,” Dex admits with a slight grin, and there’s no way he’s gonna pass on the obvious chirp. “Chill, man.”

“You do not get to use that word in this context.” Nursey still looks decidedly unsettled. “Fuck, me? The A? Do you have any idea how many papers an English major needs to churn out his senior year?”

“Yeah, you poor baby.”

“Ha, ha. God, I need another drink.”

“There’s someone else I have in mind, actually,” Dex says. That look in Whiskey’s eyes, uncertain yet somehow still so determined, is fresh in his memory. “Someone who could grow into the role, maybe? Someone who needs an opportunity to learn more about themselves, and all they can be.”

Nursey frowns. “It’s not Tango, is it? Because if our pre-game ritual turns into twenty fucking questions, I’m one hundred percent blaming you.”

Dex smiles.

“No. It’s not Tango.”

“Well. Good.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Then Nursey looks over at Dex – really looks at him, meeting his eyes directly – before slowly (and intentionally, one might say) stepping away from the banister and sitting down in the same spot Whiskey occupied, earlier. Except Nursey might be sitting a bit closer to Dex. Maybe a lot closer.

It’s a little bit ridiculous, but does it still make Dex’s heart flutter? Fuck yeah.

“So,” Nursey says, his voice strangely calm – chill, even though the way he can’t quite make himself face Dex as he speaks gives him away completely. “Are we ever gonna, y’know. Have this conversation?”

Dex takes a deep breath. Then he reaches out, takes Nursey’s right hand in his. Laces their fingers together, softly yet very deliberately.

“Yeah. I think it’s time we do.”

(ch. 2)

#nurseydex #check please #omgcp #omgcheckplease #checkpleaselastslice #spoilers #for the ending of year four #william poindexter #derek nurse #connor whisk #it's nurseydex but it's also about whiskey #not an au this time #I really needed to write this #fanfiction #evie writes #dance with somebody

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smilingleoo · 4 years

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JJK Imagine-You being overwhelmed by luxury life

Request: Hello ❤️ may I request an imagine with Jungkook where the reader is younger than him and is very overwhelmed with his luxury life and she feels like she is not good enough for him and gets distant but he proves her that she is the only thing he needs ❤️❤️❤️

Author´s note: Hello! Hope you´re doing alright, please enjoy...

------

When you met Jungkook, you knew what you were getting yourself into. He was an idol-an incredibly famous one- and you were his girlfriend. At first, you had thought that maybe your relationship would not be approved by his manager yet when he had the chance to properly meet you and judge you based on his own criteria, he knew you would handle everything just fine. Besides, you were a beautiful young lady who seemed ambitious and determined enough to protect their Jungkook´s heart.

However, you doubted yourself.

You loved Jungkook, of course, you did. He was everything you ever dreamt off. Not because he was a celebrity but for him; for his determined and perseverant self to his willingness to help others. You had fallen for him hard and you were glad about it. But his fast-moving world was difficult to keep up with. He was barely at home and returned from work late at night. You understood, obviously, and opted to visit him with food or just your happiness and love. However, you felt like everything was out of control. You were too cautious, too paranoid or too worried to even take care of yourself. You desperately wanted to show Jungkook how strong you were because, if he noticed your uncertainty, he would think it would be best to end your relationship.

Even though you had thought about it, leaving Jungkook was something you could not fathom. You would miss him too much.

“Okay, babe”-Jungkook clapped entering the room he had been placed in. You had been sprawled on the leather couch besides his make-up chair waiting for him to finish his various interviews, playing with your phone to kill time. As soon as he entered, you dropped everything you had been doing and launched yourself forward, peppering your boyfriend’s face with smooches. Fortunately, he had caught you in his arms wrapping the around your waist before twirling you side to side-“I’m all sweaty from the lights!”

“I don’t care”-you giggled as he placed you on the floor. He stared at you lovingly for some seconds, just adoring how beautiful and cute you were. With a final kiss on the lips, Jungkook pooped himself on the whirling chair and motioned for you to sit on his lap. You, without hesitation, did so cling your limbs behind his neck-“So, what’s up?”

“Oh, yeah”-he said-“In about twenty minutes we should head to the van since we need to be in another interview in an hour or so. Afterwards, we need to return to the company to arrange some papers and film a quick video for YouTube. Then we have a little meeting and, I promise you, after that I’ll take you to dinner”

Your mind felt dizzy for a moment. They had so much to do in so scarce time that you wondered if it was even possible. But yet again your boyfriend made it seem like it was nothing but normal and that encouraged you to keep going, even though your body begged you for some alone time with Jungkook. You inhaled his scent slightly as you snuggled further into the crook of his warm neck and, in just mere seconds, his manager knocked on the door reminding him that we should be going to the vehicle.

The ride was mostly silent since everyone was asleep, the only audible sound being the faint hum of the van’s engine. It snaked through Seoul’s busy streets until it reached a mirror-like building. The boys obviously sped off as fast as they could, saying their quick goodbyes your way. Jungkook sweetly placed a tender peck on your cheek before disappearing. A guard waited for you outside, offering to take your bag as soon as you stepped out into the sidewalk. Startled, you denied claiming that it was not heavy.

You were not used to having so much attention or people around you. Cameras flashed as you walked through the crowd, various question being bombarded from different interviewers. The bodyguard made his best to usher them away but he could not prevent the sudden tugs or thrust from desperate cameras. A certain rough punch had you swirling on your toes, a scowl of disbelief drawn on your face-“Some people say that you are way too young to confróntate the downfalls of being with an idol like Jungkook, what do you have to say about it?”

What do you have to say about it?

“I’d like to keep my personal issues that way”-you kindly answered-“Personal”

()

Too much.

Everything was too much.

The attention, the hate, even the love and affection you received was too much. By now, your legs were sore and your eyelids heavy, threatening to give up as soon as your body fell on something comfortable enough to calm your nerves out. Jungkook´s last interview was about to finsish and you could not be more happy to have a peaceful dinner with him-”Baby, are you ready?”

No response.

“Y/N, where are you?”-he asked again but found himself in front of your sleeping body. You were not even on the couch, opting for the hard desk and a make-up chair against to slump yourself on-“What’s going on, love?”

“I don’t get it!”-you groaned. Jungkook’s eyes widened slightly, trying to comprehend you sudden outburst. You were outraged and exhausted. Your hair was dancing around your greasy skin, blocking your already blurry view and the dark circles under your fallen eyes. Your whole body ached but the expensive chair, which you would never be used to, supported your back with grace. And that angered you even more because, why were you receiving all these things for? You were not doing anything!

And Jungkook. Oh, your gorgeous ever-so-talented boyfriend stared at the disaster he fell in love in. He was immaculate as ever, perfectly clean, polished skin glowing under the dim light of the room. His eyes held a spark of exhaustion but it was easily dismissed with his well-practiced captivating smile. His beauty made your stomach flip out of a mixture of emotion that you could not put into words. You loved him but you hated him at the same time. Or maybe you hated yourself even more. Because he was there, convincing his one hundred percent in everything he did but still looked flawless. And then you were, well, you; following him around with everything you asked for in just seconds but still looked like trash.

“You work your ass off and still look like the most stunning man in the world”-you incorporated yourself on the chair-“While I’m being pampered by everyone doing absolutely nothing but still being extremely tired! I’m the worst girlfriend ever...”

“Oh, baby”-he chuckled-“Being worried about it makes you the most thoughtful and extraordinary girlfriend on the entire world. Besides, you’re the only thing that cheers me up when I’m down too. So don’t go comparing yourself with something as simple as an expensive necklace or a delicious meal”

Seeing your puzzled expression he sighed-“Many girls would kill to be in your position. However, half of them wouldn’t even care if they were spoiled or not. They would just enjoy! But here you’re, all pouty about something that isn’t your entire choice”

He kissed your lips and incorporated you on your feet.

“Now, please”-he whispered-“Let’s grab something to eat and go watch Iron Man”

“Again?”

“I know you love it!”

#bts #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts fanfic #bts reactions #bts fluff #bts x army #bts imagines #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook

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katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part twenty) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7600 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twenty: It’s auction time! Two horses of the Gold Canyon Ranch are up for sale. Will they get the price they are hoping for? Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Sold - John Michael Montgomery (Auction scene), Save A Horse - Big & Rich (Jo & Y/N dancing scene), Good Time - Alan Jackson (Dean & Y/N dancing scene), In Case You Didn’t Know - Brett Young (Final scene). Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these.

Ride With Me Masterlist

“Sold! For 3750 dollars to number 48!”

The auctioneer slams the gavel down on the block, sealing the deal. A sigh of relief falls from Dean and Jo’s lips, who are leaning over the high fence at the auction pen. Almost four grand for an unbroken two year old Mustang is more than a fair price these days. The average numbers have been decent so far, especially considering the current economic depression that is weighing down on the country.

Benny leads the young horse out of the arena, him and Dean exchanging a nod, accompanied with a smile. The Gold Canyon Ranch crew is playing it cool, but all are well aware how desperately the cash is needed. It’s not something the whole circuit needs to know, however. Much like any business where money is involved, there are always those who are eager for an opportunity to profit off the loss of others. There are plenty of vultures circling the skies above their potential prey, waiting to take advantage. Dean will not let that happen.

A new horse is brought in and the auctioneer starts rambling again, announcing prices while assistants scan the crowd for bidders. It’s a vibrant ambience, most people here to make deals, others to have fun. Upbeat country music rallies on the buyers who watch one animal after another come into the pen, judging their conformation, gait and looks before they raise their sign into the air to announce their bid. The small indoor arena is more crowded than one would expect after the market collapsed earlier this year. He notices that Y/N is experiencing some difficulty getting through the mass of people, trying to push past people while transporting three huge burgers.

“Sorry, got held up, there was a line,” she excuses, handing the fast food to the wranglers. “You didn’t have to do that, Yank,” Dean returns, taking the large burger in his hand nonetheless. “Yes, I did. You haven’t eaten, yet. Dig in,” she returns. Grinning, he moves the welcoming food to his mouth to take a bite. Once again she surprises him with her care and observations. Nothing goes past her, especially when it comes to his well-being.

Y/N glances at the large display on the back wall where the sold horses are listed. She thought the biddings stalled just under 4000 dollars and the numbers on the screen confirm it. “The price for the Mustang wasn’t bad, was it?” “Not at all. Dad still has to pay ten percent commission, but he’s gonna be satisfied with almost three and a half grand,” Jo agrees. “If that Pinto sells for good money, you might wanna break it to him that you two are the new Sonny & Cher, before he catches you two lovebirds red-handed.” With his mouth full, Dean chuckles at the blonde Cowgirl’s remark, which she paired with a perked eyebrow. He lets his free hand slip around his girlfriend’s waist, gently pulling her closer. “I’ll tell him when we get back on Monday, promise,” he announces, more to Y/N than to Jo. “He’s too busy doin’ business now anyways.”

Y/N smiles at the assurance, leaning into him. She’s glad Dean is so comfortable with her by his side in the presence of others, but just as important, she’s glad Jo has realized Dean isn’t just fooling around. Her friend has always supported her, but it took her a second to believe her cousin’s intentions are, in fact, good. Her skepticism wasn’t random; she has seen plenty of tears fall for the ladykiller. But those days are in the past now. “What time is the second horse going up for auction?” Y/N wonders. Dean checks his watch and glances at the horse currently in the pen, who is carrying a tag with ‘204’ on it. “He’s number 211, so he should be up in twenty minutes or so.” “Think Benny will manage?” Jo checks. “Yeah, he has plenty of time to switch them. Let him make himself useful, he’s not riding any horses this weekend anyway,” the head wrangler grins.

The crew members finish their quick meal, the three of them now leaning over the fence while watching the exciting auction. The burgers are delicious, fresh off the grill from one of the many food stands, topped with cheddar and crispy bacon. Quality greasy event garbage, but Y/N wouldn’t want it any other way. Usually she tries to eat healthy, keep her body nourished for the hard physical labor she puts into her work. During shows, however, she always lets go. She knows that she can’t swallow a bite before her runs, not with the nerves always closing off her throat and having her stomach in knots. But staring down at the big, juicy burger in her hands, she just dives in; figures it’s better to stash up on carbs before her big day than to fall short.

Twenty minutes later, Benny leads the Pinto into the auction pen. The horse looks magnificent, his white patches washed clean and the fur that’s black shining under the limelight. His mane, detangled and brushed, cascades down his well formed neck, reaching his shoulders. The stallion is stunning, getting a reaction from the audience.

“Alright, y’all, this is quite the looker we got here. We present this two year old Pinto stallion, owned by the Gold Canyon Ranch. A tall fella which stands at sixteen hands, strong enough to carry a big Cowboy around the competition arena. Sired by Cash Button, well-known APHA champion producer. As you can see he’s haltered, but unbroken, so if you’re lookin’ for a fine show horse to start fresh with, this is the one for you.”

Dean is glad to hear that the auctioneer does a good job promoting their horses. The speaker can make or break an auction, so he’s thankful the organization hired a skilled one.

Somewhat nervous, Dean sets his jaw, the muscles flexing under his stubble as he takes in the traders on the bleachers. Jody managed to buy Sundance, despite the huge interest in the mare. She paid a whopping fifteen grand for the talented barrel racer, who stayed at the top of the rank and scored Jo the first win of the competition. Now that the Mustang switched owners for a reasonable price as well, a big stack of cash for the Pinto would really bring the ranch back in the clear… for now. Dean is aware that it will take more than one good day to nurse the company back to financial health again, but it would be a good start.

“Opening bid is 2500 dollars, so let’s get this bid started, people. 2500, 2500 for the gentleman on the front row. Can I get a 3000?”

The auctioneer begins his bid calling, the rhythmic repetition of numbers and words adding to the tensed atmosphere. It’s a fast chant that engages the crowd and brings a sense of urgency on the possible buyers. But no matter how hard the speaker tries, the biddings slow once they near three grand, nowhere near the number they hoped the stallion would sell for.

“Last chance to become the new owner of this stunning future prospect, folks. 3500 dollars now, will you give me 3750? Going once…”

“C’mon, c’mon,” Dean mutters, drumming his thumb on the wooden fence. Y/N watches the mass of people, but she can’t see any new signs popping up. It couldn’t possibly be that the Pinto will go for less than the Mustang, even though he’s worth more? “Did Bobby arrange a reserve?” she checks with Jo. Her friend shakes her head, glancing at her with worried eyes. Y/N now shifts her attention to her other side, taking in the head wrangler, noticing the frown edged on his forehead under the brim of his hat. He’s radiating tension, much like Jo, all three keeping their eyes on the $ 3500,- on the screen. It’s not enough, but it might be the amount they will have to settle for.

“Going twice…”

“Four thousand!” All three perk up, trying to make out where the bid originated from. The distinctive voice is easily recognizable though, the woman’s strong accent hard to miss; it’s Donna. “Four grand, ladies and gents! Do we have another bidder? 4250 dollars, 4250 anyone?”

Out of nowhere, another number is raised into the air, one of the assistants pointing at the bidder and shouting back a ‘yup!’ at the auctioneer.

“We’ve got 4250 dollars now, 4250. Can I get a 4500?” “Five!” Donna calls out. “Five grand! Do we have 5500?”

And there you have it, a bidding war. Dean exchanges a look with Jo, who smiles as the bids keep going back and forth like a tennis match, the stakes taken higher every time the ball is bounced back. Y/N watches in anticipation, getting more excited every time the amount that is about to be paid for the Pinto grows larger.

“Seven and a half grand. 7500,- dollars. Is bidder number 24 gonna raise? You tell me, young lady. For 7750 dollars this gorgeous stallion can be yours. What do you say? 7500 dollars, going once...”

The rancher with Minnesota roots seems to hesitate, discussing her next move with Jody, who’s seated next to her on the bleachers. After a few nerve-wrecking seconds, Donna keeps her sign down; they can’t go higher, but she took it high enough to make this a successful auction for Bobby Singer.

“Going twice… Sold! To lucky number 7 for 7500 dollars!”

The audience applauds the entertaining battle, Benny making a little fist, modestly celebrating the good sale as he walks the horse out of the pen. All the members of the Gold Canyon Ranch family know it; this is a much needed win.

Unable to contain her elation, Y/N reaches for Dean’s hand, entwining her fingers with his. It draws his attention and he glances aside at her, his green irises full of delight. The worry has dissolved from his eyes, the weariness gone for a moment. Today is a good day; they can let their guard down for a little while.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but with three horses sold and Jo winning the barrel race, I believe we have reason to celebrate!” Y/N says cheerily, looking between Dean and her best friend. “Hell to the yeah! I think I deserve a drink,” Jo agrees victoriously. “Come on then.” Y/N grips Dean’s hand tighter, nudging him to follow. “Let’s hit the bar.”

“Does everyone have a drink?” Y/N checks, looking around to make sure everyone has either a glass or a beer bottle in hand.

The Gold Canyon Ranch crew is standing around a barrel that serves as a high table, accompanied by Donna and Jody. A live band, consisting of a drummer, a banjo player and a singer who also plays an acoustic guitar, treats the attending guests to a great show. Strings of lightbulbs are connecting the steel frame that keeps the high tent up, its canvas lit with alternating colored spots. The bartenders have to kick it up a gear to keep up with the demand, people waiting to place their order on all sides of the horseshoe-shaped counter. Riders, trainers, horse owners and spectators are laughing, dancing and having a good old time. Nothing today would suspect that business isn’t as usual.

Dean enjoys the carefree feeling and raises his bottle, joined by his workers and his boss. Even the grumpy old man lifts his IPA into the air, a sparkle back in his uncle’s eyes that he hasn’t seen in a while. “Alright, y’all. Let’s congratulate Jody Mills here with the purchase of a future champion. Glad to do business with you as always,” he starts, giving the short haired ranch owner a nod, “and of course we raise our drinks to my Joanna for the win.” He throws his daughter a subtle but proud smile, before he turns to the rest of the crew. “Thank y’all for pitchin’ in and for all the hard work.” “To the Gold Canyon Ranch,” Benny adds, clinking his glass against those of his colleagues and friends, who repeat his words with a cheer.

Being on the opposite side of the table, Dean takes the opportunity to move his hand to the small of his girlfriend’s back, letting it rest on her hip, knowing Bobby won’t be able to spot it. He presses his fingertips into the denim, meeting her gaze as he takes a good swig of his drink.

It doesn’t take long before his uncle is dragged away from the fun by a horse trader, without a doubt stealing his time to negotiate about other horses Bobby plans to sell. As Dean predicted, he will be too busy mingling and so Y/N is delighted when her boyfriend leaves an affectionate kiss on her temple. She closes her eyes and smiles at the sweet gesture, counting her blessings. With every touch, every look, the nervousness dissolves a little further.

When she entered the tent earlier, she felt her heartbeat quicken and her mouth running dry. She’s well aware Dean is easy on the eyes, because she has caught herself getting lost in the image of him more times than she can count, but now it wasn’t just her who noticed his looks. The handsome cowboy made plenty of heads turn, a few women greeting him with a flirtatious ‘Hey, Dean’ as the group passed through the crowd to find a spot. It made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, her boyfriend’s reply to them stinging sharply in the pit of her stomach, even though he was only trying to be polite. It’s not just jealousy that has her lose grip. It’s worry, because she feels intimidated by all the girls that seem to throw themselves at the wrangler. They are all beautiful, stunning looking women, vibrant and confident. More beautiful than me, the insecure voice in the back of her mind once again reminds her.

He noticed the uneasiness, able to read her body language better each day, and he tried to reassure her the best he could with Bobby still being in their presence. Now that the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch has moved away to do business, she’s glad Dean instantly rose to the occasion to pull her closer and let her know who he belongs to.

“Want another drink?” Dean asks, not just his girlfriend, but the other people in his company as well while he takes the ranch’s credit card from his wallet. Y/N notices the slight hint of hesitation in Jo’s expression before she answers, and she reckons it has something to do with the ridiculous prices on the venue, a beer being seven dollars. Four bucks might not sound like much, but when you start buying rounds, the money to be paid at the bar adds up. That card already got declined once today, and both she and Jo don’t want Dean to deal with the same embarrassment the youngest Singer had to go through at the show office earlier. “This round’s on me,” Y/N decides, digging up her own card from her back pocket. “You don’t have to do that,” he objects under his breath, trying not to let his pride slip through. “I’ll be glad to,” she counters quickly, not taking no for an answer, turning to the others. “Another beer? Jody? Donna? Glass of wine?” Eagerly, Jo and Benny look up, completely in sync with the two women who they share the table with, all nodding at the offer, all nodding at the offer.

“At least let me pick up the drinks then?” Dean offers before she gets up from her seat, not too keen of his girlfriend paying for him, but knowing that determined look in her eyes well enough to not go against her. She agrees on the compromise with a sigh and gives him her card. “Three beers, two white wines and a coke for me.” “No margarita?” he checks. “No, sticking to the one. I have a ride to win tomorrow,” she explains, adding a smug smile. Dean chuckles at that before he turns around, heading for the bar.

Y/N takes a second to watch him walk away, wondering if she did the right thing. She doesn’t want him or the ranch to pay now that she knows they are low on money while she has plenty, but Dean seemed bothered. She gets it, the man is supposed to pay for the drinks, but this is the twenty-first century; she is just as entitled to pick up the bill as he is.

“Y’know, you don’t have to keep savin’ us,” Jo comments, making sure that Donna and Jody, who are having a laugh with Benny, can’t pick up on the conversation. “It’s okay, Jo,” Y/N assures. “It’s the least I can do. I don’t mind at all.” “I know you don’t, but he might.” She nods at her cousin. “It’s a guy thing. My Dad’s the same way, you should have heard him when he found out you paid the fees because his card didn’t work. Old fashioned country boys seem to think the weight of the world is theirs to carry.” The intern sniggers, hiding her concern. “Well, those country boys need to learn that us girls can take on that weight just fine.”

She glances to the bar again, expecting her boyfriend to return with a tray of drinks, but when people move away and no longer obstruct her view, her breathing hitches. Y/N spots Dean casually leaning on the counter with his elbow, talking to a girl. The young woman is all smiles, raking her fingers through her wavy, blonde locks, the light above the bar shining down and highlighting the chemistry. She looks stunning; slim figure, long legs wrapped in torn jeans, exposing skin of her knees and thighs. When she leans forward while laughing at something he said, her cleavage is on display.

As the color drains from Y/N’s cheeks, Jo follows her friend’s fixated stare, her face falling when she notices the two by the bar. Dean doesn’t cross a line by any means, but it’s clear that the woman who took an interest in the head wrangler has every intention to persuade him. “Who is she? You know her?” Y/N asks, the questions rapid and laced with worry. “Yeah, that’s Jamie Sward,” Jo states. “Please tell me it’s not one of his exes?” She rips her eyes away from the painful sight, shielding her face in embarrassment. “‘Ex’ wouldn’t be the right word, but yeah, they did have an on and off thing in the past,” Jo admits carefully, not wanting to lie to her. “Sis, it’s fine. He’s an idiot, but he’s not that much of an idiot. They are probably just talking.” “Her breasts are hanging out of her shirt!” Y/N hisses frustrated, blood rushing to her face now, a contrast to her pale skin tone mere seconds ago.

“So…” Jamie says, taking a sip from her drink while looking over her glass at the handsome wrangler. “What are you up to these days? Still working at Gold Canyon?” “Yeah, kinda became furniture of the place. Don’t think I’ll ever leave to be honest,” he chuckles, watching the bartender preparing the drinks he ordered. “What about you?” “Oh y’know, worked a few bars in Phoenix to pay for college, sulked over the fact that you stopped calling me,” the beautiful blonde returns, the smirk that accompanies her perked eyebrow telling him that she’s not too broken up about it.

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” he rubs the back of his neck, well aware that he ignored her messages the past month and a half. “Don’t sweat it. We weren’t dating. Just having fun, right?” Jamie shrugs casually, setting down her drink again. “Talking about fun, I have a room at Days Inn if you’re interested.”

The offer hangs in the air and it’s only now that Dean realizes he’s on thin ice here. When the blonde cowgirl approached him, somehow it didn’t dawn on him where the conversation was heading towards, simply because he’s not interested in her in the slightest. Ever since he met Y/N, he can’t bring himself to give a damn about any other woman, and Jamie is no exception.

“I’m uh - I’m gonna have to say ‘no’,” he says, almost apologetic, not wanting to hurt her feelings, because she is a sweet girl. “Doesn’t have anything to do with you. I met someone and things have been really great--” “Wait. Are you taken?” she interrupts, astonished. “Are you serious? You’re in a relationship?” He nods, unable to stop a beaming smirk from showing. “Yeah. She’s awesome. I don’t get why everyone acts so surprised, though.” “C’mon, Dean Winchester. With your reputation?” Jamie snorts. “But hey, no hard feelings. I’m happy for you.”

She means it, he can tell. He gives her an appreciative nod as the bartender sets the last two beers on the carton tray, which Dean picks up from the bar. “Right, I’m gonna get back to my girl. Good to see ya again, James,” he says before he leaves. “You too, Dean. Good luck tomorrow!” she says cheerily, giving him a little wave before she heads off herself.

With a content smile on his face, the head wrangler returns to the table. It’s only after he has given everyone else their drinks and sets down the Coca-Cola bottle in front of his girlfriend that he locks eyes with her and notices the stale, yet anxious look on her face. “What is it?” he wonders. “Jamie seemed awfully friendly,” she comments, fidgeting with the straw of her drink to have something to focus on.

Dean lifts his head slightly as his jaw lowers. He tries not to roll his eyes and pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Right, that conversation might have looked a little different from a distance than how it actually went. The penny drops and he turns to face Jo and shoots her a glare. The fact that Y/N has learned the name of the woman he’s been talking to gives away that his cousin apparently revealed more than he would have wanted. “Okay!” Jo takes her cue and clears her throat, deciding that this would be a good time to exit the conversation. “I’m gonna request some songs to dodge the awkwardness. Have fun, you two.” The ranch owner’s daughter quickly sneaks past Dean towards the dancefloor, heading to the stage. Before Dean speaks, he glances aside to make sure the others won’t pick up on their conversation. Deciding that he wants some more privacy, he takes Y/N’s hand and beckons her to come with him to an empty booth on the side.

“Y/N, listen. I don’t know what Jo said--” he starts, before she cuts him off. “- Jo has nothing to do with this. She was actually defending you. Don’t tell her I told you that.” Y/N sits down on the bench next to him, knowing that her best friend wouldn’t be happy with Dean knowing that she actually did something nice for him. God knows he will hold it against her. “Jamie and I were just talking. Yeah, we hung out a couple of times, but I don’t feel anything for her. Hey…” He takes her hand, squeezing it softly. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m serious about us before you start believing me, huh?”

He watches her take a breath, contemplating on what to say and on what to feel. Sure, a part of him gets it that she’s not a fan of the women who throw themselves at him. He didn’t like it one bit when Benny took an interest in her either, shutting that down immediately. Still, it hurts, because deep down he knows she assumes he will fall out of line. “I believe you, it’s just that…” She exhales, shaking her head while she doubts herself more by the second. “I don’t believe the girls who have their eye on you have only good intentions.” “You don’t have to worry about Jamie. She’s cool. And considering other flings and what not; it doesn’t matter. I don’t care what they want from me, because I know what I want for myself, and she’s sittin’ right beside me,” he tries to assure her, slipping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer. “You’re the only one I have eyes for, Yankee.”

She looks up from under her lashes, his soft voice slowly beginning to ease her anxious mind. Dean casting those negative thoughts away only does one thing, though; it makes room for a different kind of self loathing. “God, I’m such a bitch…” she says softly, rubbing her face with her free hand. “No, you’re not. Don’t say that,” he dismisses, not wanting her to be so hard on herself. “But I need you to trust me.”

Y/N eyes dart up to his, stunned, realizing that her behavior might have hurt him more than he’s letting on. He avoids her eyes, trying to mask the harm her actions did, but even in the dim light she can detect the damage. Of course she trusts him. She trusts him and Jo more than anyone on the ranch, yet it came across like she didn’t. Damn it, she could kick herself in the head right now. Jealousy isn’t a good look on her, neither is self-consciousness, but sometimes she can’t help but to feel intimidated and overwhelmed. He needs to know that it’s not his fault, though. “Dean, I do trust you,” she promises, lacing her fingers with his, hoping to sooth him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t.” He turns to look at her, allowing his thumb to rub over the smooth skin on the back of her hand. Despite her efforts, he can’t quite shake the feeling, but she doesn’t have to know that this bothers him more than it should. And so the corner of his mouth pulls up in a small smile as he looks deep into her eyes, and kisses her softly.

The intimate connection brings more peace than they both expect. They have that effect on each other, that instant calm washing over with a small touch or a sweet kiss. It’s during moments like these that the insecurities lose their proof, the sources that are the patronizing and condescending voices in their heads suddenly unreliable.

After a few peaceful seconds which silence his troubled mind, Dean moves his lips from hers, glad to see that the kiss worked the same wonders for Y/N. Her warm eyes look up at him when she leans into his chest. “So we’re okay?” she checks, needing that confirmation. “We’re okay,” he promises, leaving a kiss on her hair.

The music changes, the lead singer persuading the attending guests to move to the dancefloor. As people leave their seats and gather, Jo emerges again and grabs her beer from the barrel table, carefully testing the water before she approaches the couple. “Is the coast clear? I come in peace.” She holds up her hand innocently. “Everything’s good,” Dean states, not just aiming at the bond between him and his cousin. “In that case, can I steal your girlfriend?” Jo asks. “This is such a good song and I for one wanna dance!”

Y/N’s face lights up, fueled by the blonde cowgirl’s contagious smirk. Before she slides out of the booth, though, she shares a look with Dean. “Go, seriously. Have some fun,” he encourages. “You’re not coming?” she wonders. Dean scoffs. “Hell no!” “Oh, come on!” Y/N tries again. “It’s no use, Sis. Dean doesn’t dance. Not good for his John Wayne reputation,” Jo nags, taking her best friend’s hand to pull her to her feet. “Wranglers don’t dance. They ride,” Dean defends, aggrieved. “Alright, tough guy. You go stir in your own juices while you miss out on all the fun.” His cousin twirls around, dragging Y/N with her before she can change her mind.

The most horrible and yet catchy country song ever made sounds from the amplifiers, ‘Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy’ covered by the band that is rocking it out on stage. A fiddler clad in a charming saloon dress like the women used to wear in the old West has joined them, adding spice with the crisp sound of her instrument. Trying to get her best friend out of her funk, Jo pulls Y/N in the lines that have formed, without missing a beat getting into the choreographed series of steps that every cowgirl knows by heart. Laughing, Y/N joins her, getting the hang of the dance quickly.

Dean has stood up and joined Jody, Donna and Benny at the barrel table, nursing his drink as he watches his Yankee dance it out. He lets the tension flow out of his chest with a deep breath, the ache melting away with the sight of her. The colored lights flick over her features in the same rhythm of the music, her hat hanging between her shoulder blades by the stampede string. Forgetting the troubles for a moment, she copies Jo’s motion, who pretends to rope a lasso above her head as she makes a circle, while shouting out the words back to the lead singer when he points his microphone to the dancing crowd. It makes Dean chuckle.

“Well, that seems too jolly to miss out on,” Benny decides, holding out his elbow for Jody to hook her arm through. “Can I have this dance, darlin’?” “Benny Lafitte, always the charmer,” the woman with pixie hair comments, but takes his offer, leaving just Donna and Dean. They watch their friends, both with a pleased smile on their lips. It’s quiet for a while between old companions as they take in the carefree portrayal. It’s the head wrangler of the Gold Canyon Ranch who eventually breaks the silence. “Thanks for the save.” “What save?” Donna returns, pretending to be oblivious.

He can see by her mischievous smirk that she’s well aware what he’s talking about; her bid on the Pinto at the auction. Donna never intended to buy the two year old stallion. She and Jody spent fifteen grand only an hour prior to the sale, and especially during current times, Dean can’t picture the girls spending another 7500 dollars on a second horse. He knew the moment Donna raised that sign; she was doing them a favor and drove up the price. Dean throws her a knowing look, his eyebrow perked, triggering Donna to drop the act. “That Pinto is a hell of a good horse. Would’ve been a good buy,” she grins. “If only I had done the final bid.” Grinning, he takes a swig of his beer. He appreciates the help, knowing that the two female ranch owners will not spill the financial secret to anyone else in their circle. It’s safe with them, and he considers himself lucky to have friends like that. Everyone needs a hand sometimes, and he’s more than glad that Donna and Jody offered theirs in time of need.

“Anyhoo, I’m gonna join the girls for a dance off. You should join us for a change. I’ll bet your belle would love it,” the broad-smiling woman suggests. “She’s having plenty of fun without me,” he sniggers, watching her belt out the lyrics to the song with Jo. “Okeydokes. But you’re missin’ out, handsome.” Donna winks at him, heading to the dancefloor with a spring in her step.

Dean watches the cheery woman from Minnesota go, but his focus soon darts past her, immediately captured by the sight of Y/N. Damn, they could shut off the power and she would still light up the room. He can’t keep his eyes off her, the familiar swell of his heart once again taking up so much space that it’s hard to breathe. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, not anymore. It used to terrify him, feeling something so strong for a woman he’s known for such a short amount of time. But now when he feels it, it just strengthens his fondness and devotion for the girl who he wishes he had met years ago. Maybe he could have saved her the heartache that has her self-conscious about her place with Dean. Maybe his track record wouldn’t be so long that she would question him. He’s willing to do anything to make up for that time, though.

As Jo and Y/N dance in circles around each other, clapping their hands and laughing, her gaze meets Dean’s. She’s caught off guard by the adoration in his eyes, his smile so warm and affectionate, that she slows her step. The good-looking cowboy she gets to call hers just stands there by himself, adding action to his words. He’s watching her as if she’s the only girl at the party, like she’s the only girl in the world.

Y/N breaks away from her friends and steps towards him, swaying her hips a little more than she usually does. She shook the concern that weighed heavy on her earlier and got her footing back. A cheeky smile plays on her lips and her eyes sparkle, telling Dean instantly she’s up to no good. When she reaches her boyfriend, she takes his forearm between both hands and pulls at it. “Come dance.” “I don’t dance, Yankee,” he refuses, not budging. The music changes to a new song, triggering cheers to rise from the small crowd. The new rhythm has her eyes go wide, then pleading. “Oh, come on. This is a good song to move to!” Y/N begs, using all her strength to shift his tall form.

He stands his ground, surprised at her physical strength, but the stand off is as much for his own sake as for hers. If he lets her go, she’s gonna land flat on her ass, but Dean spares her the embarrassment. The cowboy sighs, not that fond of being at the center of attention anyway, not to mention on the dance floor in this big tent. But how the hell is he going to say ‘no’ to her? “One song,” he complies, strict on the conditions. She jumps into the air excitedly and the delight in her eyes is already worth it. He adjusts his grip and laces his finger through hers, walking towards the dancing group of people, their friends amongst him. Jo’s jaw drops to the floor when she notices Dean on her tail. “How the hell did you manage to drag his sorry ass over here?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “I can be quite persuasive.”

Her cowboy catches her by surprise when he tightens his hold on her hand, raising it and spinning her. When she comes full circle he pulls her in again, slipping his arm under hers and smoothly transitions into a two step. Completely flabbergasted, she grabs his shoulder and stares up at him with big eyes. Whoa, where the heck did that come from? “I thought you couldn’t dance!” she giggles, while he leads her across the dancefloor, not missing a step. “Never said that,” he smirks. “I just said I don’t dance.” “Well, you’re dancing now,” Y/N returns, delighted. He chuckles at that, looking deep into her eyes. “Only because the most beautiful girl at the party asked me.”

They nail the routine, even though they’ve never teamed up on the dancefloor before. It’s not a complicated choreography, a simple one-two mixed with some country swing, but apparently it looks impressive enough to earn a ‘yee-haw!’ from Benny. Y/N glances aside when the others rally them on, clapping in the rhythm of the song from the sideline, making room for the couple. Jo gives her two thumbs up, clearly entertained by the unexpected turn of events. She can’t stop her smile reaching from ear to ear when Dean twirls again, not missing the same expression on his face.

The fiddle and guitar work together in harmony, throwing in a variation during the bridge of the song. Having her a little closer than at arms length, his right hand on her higher back, his left hand holding hers out to the side, they continue to move from one end of the open space to the other swiftly. The cowboy is enjoying himself, even though he was being a grump about dancing earlier. How can he not, now that he’s a witness of the pure joy his girl is radiating?

The drummer finishes the song with a ruffle and the music dies down, the band receiving applause from the attending party-goers. Beaming, Y/N looks into Dean’s emerald green eyes, which sparkle every time the spotlight hits them. Dean was right; she’s having a blast, just like he predicted.

Not ready to admit that he doesn’t really want to stop dancing with Y/N, he glances at the musicians, waiting for the next song. He narrows his eyes confused when he spots Donna, who got the attention of the lead singer. The young man has crouched down at the edge of the stage, Donna whispering something in his ear. Dean can see him nod in agreement before he rights himself and grabs the mic stand. “Alright, y’all. I got a special request for a ballad just now. We’re gonna perform an original, so take your lady to the floor. Time to take things a lil’ slower.”

He puts away his electric guitar and picks up the acoustic one, plugging it in. A romantic tune coming from the speakers when he strums the strings. Questioning, Y/N glances up at her boyfriend, almost sheepishly. Dean agreed to one song, which had a totally different vibe to the music that was sounding right now. The wrangler has been nothing but wonderful and sweet with her, but she doesn’t expect him to openly show how much he cares about her, especially with Bobby still present in the tent.

But against the odds, Dean moves his extended hand that was still holding hers closer to his chest, letting it rest there. Gentle fingertips press into her skin as they sink to the small of her back, encouraging her to come close. He looks at her, the playfulness dying down and replaced with something deeper, something even more profound.

I can’t count the times I almost said what’s on my mind, but I didn’t. Just the other day, I wrote down all the things I’d say, but I couldn’t. Baby, I know that you’ve been wondering. So here goes nothing.

Comfortable in his arms, Y/N lays her head against his chest, the soft thump of his heart beat and the slow swaying motion calming every nerve that was ever there. She couldn’t feel safer, more sheltered than in this very moment. Right now, she’s the only girl in the world. She couldn’t care less that she’s in the limelight, that everyone is a witness of the bond between them that’s strengthening each day. In fact, she feels proud. Dean stepped on the dance floor, just for her. He is showing a side of him not many are familiar with, just for her. If this doesn’t prove that he’s her man, and no one else's, nothing will.

In case you didn’t know, baby, I’m crazy ‘bout you. And I would be lying if I said that I could live this life without you. Even though I don’t tell you all the time, you had my heart a long, long time ago. In case you didn’t know.

Careful not to stand on her feet and ruin the moment, Dean continues to slowly sway her from side to side. Softly pressing his cheek against her hair, he shuts his eyes for a second, storing the memory amongst the other precious recollections. God, this feels beyond amazing.

When he opens his eyes again, his gaze travels over the faces watching the pairs in front of the stage. Tensing slightly, he notices Bobby, who watches the two slow-dancing. His uncle shoots back a judgemental glare, seemingly not too pleased with the fact that there’s more going on between the supervisor and the intern than he originally thought. The head wrangler looks back guilty, grimacing awkwardly.

“What is it?” Y/N wonders, apparently feeling him stiffening. “I think we’ve been made,” Dean whispers in her ear, dipping down his head slightly. “Bobby?” she assumes, concerned. “What should we… Should we stop?” But Dean shakes his head, not caring about the ranch owner at this point. He’ll get over it, and if there was ever a right time to tell the old man, today, after the wins they so desperately needed, would be the day. “Keep dancing,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss against her hair. Y/N eases, leaning into him again, the space between the two decreased to the minimum. A breath slips from her lips, the air warm against his chest, even through his shirt. He can smell her shampoo lingering in her locks, mixed with her scent that’s so unmistakably hers. Slowly but surely, everything about her is becoming familiar, yet there’s not a single aspect of the woman before him that he takes for granted.

The way you look tonight, that second glass of wine. That did it. There was somethin ‘bout that kiss. Girl you did me in. Got me thinking. I’m thinking. One of the things that I’ve been feeling, it’s time you hear ‘em.

Listening to the words, feeling the music reach his soul, he can’t help but to evaluate the thoughts that cross his mind and the emotions that leave him vulnerable. He knows he’s beyond falling in love at this point, but even if he could, he would never want to go back. Y/N is what he never knew he needed, yet it stuns him when that three word sentence settles on the tip of his tongue. He can’t tell her, though. Not yet. The way he’s holding her right now, how he softly leans into her, is the closest he can get to actually saying it out loud. God, he hopes she knows. Dean silently promises that one day he will tell her. One day.

The cowboy pulls back slightly, dipping his chin to establish eye contact again. The kindest smile awaits him, her beautiful orbs glazed over with emotion. She’s not sad, though, quite the opposite. She’s moved. No one has ever made her feel this whole. This is the true definition of happiness, being in his arms, him looking at her like he’s doing so now. Their noses brush when Dean leans in, then he moves his mouth to hers and captures her lips with his. The kiss is soft and slow, just like the music, just like the dance. But of all the intimate moments they shared so far, this has to be the greatest one yet. The thought swirled through her head before, but in this very moment, she is sure: she loves Dean. More than she ever thought she was capable of.

You’ve got all of me. I belong to you. Yeah, you’re my everything.

From a distance, the company of four watches the couple. The dim light coming from the strings of lightbulbs above the dancefloor falls over them like a soft blanket, the spots by the stage illuminating their silhouettes. The vision before them is the definition of romance, one that silences the normally so chatty personalities on the sideline.

Jody and Donna sigh collectively, swooning at the sight. “I can’t...” The blonde ranch owner swoons. “I can’t with these two.” “They are so good together,” Jody agrees, endeared. Jo nods, proud of her friend, and secretly also of her cousin. “Gotta say, never thought I’d see it happen. If he can settle down, there’s still hope for all of us.” “You guys can thank me with a beer,” Benny sniggers, his eyes not leaving the pair either.

His comment earns a look from the three women in his presence. The farrier is about to move a beer bottle to his mouth, but pauses the action when he feels their eyes burning in the side of his head, demanding an explanation. “Who do you think talked sense into the bastard and told him to get his act together, huh?” he brags, taking a sip of his drink. “Who do you think told him to never let go of that girl and that he better put a ring on her finger?” Jody says, earning impressed nods. “Who do you think requested this song?” Donna bounces back victoriously. “Well then,” Jo holds out her bottle, waiting for the others to join her in a toast. “To the matchmakers!”

Jody is the last one to raise her wine, her eyes not leaving the sight before them. “To love,” she adds. The four agree to that, clinking their glasses together. After all, it’s what life is all about. Friends, family and that one person you’re going to share the rest of your life with. They repeat her wise words with abandon. “To love!”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-one here

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bluesfortheredj · 3 years

Text

Modern Romance - Epilogue.

Smut ahead.

“Gwil, I can’t do this, I can’t cope,” she sighs, her voice on the verge of cracking with tears.

I can hear our son in the background; his cries coming across loud and clear as if it were him on the phone instead.

“It’s as if I’m not good enough, I’m not you. He doesn’t want his mum, he wants his dad.”

“Don’t say that, he doesn’t want me! He wants you, the person who gave birth to him.”

“He always calms down when you soothe him. I’ve tried everything; his nappy is dry, he’s not hungry, he hasn’t got wind… I don’t know what else to do,” she sounds empty, completely drained from a sleepless night and day.

I’ve only been gone 48 hours and she’s been up for most of those with our little one. I should be there, I say this too many times in our relationship, but I’m out in Europe filming and absent for more important moments as usual. I didn’t want to leave but in all honesty we need the money now we’ve got a tiny human to feed and clothe, and with (Y/N) on maternity leave it’s a struggle at times to make ends meet. Our little Leo is only six months old and it was the toughest decision to make but (Y/N) encouraged me to take it being as it’s only four weeks, despite being apprehensive about being left on her own with the bubba.

“Put me on video,” I instruct, needing to see her face.

It feels like Australia all over again and I might as well be the other side of the world with how isolated she must be feeling right now. She does as I say and now I can see the sheer exhaustion on her face in the suddenly harsh light of our lounge; she’s pale, there are deep dark circles underneath her eyes, and she looks completely beaten. Leo is screaming in the rocker next to her, one of her feet still managing to try and soothe him in spite of the fact that her whole body was now weak with tiredness, and I have to force a reassuring smile.

“He will not. Stop. Crying,” she sobs, “the neighbours must think something terrible is going on in here with the way he’s screaming. I’m an awful mother, I can’t cope being alone with my own child, I-”

“Shh,” I hush, “you’re doing a brilliant job under the circumstances. I should be there to help, there’s absolutely no shame in struggling on your own with a new born! Just look at me… look at me a second… just breathe okay? Take some deep breaths. That’s it. In… and out. Now you’re gonna pick up Leo and do the same okay?”

I’m clutching at straws, I have no more of an idea of what to do than she does, and I’m just making this up in the blind hope that it’ll go some way to calm the two of them down.

“Maybe do the skin to skin thing?” I add, knowing that we were told how it can help with bonding in the early months.

She nods slowly, stands the phone up on the coffee table, undoes the top few buttons on her pyjama shirt, takes one last deep breath, then picks up Leo from the rocker and carefully tucks him inside the clothing with his little red face still crying out for something unknown. I nod and smile as she looks to the phone screen for reassurance, then she wipes her tears away and starts to take deep breaths once more while her finger tips massage Leo’s scalp gently while he cries into her neck.

“You know him better than anyone on this planet,” I remind her, “you nurtured him for nine whole months and made sure he came into this world as safely and healthy as he could.”

Her eyes close as she begins to hum a song and she nods along to what I say until finally those screams begin to fade and I watch as his tiny chunky arms reach out to (Y/N)’s skin and rest upon it as if hugging her. The humming stops and I soon realise the two of them are now asleep in front of me, but I stay on video for another twenty minutes just to watch them both and take in the sight of my little family snoozing happily without me there. Leo stirs a little, his eyes opening slightly to look up at his mum, then he nuzzles into her neck with a yawn and he’s soon off to sleep again before I manage to end the video call.

Everything had been quite the rush since I proposed over a year ago; we had a small wedding ceremony at a country house in the middle of nowhere when she was six months gone with only the closest family and friends being invited, and we chose to forgo a honeymoon in favour of going away after the baby arrived which obviously did not go to plan because babies are notoriously good at messing up plans; it’s lucky they’re so bloody cute. And Leo… well, he’s the cutest of them all, not that I’m biased in any way obviously, but he is definitely the most gorgeous baby I’ve ever laid eyes on, and the most perfect mix of (Y/N) and I with his tiny button nose and piercing blue eyes. It’s funny how you imagine having the perfect little family and yet somehow the reality isn’t as easy as you think; sleepless nights, sick down every top you own, explosive poos in almost every colour of the rainbow, pee on your face if you take the nappy away too quickly… it’s really quite fascinating how much a small human can impact on your life. (Y/N) is a born mother but it hasn’t been easy adjusting to this new way of life for either of us, and I know that this is such a huge step to be left on her own with Leo for so long, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to do it, I know that for a fact.

“Gwil!” (Y/N) whispers excitedly when I answer her video call a few days later, “look!”

She switches cameras to show me a sleeping Leo in his cot then backs out of the room and turns the camera on herself to show me a relieved smile on her still slightly sleep deprived face, “it only took a week,” she sighs.

I smile, yet still feel sad that I’m not there to help out, “I’m sorry,” I exhale with a shake of my head, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she reassures, “if I can get through the last week without tearing my hair out then I can get through anything, right?”

“Exactly,” I nod, “you’re the strongest woman I know.”

“I’m nothing without you here.”

“Shut up,” I scoff, “don’t be ridiculous. Now remind me, when are your parents getting there?”

She looks down at her watch briefly, “in about an hour.”

“Good, and did the shopping get delivered alright?”

“Yep,” she nods, “got about 20 packs of nappies now which should last at least a couple of days,” she laughs.

“How’s his poo doing?” the conversations we have these days really are quite unexpected.

“It’s looking more human and less glowing alien goop, so it’s going in the right direction!”

“Oh thank god,” I sigh, “I could not cope with the…” I pause as I almost gag at the thought of what I used to find in his nappy, “yeah… that.”

She laughs at my reaction; a laugh that I hadn’t seen since before I left, and I melt into the seat at the desk in my hotel room at the sight and sound of that beautiful response. It was like cool rain after a sweltering summer’s day, having a mug of hot chocolate while underneath a blanket in winter, or the pure, ecstatic relief of coming home after weeks away. She’s home to me; I don’t even need to be in our house as long as I’m with her and now little Leo as well.

“What are you thinking?” she hums, seeing me drift off to a place with her.

“I’m just-”

Leo’s scream comes across loud and clear on the phone and she sticks out her bottom lip as far as it will go before knocking the back of her head on the wall behind as she tries to muster up some energy to deal with the impending situation.

“I love you, bye,” she sighs, ending the video call just as I open my mouth to reply.

“Love you too,” I say to the photo of us dancing at our wedding that makes up the background on my phone.

I spend far too long looking at pictures on my phone these days, although it’s getting increasingly harder to find the ones of us alone through the many rapid shots of Leo doing completely mundane things like giggling, waving his hands about, sleeping, eating, bathing, and most probably pooing in at least fifty percent of them. I have to scroll for a while before something other than our little man appears, and I end up going all the way back to the first photo I ever took of (Y/N). It’s just as magical as the day I took it; the soft glow of the rising sun illuminating the outline of her body in our bed. Because now it is our bed. The bed we’ve made love in countless times, the bed we’ve both cried in, comforted one another in, laughed until we’ve almost wet ourselves in, and the bed our baby was conceived in. The first thing I do when I get home is take her to bed, as long as Leo can give us five minutes that is; I think I’ll have to call in reinforcements, aka grandparents as childcare.

I try to squeeze through the crowds at the airport as quickly as possible so I can jump in a cab and get home, but these people will just not move. My frustrations grow with each person that bumps into me, and I’m a grumbling mess when I finally get outside the prison that is Heathrow, especially when I see that there are no taxis in sight thanks to the mass influx of people tonight. It’s a nightmare and the cheerful and relieved mood I was in when we landed has been stripped away bit by bit in the last half an hour. I finally find myself a cab and pop earphones in for the relatively quick journey considering London traffic, then I breathe a sigh of relief as I arrive home and walk up that familiar path. The door flies open before I even get to the mat and I drop my suitcase and bag as (Y/N) comes running out to greet me, flinging her arms around my neck and almost knocking me over with her enthusiasm. Now I’m really home.

“I missed you so much,” she quietly sobs into my shirt.

“I missed you more,” I whisper back, tears rolling over my cheeks, “are you okay? Is Leo alright? Where is he?”

She pulls away and I wipe her tears as she hangs on to my coat, “please don’t hate me but he’s with my parents until tomorrow…”

My face lights up at the thought of having (Y/N) all to myself again if only for 24 hours, and I can’t help but let out a relieved laugh, “how could I ever hate you? I get you alone for a whole day and we can pretend we’ve got no actual responsibilities. I couldn’t love you any more if I tried. Now come on, we’re having sex in every room.”

I take her hand and pull her inside the house to the sweetest sound of her laughing behind me, and I sit her on the stairs before running back out to grab my luggage. I drop it all in a pile in the hallway before I kick the door shut behind me, then she stands up on the step she stood on the first proper weekend we spent together and we recreate that kiss; the kiss that cemented us as a couple despite there being no labels at that point as we stood in our pyjamas ready for a night of nothing in particular.

“I completely and utterly adore our little Leo, but my god I’ve been aching to have you all to myself since he arrived,” I admit breathlessly, barely parting from our kiss as my hands wander her body unsure of where to stop these days.

“I know,” she nods as her lips move along my jaw lazily, “it’s just you and me until tomorrow night my love. Let’s not waste a minute.”

My eyes roll into the back of my head at those words and she pushes against my chest as she steps down from the stairs, then in a flurry of discarded clothes, wet, messy kisses and bumps into walls, doors, and furniture we somehow end up in the living room with me sat on the sofa and my beautiful (Y/N) bouncing up and down on my lap. I’ve missed this, I’ve missed her, I’ve missed the feeling of being so intimate with the one I love, I’ve missed her body and all the beautiful little changes it’s made to carry and nurture our son. I look up at her in both awe and pure pleasure to see her gaze focused on me and we meet for a sloppy, teeth clashing kiss while our bodies move together as one for the first time since our bubba came along. I’m first to orgasm, with her following shortly after, and we lay in a tangled, naked mess along the sofa as we catch our breath once we’ve finished. Our bodies are stuck together with the thin layers of sweat that coat both of us and the only sound is our breathing as it transitions from pants to soft breaths.

“Pasta?” she eventually asks.

“I fucking love you,” I reply.

She gets up with a grin and I study every inch of her body as she looks around for something to cover her, then I realise just how much it had changed during the pregnancy and the last few months and it’s a bewitching sight to see.

“You look incredible,” I admire, leaning up on one arm as she slips my t-shirt over her head.

“Urgh,” she groans, “I’m fatter than ever, my nipples are so painful, the stretch marks have spread, and I can barely get control over my bladder. I look far from incredible.”

I furrow my brow at her and sit up, “I mean it; you’re absolutely stunning. I hadn’t realised just how much your body had adapted to having our little one but it’s amazing to see, and you’re just as beautiful as the day I met you, if not more.”

“How is it you can still make my knees weak with mere words?” she blushes, backing out of the room to sort out some food.

I dress… well, I put on my pants and the jogging bottoms I wore on the journey back, then join her in the kitchen and it’s as if we’re back to those first couple of months again; the silliness, the passion, the carefree nature of us both, and it’s just as intoxicating now as it was back then. I know it’s completely selfish but having her attention on just me again is what I’ve been craving since our little muffin came along, and I’m sure that this will satiate my need for at least another six months. To be honest, I think she needs this just as much as I do; she’s had a tough month being on her own with Leo and playing both mum and dad while I’ve been away, and now she can have a well deserved day off from it all.

Our day is filled with delicious food, laying on the sofa and watching a whole television programme without being disturbed by cries, getting lost in one another with endless kissing and touching, and we make love two more times with one in our bedroom and the other in the kitchen. By night we don’t even want to go to sleep for fear of missing a second of being with each other, but we soon have to give in to the utter exhaustion of being awake for so long, and we huddle up together for a peaceful nights sleep.

“Morning,” (Y/N) whispers softly as I blink into the light of the room.

“Morning,” I reply groggily, trying my best to sit up.

“I have a confession to make…”

“Go on.”

“I phoned my parents this morning and they’re bringing Leo back in an hour. I loved our time together, it was perfect in every way, but my god am I missing that little sleep stealer!”

I let out a chuckle at her confession, “me too. It just wasn’t the same watching almost a whole series without one interruption. I miss cuddling him in one arm and trying to do something else with the other.”

“Well, it’s official… we’re proper parents now.”

“Yep. Undoubtedly so!”

She slips under the covers and cuddles into my side, running her fingers through the hair on my chest softly, and we both close our eyes to savour the moment before begrudgingly getting up and dressed ready for the return of Leo.

“Thank you,” I say as we spot her parent’s car pulling up outside.

“For what?” she frowns.

“Sticking with me, making me a dad, being my rock… the list goes on.”

She places a hand on my cheek and kisses my lips gently, “you big softie. You’re stuck with me anyway,” she winks.

The arrival of Leo at the door is signified by one of his giggles, and (Y/N) runs to open it and take our son in her arms with me following quickly behind. He wriggles against her and soon starts grabbing at her to get as close as humanly possible to his mum as she peppers his head with kisses while she carefully rocks her body soothingly.

“Daddy’s home!” she whispers excitedly as she passes him to me and ushers her parents into the lounge.

He grumbles a little, having to get used to smelling his dad again after such a long time, but he soon settles and overall seems pleased to see me thank goodness. I rock him in my arms as (Y/N) goes to make the tea and I stand in the kitchen doorway looking between the two loves of my life and completely taken aback by how lucky I got to have them in my life.

“Hey, come here,” I nod as (Y/N) turns to look at me.

She steps towards us both and plants a soft kiss on the little one’s nose as I wrap my free arm around her, then press my lips first to (Y/N)’s head, and secondly to Leo’s. As long as I’ve got these two in my life, I’ll be happy.

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x you #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee smut

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simsadventures · 4 years

Text

Baby Fever II

Summary: You’re 9 months pregnant with your first child, and you and Bucky are both excited and nervous about the arrival of the little one.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of smut (nothing explicit this time around), daddy! Bucky, Deer Woman appearance

Word Count: 1932

A/N: Some of you liked the first part so much, you actually requested a second one, and I was honestly very happy to do it. This is pretty much just a fluff with a fluff on top, so I’ll hope you’ll enjoy it. Let me know what you thought :) xx

Bucky Barnes Masterlist __ Masterlist

Baby Fever I

The dull pain in your lower back woke you up. You groaned in frustration when you looked at the alarm sitting on your nightstand. It was 6.29, and even though that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, to wake up in half past 6, it was the fact that it has only been 2 hours since you last woke up. And you were tired. And in pain. And frustrated.

You looked at the other side of the bed seeing Bucky still soundly asleep, and although you were happy for him and his sleeping routine, you were also jealous of him.

You loved the fact you were pregnant, you really did. But your little bundle of joy had no care in the world for a time in the real world outside your womb, and he or she would regularly have a party in there around 4 AM.

And because nature had to make it so that the women would carry to babies, your husband would wake up rested and stress-free every morning, while you looked like a little dwarves dances on top of you the whole night.

You sighed, and rolled over to your other side, dangling your feet off the bed and you tried to get up. Not only were you tired, but your bladder was killing you as well. You were sure the baby thought your bladder was some kind of a ball and would kick it out of spite every twenty minutes, causing you to run to the bathroom.

There were times when you even wanted to have twins. That thought made you cringe now because just the thought of two babies being in there, playing with your organs made you shiver. One at a time was just enough for you.

You rushed to the bathroom, and when you were done, you looked at yourself in the mirror. There were dark circles under your eyes from the lack of sleep, and very probably from the strength of the baby, which, as Bruce said, has inherited parts of the serum from his father. Bucky was alarmed at first, at the thought of his baby being enhanced and all of that, but Bruce assured both of you that rather than being enhanced in the usual sense of the word, your baby would simply be less prone to be sick, its wounds would heal slightly quicker, and that was probably it.

He couldn’t be a hundred percent sure until it was born, but you trusted Bruce, and you were at ease with the whole serum thing.

Your eyes travelled south to your 9-month belly, swollen and hard with stretch marks at the sides. At first, you were horrified to see those lines on your body that use to be lean and without a mark, except the few scars you carried from your fights. But then, mostly thanks to Bucky, you realised that it was a miracle you even had this baby in you, and that your body was just accommodating for the little one to be as comfortable as you could make it.

You touched the right side of your belly, right next to your navel, and massaged it lightly. You knew the baby liked it when you touched the belly, or when you or Bucky spoke to it, and you wanted to enjoy this morning ritual until it decided to finally come out.

You could feel pressure under your palm, and when you lifted it, you could see a little hand protruding through your skin.

Despite your tiredness and all those frustrations you felt when you got up, a smile appeared on your mouth and tears welled up in your eyes. This was all you ever dreamed of, at least since you met Bucky, and you couldn’t believe that it was a reality. Your very own reality.

You didn’t even notice the movement behind you until there was a hand splayed on your stomach. You looked into the mirror and was welcomed by the sight that melted your heart.

Bucky’s hair was still messy from the pillow, his eyes looked like he hasn’t truly woken up just yet, but he had a delirious smile on his face, watching your belly with a newfound adoration.

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Bucky was over the moon. He would make sure you had everything you needed, even if it meant he had to get up from the comfort of his bed at 2 AM just to bring you a sack of oranges, or a pack of ice cream. He would pamper you with kisses and hugs, give you massages whenever your body hurt too much, and he would be there all the time.

He even misses a few missions just because he didn’t feel like leaving you alone, despite your protests and Tony’s explanations that nothing could happen to you in the safest place on this planet. That wasn’t an argument for Bucky. You were his wife carrying his child, and he would be damned if he didn’t make sure you were both ok.

As the baby made its presence known, Bucky kept massaging your belly, marvelling at the sight of the tiny feet and hands showing through the thin skin of your stomach.

You leaned into his chest, loving the attention he was giving both of you, and you kissed the underside of his jaw. His eyes shot to yours, and he gave you the loveliest smile, pecking your lips in the process.

You were nearing your due date, well, according to Bruce, it could happen any day now. You were anxious, to say the least. You were an Avenger, that was true, but you couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to give birth to a tiny human being. And if it the little one inside you was anything like Bucky, it would come out kicking and screaming.

But the truth was, you weren’t even scared of the pain, you knew you could take it. Billions of women were able to do it before you, and you knew you could do it. You were more afraid for the little one. What if something happens to it? What if you can’t even do the one thing, right? What if you are a bad mother?

All these thoughts were playing in your mind as the due date neared, and they were now all you could think of. Bucky had no idea, or at least you thought so because you didn’t want to stress him out or let him know about all your doubts when it came to your child.

But Bucky being Bucky could read you like an open book, and so when you got lost in your head again, contemplating whether you are able to take on this new role, in this crazy world, Bucky put a finger under your chin and turned your to face him.

“Stop,” he whispered and touched your forehead with his, letting you take a deep breath, releasing the stress out of your body.

“We’re gonna be good, you’re gonna be a great mother, and I will never let anything happen to the little one, I promise. You are my family, my everything, and there isn’t a possibility of it not ending up ok. We’re gonna struggle at times, just like every other new parents, but we will get the hang of it. I saw you taking care of Morgan, and you’re natural, baby! So stop stressing about unnecessary things, and just enjoy the last few moments of being pregnant,” he said calmly, and just like always, you felt yourself letting go of all your fears, just because Bucky was with you.

“I know you’re right, it’s just the illogical part of my brain that comes up with all these worst-case scenarios. But you’re right, when it comes-“

You couldn’t finish the sentence, because you suddenly felt something wet between your thighs. And because you were pretty sure you just didn’t pee yourself, there was only one other possibility.

Bucky was watching in confusion, as you looked from him to your stomach and further down, and then back at him. It took him a good minute before he realised what was happening, and from the calm and collected Bucky, you had this fretting boy in front of you.

He was freaking out, to say the least, while you were overcome with peace. Sure, you were curious about the contractions, and all, but you suddenly knew you could do this. Your body was made for this. Which you couldn’t say about Bucky’s body, which was now shaking as he tried to remember what it was that you wanted to do first if something like this happened.

“Bucky!” You raised your voice to ensure the message actually got to his stressed brain.

“Call my doctor, Dr Young, and tell her that we are on our way. I’ll call Bruce and tell him what is happening. You’ll then grab my bag, it’s there, on the table, and you’ll calmly drive me to the hospital, just like we planned. Will you be able to do it, or should I call somebody else to drive us?”

“NO! I’ll drive us! I’ve got this! I promise, now let’s go,” Bucky said, obviously still a little shaken, but much better than moments ago.

You nodded at him, and while you were both calling the doctors, and heading towards the car, you looked outside, and for a brief moment, you could have sworn you saw a beautiful woman standing outside the window.

Her hair was flowing around her hips, the flower crown on her head accentuating her beauty just like her plain white dress. She looked like she was smiling at you and nodding, but when you blinked and looked again, she was nowhere to be found.

You thought you were hallucinating, from the pain that started to creep to your belly and forgot all about the image of a few moments ago.

But the Deer Woman has never forgotten. She came in to check on you, and to give you and the baby the strength to go through the labour as painlessly and quickly as possible.

She was also there, just outside the hospital where you were giving birth to your baby boy to oversee the whole process, and when she heard the sharp cries of your baby, and when she heard you saying the little boy’s name, she nodded again and vanished into thin air.

“Micheal Steven,” you said with a smile. “I think we should call him after Steve, because you and Steve have always been so close, and I would like to honour that. Also, we both agreed that sieve should be his godfather, so why not calling him after him?”

Bucky was already on the verge of crying from all the joy he was feeling, but when you asked him if you could name your baby boy after his best friend, the dam broke. He sobbed yes, and hugged you tightly, still careful of the babe in your arms.

He couldn’t believe his luck to have such a beautiful family, and he knew that it wouldn’t end with just this baby. Bucky wanted a whole litter of babies now that you two knew you made such cute ones. And he couldn’t wait to start trying with you again. Well, after little Micheal Steven was safe and sound in his crib and you were all healed up, of course. He could wait that long. But the baby fever in him could never be truly satisfied.

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @s-trawberryv-eins @reniescarlett @bxrnsfeyson @the-soulofdevil

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon @lumar014 @ptrs-prkrs

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration @caswinchester2000 @mogaruke @justthatfangirloverthere @mushyjellybeans @livsheph @sebbbystaaan @notyourtypicalrose @itsunclebucky

If your name is crossed out, tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason, I’m sorry.

If you’d like to be tagged comment/message/send an ask. If you like the story, please reblog :) any comments are appreciated, even the critical ones. Always a space to get better, so let me know what you guys think.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes reader insert #avengers #avengers fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #deer woman #myth #sequel

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans Are Space Orcs, “The Press.”

I have been wanting to do this for a while. Commander Vir deals with fame, and the good and bad parts of it. I hope you like, sorry I am so late today :)

“Why exactly am I back on earth? My tour doesn’t end for another six months, and we were just getting ready for our first exploratory mission since before the burg war.”

“Look, commander, I understand this isn’t what you thought you were signing up for, but since the movie dropped recruitment has Gone up 45% and another 20% after merchandising, we need to get on this quick,”

He sighed

“Besides, you will only be touring one or two weeks. That’s one or two weeks paid vacation while you talk to celebrities, pose for pictures, and maybe do a press conference or two. Bring along a couple of friends to keep you company and it won’t be that bad.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, but I’m not a dancing monkey. I didn’t sign up for this, and it’s not going to becoming a thin.”

“Yes commander, now The UNSC is taking you first. You are their poster child after all, and they want your face on the recruiting posters .”

“Very well, ma’am.”

***

Wednesday, June 3

“This is good work commander, but we are going to bring in an expert to make it just right.”

Commander Vir stood in an empty hanger bay surrounded by reflective panels, directional lights and a multitude of camera equipment. Sunny and Krill were playing a guessing game he had taught them earlier in the day to keep them occupied, and Waffles -- his dog -- was curled up by one of the set technicians taking a nap.

“An expert?”

“Yes, we’re bringing in one of the guys who used to be a guard in Arlington. The uniform looks good, but is it perfect?”

The answer to that question was answered simply few minutes later

He was a slob, a big fat slob who didn’t know how to properly wear his socks. The guy even whipped out a tape measure to determine the exact distance that a pin should be placed from the crease in his collar.

Commander Vir didn’t see the difference on the small scale, but in aggregate, he found that the difference was actually quite startling. He blinked, “Wow.”

“Excellent, now, we’re going to have you stand over here while we adjust the lights, and then when we give you the cue we want you to follow the order to a T. We will have parade rest attention, present at attention and then contemplatively looking off into the distance. We will have someone with a marker to tell you where to look.”

“Stare contemplatively off into the distance. I don’t remember learning that one.”

“Ahh we got a smartass.”

He stepped into place doing as the cameraman ordered, trying to look serious and imposing as directed, though Sunny and Krill had decided to make faces in the background. He actually did loose it at some point as Sunny started doing some weird improvised dancing in the background while krill stood there like it offended his sensibilities.

Eventually they got what he wanted, and they showed him some of the prototypes.

There were a few that he liked but only because they looked like vintage movie posters from some badass naval war movie.

Thursday, June 4

The three of them walked into the studio watching as bodies flowed past them hurrying off in all directions. Obviously their presence caused quite a stir, and Adam thought he recognized a few faces peering from the crowd, other movies stars and celebrities, but he couldn't be sure what he was seeing. And then there were the women, and men who hurried about, tall, statuesque like greek gods given life, with jaws so sharp they could cut paper, and pouty lips under wide dark eyes.

Looking at them and then at himself, well, he felt like a dump truck next to a sports car.

Sunny on the other hand didn’t seem impressed, “I could snap them in half…. Like twigs.”

“Fighting isn’t the point Sunny, they’re just supposed to be hot.”

Krill eyed them, “Their single job is to profess the perfect mating standard?”

“Ur yeah, I guess.”

Krill snorted, Sunny shook her head ,’ What is the point of being hot if you’re also useless besides you don’t look all that different.”

He rolled his eyes. Leave it to an alien not to be able to tell what super hot humans looked like.

“I’m serious,” Sunny insisted, “You’re as tall as most of them, and more muscular than some of them, and you have a cool eye patch, so that means you win.”

He couldn’t help but smile shaking his head, “Alright, Alright, I’ll shut up.”

At that moment a woman appeared from nowhere and held out a hand, “Commander! So glad you could come, so glad.” She looked him up and down with a frown.”

“That bad huh?”

“Nothing a little wardrobe and makeup can’t fix.” She announced clapping her hands together and motioning others over as he frowned.

He frowned.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing “

“Do I tell you how to do your job commander, no, now over to wardrobe .”

He blinked in surprise, “Ok, yes ma’am.”

He found himself sidling over to where racks and racks of clothing was hanging suddenly surrounded by the tall, statuesque people with their big eyes and pouty lips. While they were busy looking hot, he got nervous and nearly knocked over an entire rack of clothing, blushed till he was beat red, and then decided after this was all over he was going to bury himself under a rock and die.

He was mostly ignored for like twenty minutes until someone walked over, “Commander,” He was a portly little man with hair dyed frost white though his roots were growing in black. The man grabbed him by the hand and dragged him across the room, “Alright, alright, what do we have.”

He looked him over prodding t his shoulders and arms, making him turn in a circle, “Not bad, not bad at all. I can work with this. Tell me commander formal, or casual.”

“Uh casual?”

“Exactly what I was thinking! The provincial small town man feel. I like it.”

“Well I mean ok…” the little man grabbed him aggressively by the arm and pulled him around to a rack of clothing. In the end he had a pair of jeans black boots a black T-shirt and a brown leather jacket.

He frowned, “I hate to point this out, but this is literally what I am wearing.”

“No it isn’t. Yours is frumpy and sloppy and ours will make you look acceptably rugged.”

He frowned not sure if he was supposed to be offended or not, “And where am I supposed to change.”

“Right here.”

“Right here!’

“Commander, these are models, they show their bodies off for a living, none of them need a changing room, so take a leaf out of their book and stop worrying.”

This was worse than a high school locker room. Humans had never reached light speed, but he was pretty sure he at least broke the sound barrier while pulling on the new pants.

When he walked back over pulling on his jacket sunny and Krill had made themselves comfortable in a couple of the stage crew chairs, “What are you so nervous about, you looked fine.” Sonny said looking down at her implants to change music.

“You were watching me>”

“Was I not supposed to do that.”

He felt himself turn a nice shade of cherry red, “No!.”

She shrugged, “Whatever.”

Krill just shook his head, “You forget that neither of us wear clothes, so we do not understand your issues.”

He sighed, “Nudists.” He muttered walking towards the set, though he was immediately diverted by another person who led him over to a set of chairs and mirrors. He was pushed down into a seat and spun around and an aggressive group of stylists moved in on him. This is honestly not what he had expected when he joined the army.

He was even less impressed when they started to stick brushes in his face causing him to blink and his eyes to itch. Someone wetted down his hair and put product in it that smelled like strawberries, which, honestly he wasn’t entirely annoyed about.

From there he was finally let go and walked onto another photo set, though this one had way more lightning, way more cameras and way more props.

And of course like the awesome badass commander that he was, he stood there like a complete idiot as stiff as a board, caught like a deer in the headlights. The photographer seemed more than a little annoyed at his inability to look like anything other than sasquatch caught on a hunting camera.

“Relax.”

“This is kind of out of my element.”

“Being capture by aliens and going on space walks where you might suffocate, and you cant relax enough to take a picture.”

“To be fair, no one sees me when I am doing badass stuff, so I don’t have the social pressure of preforming well.”

They tried some more.

They told him he was smiling awkwardly, or like he was being threatened at gunpoint.

It wasn’t until Sunny started doing stupid dances behind the camera-man, again that the photographer finally started to like what he was seeing. Every time he turned to look at what Vir was smiling at, Sunny would stop dancing trying to look all innocent.

That just made him laugh.

At some point one of the people had a great idea to involve waffles, and -- like the good girl that she was -- she promptly stole the spotlight, which he was totally cool with.

Photoshoots were definitely not his thing.

He was about 100 percent sure when the photos came out they would look like his last middle school yearbook picture.

Even thinking about it made him grimace.

Friday, June 5

“And please help me to welcome our next special guest, Commander Adam Vir of the UNSC.”

His legs felt like jelly, and it took sunny nudging him to finally get him moving onto the stage. He wondered if people could tell just how bad his legs were shaking.

And there was a twitching going on in his right cheek that he just couldn't stop.

He wanted to go back to the hotel and watch dumb TV With Sunny while krill complained about the medical inaccuracies.

But here he was listening to clapping and cheering from an assembled studio crowd. He was sure he was going to do something massively stupid, like trip off the stage, or rip his pants or forget his own name, or something.

The host stood up, he was blanking on their name right now though he knew they were ridiculously famous.

He shook hands with them.

“So glad you could come commander.”

“A pleasure to be here.” He responded robotically hoping that his smile was at least somewhat convincing.”

He took a seat on the couch, resting a hand against his shaking right leg.

He was going to puke.

“So, i Heard you have been on tour for the past two days, how are you enjoying the celebrity circuit.”

He rubbed his hands against his legs, “Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Lets hear the real one.”

“Er, well it turns out I am really bad at…. Pretty much everything that’s not captaining a ship. Yesterday I did a photoshooot where I am ninety percent sure I looked like an awkward cryptid most of the time. People are going to be looking at those photos and wondering in what swamp they found me.”

There was laughter from the crowd.

He wasn’t entirely sure if that was funny or not.

“I am sure they aren’t as bad as all that.”

He shook his head, “Pretty sure my face was like this…” He raised his hands making a wide-eyed shocked expression that had the crowd laughing again.”

The host smiled, “Commander, Forgive me for asking, but how old are you.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Um, lets just say too young and leave it at that.”

“I was sort of under the impression that commanders and admirals were….”

“Old wrinkly dudes?”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed the back of his head, “That’s mostly true, the reason I got this position has to do with my experience with extra terrestrials.”

“I’ve heard rumors that you have aliens on board your ship. Is that true.”

“Those shouldn’t be rumors, that is entirely true. We have a twenty….three person Drev clan, a Vrul medical officer, a starborn, and some miscellaneous others.”

A muttering from the crowd, “But you were part of the Drev war, and Operation Steel eye. How did an entire Drev clan end up on your ship?”

He shrugged, “The story is complicated, but the long and short of it is, I made friends with some Drev after the war, and they adopted me into the clan.”

“Can we…. See, the prosthetic I mean” He held up his hands, “Not to be disrespectful.”

He shrugged, “sure.” Reaching down and tugging up his pant leg so the bright blue carapace glittered in the bright studio lights.

The man leaned closer, “Wow…. What…. What is that?”

“Drev carapace.” He dropped the pant leg.

“Why?”

“That is actually the reason I am adopted. A drev has to give you a gift that contains a piece of their own armor, so my best friend made this for me some time ago.”

They talked about that for a little while. They talked about the war, they talked about his first moment on an alien planet.

“I was actually on the original mission to land on Proxima b. I was the shuttle pilot behind Captain Kelly, though I don’t know how many people knew that.

There was a murmuring around the room.

“I know it was broadcasted live, but luckily the cameras were pointed away because when I was getting out of the shuttle, my foot slipped on the stairs.” The crowd gasped and giggled, “And I face planted right onto the surface.”

More laughing.

“That is my legacy, the first man to take a nose dive on an alien planet.”

“I would say that your legacy contains a lot of strange instances. There are reports that you recently escaped from kidnapping by a prodigum by… Singing? How did that work?”

He rubbed the back of his head, “Well that is… that is.” he laughed nervously, “Yes that is a thing that happened. I and my friend Sunny were captured by a criminal overlord for entertainment in his little criminal syndicate. They had cages lined all along the ceiling and inside them were other humans. Turns out the Prodigum react to human singing like a drug, so I was asked to sing, luckily for me one of the woman in the other cage was a voice coach, so a few days of starving and being miserable, she taught me how to sing properly, or a little more properly, and then I sang a super sad song, distracted everyone long enough for y friend to escape and call for help.”

Gasping and more laughter around the room.

“Wow…. Your life….”

“Reads like a strange cartoon doesn’t it.”

From the crowd, “Sing for us!.”

The call was taken up a few more times.

He shook his head, “No no no, no I am not going to sing on international television. I have embarrassed myself enough this week.”

“You now commander, you wouldn’t want to disappoint the public.”

He could feel the heat rising into his face as the rest of the crowd took up the chant.

He tried to protest, but that didn’t seem to be working.

Eventually he held up his hands “Ok, ok, but if my voice cracks…. Just don’t laugh.”

“And you were without accompaniment.”

He sighed, “Yeah it was a Capella. They didn’t exactly give me a soundtrack.” he stood taking a few deep breaths and humming to himself. His legs were shaking even worse than before.

He rubbed his hands nervously together.

The studio went very quiet.

He felt sweat trickling down his back between his shoulder blades.

He took a deep breath and….

His voice came out loud and clear, though it quivered slightly. He tried to shore it up as he continued, taking deeper breaths trying to get more control. He tried to find that place where he had been back in the cage. The sort of hopeless anguish he had tried to convey. His voice did quake a few times, but he was ok with that.

At least he didn’t do something super stupid like fall off the stage.

He cut it off hallway because his legs were shaking so bad, he thought that any worse might cause him to fall over.

The crowd began to clap as he collapsed back into his seat taking a deep breath.

“Wow, that is pretty impressive for someone who says they don’t sing. Bet the person who wrote that didn’t think it would be used to escape alien kidnappers.”

“Whatever it was, it worked. But” he lifted his hand, “I’m shaking so bad right now.”

The man shook his head, “That form someone who doesn’t shake when he flies jets at thousands of miles per hour.”

He smiled, “The jet isn’t going to judge me if my voice cracks. I think you will find aliens and airplanes are a lot less scary than humans. Don’t get me wrong humans are great , you guys just scare me half to death.”

Saturday, June 6

A flight demonstration over the beach, which was pretty good

Sunday, June 7

Dinner with a few important famous people

Monday, June 8

Dinner with some politicians.

Tuesday, June 9

He visited some UNSC bases up and down the western coastline talking to servicemen and visiting some other people

Wednesday June, 10

The magazines came out, and they actually managed to make him look pretty good to his surprise, though he was pretty sure the picture had been taking while Sunny was doing something with her hips that Drev hips had not been designed for, which eventually made him laugh so hard he had choked.

Thursday, June 11

This was his last day, and he had one more press conference to attend, than he could go home. He was wearing his formal uniform, captain’s cap, cords, gloves and everything else. There were at least ten microphones on the lectern in front of him, and a crowd of reporters below. Lights blinded his eyes.

Behind his back, the UNSC flag outlined him in bright blue.

He was getting ready for more questions about the Burg war or wearing the steel eye armor.

He nodded to one of the reporters in the front.

“Commander, do you want to explain to us why, on UNSC time you were reported as supporting an LFIL protest when you were supposed to be acting as neutral crowd control.”

He felt the blood drain right out of his face.

He was not ready for this.

Inside his brain went blank. He stammered for a second, suddenly feeling like a little kid giving a class presentation while all eyes stared at him. More cameras flashed, “I…. I was doing what I thought…. Needed to be done to keep the protest civil.”

“That was not your job!”

More yelling until the crowd was shushed, “Look, the GA wasn’t seeing any of their representative. I simply explained their side of the story to the GA, and they decided to lift the ban on their own.”

“Directly going against the policies of the UNSC was a gross breach of your contract commander, and we are all having a hard time understanding why you have not been disciplined for it.”

“You have no idea what is on y contract. My job is to foster peace throughout the galaxy, and THAT is what I did.”

“Some people see it as a direct attack on our way of life. You are helping spread disease poor moral values throughout the galaxy.”

He felt his face burning, “What makes you think their relationships have anything to do with you NONE of them live on earth or on Mars. They do not interact with you, they do not bother you, they do not THINK about you. And no they are not spreading disease because every person who leaves earth receives a full disease panel. You are more likely to have communicable diseases than they are.”

Uproar.

He shouldn't have said that.

“You are spreading extrial propaganda, and now that you are the face of the UNSC you are having an impact on our children, so t is your duty to uphold the values of the Human public.”

His hands were gripping white onto the lectern, “It is my job to uphold MY values and if the UNSC doesn’t like what I am doing they will fire me, so that is none of your concern.”

“Commander Vir, are you an extrail.”

The room went very silent suddenly. His heart was hammering in his chest.

“You are out of line. My personal life whatever it may entail has no bearing on my work, so you will either ask me professional questions or we are done here.”

“But you haven't denied it!” Someone else shouted.

“That question doesn't deserve an answer either way. If i tell you, that means I am justifying myself to you, which I have no desire to do, and if I were to confirm the other way, I would be bringing a personal issue into a political light, which would also be inappropriate. Either way I will not answer you. Unless there are any more questions that involve my work and not my personal life…”

He wouldn’t budge forcing them to change the subject.

His hands were shaking again, but this time it was out of anger. He had to breathe very slowly to keep himself calm enough.

***

Headlines

Commander Vir Extrail or Normal

SCANDAL: UNSC’s Golden boy involved with aliens?

Press conference turns to barbed comments.

LFIL Propaganda

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