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internetgremlin-writes · 2 years

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Flat Spin [Chapter Five]

Summary/Prompt: 1. A spin in which an aircraft descends in tight circles whilst remaining almost horizontal

2. A state of agitation or panic [informal]

As the only female driver on the grid, you’re fighting a constant need to prove yourself, however sometimes the line between accepting help and hand-outs is more blurred than you think

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Female Reader

Word Count: 10,900 i sincerely hope this makes up for the wait

Warnings: smut (deep breath kids, its finally happening)

Previous Chapters: one || two || three || four

“So… when are you coming?” His voice was rich even through the crackle of the phone line. It made your insides warm and if you were in an ’80s movie, you’d have been twiddling the coiled cord of the landline phone around your fingers as you giggled down the receiver.

“What?” You couldn’t keep the laugh out of your voice.

“To Barcelona? To see me?” You liked the way he said ‘Barcelona’.

“Wait, were you being serious? I thought you were just drunk!” He laughed then, properly. It felt like he was right next to you, not thousands of miles away, already in Spain.

“Oh, Cariño, I was very drunk,” You could imagine him, lounging out somewhere in the heat, a dogged grin on his face as he thought back to a couple of nights ago in Miami. You couldn’t help yourself from shifting in your spot on your bed as you thought of it too; of the way he’d whispered in your ear and the warm weight of him on top of you. “But I meant it. Come to Barcelona early, let me be your - eh - tour guide,” you heard him snicker.

“I’ll see what I can do,”

As it turned out, you didn’t have to do very much at all. Your request to fly out to Barcelona four days early was suspiciously accepted with no complaints or questioning from Mike, but it wasn’t until you were back at headquarters after Miami that you found out why.

The week at Silverstone was strange. There was a flurry of activity and meetings around you, all of which you seemed to be blocked from. You spent most of the time there in the sim, getting the Spanish track down to perfection and setting some impressive times if you did say so yourself. At one point Max was online, and you beat him in an iRacing round, something virtually unheard of. Even the mechanics, who you usually got on well with were being surprisingly cagey around you. You figured it must be because everyone was on edge, with Barcelona being one of the tracks you tested at before the season officially started it was a popular choice for many teams to bring updates to their cars and several of your midfield rivals had announced just that. You were finally called in for a meeting, only two days before you were due to fly out to Spain.

Seb was there and you were happy to collapse into a spot beside him. A quick glance around the room told you this was not going to be fun; not a person in that room wasn’t a highly important member of the team, including all the team heads and Mike in the flesh to top it off. Any meeting led by a team principal was never fun, you thought. There was a large platter of sandwiches cut into triangles, an attempted offering of fruit and a big urn with hot water for tea and coffee.

Seb looked at you through one eye, reminding you very much of a cat who'd just had his sunny afternoon nap interrupted.

“Hello,”

“Hi Seb,” He gestured to the sandwiches that were already looking a little sad in front of him.

“I love working lunch,” you snorted, but still leant forward for a slightly stale sandwich as he wrinkled his nose.

The meeting was, unsurprisingly, boring. As you suspected, it was about the new updates being brought to the cars. Now, you liked to think of yourself as pretty smart - you’d managed to finish school with good grades alongside your early racing career, but you had nothing on the engineers who dedicated whole swathes of their lives to mastering the inner workings of formula one cars. Either way, you tried not to drift off too much and managed to gather that the updates looked good, and could give you a serious shot at the Championship.

“Now, one more thing before we go,” Mike was wrapping up and you could feel your pulse picking up as your body decided it, too, was ready to go home and snap out of the carbed-up, warm-room dormant state it had been put in. Your mind drifting to the open suitcase on your bed and if you were going to need a new bikini when you vaguely realised your name was being mentioned alongside a string of other words that when put together sounded an awful lot like missing out on upgrades.

“What the fuck?”

Mike was looking at you, a strange appeasing smile on his face which did nothing to quell your outburst - in fact, it only spurred you on. “What do you mean I’m not getting the updates I’ve just sat and listened to you talk about for two hours?”

“Y/N, you have to understand with the budget cap we can’t do everything at once-”

“But I’m in fourth, I could still get the championship this year,” you couldn’t quite keep the whine out of your tone. You didn’t understand why you'd just been told all about the car that could get you precious podiums and points for the rest of the season if it wasn't for your championship campaign.

“So Seb needs it more,” His tone reminded you of being scolded by a teacher, very clearly telling you to shut up and stop arguing, now. But I could win, you wanted to argue. You’d not been on a podium since Australia and the last two disastrous races were fresh in your mind.

“Is that why you let me take holiday next week? I’m not needed for testing because there’s nothing for me.”

“We need to adjust the sim for Seb to get a feel for the updates,” you snorted. You wanted to lash out at anyone near you, but Seb was arguing too, claiming he wanted you to have the updates over him. Clearly, it was the first he'd heard of it too.

“You know what? It’s fine. See you in Barcelona,” you snapped at Mike and walked out of the meeting.

*****

“I still don’t understand why you need to fly out so early,”

Your mum’s voice broke through your drifting mind. You were sat in the front seat with your forehead pressed against the cool glass window, halfheartedly watching a couple of raindrops chase their way down. She was driving you up to the airport and you felt a small rush of guilt when she questioned your early trip once more.

“I don’t know,” you lied, ignoring the small twinge of guilt in your chest. “Something about training in the hot weather, apparently it’s due a heatwave,” she sighed and tapped her hands on the steering wheel as you joined the back of the M25 traffic.

“How can it possibly be busy at this hour?” She mumbled to herself. Like most people in England, between complaining about the weather and the traffic, there was nothing your mum loved more. You just laughed quietly, made a lazy joke and handed her some sweets from the snack bag perched on your knees. After a brief, but teary, goodbye you were finally at the bag check-in desk with lots of promises that Monaco, where your family always flew out for the weekend, was only two weeks away.

You wondered idly through the duty-free shopping. You didn’t really need anything but it was always fun to waste time there, between buying a shitty romance book for the flight to the strangest gifts you could find or pretending you were a millionaire as you sampled the overpriced perfumes. You supposed you didn’t have to pretend about that part anymore, but you still didn’t care for a £500 bottle that didn’t even smell good.

The plane ride was only a couple of hours, so by the time you’d settled into the perfect playlist and read most of the dodgy sex scenes in your book that almost made you think about taking up yoga, you were coming into land. Luckily, it was a fairly quiet time, and you were only stopped a couple of times between the bag collection area and the taxi ranks outside. You were in surprisingly good spirits, especially considering the power of the heatwave already settling over the country had you feeling simultaneously damp and crusty by the time you’d been deposited at your hotel in desperate need of a shower.

Carlos had initially been adamant that you were to stay with him at his family’s apartment in Barcelona. There was a big part of you that desperately wanted to play house with him, but you couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t the smartest idea. Between going from seeing him now and then at race weekends to virtually living together for a week and the sheer number of fans that would be going crazy for him at his home race and itching for a glimpse of him anywhere in the city - well, you didn’t feel guilty in admitting that it all sounded a bit much. You were lucky that Katie didn’t question it when you asked her to book you into the hotel you’d be using for the race early.

You’d agreed on a meeting point with Carlos that wasn’t in the lobby of a fully booked hotel. Instead, he’d sent you the address of a street corner nearby that had a big restaurant with sweeping bay windows and a waterfall of flowers decorating the doorway. He was already asking you when you’d be ready, so you found yourself naturally hurrying along your routine whilst still spending a little more time than normal fussing around your outfit and makeup before deeming yourself ready.

You decided to keep it relatively simple for the first night, with a pretty co-ord set a stylist had given you after a photo shoot you’d done for some women’s magazine or another. You had never been bothered about the non-racing side of fame, but the free clothes that were chosen to look great on you were a nice little bonus.

Carlos was waiting on the corner for you, leaning casually against a lamp post. You felt your heart flutter in your chest as you caught sight of him and allowed yourself a moment to drink in his appearance in the golden evening sun. He looked completely at home, in white jeans and a loose-fitting blue shirt to help combat the heat that was not fading any time soon. He was looking at something on his phone, leaning back against the post with one leg crossed in front of the other and a hand resting in his pocket with comfortable ease. As you made your way towards him his head snapped up, an easy smile spreading across his face as his eyes lit up.

He greeted you with a warm hug, placing a deliberate kiss on both cheeks. It made warmth bloom throughout your body as you melted instinctively into his touch.

“I missed you,”

“You literally saw me a week ago,” you pointed out. It felt good, the way he made you feel. The way now you just seemed to click back into place when you were with him like you’d never been separated. He shrugged at your comment, grinning good-naturedly as his hand found the small of your back and applied gentle pressure to guide you forward. This time you weren't going far, as Carlos held the door into the restaurant behind you.

“I still missed you,” he told you as he sat down, an almost shy smile and a sense of finality in his tone.

“Missed you too,” the words felt a little bulky and awkward on your tongue. Admitting your feelings was something you’d never been strong at, but something about Carlos had him pulling confessions from you before you could catch yourself.

“So," you grinned at him, a sense of deja vu hitting you as you held up a menu in a language that you didn't speak. "Talk me through this," Carlos didn't even touch his menu.

“Paella. It’s not the best,” he admitted with a bashful smile, “My mother’s is the best. But for restaurants? Here is the best,” The conversation flowed easily, Carlos filling you in on his week at home as hoards of his family had arrived from across several countries for his home race.

“How are you feeling though?” Carlos had shrugged, placing the order for the pair of you as if it was second nature. You found yourself remembering your last date, and how every little thing had felt supercharged compared to now, only a few weeks later and you felt like you'd been going out to dinner with him all your life.

"Hm, it's a lot of pressure," you nodded, catching the fleeting look of something other than total confidence in his eyes. "But you know, the car is good, I'm feeling good in it. I know the circuit so well. Home races are always special,"

The restaurant was pretty quiet, and you'd been given a slightly secluded table so you figured you could afford to reach over for a moment to squeeze his hand. Carlos' skin was warm against yours, in a way you'd never really experienced before. You didn't know how someone could ignite such a comforting warmth and electric excitement at the same time. It was addicting.

He walked you back to the hotel after, your arms brushing as you fell into step with each other, a comfortable silence settle between you as you soaked up being in his company once again. The paella you'd had was perfect, leaving a satisfying fullness in your belly and you didn't care what your fitness coach would have to say about it. When it came to paying, it took a short battle and a very disgruntled Carlos for you to settle up as you'd promised back in Imola.

He walked back to the hotel with you, the warm night air charged as the city came to life before your eyes. Carlos pointed out the odd place or building, but the only thing you were aware of was the way your fingers would collide every now and then. He dropped you off at the back entrance to your hotel, standing impossibly close.

“You brought trainers?” His question took you back a little bit and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“I am not going on a run as a date,” you warned immediately. Your hatred of running was deeper than hot Spanish men with doe eyes and a wicked smile. Carlos laughed freely, running a hand through his hair.

“No running, Cariño,” he confirmed. “Wear them tomorrow, okay? I'm picking you up at eight and lots of walking,” he sent you a Charles-esque wink that had you wondering what on earth he had planned for you. You were about to ask when he swept you into a quick hug and turned to walk away.

“Okay,” you called after him. “Bye then!” Almost as if he was waiting for you to have said something, he turned. Making his way back to you in a couple of short strides and grasping your face in the palm of his hand as he pulled you into a kiss that had your stomach somersaulting.

“Until tomorrow,” he murmured against your lips, before leaving you stood dumb-struck outside of the hotel.

The next three days were quite possibly the best of your life.

Carlos collected you as early as promised the next morning with a compliment to your trainers that you'd spent 40 minutes desperately trying to find a non-paddock outfit that would match them. He informed you that you were going to be making the most of the city itself before it was infiltrated with F1 fans and you wouldn’t be able to move without a camera shoved in your face. He presented you with a breakfast pastry and a cup of coffee to have whilst you walked. He had a quiet smile as he chatted with you, but every time you asked him what he was planning for the day he would just point out something on the street ahead of you, adjust your sunglasses and completely ignore your question.

You started the morning in the Sagrada Familia which between its dramatic gothic exterior and open, high-ceilinged interior thrown into stark contrast by soft rainbows of light from the stained glass windows was the most stunning piece of architecture you'd ever seen.

“It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” you'd murmured, gazing around in awe as the multicoloured lights illuminated the spot of the marbled floor where you were. Carlos hummed in agreement, but he didn't seem to be looking at the building.

After you'd explored every crevice of the unfinished church, he took you through a food market. You loved a good market, but this was a far cry from the farmer's markets you were used to back home - these were full of bright colours and loud music and more exotic food than you could name. Carlos was beside you the whole time, explaining and translating as you idled through the various stalls, making recommendations as you went. After he helped you pick out lunch he bought you a pretty braided bracelet that reminded you of seaside holidays as a child. It was a thin strip of black with three delicate beads; two red with a yellow one sandwiched between. You could have sworn your entire body was filled with static as he gently lifted your wrist and fastened it for you, eyes burning into yours as he did.

The afternoon was much more relaxed, with a stroll through the old town where Carlos could have been a qualified history guide with the amount he knew about the city and ending the day in an impressive art museum. You’d never really had an interest in art, in truth you found the Mona Lisa media trip incredibly dull, but with Carlos standing so close, whispering beside you as he pointed out his favourite pieces you found yourself transfixed. It turned out he’d visited many areas of Spain during his childhood, his parents engraving a solid belief in an understanding of the culture within him.

When you returned back to the hotel that night you had to push down the twinge of regret at not accepting the offer to stay at his flat and the urge to pull him into your hotel room. What you did notice, however, was that already the hotel was significantly more full. You entered the lift to your room with four people in Mercedes caps that immediately asked you for photos, and the dining hall was alive with team polos.

You were on the verge of falling asleep when your phone chimed, almost making you jump. It was a text from your best friend, with bleary eyes you realised it was a photo and a smirking face emoji. You opened the photo to realise it wasn’t a photo at all, it was a screenshot.

It was a screenshot of Carlos’ Instagram story. The picture he’d posted was of the back of a girl, unidentifiable, her body bathed in the rainbow castings of the Sagrada Familia.

The following morning you found yourself having to make more of an effort to disguise yourself; wearing your hair down with a floppy sunhat, oversized sunglasses and a dress that was deliberately floaty to disguise your figure. Carlos had clearly planned ahead to avoid the crowded streets because he collected you in a VW Golf you didn’t recognise and the pair of you drove out into the beautiful countryside. Carlos handed you his phone demanding you play him some of your music. He pulled up to a quiet single-track lane that had you raise an eyebrow in question as he forced the small car up the track.

You were met by an old man who greeted Carlos in rapid-fire Spanish with a hug and a handshake as if they were old friends. He was introduced to you as Pablo, turned to you, and hugged you whilst babbling in Spanish. Carlos said something that must have explained you were English because after that he managed a broken ‘hello’ and spent the rest of the day looking at Carlos and waiting for him to translate for you. As Carlos told you, the pair of you were treated to a private tour around the extensive vineyard Pablo and his wife owned. They were an old family friend who moved to the countryside to start their own wine business. In the quiet of the gardens, Carlos’ hand slid down your wrist and tangled his fingers in yours. Your stomach bloomed with warmth as you bumped your hip against his in appreciation of the gesture.

After the tour, the pair of you were seated in a sunny spot of the garden at an iron table, where Pablo presented you with glass after glass of the best wine you’d ever had. Carlos sat opposite you, relaxed back in his seat in yet another loose linen shirt and shorts combo, sunglasses pushed up into his hair as he carefully explained each glass's tasting notes and region. Pablo’s wife also made a brief appearance as she shakily presented a platter of food paired with each glass on the table for the both of you.

On the way back you found yourself full and sleepy on spectacular wine, your head lolling to the side as you watched Carlos drive back into the city. If it wasn’t for the sun setting against his features and the gentle rock of the car maybe you’d have demanded to follow your buzz and get him to take you out. Instead, you found yourself being gently awoken by Carlos shaking your shoulder.

“We’re home, Cariño, come on,” still in your sleepy haze you happily let him lead you into the building and up the steps with little question.

It wasn’t until you awoke the next morning, still in your dress, with your head under a pillow and a blanket placed over your body that you realised you were on a sofa you didn’t recognise. The smell of coffee was wafting through, as you slowly sat up and gauged your surroundings. The lounge area was small but elegant with white walls and a terracotta tiled floor. The sofa, a matching blue armchair and a low coffee table the only pieces of furniture in the room. There was a television mounted on one wall and art that reminded you a little of a hotel room across the others. You stretched and rose to your feet, noticing that your sandals had been neatly placed at the bottom of the sofa.

You padded quietly across to the kitchen, where the site that greeted you made your breath catch in your throat. The kitchen was beautiful, white and open like the lounge with that holiday home feel you loved. There was a bot of coffee brewing to the side, and the stove was alive with activity. Two plates were set out at the island and in the middle of it all was Carlos. Correction, was a very shirtless Carlos, wearing only a pair of gym shorts and a tea towel that was thrown over his shoulder. There was a speaker playing soft jazz and he was humming along under his breath as he worked.

Your breath caught in your throat and something in your chest tightened because oh god, whatever the hell this was - it was the only thing you wanted. Carlos turned, from where you realised he was cooking bacon and eggs on the stove and caught you. His face broke into a wide smile as he called you forward to take a seat at the island.

“Good morning!”

“Hi Carlos,” he poured a cup of coffee, pushing it towards you with expectant eyes. You murmured a thanks and took a sip, your body immediately relaxing as the familiar richness of the coffee hit you. He’d turned back to his food, telling you that you had perfect timing as he began plating up the food. He presented you with a plate of bacon and eggs with a kiss on your temple, before seating himself beside you at the island.

“I thought it was time for some English,” he gestured at the plate. As much as you loved all the rich foods you got to try when travelling for races, part of you always missed the comforts of home and you found yourself more grateful than explainable for his little gesture.

“Care to tell me where I am, by the way?” You interrupted as he was explaining his newfound appreciation for morning jazz.

“My family’s flat, where I am staying,” he looked at you as if you were a little stupid.

“Hm, I figured. I meant more why,” you didn’t miss the way Carlos’ cheeks flushed with a little pink and he played with the remaining bacon on his plate.

“You fell asleep in my car,”

“You woke me up to come in here, could have done that at the hotel,” you were pushing, but you had a feeling he knew you were being goodnatured and that you wanted him to crack. He shrugged, but the small smirk creeping across his features gave him away.

“You are pushy,” he whined, but immediately gave in. “I wanted to carry you. Make sure you were safe,”

“Prince charming,” you joked, but you were blushing and there was a not-so-secret part of you that was entirely thrilled. “I promise I’m not usually that boring,” you broke the odd tension between you, pulling a surprised bark of a laugh from Carlos.

“I don’t think you could ever be boring,” he cleared your plates, stacking them neatly in the dishwasher and allowing you to admire the way the muscles in his back rippled and moved as he did so. You swallowed hard, finishing your coffee in two more sips and making your way over to him. Your hand landed on his hip, just above his waistband. Carlos was still bent over the dishwasher, but you felt him still beneath for a split second. The way his skin felt under your fingers was heavenly as you leant past him to add your cup to the top drawer. You went to move away, pleased with the small reaction your touch had, but Carlos was quicker.

He moved like lightning; before you had time to blink, he had you trapped. You were backed up against the kitchen counter, Carlos standing directly in front of you. He had one hand on your hip, putting just enough pressure on to hold you in place, not that you needed to be because there was no way you’d move. He was leaning down, his face level with yours as he watched your reaction. You averted your gaze, with little success as your view was entirely obstructed by tan skin whichever way you turned your head. Instead, you traced a soft line across his bare shoulder and down his arm, your hand coming to rest in the crook of his elbow. Carlos shuddered under your touch, reacting by gently cupping your chin and licking his lips as he dipped down for a kiss.

You decided he deserved payback for stealing you back to his flat, so right at the last second, you ducked away from him, using your strength and his distractedness to break free to the side. Carlos made a frustrated groan that melted into a laugh as he reached for you childishly.

“Come on, Cariño, no kiss for me?” He was pouting but his eyes were shining and you realised that he too was enjoying whatever this new, flirty dynamic was between you. You shook your head with a quip about stealing women away in the night. He grumbled again, but you let him catch you and leaned against his solid body as he told you the plan for your final day before the race weekend.

Carlos drove, again, despite you claiming you were more than comfortable sharing the job. He shut you down, saying, “My mother raised a gentleman,” and “I grew up on these roads,” but you didn’t really mind. Watching Carlos drive was fast becoming one of your favourite hobbies. He deposited you at the hotel with instructions of what you needed to fetch.

You didn’t question it as you grabbed the fastest shower and shave of your life, changing into your favourite little bikini and pulling yet another sundress over the top, before stuffing a bag with a towel and change of clothes. Carlos drove out of the city again, which by now was entirely swamped with Formula One fans. You had a message from Katie that the rest of the team had just landed. You turned your phone off.

Your heart rate picked up as the sea came into view, and then even more as Carlos drove you along the seafront, the beaches positively golden and the sea glittering turquoise in the bright sunshine. He pulled up in the marina car park, which had your interest piqued. And it wasn’t until he was leading you along the jetty explaining that his uncle had a boat here you realised that one of the yachts to rival Monaco was about to be your ride.

The boat was beautiful, not a massive yacht at all but you didn’t mind. It had a large wooden deck with white benches and sunbeds at one end and a large traditional wheel at the other. There was a small hatch leading to a below-deck area, but Carlos didn’t show you that immediately. He took the boat out to a fairly secluded bay, a little further up the coast from Barcelona and dropped the anchor far enough offshore that the two of you had complete privacy.

You spent the morning diving off the boat, swimming and snorkelling in the crystalline waters. The heat of the day meant that by the time you’d play wrestled-slash-made-out in the deep water enough to be starving that you didn’t even need to towel off, the water evaporating off your skin in no time. Carlos didn’t bother to pull a shirt on with his bathing trunks, not that you minded in the slightest.

You couldn’t help but be entirely touched as he carefully laid out a picnic blanket, complete with non-alcoholic wine and personal trainer-approved foods that he’d somehow still managed to make appetising.

After lunch, you spread out side-by-side on the loungers, soaking up every fraction of the warm weather you could. You were reading a book and looked up to see Carlos sitting playing chess with himself. You’d never really had someone like that in your life, where you could just do your own thing in the comfort of each other’s company. It made you feel special.

An idea jumped into your mind that made you smirk as you undid the strings of your bikini and lay on your front, leaving your whole back exposed.

“Can you get my back?” You asked innocently, gesturing to the suncream beside you. You caught Carlos’ eyes rake over your figure before you turned around, dropping your head back against the soft cushioned seat. You could feel him as he moved closer to you until you heard him pick up the bottle and settle himself beside you. Carlos understood the assignment exactly, warming the cream into his hands before gently spreading it across your shoulders and working his way down with firm but gentle movements. He leant down, pressing a kiss against the point of your shoulder.

“Done,” his voice was low in your ear, the hair tickling your cheek combined with his accent making you shiver. You hummed in appreciation, feeling Carlos’ hand which was still spread across your back move with you. He started adding to the kiss, working his way across your shoulders and then gently sweeping the hair to the side to give him access to your neck and jaw. You found it hard to keep up your act, you could feel yourself reacting to him.

When Carlos pawed at you gently you turned without hesitation, allowing him to find your lips and settle himself between your legs like he belonged there. You sighed automatically into the kiss, your hands twisting in his hair as he licked into your mouth.

“This is all I have been thinking about since that nightclub,” his voice was heavy, laced with something you weren’t used to as he kissed you between words, one hand making its way under the loosened fabric of your bikini top with a groan. “I wanted to rip that dress off you,”

Your hips bucked up helplessly in response. You didn’t even have it in you to be embarrassed at how desperate he made you, how he could have you squirming under him in a matter of minutes. Carlos seemed aware of the effect he had as he continued to kiss you at a painfully languid pace until you found his hips, gripping to the bone there and pulling him down against you. It did little to help, but feeling that he was as turned on as you felt provided some relief. He grunted into your mouth at the momentary friction.

He was playing with the waistband of your underwear idly, as if he had all the time in the world to take with you and completely ignoring the way you were positively keening for him. You reached down instinctively, finding the bulge in his shorts with no effort. Carlos managed a stuttered moan at your action, but before you could move any further he was gently sitting you up and moving you away.

You’d have been more upset if he didn’t look so pained himself.

“We shouldn’t,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair and casting a look over your shoulder. You must have pulled a face because he circled his arms around your waist and pulled you close with a sweet kiss. “I want to, believe me, please. But not before a race weekend,”

You didn’t entirely see how having sex before a race weekend could be so detrimental, but something in the back of your mind was agreeing with him.

*****

You walked into the paddock the next day feeling the most relaxed you had in your whole career. Carlos had surprised you with a lovely dinner below the deck of the boat before you were deposited back at your hotel to face the rest of the world.

You had turned your phone back on after you’d washed the salt out of your hair and pulled on your loosest pyjamas to combat the heat that had only been mounting all afternoon. You had a multitude of texts and missed calls from a myriad of Aston Martin people, all of which were deleted rapidly, apart from Seb whom you informed that you were actually okay and had just been spending a little bit of time off-grid, which wasn’t entirely a lie.

In fact, the whole media day had been the smoothest you’d ever experienced. Perhaps it was because it was Carlos’ home race and with his recent results everyone was talking about his big maiden win opportunity, so naturally, he was the centre of attention. You smiled and answered the questions in the press conference, but without the pressure of Miami and film crews taking over the paddock, you found that you felt positively free. You even were a willing participant in the strategy meetings and actually volunteered information and took notes.

The rest of the team were casting nervous glances amongst each other as if they were just waiting for you to explode, but you genuinely felt like you didn’t have an explosive bone in your body. After the practice sessions, in which you pulled a top-five result for all three with Seb close but still behind you in the newer car, you found yourself forgetting all about the upgrade drama and settling into the race weekend with business as usual.

That was, at least, until qualifying. You had a rough start to Q1 with the high heat and equally high winds catching you in a tailwind that had you lose the back end on your first fast lap and spin into the gravel. You were able to recover and even without a pit stop you set a lap fast enough to get you into Q2, which was all that mattered. With a new set of soft tyres, you were back out for Q2 and starting to feel yourself, until you were told to give Seb a tow. There was enough time for each driver to set two laps and as Seb was pushing to reach Q3 with the new package you knew you had to oblige. You gave him the tow, resulting in having to abort your first attempt. Your second attempt felt good, the car snapping up into your hands the way you liked as you put your whole focus into setting the fastest lap you could.

There was no mistake that racing was your life, but there was something about qualifying, where it was just you and the road and your absolute best that you really loved. You had a little wobble as the wind caught you in one of the final corners of the lap, but you were ready for it and threw your entire body against the wind to pull the car through. The lap felt great, so you started your cooldowns and prepared to head back to the garage for Q3.

“Great drive, Y/N, lovely lap,” your race engineer crackled over the radio.

“Yep, felt good,” you agreed.

“Good. Unfortunately you came P11, so that’s us out,”

There was a sudden bitter taste in your mouth. You’d been in Q3 for every race of the season so far, in fact, you’d even have been bold enough to say you’d sailed through the first two rounds each time with little effort. So to have a lap you had tried so hard in and having given your first attempt up for the tow felt… pretty shit. You didn’t reply to the ranking because you didn’t think you could keep the edge out of your voice.

Instead, you let them pull you back into the garage and jumped out of the car in silence. You didn’t say a word until you had your helmet off and race suit pulled down and even then it was only to find out how Seb had done. He’d gotten P8, and qualified in P7. You didn’t see Carlos for the rest of the day; he’d qualified in third and was immediately swamped by the entire of Spain wanting to know how he planned on passing his teammate Charles and Max Verstappen himself.

It was probably a good thing you were so annoyed with the P11 start that you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about the race. Seb was older than you, he was a four-time world champion and you knew the day would come when he’d once again be better than you, but you still didn’t like it. You’d been the first driver since you came to the team, with Seb’s initial plan to be a gentle two years in the Aston before retirement as a way to wind down. Except with the results the pair of you had pulled in those two years, he decided it was worth staying on. But it still felt strange. You’d never been out-qualified by your teammate, you’d never been treated as the data-collecting, obliging second driver, and you’d never not received updates as soon as they were available. You didn’t like it one bit.

Katie was annoyed at you for missing her calls. You could tell because she kept sending you emails with annoying attachments that could have easily been discussed over a meal or a cup of coffee as was your usual custom. In fact, you were glad the weekend seemed to fly by and you were strapped into your car and off on the formation lap before you had to think too much about anything.

You had a strong start to the race. You reacted quickly at lights out and gained yourself two positions by the first turn, so there was just Daniel Ricciardo between yourself and Seb. As you’d told yourself aiming for points was enough this weekend, you were already quite pleased with yourself, but you could feel that you were gaining on the orange car in front of you and within a few laps and a little bit of DRS you’d probably have been able to take him.

You started to relax a little, as you always did once you made it through the first part of the lap, or ‘First Sector Splash Zone’ as you sometimes called it for all of the pile-ups that seemed to happen in the first lap. Just as you settled yourself into the car and started to pick up the pace to really push Ricciardo, you spotted a familiar red car reversing out of the gravel. You sent a silent prayer in hopes that it was Charles, not Carlos who’d spun, or even better that you’d mistaken the flash of red for an Alpha Romeo.

With DRS enabled the McLaren was easy pickings and you’d made the overtake by the end of the fifth lap. What made your heart sink, was that you were gaining fast on Seb.

“I think I’m quicker,” you muttered down the radio. You didn’t want to be seen to be asking for team orders, but if you were already pushing for P7 there was still a glimmer of hope for a podium for you.

“Hold position,” you felt yourself deflate, but you did as you were told. You wouldn’t have minded except you were actually braking to keep out of Seb’s way and you were fighting your DRS to keep behind him.

“Guys I’m really holding back here,” you pleaded again, your stomach clenching as you did.

“Okay,” your engineer replied, which was entirely unhelpful, but the line was still crackling. “Yep, permission to fight,”

It wasn’t team orders, but it was worse. You didn’t want to make this look like a rivalry and for the first time, you realised just how lucky you’d been so far that you and Sebastian never really crossed paths on the track. But with your DRS open once more you were on his tail and coming into the next bend you had him on the outside.

You were settling into the race, setting your sights on a minimum of P5 already when something changed. Your throttle was… well you weren’t sure but it was not throttling. You were stamping on it to try and kick it back into action but you could feel the speed dropping and the familiar tightening panic in your chest.

“Problem, problem,” you reported, hoping the desperation wasn’t too clear in your voice as the car dropped even slower and you guided it outside of the track limits and let it fall to a stop in the next gravel trap. You were far enough ahead in the pack that you thought you’d be able to have a go at the old turn-it-off-and-on-again trick, but the car wasn’t responding.

“Are you okay?” Was the only correspondence you got from your engineer. You watched the blue Williams marking the back of the pack streak past you and heaved a sigh.

“Yeah,” you mumbled before disconnecting your radio and hoisting yourself out of the car.

The ride back to the pit lane sucked. You hated all the cameras pointed at you, even through the shield of your helmet, you knew they were there. You hated the way that the second you walked into the Aston Martin garage you were patted on the back and pulled into hugs and apologised to as if they hadn’t been using you as a sacrificial lamb all week.

You pulled on a pair of headphones to watch the rest of the race, which was possibly the worst idea you could have had. Carlos was in 10th, he had spun and was struggling to make his way back through the pack. Meanwhile, Leclerc had also had to retire with an engine failure and Verstappen had a 15-second lead which was only extending. In other words, Maiden win hopes were looking bleak for Carlos and his family which the cameras kept cutting to in the Ferrari garage. The race wasn’t looking good for Seb either, who seemed to be suddenly struggling with the pace and had dropped just outside of the points.

You had to leave to do your interviews, which was possibly the only good thing about a DNF. You got the media pen to yourself and were able to have a bit of a whine about the reliability issues on your car before you were allowed to head back. You stopped by an almost deserted food stall to treat yourself to ice cream in a weak attempt to lift your mood and combat the blistering heat in one go. By the time you made it back to the garage, there were only five laps left, in which you simultaneously watched Carlos fighting for his life against Hamilton for P4, and Seb with Ricciardo for one point in P10.

Carlos got P4, but Seb wasn’t so lucky. You could tell he was disappointed because he too was quiet when he came back to the garage and between the two of you the debrief was an awkward affair. The pair of you were a united front of grim faces against a panel of apologetic engineers. Seb refused to volunteer a word of information, and you just shrugged and insisted that your opinion didn’t matter if your car was going to throw itself off a bridge less than a quarter of the way into the race. The second it was over Seb was up and out, but that wasn’t your main concern.

For three days all you’d listened to was Carlos talk about how badly he wanted to win at his home race, about how special it would be for it to be his first win with all of his family and loved ones surrounding him. Your heart was aching for him, and when you spotted the back of his polo shirt heading towards the driver’s exit, you didn’t hesitate in following him. After all, you’d finished all your media duties well before the race had even finished.

You weren’t entirely sure that he would have gone back to the apartment, but he wasn’t the type to lose himself in some seedy bar to drown his sorrows after a bad race. In fact, you weren’t even sure if he would want you to be chasing after him like this, but you were already pulling into the apartment’s garage and you’d already seen a valet walking away from a Ferrari, so you figured he had to be there.

With your heart in your mouth and not so much as a fraction of a plan, you bounded the stairs to the third floor and rapped on the door, hard.

You’d barely stepped through the door when he pulled you into a crushing hug, his face buried in your neck. You could feel his hot breath on your shoulder and his hair brushing your cheek and you had to force yourself to clear your mind. He needed you, so you were going to be there for him.

He didn’t let go, and when you tried to pull away a fraction he made an uncharacteristic noise in the back of his throat and tightened his arms around your waist, pulling you so were flush against him once more.

“Okay,” you returned the squeeze and stood still, letting him take whatever he needed from you. You’d never really seen Carlos like this before. Frustrated yes, disappointed yes, irritated yes. But never like this; he seemed positively heartbroken, and had been since Saturday really. There was still a simmering in your stomach, you hadn’t forgotten about your own loss with no points at all, but when he was like this it was all too easy to forget yourself. You felt him finally step back, and prepared yourself to release him, but he kept his grip on you, moving the pair of you backwards.

He only let go of you to sit down on the sofa and even then the second your bum hit the material he was back, his body turned to you and pulling you close so you mirrored him. His arm draped across the back of the couch, fingers just running along the exposed skin of your neck. His other hand was on your thigh, making sure you were sat so close that the knees of your crossed legs were pressed against his, one of which was tucked underneath him and the other hanging down to the floor. He was watching you, a look in his eye you didn’t recognise.

The downside of Carlos’ Disney-cartoon eyes was that when they were sad, they were devastating. He looked like he’d just found out the world was ending, and not even the proud slope of his nose or the usual upturn of his lips could save him. You hoped you didn’t look like you were pitying him, because you weren’t. You felt his pain last year - you’d been tipped to take your first win at your home track of Silverstone, only to crash out in lap seven. And now he was looking at you like that and you could have sworn your heart was breaking for him. You sighed heavily, your mind grappling to find the right words. You didn’t know him like that yet, to know what he needed to hear or how he needed you to be in moments like this. It made your chest ache because knowing what to do for him was all you wanted.

“I’m so sorry-” he shook his head, unable to meet your eye for a second. Okay, so no apologies. You sat in the pause, should you try again? Or wait for him? He was still looking at the foot tucked under his thigh, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“It’s just another race, no?” The way he was looking at you gave him away, his eyes boring deep into yours, searching you for an answer you didn’t have.

“You don’t have to pretend-” you tried but he was shaking his head again, a humourless laugh escaping him.

“A personal best for the track,” you didn’t speak that time, just letting him lead you. “My car felt wrong, also, but I finished,” you hadn’t known that “I made all those places back, I fought Hamilton,”

“You drove incredibly,” he shrugged.

“I let everyone down still,” his words cut through the air.

“Don’t say that,” but you could see it in him, he’d been punishing himself all afternoon and he wasn’t going to stop now. His voice was thick when he spoke again, his accent coming through heavier than you’d ever heard it.

“I want to make everyone proud. Of me, yes, but also of Ferrari and Spain and to be a fan. But it’s not enough,” your hand came to rest on his cheek, and he leant into your touch. You released a silent breath you’d been holding because part of you was getting worried he’d not want you that close. He covered the hand on his cheek with his own, and his eyes met yours again, that look you couldn’t quite decipher back in them.

“I want to make you proud,”

Your heart skipped a beat, and then picked up its pace. That was - well, he’d never said something like that to you. You felt like you were on fire under his gaze, needing a second for the thoughts to come rushing back into your head and allowing your mouth to work again.

“Carlos, I am proud of you,” he looked up at you with disbelief, his hand still cupping yours on his cheek, where your thumb was gently stroking his five o’clock shadowed cheek. “All the time, no matter what you think of yourself,”

He sighed again, the intensity still burning in his eyes, but it was different.

“I didn’t imagine it to go like this,” he looked away again, mumbling the words to himself more than you. Before you had time to question it, he grabbed your face and pulled you into a searing kiss.

No one had ever kissed you the way that Carlos kissed you then, the desperation, the disappointment, the frustration all bleeding into it and setting you alight.

You reacted immediately, running your fingers through his hair and melting into his touch. Everything you’d been feeling for the past week, fuck it, for the past five weeks since he’d sat in your hotel room in Imola, suddenly came rushing back to you and settling as a weight in your lower stomach. He groaned against your lips, and you responded with ease, opening your mouth to let him lick inside. The feeling sent a shiver down your spine. Part of you couldn’t help but feel a little bit pleased, because maybe you weren’t good at comfort, but you were damn good at kissing and if that’s how he wanted to forget this mess, well, you were more than eager to be his partner.

You used his hair to stabilise yourself, earning a thick grunt from him as you tensed, hoisting yourself forward and into his lap, the need to feel him closer overwhelming. The kiss was growing feverish, breathing into each other’s mouths as both of you refused to move away. He found your hips and tightened his grip, shifting the pair of you with ease so he could sit properly on the couch, leaning back against the cushions with both feet firmly on the floor to ground himself. You took advantage of the new position, your chest pressed right against his and testing out a roll of your hips, enjoying the delicious way your crotch rubbed right over his. His groan was higher pitched than you expected, his neediness betraying him and you loved it. His hands tightened on your hips again, forcing you back down, guiding you as you rolled again, allowing you to feel the increased friction as he hardened beneath you.

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you moved your hips the same way, Carlos letting go when you established a steady rhythm, leaving you to work away as his hands roamed freely. The friction created, over no less than two pairs of jeans, was enough to already have you soaked; the familiar sensation growing between your legs as you became hungrier for more. He slipped under the material of your team polo with another sigh in your mouth as his fingers danced up and down the soft skin of your torso and then he pressed his palms flat against your bare skin as if he couldn’t quite believe there was more of you to feel. You moved, finally breaking the heated kiss as you found his stubbled jaw.

“No,” it was a plea more than a demand.

You didn’t know what he didn’t want, so you just pulled back and stared at him in confusion. He simply leant forward, capturing you in yet another kiss. Okay, you thought, I can get behind this and you kissed him back with equal vigour, pulling his full bottom lip between yours and gently dragging it back through your teeth, at the same time as you pressed your hips down. Carlos hissed, his fingers digging into your soft flesh for a second as he steadied himself. And then he was back at it, kissing you like you’d disappear if he didn’t, playing with the hem of your shirt as he did so. He was tugging at your shirt as the kiss became messier, all teeth and tongues and open mouths in the best way. He bunched the material in his hands, and then dragged them painfully slowly up your body so you felt his knuckles drag along the length of your torso. If that wasn’t enough to make you shiver, having to almost force him away from your mouth so you could pull back and pull the polo over your head was certainly enough to do it.

He watched in awe as you took over for him, stretching up as you finished the job and threw it into a corner of the room, and before he could move closer you followed suit with the sports bra. Carlos’ eyes were blown wide, his lips swollen and hair a perfect mess. He looked unreal beneath you as he was watching your breasts swing free in rapture. Your moment of appreciation was broken when in a blink of an eye he’d sat up, his own top yanked over his head and mouth catching yours in a cheeky kiss before you had time to see him. You could feel his smile against you, and for the first time you properly relaxed into him, so pleased you’d managed to draw one out of him when he was so upset moments before.

His skin was so warm against yours, the direct contact feeling like the most natural thing in the world. You could have stayed there, snuggled into his arms as you kissed him into oblivion forever. Carlos, however, had other plans. You’d stopped moving against him in your distraction, so he bucked his hips up against you, allowing you to feel how badly he was straining for more. You couldn’t stop the whine that slipped from your lips or the heat between your legs that was burning to the point of distraction in itself. Your hands ghosted across his shoulders, determined to commit his body to your memory, working your way down his arms and then back up, noting the way he shivered as you thumbed along his collarbones and then down. His chest was smooth, allowing you to easily slide your palms down his pecs, your fingers deliberately catching his nipples as you went past, just to see his reaction.

You’d seen his abs in many a picture, but to feel them beneath your touch was a different thing entirely, earning him a small moan as you finally got to appreciate him properly. And then you were back on the rough fabric of his jeans, your knuckles brushing against the small gathering of hair just above, toying with the button as if you were waiting for something. His hands mirrored yours, poised at the same place on your own jeans. He still didn’t break the kiss, instead, surging up to pull you deeper, attacking you with renewed energy as his fingers slipped beneath the button to pop it open. You jumped into action undoing his jeans and pushing them to the side, unable to stop yourself from pressing your hand flat against his underwear and enjoying the way he bucked into you with a heavy breath just graced with sound from a catch in his throat.

And then you really did have to pull away because you had to stand up to kick your jeans off. Nevertheless, Carlos complained about the loss of contact. You moved as quickly as possible, glad that he was distracted with removing his own, because taking jeans off has never, ever, been achieved in a sexy manner. When he was done he looked up, his breath catching in his throat as he saw you, standing naked in front of him except for the thin strip of soaked material that made up your underwear. He was a sight himself, his now bare thighs spread on the couch, his straining bulge on full display for you beneath tightly fitted boxers.

“Cielo,” you didn’t need to know what he said, because it was all in the way he was looking at you like you were simply heaven on earth. “Take it off,” he gestured to the last remaining garment on your body. You did as you were told, hooking your thumbs into the waistband and slowly dragging your underwear down your legs, not breaking a second of eye contact with him, enjoying the way he gulped when you playfully flicked the discarded item at him.

And then you were back on his lap, the friction ten times better as he held you in yet another bruising kiss, his hands mapping out every fraction of your new body as you rocked shamelessly against him, your desperation for him reaching a boiling point. In a moment of abandon you reached down and understanding your meaning Carlos lifted his hips, allowing you to shimmy his boxers away from his hips and then there you were, the pair of you totally exposed to each other. The tension building in you had you squirming. You knew you wouldn’t make it through any more teasing, your need for him entirely overwhelming. He pulled away from you, his eyes scanning your face in earnest, fighting the urge to drop his head back as he felt your small hand wrap around him.

“Do I need-”

“I’m on birth control,” he nodded, rewarding you with a sweet kiss, but before you could deepen it he backed off once more.

“You’re sure you want to..?” You moved the hand that was pressed between you, allowing him to feel the wetness that had been gathering glide across the head of his dick. He gritted his teeth, but held eye contact, determined to get an answer out of you. You rolled your eyes playfully at him.

“I really want to,”

With that, he nodded, his hands just resting on your hips as you lifted yourself up, and then sank down onto him.

He was bigger than you’d anticipated, needing to stop to collect your breath as you adjusted to the new feeling, the air felt like it had been punched out of your lungs. Carlos was panting, taking deep breaths that gave small sounds on the exhale as he did his best to collect his thoughts and sit still. Even his breathing was creating enough movement that you could feel it, every little brush sending tingles up your spine and before you could stop yourself you ground down onto him. That seemed to do it, Carlos throwing himself at you in a kiss that took your breath away as his hands began to gently guide you up, and then back down onto him. His arms came up to wrap around the small of your waist, his palms resting flat against your sides as he kissed you like you were his last breath.

You found yourself building rhythm quickly, grinding against him as you moved. There was already a tightening sensation building that you couldn’t help but chase and with Carlos unable to stop his hips from lighting up slightly to meet yours as they came down, allowing him to bury himself as deep within you as possible, you knew you weren’t far off. You were still kissing, technically, mouths opened against each other in ecstasy, you greedily swallowing every sound he made. He was cursing in Spanish and his breath hot on your face was working for you. When your hands came up to thread through his hair as you slightly changed your angle of movement you felt him shudder.

“Shit,” his voice was strained, the change in pitch going straight through you as you realised how hard he was working for you. “If you do that it’s not going to be much longer,” it was the hottest thing you’d ever heard. He couldn’t stop his hips from bucking up into you, picking up the speed and you let him, adapting to his pace as he grunted, his head falling against your shoulder as he tensed. The new angle was sending shockwaves up your spine with every thrust, and there was a white heat building that was stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping and desperate as his lips worked around your chest.

“I want to make you-”

“I’m close,” you were, in fact, too close to let him finish his sentence.

You felt like your body was splintering, the room suddenly stifling. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of Carlos inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you grabbed his face, pulling him into a rough kiss. The second you felt him push back against your mouth you were gone, a high-pitched moan signalling the start of your orgasm as your hips stuttered, moving in a slower, harsher rhythm as you contracted around him, your vision whiting out as you let the explosion work through your body, making your toes curl as you came with a force you’d never experienced before. Carlos groaned against your mouth, his arms holding you fast as he rutted up into you, finally letting himself fall over the edge with you.

For some reason, it reminded you of the interior of the Sagrada Familia.

He didn’t loosen his hold on your body. When you’d started to return to a more normal breathing pattern he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, before pulling back to rest his forehead against yours with a satisfied smile. He was still inside of you, the sweat you were both coated in rapidly cooing but you didn’t care. You could have sat in his arms like that for hours. He kissed you again, soft and sweet and yet somehow still all-consuming. He had a small, dazed smile and his eyes were shining at you as he pulled away and shook his head as if he couldn't quite get his head around what had just happened.

"How long I've wanted this… you have no idea," he whispered with a gentle smile, his forehead pressed against yours as he held you close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read Chapter Six Here

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Cielo = heaven

hello and welcome to iggy gets writers block and then provides a mammoth chapter because she feels bad. It's also 2am and i hit 2k followers yesterday, lost my mind and immediately got inspired to finish this chapter lmao

i might split this into two chapters further down if people feel like that would be a nicer read... let me know!

anyway this was pretty much done for ages but i was stuck on the three day date in Barcelona bc I've never been and i had no idea what was even there to do. i hope it's not too shabby and you guys liked that part of this chapter

as per usual feedback is always appreciated!!! and thank you guys so much for all of your patience and all of the love I've been getting in the gap between chapters, it seriously means the world <3

taggies: @imreallylosingit @serialkillertbh @sticksdoesart @lovingroscoee @agentsoybean @piceous21 @whosays75 @xscorpioxmoon @miahelen @j-brielmalfoy @honeybadger03 @teapartydreams @guccicloudz @nochillnel @timetoracewrites @rmaddenns @ruledchaos @isabellabrodar @ccloaned @ihearttheoriginals @tattered-tales @ferrarifwendvale @bradfordbantams @urbankaite2 @bobohumyonlyboo @zoobabystation @formulacads @hnmaga-blog @f1-incorrect-s @alicekepley @thembeforethea @mrscevans @nora-moon @sueesstuff @turningxstrange @luvrboygaslys @sgkophie @thembeforethea @jpotterdilf @dan3avacado @missxmericana @mall--e @ohthemisssery @yearsof-war @bisexual-desi

#carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #flat spin #formula one #f1 #barcelona gp 2022 #spanish gp 2022

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wing-ed-thing · 10 months

Text

Senioritis: Table 2 (Deidara x Reader, Chapter I)

Synopsis: Deidara was fully prepared to cruise through his last year of high school, but his plans are ruined when you sucker him into helping with the spring musical. Maybe spending all of his after-school hours with you will help him build up the courage to finally tell you that he’s had a thing for you for years.

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags/Warnings: TheaterNerd!Reader, ArtStudent!Deidara, American High School AU, Language, Idiots in Love @brokennerdalert

Notes: Another work rewritten! YAY!

There were eight slots for classes in every student’s schedule where four classes were taken on one day, and the other half were taken the next in a revolving schedule that led straight to hell. But once a senior had taken all their core classes and required electives, most of their free periods were supplemented with skippable study halls.

Deidara, being the below-average achieving senior that he was, managed to strike gold in the scheduling office. He walked out of his advisor’s cubicle at the end of junior year beaming at the four study halls that bookended his days. Fully intending to cruise his fourth year (he had been feeling the senioritis since sophomore year), Deidara would be able to sleep in every day and leave early in the afternoon: a killer scenario for an unenthused high school senior.

Deidara sipped the large, free coffee that he picked up from work with self-satisfaction. It was a little past noon by the time he strolled into his first official class of the day. He clutched a drink tray in one hand and his coffee (which was more of a milkshake) in the other, blissfully ignoring the annoyed eye-rolls of other students as he walked into class late as was his usual MO. As Deidara hummed through the door, Kurenai raised her thin brows in acute exasperation. He stopped at her large desk to offer her a medium beverage— which she took— before taking his seat in the corner of the class. Deidara missed the shaking of her head as she returned to grading papers.

The seat wobbled under him, making a metallic clanking noise as it rocked back and forth. The floor protectors at the bottoms of the chair legs were loose. At least two of them were missing. Deidara shifted his weight. Shit chairs would be his fate if he came to class late and that was a price Deidara didn’t mind paying.

He scooted a small, black coffee over to the seat next to him and the offering was accepted silently as Deidara unloaded his various artistic utensils onto the table. His backpack sat on the table in front of him as he flipped through his sketchbook to his latest piece. The same, pale arm that took the black coffee swatted at his things that were apparently encroaching on claimed territory. Deidara swatted it back, popping his earbuds in to settle into his mindless work for the day.

He didn’t make much progress by the time you knocked at the door. You gave the doorframe three light taps as you gingerly poked your head into the room. Deidara mindlessly scribbled on his paper, peering from behind his long bangs as he watched you talk to Kurenai. He couldn’t make out much of what you said. You held up a few papers and then a few printed photos from the school library. He craned his neck and tried to decipher your topic of conversation, oblivious to how obvious his snooping was.

You met his gaze, doing a double take before offering a friendly smile and a wave. Blinking himself out of his staring, he barely mustered the coordination to wave to you back before you resumed your coordination with Kurenai.

You were someone Deidara knew for most of his life, but he could probably count on one hand how many times the two of you spoke. The lack of interaction didn’t stem from dislike as much as it did from coincidence. Deidara, in fact, always thought highly of you, although he hadn’t worked up the nerve to talk in recent recollection. He told you that you had bad breath once and that was about as much as he could remember. And for the proceeding ten years, your schedules never aligned.

“They’re talking about the musical,” Sasori grumbled as he sipped his black coffee.

Deidara turned to him with a crinkled nose. Even the mere mention of the school musical was enough to draw a visceral reaction from him. Something about the amateur singing and cheesy production made him physically recoil. You always were a part of those sorts of shows, another reason you and Deidara often missed each other.

Sasori worked lazily on his piece; his cheek scrunched in his right palm. Deidara hadn’t even noticed how far he leaned until he nearly brushed shoulders with Sasori. Sasori’s bored eyes narrowed at him.

“You’re in my space.”

He gave Deidara’s shoulder a harsh shove. Deidara’s chair tipped back on the two back legs. As his head slammed into a nearby drying rack, he completely folded as his seat gave out. A flurry of papers was knocked off the wire shelves, various ink and water-colored projects flying down onto the ground. The last quarter of Deidara’s iced coffee seeped onto the floor. A chorus of gasps resounded across the room mixed in with a few complaints of ruined artwork.

You quickly swiped a roll of paper towels from the corner of a desk as you hurried over to where Deidara was still folded. He rolled himself out of the tipped-over chair with a pointed glare aimed at Sasori.

“You’re an asshole. What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Are you okay?” You appeared above him, concern painted on your face. You outstretched your hand, a bundle of paper towels in your palm. He didn’t even remember when he stood, but all he knew was that he was standing in front of you holding a wad of paper towels like an idiot, letting droplets of coffee drip onto the floor. Other students already began scooping art projects off the tile. You handed more towels to students who happened to handle a few coffee-soaked ones.

“Do I really have to tell you two no roughhousing?” Kurenai scolded from where she stood at her desk, a deep, exhausted frown tugging her lips downward.

“It was a shit chair, Ms. Kurenai,” Deidara muttered. “My bad.”

He kicked Sasori’s shin under the table. No one seemed to notice. Kurenai sat back down with a sigh, and you helped a few people put the projects back on the rack.

“Let me help you with that,” Deidara said, reaching for a small stack of the projects you held. You hesitated to hand them over.

“You should get your head checked out by the nurse. It sounded like you slammed it pretty hard.”

“He won’t be more brain-damaged than he usually is,” Sasori uttered, causing Deidara’s head to snap over to him. You snorted, caught off guard but not wanting to laugh. You offered Deidara a sympathetic expression. The rest of the class had settled back into their art projects, chatting quietly amongst each other as they worked.

“Really, I can walk you down if you’d like.”

Deidara’s heart pounded in his chest. He sputtered a bit, feeling like he’d just encountered a dialogue option in a dating simulator that hadn’t been recorded in the guide. Perhaps he could blame the fact that he had woken up less than an hour ago. You gave him a once-over, offering him the whole roll of paper towels. Deidara held a hand up and you put them down.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said before he could even think. “Thanks… though.”

He picked his crappy chair off the ground. A streak of coffee slid off the seat. He wiped it, hoping that your conversation would end soon.

You reached into your pocket and slipped something into your mouth, shrugging as you did so. You weren’t completely convinced, but you let it go.

“Let’s at least get you a new change of clothes,” you said in a low, considerate voice. You took Deidara by the sleeve and gave him a subtle tug toward the door. Sasori leaned forward to catch your eye. You met his glare head-on with a content— or Deidara would dare say indifferent— expression.

“Don’t even think about it…” Sasori scowled.

You leaned to the side to look past Deidara, still gripping his arm.

“Don’t worry, Sasori. We’ll be good,” You smiled. Deidara took a slight step to the side, to let you talk. He took to holding the bundle of paper towels to the wet stain on the bottom of his shirt. Some coffee still shone on the floor. He wiped it across the tile with his shoe. Sasori grunted in response.

“You vulture, you stay in your own department.” He tore his focus from his work, his exaggeration almost comical. Turning in his chair, he crossed his legs and sat back. Sasori gestured to you with the business end of his tool. “You came to me begging for help and now you’re planning on ruining my shit, you brat.”

Deidara watched out of the corner of his eye as you let out a hearty chuckle. He stood in the middle of your conversation with Sasori, head hurting, damp with beverage, and unsure of where you were slowly tugging him. You backed away slowly.

“We won’t ruin anything.” You rolled your eyes, but your pout proved less convincing as you glanced off to the side. You and Deidara already made your way to the opposite side of the table. “But, I mean, if you have any update on those costume alterations and wanted to come visit.” You snickered as Sasori stood up abruptly.

“How did I know?” The feet of his chair made a scratching noise against the tile floors causing Kurenai to look up from her work. She shook her head at him slowly and Sasori’s lips pursed. His tongue stuck in the side of his cheek. He met your gaze with piercing eyes and a scowl.

“Because you’re a very attentive friend who has a burning passion for art?” By the time you spoke, you were already halfway out the door with a coffee-stained Deidara in tow.

“No, it’s because you’ve been annoying.” Sasori’s criticism came out quieter than he intended. He sat down slowly, tipping his head from side to side to draw out an audible crack from his neck. He spoke again between cracks of his knuckles. “They’ll be ready at the beginning of next week.”

“Did I already tell you that you’re the best?”

“Damn straight,” he mumbled.

You and Deidara were already out the door.

***

You tugged Deidara down the hall.

The art department consisted of a long hallway adjacent to the rather large theater. A shared wall hugged the perimeter of the auditorium, wrapping around one side until it met the music department. Despite being just the other half of the U-shape that comprised the arts departments, Deidara had never actually stepped foot into theater territory.

You pulled him into an empty classroom. Rolling clothes racks lined the room, feathers, and furs sticking out the tops at various intervals. The classroom tables were collected in the center of the room. A tall stack of chairs sat in the corner. Deidara stood awkwardly in the doorway as you sifted through the assortment of clothes. A long piece of paper sat rolled up above the small window on the door, pinned up with a clothespin.

“Um…” He trailed off as you disappeared into the jungle of costumes. He took a few steps forward to find you but was only met with the vague rustling of clothing. Deidara looked up at the rack closest to him, eyeing a particularly flashy number with a sequin hat. He took the thick material in his fingers, a strangled noise of apprehension bubbling up in his throat.

“What shirt size are you? Medium?” You popped out from between two dark cloaks. A colorful feather boa draped over your forehead. Deidara nearly jumped in surprise as he instinctually took a half step backward.

“Large?” he answered quickly.

You nodded with a hum as you retreated into the assortment of racks. It didn’t take long for you to reemerge, taking a step over the lower bar of the rack with two dark shirts hanging off your forearm. You held the graphic t-shirts up by their hangers.

“These look like you.” Deidara glanced between the two and then back at you.

“The theater department shelled out for ‘Akatsuki’ band tees and—” He took the second shirt from you to read the back. His slender eyebrows furrowed as he glanced back up at you. “Is this a ‘Jashinist’ shirt from… 1989?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, “We think that Mr. Danzo went a little crazy when he was younger. That’s who I think donated it anyway. Even if he didn’t, it’s still funny.” Deidara shrugged and let out an amused snort as he made a motion to hand the shirt back to you.

“You could probably sell that for a lot of money. Those guys are like way underground nowadays.” You held up a hand as you hooked the other shirt above you on the rack, still within Deidara’s reach, and draped over the neat assortment of other hanging fabrics.

“Keep it if you like it. Sasori would be the only one to notice it’s missing and for all of his grumbling he doesn’t care that much.” You maneuvered past him, taking the wooden door in your hand as you unclipped the clothespin. The paper that the clip held together unfurled like the GameCube logo, coming to cover the door’s little window completely. You clipped the pin back at the bottom before turning to Deidara to give him a thumbs up. “Just leave the door open when you’re done!”

Before Deidara could thank you, you had already closed the door, leaving him alone in the costume room to change.

***

Deidara took his time traveling to his next class.

The T-shirt you picked out for him fit him better than he expected. Looser around his midriff and tighter around his arms, Deidara considered whether he would keep it after all. His white, coffee-stained shirt sat folded in his backpack. A large part of him lingered in the memory of you from his art period, but most of his thoughts dwelled on the fact that he had no idea what you were doing for him until a few moments after you left. Deidara sighed to himself as he rounded the corner to his class.

What a dumbass.

Deidara trickled into class with everyone else. The only person he could stand sitting with was already there with Hidan sitting at the opposite desk. Hidan barely sat in his seat, hovering over his chair as he leaned over his workspace to talk animatedly about one pointless thing or another. No doubt being an annoyance per usual.

Deidara took a moment to consider whether he should intervene. On the one hand, where you sat at the beginning of the semester dictated where you sat for the rest of the year. On the other hand: Hidan.

Kisame maneuvered passed him and approached the situation, though Deidara expected that he wouldn’t be too much help. Deidara settled at a desk closest to the door, just hoping for a quiet first day of his spring semester and for it to pass quickly.

“Oh—” He heard just as he was beginning to get settled. He looked up instinctually to see you standing just inside the door, an expression of pleasant surprise on your face. “I just saw you. Hey, that shirt suits you, just as I thought. What do you think, eh, Sasori?” You gestured over your shoulder with your head, not bothering to look as Sasori strode into class from behind you.

“Fuck you.”

You and Deidara watched as Sasori stormed to a far cluster of desks, completing the group of four with Itachi Uchiha and Kisame Hoshigaki. You laughed sheepishly under your breath before turning your attention back to Deidara. You gestured to the seat across from him.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Deidara gave you a quick series of nods and you sat, facing away from Hidan’s table. Deidara’s heart pounded in his chest as he tried to go back to unpacking his bag. He pulled out a pen, subconscious thoughts pestering him and whispering how he was being really weird right now. His lips pursed as he stared directly down at his desk, just a pen clasped between both of his hands.

“You don’t happen to have precalc after this, do you?” Deidara’s head shot up, his form still hunched over. You sat with a pencil and binder neatly in front of you.

“No, uh, I don’t. I actually have study hall.”

You let out a playful scoff, shaking your head as you looked off to the side.

“Lucky! You get to go home early.” Your face settled into the palm of your hand. You placed your elbow on your desk. “Good for you to be honest. Coming back from break with a full schedule sucks.”

You reached over to hand him a packet from the stack of papers on your desk. Deidara eyed it briefly, only managing to catch “SYLLABUS” and a large “2”.

“It’s alright so far,” Deidara said, completely unaware as to how to talk to you. He let a pause rise between the two of you. He wracked his brain as to what to say. “So… are you feeling the senioritis yet?”

“Ehh…” Your lip tugged down into a sheepish grimace. “Not really. I’m kinda here more than I’m at home nowadays so I won’t really catch a break until late May.”

“Hah?” Deidara exclaimed rudely, nose wrinkling up. “Why?”

“It’s musical season,” you answered.

Deidara sat back in his seat with crossed arms. With an active disgust for the school’s music program, Deidara never paid much attention to when the musical happened. If he was being honest with himself, he really should… to stay as far away as possible.

“Oh right,” he said, the fact that he had just been in the costume room and just talked to you about the topic completely escaping him.

“And, I mean, if you’re bored and have any downtime, we’re always looking for people to help with set design…” you trailed off, voice laced with playful suggestion as you made little gestures with your hands. Deidara couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in his chest. As soon as you saw his smile, you looked off to the side again with bashfulness. “Hey, it’s an offer.”

“I ‘preciate it, but I think I’m all good on all that song and dance stuff.”

“Well, set would be a lot of painting and making sculptures and stuff which I know you like. I mean I think.” Deidara couldn’t help the slight raise of his eyebrow. “And it’s a lot of downtime at this point because we won’t be running the entire show in rehearsals until the end of April. I thought Sasori would have invited you already. You’re such good friends.” Deidara almost laughed again. Perhaps you didn’t have all the information after all.

“So, you have a lot of free time? That’s good.” You nodded, completely oblivious. Deidara fiddled with the corner of his syllabus. He could hardly look you in the eye. “What do you do for the hours you have until you go home?” You shrugged, slumping a little bit into your chair.

“Honestly, we just all order takeout and hang out until we’re called into the auditorium for scenes. Sasori usually does his thing and we hang out together in the ‘stume room. That’s what I like to call it.” The corners of your lips twitched upwards, threatening to expose you as the dork you are. Unfortunately for you, Deidara already knew that.

The auditorium. The hall directly at the back connected the art department to the music department directly. And with the backstage open for student use, Deidara could travel from doing set in the art department to visiting you in the music department in under a minute, just as the two of you did earlier in the day. Deidara almost physically shook his head, trying to wave off the idea of him joining the school musical just to spend more time with you.

Your teacher entered the room as the bell rang out. Deidara could ponder over bad decisions later.

***

It turns out, Deidara didn’t have to think for long. It only took him until the next day.

“You? The musical?”

“Shut up.”

“What could you have possibly been thinking? Or do I even want to know?” Sasori leaned against the wall. arms crossed. “You do know it’s Shrek: The Musical, right?”

The hall of the art department was emptier than Deidara had ever seen it. He sat on the tile floor, staring at the set piece in front of him as Sasori hovered. Deidara’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment and he lowered his paintbrush. He didn’t even know what made him commit to something as stupid as driving to school twice in one day. Not when he purposefully tailored his schedule to maximize his downtime.

With a sigh, he heaved himself up off his heels and passed by Sasori. Deidara bent down and grasped a gallon jug of paint with a low grumble. He stopped again as he trudged back and motioned to Sasori in a slicing motion with his free palm. He shifted the jug which sat in the crux of his opposite elbow.

“Sasori, my man, you can shut the fuck up.” Sasori frowned, sticking an ankle out in front of him, causing Deidara to stumble. Deidara’s hand flew out to deliver a swift back-handed swat, but Sasori blocked it with another, equally petty slap.

Deidara moved on wordlessly as he poured a bit more paint into his palette and sank back onto the ground with his brushes. But Deidara found himself distracted once again as he heard a familiar ‘oh’ from down the hall.

You peeked around the corner from the open door that connected the two departments. You donned some functional athletic clothes and fanned off the light sheen of sweat that you worked up under the harsh theater lights.

“You know, I heard that you were the new addition to the crew.” You made your way down the hall, hands in your pockets. “I didn’t think you were interested.” Despite having just sat down, Deidara immediately scrambled to his feet with an urgency that was lost on you. He dragged a hand across his chin, unconsciously smearing paint down his jaw as he did. Sasori studied the scene out of the corner of his eye.

“What can I say, you convinced me,” Deidara said with an awkward chuckle. His previous annoyance melted away instantly. You scratched at the back of your head.

“Really? You and Sasori are so close, I thought you were here to help—”

“We’re not that close,” the two said in unison, throwing you off.

“Oh, uh, well, I’m just taking the dinner order and I wanted to know if you guys wanted anything.” You held up a tiny notepad. Half of the page was already filled, making Deidara wonder just how big the school production was. You glanced over at Sasori. “I already know what you want.”

“Where are you ordering from?” Deidara asked.

“Ichiraku.”

“It’s always Ichiraku,” Sasori murmured. He scowled, not moving from his spot against the wall. “Vegetable, don’t give me beef again.” You scoffed with a shake of your head and turned to Deidara. He waved his hands almost defensively in front of him.

“I think I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know how long they have you doing set, but if you’re here as long as we are, you’ll want dinner.” Deidara pursed his lips. In all honesty, he could leave whenever he wanted. The art director knew him well and left most things to Deidara’s judgment. You took his silence as hesitancy. “The skeletons and I are all getting stuff to share. I’ll bring you a plate.” You cast your gaze down to write.

“Skeletons?” Deidara mouthed to Sasori. Sasori rolled his eyes.

“The backup dancers,” he mouthed back. Deidara scrunched his face up in confusion and Sasori gritted his teeth in annoyance. “Dancing skeletons you dumbass.”

“Does that sound good to you?” Your voice cut through their silent battle causing Deidara’s head to snap toward you. He subconsciously palmed his pockets.

“I don’t carry cash.”

“I’ll spot you or you can just pay me back later. Noodles sound good, though, right?”

Deidara nodded and you scurried off to make the call. You said something before you left, but neither Deidara nor Sasori were listening. Sasori shifted his weight to push himself up from where he leaned. His back crackled.

“Wow,” Sasori mused, head bowed as he let out a single chuckle. He glanced down the hall in the direction you came and went, making sure that you were gone. “That might be one of the most painful conversations I’ve ever seen. It’s about time I find something to get you to stop talking.” Deidara flicked his wrist, casting some paint onto Sasori’s shoes. Sasori recoiled and stumbled back with a pointed leer. “What the fuck?”

“You won’t say a word,” Deidara growled lowly which caused Sasori to snort.

“What makes you think that I care enough to?” He turned on his heel, suddenly bored with Deidara. Sasori took a few more steps back as he began to make his way down the hall. “Tell me when my rolls get here.”

But Deidara didn’t. Deidara didn’t tell Sasori when the rolls came.

You arrived like an angel, fluttering over to sit down with him on the floor with a fixed plate and a pair of chopsticks. You were right about him becoming hungry after all because as soon as he took the plate into his hands, his painting was ushered unceremoniously to the back of his mind along with Sasori.

Deidara studied the receipt that was stapled to the outside of a brown bag you cradled in your opposite arm.

“That’s a lot of food,” he said, taking the long piece of paper in his fingers. The item number added up into the double digits.

“Sorry, it took me so long to make my way over here. There used to be two whole other bags.” You sat down in front of him and you pulled out a container and a small baggie.

The emptiness of the hall became apparent as you sat in silence together. Muffled music and shouted stage directions came from inside the auditorium and were just barely audible from the art department. You took a glance at your phone. You texted Sasori about his order a bit ago. By the time you looked up, Deidara had already cleared more than half his plate.

A few spots of paint speckled Deidara’s sleeveless hoodie and you tried to keep your staring discrete. You never spent much time with Deidara, which made you wonder if you made him uncomfortable by inviting yourself to eat with him alone. You caught occasional glimpses of all the art forms he dabbled in, but his affinity for art was about the extent that you knew about him.

You slumped up against the wall, your jacket stuffed behind you like a makeshift pillow. Deidara put his plate on the floor and maneuvered to place his paintbrushes in the appropriate water-filled containers. You, on the other hand, hadn’t finished eating. A pang of nervousness reverberated in your chest and you became painfully aware of the box of mints in your pocket.

“They didn’t exile you out here, right?” Deidara took his place back next to you. He played absentmindedly with the murky water cup between his hands. His empty plate sat to the side.

“No, um, the skeleton crew is in a scene that I’m not in so.” Deidara hummed, letting the silence drive space between the two of you once more. You cleared your throat, unwrapping a mint from your pocket and slipping it into your mouth. “I like being in this section of the school though. I usually come over here to talk to Sasori, but it’s a lot quieter here.”

“Yeah, I don’t mind it. I have all my classes down here.” He stared at the row of lockers in front of him.

You nodded but didn’t get to speak before someone from the cast rounded the corner and heard your name shouted down the hall.

“We need you for scene four.” You looked to Deidara and then back towards the direction that your castmate disappeared from. You scrambled up, your empty paper plate in your hand.

“I’m sorry, Deidara. I’ll see you later, okay?”

You dumped your trash in the nearest trash can. Deidara waved but you were already gone. He glanced at the takeout bag you left. He forgot Sasori’s rolls.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Table Four (Hidan x Reader), Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Table Two (Deidara x Reader), Part I

Senioritis: Lab (Sasori x Reader) Part I Part II

All of these parts interweave and exist in the same universe. You can read them in any order or just stick to a single path.

#Deidara x reader #deidara #akatsuki #akatsuki x reader #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto headcanon #naruto headcanons #naruto scenarios #naruto scenario #naruto imagines #naruto imagine #naruto #x you #x reader #Senioritis: deidara #Senioritis

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marblesarelost · 1 year

Text

Funeral 2.0 is done.

I am home from Texas, have been since yesterday afternoon.

I am exhausted in every single way I possibly can be.

Physically, mentally, emotionally.

I drove 2,000 miles in the last four days; we left Sunday, got there Monday, had the service Tuesday, left Wednesday and got home yesterday.

I'm expecting to hear from the house buying company in the next couple days with their final offer; depending on what that is, I start packing next week. Still looking for an apartment, but I have some good leads. I'll accept and be very thankful for any prayers/charms/spells/energy work done on my behalf to find a nice place in my price range and in the right neighborhood/school district.

I'm giving it a couple weeks more -- I may wait until I move, in fact -- before making @palaquinn and I "Facebook Official." Pukha and She Who Must Be Obeyed are Facebook Friends with Jody's family, and I think Pukha may mention something on FB, and then SWMBO will comment, and then all of Jody's family will descend upon said FB posts. And I don't need the dramaz. I just DON'T. It's all stressful enough.

I did mention to them that I'm looking at moving north, but I made it sound more as if we're going to my brothers. Which, that was the original plan. That's not the plan now.

And I am looking so forward to it all being done. To having time to breathe and figure out my next steps once I get where I'm going, once our new apartment is put together and we're settled in. I'm changing states, changing regions, changing terrain even, changing jobs; I'm terrified and thrilled beyond measure and all fucked up in my own way.

But.

I am as ever an optimist, and a hopeFUL romantic, to quote Kathleen Turner at the end of Romancing the Stone.

HopeFUL.

"And I know that look Upon your face But there's somethin' lucky About this place There's somethin' good comin' for you and me; Somethin' good comin' There has to be..."

youtube

#moving #house sale #letting go #starting over #starting over all over again #it's gonna be good #Just gotta get there #Youtube

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mochiable · 3 years

Text

— how you met nct dream.

anon request: hello! i don’t know if you take this type of request but i would love a scenario on how you meet nct dream ot7 if it’s possible, thank you!

warning: one swear word

wc: 1.5k

₊˚✧┆𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞

you had been watching that cute boy on the badminton court playing with his friends ever since you had started working in the gym and you couldn't help but become more and more interested in him with each passing day. the noises he made when he hit the shuttlecock, the whimpers that came from his pink fluffy lips when he missed the expected shot and the way he frowned and puckered his mouth when his partner missed were some of your favourite things about going to work. yet you had never been able to strike up a conversation. never until this day, when his friends decided to take a break and go watch the football match, while he preferred to stay and practice a bit more.

"you're good," you complimented him once you approached him and threw him a bottle of water, which he managed to catch on the fly. "thank you," he replied flashing you a shy smile, causing his cheekbones to bulge. "where did you learn all that?" you asked sitting down on the bench at the side of the court. he turned to look at you nervously, setting the bottle down once he had taken a sip. "my father... well... he taught me, i guess," he replied, averting his gaze to anywhere on the court except your eyes. "and what do you like best about it?" you questioned him, watching the feather he was playing with bounce on the ground. "ahhh, i... i like badminton, i mean... i like it a lot, like... the... the... the rackets are really nice," he replied trying to find the right words, looking even more tender than ever and causing a smile to form on your lips. but just then his friends arrived, so you stood up and approached him. "nice to meet you, mark," you bowed your head and he copied you, failing to hide the blush on his cheeks.

₊˚✧┆𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗝𝗨𝗡

you snorted once more when the card of the hotel you were staying at wouldn't open the door. you had just taken a dip in the pool and were starting to get cold from wearing only a t-shirt over your swimsuit. you had already used every curse word the dictionary had and still the door wouldn't open. until suddenly you heard a click and it did, so you hurriedly tried to enter. however, something a little softer than the door blocked your way, making you bump into it or, rather, into someone.

“can i help you with something?” the boy smiled kindly as two others a little taller than him appeared from behind. you frowned, looking at the number painted on the door and then looking at the number written on your card. it was then that you realised your mistake, “shit! sorry, sorry. i've got the wrong room,” you apologised, trying to hide your embarrassment and nervousness. “is your room next door?” he asked leaning the side of his body against the door frame, to which you nodded, “i hope to see you again then,” he spoke, as the other two boys who hadn't moved yet tried to hide their laughter. you smiled still a little self-consciously and turned around with the intention of getting out of there. “nice outfit, by the way.”

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗘𝗡𝗢

you were taking the dog for a walk in the park as you usually did, but this day was a bit different. you let the dog loose, trusting him completely, although you regretted it after a second when you saw how he ran away from you, starting to chase a boy riding his bike. you ran after him, calling his name and wishing you were born with more stamina, because your lungs weren’t strong enough for that. the boy slowed down when he noticed the animal running after him, who didn't think twice before jumping on top of him and knocking him off his bike, licking his face while getting petted. when you managed to get to where they were, you apologised repeatedly, getting several "don't worry" from the boy, smiling with amusement at your furry friend.

“i hope your dog doesn't attack me again,” he laughed softly, hopping on his bike and riding off, reassuring you that there would definitely be a next time.

₊˚✧┆𝗛𝗔𝗘𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡

in the summer you worked in a flower shop, you didn't get paid much but it was enough to pay for your studies. that day, your boss sent you to the most famous dance company in your city to deliver a bouquet with yellow sunflowers, something strange you had to admit.

leaving the lift you bumped into a handsome guy who apologized for not having noticed and almost destroying those beautiful flowers. as an apology he offered to guide you to your destination and you, a bit shy, accepted shyly. you could notice the look of confusion when you pointed out where you should deliver the sunflowers and, when you entered the room, he didn't hesitate to speak.

“so the flowers are for me, you’re the one sending them?” he approached them to smell their soft, fresh scent and then looked at you with a twinkle in his eye. you shook your head slightly, watching an amused pout form on his handsome face, “how bad, i would’ve wished to receive such a gift from someone so pretty.”

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗠𝗜𝗡

Songpa Naru Park was perhaps your favourite place to spend the afternoon when you didn't have too much to do. coming here, watching the almond blossoms swaying in the wind, listening to the swallows singing and watching families having a good time were your favourite images. you couldn't miss the photographs, you were nobody without your camera and your snapshots.

at that moment, watching the black and white ducks arguing over which part of the lake belonged to each of them, you felt a flash in your right profile, which made you startle and your camera, which was in your lap, rush to the ground. however, a big hand prevented that horrible disaster.

“forgive me,” the stranger apologised, “i didn't mean to,” he showed you his perfect white teeth as he returned the camera to your lap. “did you take a picture of me?” you asked looking in his direction, remembering that bright light. he looked at you with regret and put his hand to the back of his neck, scratching it nervously, “sorry about that too.” you gave him a tight-lipped smile and lifted your shoulders, “don't worry, it's all right,” you replied turning your gaze back to the lake, “it’s beautiful, isn't it?” you asked, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “yes, very pretty,” he replied, looking at your picture on his camera, which brought another smile to your face, a bigger one this time.

₊˚✧┆𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗡𝗟𝗘

you were definitely lost. maybe if you hadn't listened to your brother, you would now be at the restaurant where your parents were waiting for you. but obviously, he didn't want to use the gps as he had "memorised the way". and this is when he forced you to roll down the car window and ask some stranger for help.

“excuse me, could you tell me where Las Torres restaurant is?” you asked a handsome guy, wearing a loose summer brown shirt. he smiled at you and asked for your phone so he could write it down for you, which you readily agreed to. “here you go. i’ve drawn you the official route, but also a small detour that will get you there faster,” he explained, handing you back the phone through the window. after thanking him and saying goodbye, he gave you a smile with a wink, which caused a slight blush to appear on your cheeks. you soon learned the reason for this gesture. he hadn't asked for your mobile phone just to guide you, but to write down his number as well.

₊˚✧┆𝗝𝗜𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚

you were having dinner with a friend at one of your favourite restaurants, celebrating the end of the school year and another year of your friendship. however, you weren't paying full attention to your friend, as you were busier watching the boy who hadn't stopped looking at you all night and who, when you looked back at him, looked away, blushing slightly. halfway through dinner you could notice his friend saying something in his ear, looking in your direction, and how the boy's eyes widened while he began to shake his head. but suddenly, the other boy stood up and, ignoring his friend's prayers, approached you with a mischievous smile on his face.

“good evening,” he greeted, interrupting your conversation and resting his hands on the table, “you've caught my friend's eye, but he's too shy and cowardly to come and ask for your number himself, so i’m here to make his dreams come true,” he addressed you with confidence and amusement, pointing to the sweet boy who was now covering his face with the tablecloth. you finally decided to write down your number on the napkin and your heart skipped a beat as the boy smiled shyly at you after receiving the piece of paper with your number written on it.

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a/n: this is my very first multiple scenario and i have to admit i’m very nervous about it. i’d really appreciate it if you could provide me with some feedback and tell what do you think of it! hope you liked it, love you<3

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sazc94 · 3 years

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The Three Times James "Bucky" Barnes Broke your heart.

This was inspired by @msmarvelwrites 2k Writing Challenge because I'm a sucker for Taylor Swift especially sad Taylor Vibes. I chose the all too well lyrics.

Apparently, I can't do anything small so it's in two parts. Pairs Bucky x Reader and Pietro x Reader. (Not at the same time)

Part 1 Here

No smut but mentions of sex so 18+ Themes: highschool, cheating, college/uni. Friendship

Words 3368 it's Suburban AU.

2015 You finished up Uni staring in the school's production of Rock of Ages, Playing Sherry opposite Loki’s drew. Loki also moved to New York staying with his half brother Thor Oddinson. You stayed in touch with Loki and Pietro. The thing that took you by surprise however was six months after moving to Detroit, whilst working for Bruce Banner's start-up you received a DM on Instagram from Bucky. He heard from Sam and Jane that you were now living in Detroit and he was moving to the area after being scouted by the Detroit Lions. Hey Y/N, I hope you’re good. I know this is random and please feel free to tell me where to go, but I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink sometime? It would be great to see you again and catch up. Let me know. So you replied feeling like maybe after all this time it might be good to finally hear Bucky’s apology. Pietro and you had stayed in touch but you knew he was dating someone else. Her name was Sue Storm, she seemed like a nice girl, very smart and could easily give Pietro a run for his money. After hearing Bucky’s apology, you two started to become friends again, he invited you along to his games always offering to secure you two tickets if you wanted to bring someone. He was a machine on the football field, earning the strange nickname The Winter Soldier.

2016

Everything changed in the summer of 2016 though when Bucky’s mother passed away suddenly in June. She had practically helped raise you, so you attended the funeral with Bucky. You stayed with him in the guest room in his childhood house, helping him sort through belongings and paperwork. Bucky’s dad had died when you were 8 and Bucky like you was an only child. You took in food from neighbours wanting to pay their respects. You held his hand squeezing it in comfort during the funeral, assuring him you were there for him. Two days after the funeral you and Bucky had finished packing up the final boxes, you were upstairs, and he was downstairs being awfully quiet. You went looking for him only to find him sat on the living room floor. He was crying holding a picture of you and him one Halloween when you were 9, Bucky had gone as Superman and you as Supergirl. Your mums stood behind you, both of them chuckling whilst you and bucky tried to out pose one another. Your heart swelled. Your Grandad had died in November and god how your heart had ached, but to lose your mum, you couldn’t even begin to imagine. “Hey, hey. It's alright I’m here Buck”, you said cradling his head to your chest whilst he sobbed. You stayed like that for an unidentifiable amount of time before Bucky’s crying eased. He looked up at you blinking away the stray tears, the familiar blue in his eyes pulling you in. Your not sure who kissed who first but that was how you and Bucky ended up sleeping together.

You and Bucky officially got back together in July. Your Grandma passed away in September, the start of football season. Bucky was unable to attend the funeral, he tried god he tried. Pietro made it though. He and Sue had broken up not that he told you. By the time November rolled around things were good between you and Bucky. Wanda’s fashion label Scarlett Witch was taking off and she invited you and Bucky out to join the rest of the old gang at the official launch in December of 2016. You accepted and for the pair of you assuring Bucky, there would be no awkwardness. Pietro was casually dating and was bringing a date called Crystal.

You arrived at the party in NYC completely blown away. Wanda had asked you to wear a piece from the evening wear collection, a Black strapless dress, the top if form-fitting made from chiffon fabric, the skirt cut out the front made of black tulle sparkled with the touches of glitter. It felt like you were wearing the Milky Way. After stopping to pose for photos for the press you made your way inside. The party was being held inside a beautiful gothic building. “Y/n! You look absolutely amazing, thank you so much for wearing this and of course for coming” Wanda practically pounced on you the minute she spotted you. “Bunny! I agree absolutely amazing. Bucky, you don’t look too bad yourself” Pietro said kissing you on the cheek. Pietro was wearing a deep blue suit, it made his hair and ice-blue eyes pop. Bucky had opted for the simple black tux to match you and your dress. He almost looked good enough to eat. After grabbing a glass of champagne, Wanda and Pietro took you to the rest of the gang who had made it. Jane was here with a date, Thor Oddinson you recognised him from the few times he had been to see you and Loki in shows. Carol was here too. Peter Parker was working the event as a photographer he had brought a date a lovely young lady called Mary Jane Watson. After about 45 minutes of schmoozing and catching up, you went to the ladies room. When you exited you were a little taken aback by the sight that confronted you, a redhead was hanging of Bucky’s arm chuckling away with Thor and Jane. You could only see the back of her from where you were standing. You decided to walk over and introduce yourself. However, when you got closer to the group the woman started to look vaguely familiar.

“Hey babe,” Bucky said as you approached quickly removing his arm from the redhead. Babe. That was weird he never called you babe. His blue eyes looked like they were hiding something. “Lady Y/N. This is Lady Natasha” Thor said introducing you. The redhead turned to shake your hand smiling at you with a knowing look. “Lovely to finally meet the infamous Y/N,” she said. “I told Bucky how disappointed I was not to meet you when I was in the City in September. I’m so sorry to hear about the passing of your grandmother. Bucky kept me company whilst I was around on some Business” her voice sounded harmless, sweet and pleasant. Genuine. Her eyes and knowing smirk told a different story. Bucky looked at you, the familiar betrayal in his eyes, pleading with you. “I was just telling Bucky, I’ve been offered this amazing opportunity in Detroit so Ill be moving there in February, isn’t that wonderful?” she asked. You smiled taking a swig of your champagne. Jane looked at you, then Bucky. You shook your head.

That was the second time Bucky Barnes broke your heart. He assured you that they hadn’t slept together, however had admitted that he had kept her visit from you and that she had kissed him. “Did you kiss her back?” you asked pacing around your hotel room. “Doll, please what does it matter,” he asked reaching out for you. His calloused hands once again burning your skin with his betrayal. The fact he had chosen not to answer was all the confirmation you needed. You had left him in the hotel room. Loki had been unable to make the event due to being in a small play off-Broadway, but you had texted him asking if he wanted to get a drink. You had told him everything and he had walked you back to your hotel room. You were drunk and distressed. Bucky had opened the door his blue eyes flashing with jealousy when the handsome black-haired gentleman had his arms around you. “Easy James, if anything was going to have happened between us, it would have happened in freshman year of college,” Loki said helping you into your room. After you and Bucky returned to Detroit you guys took a break for a few months.

2017

Natasha’s job conveniently happened to be working as a fitness instructor at the Detroit Lions. After 4 months you and Bucky got back together in March of 2017. Things were going great, Natasha seemed to have released whatever hold she had on Bucky. Bucky was performing well with the Lions, his new teammate, Steve Rogers nicknamed Captain America seemed to have caught the eye of many ladies including Natasha. He however didn’t seem that interested in her and had his sights set on a girl from his home in Brooklyn her name was Peggy. Steve and you hit off due to your mutual disinterest in Miss Romanoff, he had come up with a nickname for her, he called her Black Widow because she seemed to devour the men in her life. Banners start-up tech company had taken off with thanks to your ad campaigns. You were also performing in the local summer show of Mamma Mia playing Sophie. In the summer of 17, Peggy Carter came to visit Steve, turned out she was from Britain originally. You liked Peggy and her no-nonsense approach. During July, the four of you went on lots of double dates like you were high schoolers again. For Steve’s birthday which happened to be the fourth of July, the four of you attended an event being put on by the Detroit lions. You had a great evening mixing with various teammates and their families. You even warmed to Natasha a bit that afternoon.

As the evening rolled around a giant cake was brought out to celebrate Steve’s birthday. Followed by a firework show. Everyone made their way to various blankets and cushions set out at the opposite end of the stadium. Somewhere along the way you and Bucky got separated. You didn’t worry too much, to begin with as you’d both drifted off to interact with various people throughout the event, however by the time the fireworks started Bucky was nowhere to be seen. You started to think the worst until you spotted Natasha’s red hair on the other side of the stadium flirting with a gaggle of players from various other teams who were invited. Confident Bucky would return shortly you turned your attention to the sky watching with a goofy grin, things were finally settled between you and Bucky. As the fireworks went on you decided to snap a few shots on your phone loving the way the sky lit up with bright colours. The Detroit Lions didn’t do things in small doses, so the firework display ended up going on for about an hour and a half. After about 45 minutes Bucky returned from wherever he had been slipping down behind you pulling your back flush to his chest. He stroked small circles on your arms. His rough calloused skin making you shiver from the contact.

In September you were approached by Tony Stark’s PA Pepper Potts, they had seen your campaigns for Bruce Banner and Tony was interested in headhunting you. Your contract with Bruce was up in October. You initially shot the idea down. Why would you want to leave Michigan? Your family home was a short 20-minute drive away, Bucky was doing well with the Lions. Peggy Carter was moving here after Steve had proposed at the end of Summer. It seemed ludicrous. After initially shooting down the offer. Pepper contacted you, doubling their initial offer. The offer was tempting, so you told Miss Potts you would think it over the weekend. There was no harm in bringing it up with Bucky, maybe a move would do you both good, Natasha seemed to have gotten under Bucky’s skin again. You left the office early that day. You didn’t bother to text Bucky figuring you could surprise him when he got home from training with a home-cooked meal. You stopped off to get some supplies to make Lasagne before heading over to his apartment figuring you could just let yourself in. You had called Wanda on the drive over through your cars Bluetooth. She and Vision were engaged, and she wanted you to be one of her bridesmaids. Partway through the call, Pietro had walked into Wanda’s office so you had told them both about the job offer. When you got to Bucky’s you immediately recognised the Black Widows black Mercedes. “huh, that’s weird, I wonder what she’s doing here,” you said out loud “who’s where?” asked Wanda. “oh um nothing, look I got to go I just got to Buck’s and I’m cooking dinner, going to talk to him about Tony’s offer,” you said before hanging up. You were so blind-sighted by Natasha’s car you didn’t clock Bucky’s Motorcycle parked in the corner of the small parking lot. You grabbed your bags walking up to Bucky’s figuring that you could invite Natasha in if need be whilst you waited for Buck to come home.

If you had noticed Bucky’s bike, then just maybe you would have been more prepared for the following events you unlocked Bucky’s apartment and you found clothes strewn everywhere, his jeans. A white Blouse. His boxer trunks. A Black lacy bra, that definitely didn’t belong to you. At first, you were so shocked by what you saw that you didn’t hear the moans coming from the bedroom. It was like you were possessed you carried your bag of groceries as you walked in a daze to the bedroom, you opened the door and found Bucky once again cheating on you. He and Natasha were in the throws of fucking each other, you found Natasha with her back to you, wrapped around Bucky’s waist. Bucky sat upright facing you however his eyes closed whilst he drank in the pleasure. You felt your heartbreak as you dropped your bag of groceries. The bag made a thud as it hit the ground, alerting Bucky to your presence. His eyes flew open connecting with yours. Natasha however didn’t stop riding your boyfriend’s cock. Bucky tried to push her off him, but you were already storming out the door. You grabbed your bag and left Bucky’s spare key in the door. Bucky grabbed a pair of joggers and slippers before chasing after you. Bucky’s apartment was on the second floor. All the apartments on the second floor opened outside to a walkway.

“Really James?!?” you turned round to face him before he could even say your name. “Was once not enough? Did you not hurt me enough the first time?” You asked. You could feel the anger threatening to burst in the way of tears. Bucky went to speak, his blue eyes once again filled with guilt. “How long?!” you asked quietly. Bucky moved towards you tugging on your wrist. “Come on Y/N, come back inside it’s starting to rain, we can discuss this inside,” he said, his eyes pleading with you. At that moment Natasha appeared in Bucky’s open doorway. She looked pleased with herself, wearing Buck’s shirt. The site made you want to vomit. “How. Long?!” you asked again through gritted teeth. Bucky faltered. “Since July. Since the 4th of July event,” he admitted rubbing his hand over his face. At that moment you felt completely and utterly broken. “I’m done, James. Do you hear me? I am done. We are through. You two.” You pointed to Natasha. “You two are welcome to one another”. That was the third time Bucky broke your heart.

You took the job working for Stark Industries. Your contract had ended with Bruce but your lease on your apartment was up until January so you stayed working for him until December of 2017 You said your goodbyes to Steve and Peggy in January and moved across the country to your new life in the big apple.

December 2018

The unknown number flashed up on your phone for the third time that day. You sighed before answering it. “Hello, Y/N Speaking how can I help?” you asked fiddling with your jumper. “Hey Doll, it's me. Don’t hang up.” Your breath caught in your throat. James Buchanan Barnes. You hadn’t spoken to him in over a year. He hadn’t even attempted to reach out to you after you split up mailing your things back to you, well all but a scarf. In January shortly before you’d moved to NYC you’d seen a magazine article saying the Winter Soldier was dating Natasha Romanoff. It confirmed what you already knew deep down, which was that you might be okay but you were not fine at all.

You’d worked so hard to forget about him long enough to forget why you needed to. He had better have a damn good reason for calling you. “You have 5 minutes,” You said getting up from the sofa you were sat on. “look, I know I fucked up with you. In more than one way on more than one occasion. I think it was the pressure to be the perfect couple, you know lifelong friends to more. And well I guess I just freaked out, and then I fell for her, but she didn’t want me, and when you gave us another shot, I thought I could convince myself to love you the way I did her, the way you had loved me. But truth be told, it was always Natasha after that summer. I know you deserve better, and I truly am sorry for hurting your doll. But I wanted you to hear it from me before you read about it in the news. She’s pregnant and also, we’re getting married.” Bucky said. You stood in the middle of the apartment stunned. “So, you call me up again, just to break me like a promise. So casually cruel in the name of being honest?” you whispered. Squeezing back the tears. “Well fuck you, James.” With that, you hung up. Of course, Bucky tried to ring right back, you declined the call, falling to your knees in pain. You had never asked for any of this, you had been quite happy being Bucky’s best girl as his friend. He was the one who kissed you at that prom.

You weren’t still in love with Bucky, you had moved on, forgetting about him and the pain he caused you. He hadn’t needed to call you, he could have given you a heads up through one of your mutual friends, but no. he had to go and stick the knife in. After lying there like a crumpled-up piece of paper and letting the tears fall. You picked yourself up. You washed your face and made yourself a mug of hot chocolate grabbing a Christmas cookie from the tin before making your way over to the bay window. You sat down taking in the view. The traffic had eased off a bit as things wound down for the evening. The snow had been falling pretty much all day. After about 15 minutes of sitting peacefully the key in the lock turned. You didn’t move you were incredibly content where you were, even if you could use a refill in the hot chocolate department.

“Hey handsome how was your day?” you asked not taking your eyes away from the street below. A group of kids were throwing snowballs at one another. You smiled to yourself enjoying their innocence. “It was good, busy” he replied taking off his coat and walking over to join you at the window seat. Wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “How about you Bunny? I saw a news alert. I’m guessing you know about the engagement?” he asked. You hummed a response. Before shuffling yourself around to face him. His floppy silver-blonde hair covering those beautiful ice blue eyes, they looked at you with such love and endearment, they also spoke a silent promise that he would never hurt you the way that Bucky had. You kissed him gently on the lips before standing up. “Come on Quicksilver let's shower before the Stark Christmas Gala,” you said pulling your boyfriend along behind you shooting him a knowing grin. His nickname may be Quicksilver for athletic reasons but there were some things he liked to take his time with.

A/N If you stuck with me through all this, I am truly sorry. I'm gonna go cry

Tagging the bestie @lannycleave

#bucky x reader #pietro x reader #avengers au #marvel #marvel au #avengers fanfiction #𝐦𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬𝟐𝐤 #bucky barnes fluff #pietro #pietro fluff #bucky barnes #pietro fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction

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what-the--curtains · 3 years

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There Are No Wolves In the Desert

( Oberyn Martell x f!reader, Robb Stark x f!reader)

Part 1 - The Wolf and The Outsider

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Summary: The series of events that have lead to you being in Dorne and why you can never return home.

Authors notes: Oberyn is not in this chapter but he will be in all subsequent chapters! This part is mainly context corner to build up the character! The reader is a distant relative of the Targaryens but I only mention hair colour and eye colour everything else will remain non- descript! Let me know if you want to be tagged (or untagged) in this story 😊😊

Tw: Swearing, violence, mentions of and allusion to sex (none depicted), war, murder the usual GOT stuff, major character death (I wonder who it could be👀👀)

Word count: 5.7k

Tagged: @evyiione

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Kings landing

Cersei tilts her head, eyes thinning as she gazes out over kings landing, the moon illuminating the gold plated roofs of the upper class, the stench of the poor unable to reach her here. Jamie sits on the bed she had shared with her late husband, slowly re-donning the white armour of the king's guard. He turns watching as the summer breeze blows the ends of her golden hair. His shin guard is clipped into place just as three short knocks sound out against the wooden door, filling the quiet air of the night. Sighing loudly Jamie stands up to answer the door, a smile forming on Cersei’s lips as she trunks to greet the visitor.

“Littlefinger, to what do we owe the displeasure,” Jamie asks, sarcasm dripping off every word.

“Funny… I thought knights usually waited outside the bedchamber of those they swore a sacred oath to protect,” he queries smiling, the candlelight illuminating his prominent front teeth.

“Is it done,” Cersei asks through her teeth, tiring of the man’s desperate attempts to hold some semblance of power.

“Yes. Not a soul left alive that isn’t loyal to house Baratheon... or is Lannister perhaps more apt. The north is ours for the taking now the young wolf has fallen, and Sansa is under control here.”

“What of his wife?” she asks, walking towards a nearby table, decanting wine into a goblet turning with eyebrows raised. Littlefinger was not the only one in Kings landing with ears everywhere. She had heard a rumour, one she wished to squash as soon as she can.

“His widow, you mean,” Jamie states from the door frame, dissatisfied at being left out of the conversation.

“Gone, left in the wee hours of the morning from what I heard,” Cersei says, eyes staring into Littlefinger’s, locked in a strategic game of mental chess.

“So she’s alive, ” Jamie adds, despite his previous statement being ignored.

“Not for long,” Littlefinger states , brushing him off.

“Who saw her leave?” Cersei demands, a hint of concern slipping through as she swirls her wine around in the glass.

“No one left alive,” Littlefinger reassures

“So she's...” Cersei begins,

“She’s set to land in Dorne two days from now, she will be dealt with when she arrives. She is…inconsequential.” Littlefinger finishes.

“And so ends the reign of the wolves,” Jamie remarks, as Cersei raises her glass toasting the gods.

Dorne (2 days later)

You watch the docks appear along the horizon as the ship begins to reduce its speed. The sea spray from the trip spattered across your skin was yet to dry, cooling you off, as the southern sun bares down onto you. You lick your lips, the salty taste leaves you parched in a heat the likes of which you’d never known. You’d never been to Dorne, though you’d heard stories of it’s fair weather, people and architecture, and you were eager to see if they held true. You’d heard the wine here was the sweetest the world had to offer, you planned on returning home with some, even if Dorne was merely a stopover. It was not a honeymoon you were here for, no you were here to complete a task of utmost importance. You came in search of the so-called dragon queen at the behest of your husband. He wanted to see if the rumours were true and if they were he hoped to make an ally of her. He had sent you in hopes that your shared lineage, though distant, would work in his favour. The Targaryens held family in high regard, especially with so few of them remaining. You smile as the shore comes into view, the birds above singing to your arrival. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun paint the tents of the markets in the docks. A sense of bliss rolls over you as the crew ties the ship to the dock. It would be one of the last moments of peace you would know for some time. Your feet make contact with the ground, legs wobbling slightly at being back on solid ground. You stumble slightly and a man with a blue beard catches your elbow.

“Winter is coming,” he whispers and you look up as he discreetly passes you a note. You open it. The letter is long and the script rushed, but seven words stand out ‘the King in the North has fallen’ the sheet slips from your fingers and you drop to your knees. “Quick, we haven’t much time,” he says dragging you up, as the first arrow pierces the sky, hitting the captain of your ship in the neck.

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Winterfell, 7 years prior (age 17)

You had always stood out in the north, a caveat of the family you were born into, all of you were outsiders here. Your grandfather was a Targaryen, second cousin to the mad king and when war broke out he led a small rebellion that tried to push back the Baratheon troops storming the capitol, but to no avail. Your father and his brothers were there that day, fighting alongside him, but they were outnumbered, and no amount of skill would keep the combined Starks and the Baratheon forces at bay. After the capitol was taken, your grandfather was hanged and your grandmother took your father and his brother and feld while Robert butchered any descendents of the Targaryen line that would weaken his claim to the throne. Your father had split from his family opting to head north, while they trekked south. He never saw them again. Upon his arrival in Winterfell he built a small homestead outside the city walls and sought work, thankfully the distinctive hair and eye colour had skipped him and he could blend in with the northerners. He found work as a stone mason, crafting formidable architecture admired and paid for by the nobility. The payments allowed him to move up the social ladder and while he remained in the forest he had gained the respect of the elite and was accepted as one of them. His hands soon grew tired of creating. They craved the weight of a sword and so he gave up masonry and offered his services to Ned Stark. Your father became a confidant to the King in the North as he moved up through the ranks. He ended up training many of the soldiers, and for a while, even Ned’s own sons. His proximity to the crown brought him into the path of your mother.

A ball was held in celebration of their eldest child's first name day and your mother was in attendance representing the Tyrells. He spotted her across the room, and to this day he swears the sun shone down on her despite being inside a hall. He approached her that night and they married during the long summer, your brother Illirion was born a year later, then a year after that it was your turn. Their final child, your youngest brother Rhaevar was born two years after you, thus completing your family unit. While the honeyed eyes and dark toned hair of the Tyrells presented well with your brothers, the Targaryen traits that had initially skipped your father came through in your genetic composition. Your hair was as white as the snow that came to the north during the winter, and your eyes a lilac similar to the foxgloves that grew in the spring. You attended a local school until you reached the age where girls were no longer allowed to study. Whilst there you heard whispers from the other children. Every now and then a comment of “murderer” or “traitor” would be shot your way, much to your confusion. It wouldn’t be until years later than your parents would tell you why such comments were made. After school ended officially you continued your education at home and studied the methods of healing that your mother had been trained in while in Highgarden.

Your father insisted all his children learn how to defend themselves, the north was a dangerous place after all, and the threat of war loomed large. The stability between kingdoms was teetering, it had been peaceful for too long, a storm was coming. You’d proven to be of high talent, had it not been for your eldest brother's size you would have been the strongest fighter in the family. Illirion married at 18 to a noble girl of high status, and it wasn't long after that you lost many of your friends to marriage. Some of the pairing were good, some bad and some even for love. Despite being propositioned a few times, you had no interest in being a bride.Your parents did not mind now that your brother had secured a wife and would be able to care for you once they passed. Your father also had it on good authority that you all were to be cared for so long as a Stark sat at Winterfell.

You were acquainted with the family since childhood, though outside of parties you rarely saw them. During the gatherings you and Sansa often gossiped together and Arya would sneak you into the courtyard and beg you to train her. The time spent with them was greatly cherished. Their brothers were often gone during such events, off showcasing their prowess to girls of higher status than you, women who would one day be their wives. Little did you know, Jon and Robb had been told to stay away from you so as not to ruin your reputation. That rule had been followed until one day when a particularly cruel comment from a noble girl sent Arya running directly into your path.

You were out tracking a wolf that had killed one of your family's horses. It wasn’t revenge you sought, but its attack on your homestead meant it was getting closer to town, and growing far too bold for your liking. You’d stopped your trek once you realized it was headed back towards the wall. Approaching your house you see Arya sitting on a log outside your house near the fire pit. Her feet swinging, intermittently kicking at the dirt below.

“Arya?” you question placing your gear down on the ground as she turns to face you, her nose running, eye slightly red.

“Is Rhaevar around? I wish to play” she demands, her childlike nature apparent now more than ever.

“I’m afraid he’s gone off in search of the children of the forest, but perhaps we can find something to do together?” you offer sitting beside her, she was upset, evidently so.

“I have no want to stitch,” she huffs, causing you to laugh at her attempt to insult you.

“Good neither do I. I’m no good at it anyways,” you admit and she looks up at you “Well what do you wish, Arya? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

“I wish to know how to shoot my arrow so it hits the target every time. I don’t care what Robb says, Jon thinks I can do it so I want to try.”

“Well, I can help with that, come I’ll show you a trick. You’ll hit it every time. Prove your eldest brother wrong,” your comment earns a rare grin from the youngest Stark daughter. After a few goes she gets the hang of it, hitting your practice targets one after the other.

“By the gods,” you chuckle, you’d never seen such natural talents before. Caught up in your admiration of her gift you fail to catch her turning to aim at a farther target still. The arrow soars through the air as two horses approach your homestead, the arrow only just missing them.

“Arya!” you shout, grabbing her arm “You must be careful!” you exasperate as she looks up to you her mouth ajar. The sound of the horses fast approaching.

“Get behind me,” you murmur, pushing in front of her and aiming the bow true.

“It’s Robb!” she shouts, pushing against you attempting to make a run for it. Despite her efforts to throw you off balance you manage to grab her arm, dropping your weapons in the process.

“Why are you running?” you ask, not releasing your grip on her scrawny arm.

“Because I don’t fit in!” she finally admits.

“Well a secret Arya, no one fits in, we're all different, it's what keeps life interesting and what will keep you alive in your years to come,” you say watching as she stops struggling a softness suddenly coming over her features.

“She said I had a face like a dog,” she whispers, chewing on her lip, eyes down. The cruelty of children was always surprising to you.

“Well I’d find it hard to find someone who does not see the tenderness of a pup, or the strength and beauty of a dire wolf. Either way, You have talents, beyond what beauty can measure, ones that will never abandon you,” you reassure. She sniffs and looks up at you offering a rare smile. You see her shift back into her tough persona, the scowl returning to her face as she runs towards the horses belonging to her brother and who you assumed must be his ward Theon. You watch the eldest Stark, now two years your senior drop down allowing Theon to help Arya, as he strides towards you.

“We’d be lucky to have you in our ranks, if you can teach her to nearly take my head off from a mile away,” he laughs, easing your nervousness slightly, his northern accent heavier than you had remembered.

“I did remind your sister to be more careful lest she be tried for treason, or worse yet, get me tried for treason. As for my services, they are always at the will of the Starks, if you wish me to join the army who am I to refuse,” you say, tilting your head and offering him a smile.

“Women are not allowed in our ranks, lest of all those who look like you,” he charms, an unexpected compliment from a man you rarely got the opportunity to speak with.

“Not yet, but rules are meant to be broken after all my Lord.” You retort, eyes meeting his steel grey gaze causing an unexpected chill to run down your spine.

“Are they?” he laughs, the warmth of it causing a sudden heat to rise within you, counteracting his gaze.

“You should remind your mother of that when you return Arya to her,” you offer, as he hands you the arrow that almost took off his head.

“Thank you for returning my sister, wolves have been prowling about, heaven forbid they got to her before us,” he says, concern etched in his face.

“The wolves have moved north, I do not believe they will return this way, and Arya is stronger than you give her credit for,” you assure, his brows raising at your competence.

“I know, and I think she does too, I fear she’ll outlive us all,” he offers, rubbing the back of his neck, the two of you standing there for a moment, the smirk that usually danced replaced by a nervous grin. His head dips down before turning back to the horse, but he stops one last time swivelling round to face you.

“My lady,” he calls after you.

“Yes my lord,” you say, turning back to face him.

“I look forward to our next meeting,” he offers sincerely.

“As do I,” you say curtseying in such a way to make him smile before you both head back towards your respective homes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2 years later (age 19)

“What is it?” you ask your father as you lay down your quiver and the pair of small pheasants you’d brought home for dinner. He takes a long drag of his pipe, gaze glued to the treeline. “Father tell me?” you stress, knowing he only ever smoked when bad news had arrived.

“Illirion, he’s...” He stammers and drops his head letting out a strangled sob. You shake your head at the suggestion. Your brother had gone down to kings landing a week ago to serve as a bodyguard to Ned Stark who had been summoned at the behest of King Robert Baratheon. Arya and Sansa had gone with them, leaving Catelyn and the boys in Winterfell, Robb currently ruling in his place.

“Ned Stark would never allow…” you begin, sure your father had once again fallen trap to the rumour mill.

“He’s dead, they’re all dead, all of them...” he whispers, dropping his head to his hands.

“What happened tell me everything,” you stress, pushing your own sentiments aside for the moment.

“Beheaded, Ned for treason, for the murder of Robert Baratheon, his greatest friend, unlikely story. They killed your brother as Ned’s head fell. Arya, is missing, presumed dead, Sansa is a prisoner, to be wedded to that horrible snot nosed inbred Joffrey.” He continues in fragmented sentences.

“Mother?” you question.

“She’s in bed still, hasn’t left, I dare not tell her the worst of it,” he admits tear streaked eyes meeting yours.

“What the worst of it?” you ask, unable to think what could possibly be worse. “Lean on me father, there is no else left for you to confide in, lend me some of the burden,” you stress rubbing his arm in encouragement.

“War is upon us and each family must provide a soldier. Since my knee… I am no longer able to fight, the Starks know this. So your youngest brother…” he starts, but a sob catches in his throat stopping him.

“He can’t go, he’s too…” you begin, swallowing as you try to think of the right word.

“Soft” your father offers.

“No, he’s just not skilled enough, at least not in the ways of the sword. Skilled as he is as a mason he wouldn’t last a minute on the battlefield,” you pause, only one path was clear to you “Let me go in his place,” You say, before you have time to process what you had just offered to do.

“No,” your father says without hesitation.

“Let me go and you may end this life with two of three children. If he goes, I will be the only one left and I could not bear it,” you say pushing back tears at the thought of losing another brother.

“Your mother...” he begins

“Knows I was the best fighter. I had the best teacher in all the seven kingdoms after all,” you say nudging him with your elbow. He places a reassuring hand on your shoulder, before pulling you into a tight embrace.

“When do I leave?” you ask.

“Tonight. It’s a good thing your brother isn’t tall, his armour will fit you, take this helmet. Do not remove it, keep your hood up, any trouble and cut off their cocks, or else I will.”

“I'll see you again, I swear it,” you state, with every intent of keeping your promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The battle rages forward, men fall around you, but you refuse to meet a similar fate today. Your sword penetrates through the opening of a Lannister’s armour turning quickly to slice the backs of the knees of another soldier, both falling in tandem. You hear a horse whinny on your left and you turn to see Robb Stark fall from his horse becoming trapped beneath the dying creature. You weave throughout the battle towards him. Your blade intercepts the longsword of an enemy soldier just as it’s about to penetrate Robbs armour. You drop your shield to Robb and you push up against the attacker. Releasing your force he falls forward and Robb pushes the shield up hitting the man’s face swinging his head back. Grabbing the man by his hair you slit his throat. You drop your sword and pull Robb out from beneath the horse. He grabs your shoulders giving you nod before returning to the forefront of the battle. As the horn of retreat sounds you celebrate the victory with those around you, surviving the first of many attacks.

You're walking back to the tents when you hear a familiar voice call out to you.

“You, wait,” Robb demands, chuckling with those around him. You continue on your path hoping he was talking to someone else. “It is not wise to disobey your king.” He sounds out again, forcing you to turn towards him.

“Come now friend, we mean no harm. I wish to look upon the face of the man who saved me and invite him to ride alongside me.” he states.

“Perhaps he is too ugly to show his face, my lord,” one of his lieutenants states causing a laugh to erupt from the surrounding crowd of men except for Robb. Though a slight smile pulls at the corner of his mouth breaking the cold façade he’d donned since his father’s death. A moment passes then another until the silence is so prolonged you have no other option but to obey. Slowly you lift your helmet up your eyes meeting his for the first time in a year.

“A prize for the army, my lord?” one of the men questions, hungrily eyeing you up as he fervently steps towards you. Robb's arm stops him in his tracks and you draw your blade.

“Touch me and risk losing more than just your hand, I have fought alongside you. I am your equal. You will treat me as such,” you demand, your voice unwavering despite the uneasiness in your stomach.

“You have a cunt, you are not our equal, though perhaps in bed…” another from the crowd offers.

“Stop! Leave us” Robb orders, and the men retreat back towards the camp ground the sound of laughter and whistles picking up once out of range.

“I did tell you rules were meant to be broken,” you say, watching as he tries to suppress a smile.

“Well they certainly have been now” he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you going to hang me, my lord? Or is it my King now?” you question, a bolder move than you should have felt comfortable making.

“To you it's Robb and no I am not going to hang you, but you are going to come with me,” he says offering you his arm which you brush by looking back at him to follow.

“How have you come to be here? Does your father know?” Catelyn stresses,eyes growing wide as she scans over you assessing the damage.

“My lady, yes, he does. You see when the war was announced and after my brother’s death, we knew someone from our family would have to fight. My father’s leg as you know isn’t... as it used to be, and my younger brother while talented in many ways, cannot hold a blade to save his life. My mother’s grief was already far too much for her to lose another child.” You say, eyes risking tears as she meets her gaze.

“So they sent you?” she explains to herself.

“Yes my lady I was the best fighter in the family, or the most skilled at least.”

“Well, we will not make your brother come to fight, but you cannot stay in the army,” she explains softly, hand running up and down your arms in reassurance.

“She saved my life today,” Robb interjects and Cat looks at you as you look at him.

“Then I am indebted to you.” She expresses.

“As am I,” Robb states the two of you not having dropped eye contact, much to the notice of Cat.

“Lady Catelyn, I am a capable fighter, but if you will not allow me to so, at least allow me to tend to the wounded or to serve you in some other manner. I am here after all, put me to use.” you say and she lets out a sigh.

“Well, if you believe yourself able to defend yourself, and if what my son says is true then I would be remiss to send you home, though you will not sleep out with the rest of the army, you will stay with me.” she says.

“And during the battle you will remain close to me,” Robb stresses “not for your protection, but for mine”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 year later (Age 20)

Robb watches as you kill another soldier, the sight never failing to impress him. You had remained close over the past year, both in and out of the battlefield. He kept you close at all costs, your company bringing him some semblance of joy, even in his darkest moments. Rumours swirled amongst the men and the other kingdoms, though nothing between the two of you had come to fruition. Due to the colour of your hair, the enemy soldiers had dubbed you the white wolf, in an attempt to link the Starks with the treacherous Targaryens. While the insinuations at your extracurricular activities with Robb pushed the narrative that he was impure, that northerners were savages, who did not abide by the values of the seven kingdoms.

As you wipe the blood from your eyes, an arrow catches you in the shoulder, the force knowing you back into a tree. Robb is at your side in record time, his hand stopping yours from pulling the weapon out.

“Medic!” he shouts, eyes not leaving yours.

“Go! you need to lead your people, I will be fine,” you emphasize and he shakes his head “Robb, it is a shoulder, nothing of importance lives there.”

“No but it is attached to something of the utmost importance.”

“Go you have a war to win,” you state as the medic helps you to your feet and brings you back across the line.

You sit in Robbs tent, despite your insistence at being treated in the same manner as the other soldiers, he had demanded you be brought there instead. A skilled nurse had removed the arrow from your shoulder just as you heard the rambunctious cheers of the men outside, victory had been secured. Unsurprising considering Robbs keen strategic mind, he was smarter than you'd have accredited him for in your youth. He enters the tent blood spatter still on his face, seeing you alive and fine he takes the moment to remove his armour. He pulls his undershirt off and walks to the water basin wiping himself clean of the sweat and grim coating his skin. Your eyes watch his bare skin intently, studying every scar, every freckle. He grabs a fresh cloth dunking it the basin and wringing it out before heading over to you. He kneels before you, staring up at you eyes telling you to drop the blood soaked rag currently held to your wound, and you oblige.

“I must confess I long hoped to share an intimate moment with you, though these circumstances are not as I imagined,” he says, gently dabbing at your wound, you smile at his concentration.

“And under what circumstances would you have hoped to be intimate with me, my king? At one of your fancy parties, in the secrecy of a barn, somewhere no one would know you had been with a Targaryen girl.” You ask trying to keep your eyes forwards and not at his muscular physique.

“Every man in Winterfell had dreamed of sharing a moment like that with you, though none have found any luck,” he says, standing up and walking back over to the basin.

“I have no need for a husband nor do I have the want to be wife,” you say, watching the muscles of his arm flex as he wrigns out the rag.

“and what about a queen?” he queries, as his hand braces against your thigh, continuing to clean your wound, his eyes still focused on the gash.

“Do you ask all your foot soldiers such bold questions,” you quip, laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Only the ones naked in my chambers,” he retorts, eyes darting up a grin plastered to his face.

“A bare shoulder is hardly naked in your chambers,” you state, and he raises his eyebrows mischievously.

“My fondness for you was never allowed,” he admits, dabbing the cloth into a salve and applying it to the wound.

“Oh wasn’t it,” you ask as he looks up to you

“No, my mother feared one of us would ruin you,”

“A Targaryen In the north, perhaps it was fear of you boys being ruined.” you laugh, but when you look at him the tone has shifted.

‘When that arrow hit you, my feelings were confirmed, I no longer wish to be more than a few feet from you at any given moment. I wish to marry you. If you'll allow me”

“Don’t be stupid my king, you’re to be married to a princess from what I understand.”

“I'll be married to whom I please” he assures.

“Robb is that wise?” you question, unfamiliar with the high stakes games played with marriage.

“The Frey’s will recover besides, we’ve crossed their bridge already, and I have no love for anyone but you.”

“Love? We barely know each other,” you say.

“Only our whole lives,” he reminds you.

“I fear you’ll wake up tomorrow and regret your words, so I will not answer you tonight.”

“Then I will return to these chambers tomorrow morning and restate my intentions to make you my wife.”

“What will they say if you allow me to take your bed for the night?” you ponder aloud.

“I guess we shall see” he states, slinging his bloodied shirt over his shoulder.

“Goodnight my King” you offer, watching in amusement as he attempts to find the tents exit without turning around.

“It’s Robb. For you, it's always just Robb”

True to his word he returned the next day and asked again, and this time you accepted. You married a few days later under an old willow tree, with Catelyn and a few others standing witness. The morning after your wedding you awake in his chambers, the sun yet to rise. Robb snores faintly beneath you, the warmth of the fire sending a chill up your skin that had become exposed in the night. You scan over his features, a peacefulness you hadn’t before on his face. You reach over brushing the white patch of hair amongst the mass of soft brown curls on his head. As you do his eyes open looking over to you propping himself up on his elbow and learning over to kiss your forehead.

“What is it my love?” you ask, kissing his cheek, then his lips .

“I need you to do something,” he says, serious as always.

“What we just did wasn't enough, my king? How else may I please you tonight,” you offer hands dancing across his chest, he grins shaking his head slightly.

“You have pleased me in every way imaginable for the past year, and even more tonight. This favour isn't a pleasure of the flesh however, I need you to complete a task. You’re the only one I can trust,” he states.

“You shift up to face him, the furs falling off you slightly, “find the Targaryen girl. I wish to make an ally of her, to destroy the Lannister once and for all. You are likely the only family she has left, she may listen to you.”

“I'll do what I can, and I'll do it fast, I do not wish to be parted from you for long.” you admit as his hand traces over your back.

“Take this with you, that way i'll be protecting you even while we are apart,” he leans over grabbing his dagger, the one made for him by his father, offering it to you.

“Robb I…” you begin.

“Will return it to me a fortnight from now when you come back. I suggest we make the most of tonight, so you have another reason to return to me,” he states

“I'll always return to you, even in death,” you reassure and he wraps the blanket back over you pulling you tightly to his chest. And so as Robb took his seat in the halls of Walder Frey to watch his supposed bride marry another man, you were catching a boat destined for Dorne.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present day (Age 21)

“Come with me now Lady Stark, your life depends on it,” the stranger says, pulling you to your feet and shuffling you into a nearby tavern ushering you quickly up the stairs. You see a pile of clothes laid out on the bed and immediately strip, all notions of decency erased in favour of time.

“You must disappear, make them think you are dead,” he says, averting his eyes as you change into clothes typical of local mercenaries.

“Who killed him, what happened?” you ask, needing some kind of answers.

“There is no time, and it's safer if you do not know.” He says eyes darting from you to the door.

“I have a right to..”

“The Freys betrayed you, everyone at the wedding is dead, you have no claim to Winterfell. The Lannisters have taken the North”

“Everyone at the wedding..” you echo, sitting on the bed

“Stay here..” the blue bearded stranger says, returning a few moments later with a cloak, sword and black dye in hand, placing them down and grabbing for the clothes and the dagger on the floor, Robbs dagger.

“That stays” you stress grabbingthe dagger from his reach.

“It’s too…” he starts

“It stays, it's all I have left of him,” you whisper harsher than intended, fighting back tears. He nods and you take it from him. You grab the dye from his hand and rub it through your hair, staining it a deep ember.

“Keep your eyes down, they're the only thing we can’t disguise,” he states

“Who are you, why are you helping me?” you question memorizing the man's face.

“You share a common enemy with powerful people. You have allies here. Goodbye Lady Stark I hope we meet again,” he says, and with a swift turn he exits the tavern leaving you alone with your thoughts. You wait a moment before donning the cloak and pulling up your hood. You walk out the tavern, putting as much distance between you and the docks as possible. Keeping your eyes down as men scoured the streets for the person you once were

#oberyn x reader #oberyn martell x reader #prince oberyn x reader #robb stark x reader #oberyn x you #oberyn martell #game of thrones fanfiction #oberyn martell x you

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becomewings · 3 years

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The Most Beautiful Moment in Life <I’M FINE>

BTS Universe Story Highlights, pt. 2 / 4

« pt. 1 | » pt. 3

Introduction

JungKook’s and YoonGi’s stories are the first of the paid content in BTS Universe Story and are substantially more detailed than the episodes covered in part 1. As this led to longer summaries (4.2k and 3k), I have added “tl;dr commentary” at the bottom of the post after a section of additional thoughts. This commentary summarizes the parenthetical asides I made throughout the summaries and may be of interest as standalone reading to those who have already played the game yet would like to review its connections to the BU texts and MVs.

Content warning: contains references to death, suicide, suicidal ideation, child abuse, domestic violence, blood, homicide, depression, trauma, PTSD

This guide contains major spoilers and includes references to other BU media

Do not repost, copy, or quote without permission

The Boy on the Threshold

In this story, SeokJin works to uncover the motivations behind JungKook’s nightly street wandering, instigation of fights with thugs, and decision to jump from the roof of a construction site. He was aware of the “darkness” within JungKook but never thought that he would give up on himself. SeokJin is determined to find a way to make JungKook think “I want to live” on his own.

In the afternoon on 11 April Year 22, SeokJin drives by the crosswalk outside Songju Jeil High School. Spotting a grim-faced JungKook, he gets out to greet him. JungKook visibly brightens and pelts him with question after question, finally finishing with, “But how come you’re here at school?” If the player chooses the response “I came to see you” rather than “I was in the neighborhood,” JungKook seems a little disbelieving due to the coincidental timing but nevertheless pleased. SeokJin offers him a ride, thinking that JungKook will not carry out that night’s actions from previous loops if he gets home right away. In the car, SeokJin reminisces aloud about the day they all met. On 3 March Year 19, all seven boys arrived late on the first day at Songju Jeil High School and were scolded outside by the Dean. (Aside from the absence of extra students, this scene looks very similar to the BTS Begins Middle Scene VCR, including the detail of YoonGi arriving last. This VCR predates official BU content.) When the Dean spotted SeokJin in their lineup, he reduced their punishment of community service for one month to just that afternoon. After classes, the boys cleaned the annex. The old classroom-turned-storage room became their secret hideout where they enjoyed various activities like dancing, playing the piano, and spending time with one another. JungKook appears happy as they chat about their school days, although in one path, his face falls after he remembers when he and YoonGi were caught in the annex. SeokJin is concerned, but JungKook insists, “It’s nothing.”

They say goodbye outside JungKook’s house, but SeokJin watches to make sure he goes inside. JungKook hesitates before ringing the bell at the gate. His mom answers, surprised and at a loss by his unexpected arrival. She asks him to come back later because his father’s relatives stopped by, and the intercom cuts off before he can answer. (His mother remarried, so this is really his step-father and family.) SeokJin wonders if JungKook has no one to lean on at school or at home and if this is why he wanders the streets at night. He asks JungKook where he wants to go now. “The beach… the one I went to with you guys,” JungKook answers, then says he’s kidding when SeokJin hesitates, thinking about the night ahead. SeokJin invites JungKook home instead, hoping to keep an eye on him before he needs to save NamJoon at the gas station.

In his bedroom, SeokJin hastily takes down the map and notes pinned on the wall of the boys’ incidents around the city. After letting JungKook inside, he shows him a box of photos from their time together in school. While JungKook browses, a notification on SeokJin’s phone reminds him of Songho Foundation’s inaugural ceremony that evening. Songho Foundation is a scholarship foundation funded by his maternal grandmother’s estate, and his father formally introduces him on this occasion. SeokJin also receives a call from his father’s long-time aide, a man he refers to as Uncle JunHo, who instructs him not to be late to the ceremony. Claiming it won’t take him long, SeokJin asks JungKook to stay there and wait for him to return. He is worried about leaving JungKook alone but also concerned that bringing him to the gas station after the ceremony will make him late to intervening in NamJoon’s incident.

In the lobby of the hotel hosting the Songho Foundation Inauguration Ceremony, SeokJin recognizes many important faces from around the city: Song JunHo, his father’s aide; Seo HyunJung, the city’s deputy mayor; the CEO of Youngjin Engineering & Construction Company; a professor from Munhyeon University; and the Jeil High School principal, Jo JinMyung. SeokJin doesn’t want to cross paths with the principal but is drawn into a conversation with him, the mayor, and his father, Kim ChangJun. “Assemblyman! Congratulations on the launch of the scholarship foundation,” Deputy Mayor Seo says to Kim ChangJun. “I hear that your son has been accepted to Munhyeon University? You must be happy that he’s attending your alma mater.” Kim ChangJun shakes his head. “He still has a lot to learn.” She remarks that everyone knows how well SeokJin has grown up and inquires about his career plans. The player is presented with three choices: “I haven’t decided yet,” “I want to become a good person,” and “I want to become someone like my father.” SeokJin’s father continues to look grim while the others chuckle in response to the first two answers, but his expression softens at the third, which SeokJin knew would not rub him the wrong way. Deputy Mayor Seo proposes to Assemblyman Kim that they establish a regular meeting to discuss community development, mentioning that it would be better if he could invite the city’s prominent citizens and give a speech. Assemblyman Kim agrees, telling his assistant Song JunHo to make note of it. The ceremony concludes, and the guests head towards the hotel’s restaurant. SeokJin is wary of his father’s watchful gaze but impatient to carry out the rest of the night’s plans. While his father is surrounded by other people, he informs Uncle JunHo that he has to leave to work on a group project. SeokJin slips out of the hotel and heads to NamJoon’s gas station.

While SeokJin is gone, one of the photos in the box catches JungKook’s eye. It shows the seven boys sitting on a wall with the ocean behind them. (This photo resembles the shot in Euphoria at 5’32” except that they appear to be wearing school uniform shirts and slacks.) A flashback retells the afternoon of 12 June Year 19 when the boys cut school early and visited the sea, trudging over 3 kilometers under the scorching sun to find a boulder that is rumored to make your dreams come true. (The date is not specified in the game, but the memory closely follows this set of entries in The Notes 1.) Everyone collapses in disappointment when they can’t find the rock at its designated location. JungKook is tired but not as disappointed as the others—just walking there with them is enough for him, even though he often feels uncertain of his place among the group. He gets up on the pier railing, reflecting: “I’ve always liked walking on the edge of walls or on top of lines. Focusing on centering my gravity means that I don’t really think of anything else, and the boundary—not quite a part of either place—always felt like where I should be.” Balancing precariously, JungKook walks until someone grabs his arm. YoonGi scolds him not to do this. JungKook assures him that he will not fall but privately thinks: “YoonGi would often grab my arm when I walked on railings. The others would look after me, too, after seeing him do that. I liked their helping hands. It felt like they were telling me that I should go to them. That this wasn’t my place. Maybe their hands were why I walked on the railings.”

The story returns to the present in SeokJin’s perspective. He rushes back to his room after saving NamJoon and finds JungKook asleep, leaning against the bed with the photos still scattered around him. Feeling both relief and regret, SeokJin quietly coaxes JungKook to lay down and sleep more comfortably. JungKook wakes up and says he should go home after hearing that it’s past ten o’clock. The game cuts briefly to SeokJin’s father in his study with his aide. Kim ChangJun asks Song JunHo to fetch SeokJin, as he needs to know what goes on for the foundation. JunHo says that SeokJin must be entertaining a guest for the group project because he spotted an unfamiliar pair of shoes in the entryway.

Back in his bedroom, SeokJin is startled when his father knocks on the door. It’s rare for his father to visit the second floor of their home, so he let his guard down while chatting with JungKook. “F-Father.” Stammering, SeokJin flinches and gathers up the scattered photos. “Did you leave the ceremony early to waste time like this? Even lying to say you were doing a school project?” asks Kim ChangJun. His cold and reproachful stare suffocates SeokJin. When his father’s eyes scan to JungKook standing awkwardly at the side, SeokJin is plunged into a childhood memory. On 10 October Year 9, 9-year-old SeokJin hid a school friend who was being chased by scary men in his bedroom. His father arrived and asked if the boy was Mr. Choi’s son, saying people had come to take him. When Kim ChangJun ordered him to “be a good boy,” SeokJin froze and was powerless to stop his friend from being handed over. The following day, SeokJin was told his friend transferred schools. (This event is also depicted as the first entry of The Notes 1.) In the present, SeokJin struggles to think of an explanation, smothered by that memory and his father’s pressuring stare. JungKook timidly speaks up. “I was only here to visit for a short while. I was actually about to head home. Hey, I’ll go now.” SeokJin knows he can’t leave him alone yet and finally forces himself to move. “Father, I… I’m going to go out for a little while.” He runs outside, but JungKook is already gone.

The story cuts to JungKook’s perspective as he arrives in a familiar alleyway. He is thankful that SeokJin was so considerate to him but feels that he shouldn’t have gone to his home since it made things more complicated for his friend. “YoonGi even got expelled because of me… Why do I always mess things up for the people around me?” JungKook thinks. The player is presented the choice to either text SeokJin or call YoonGi. In the first path, SeokJin calls JungKook while he is mid-text and says that he’ll come pick him up, but JungKook declines, thanks him, and hangs up. In the second path, JungKook fiddles with his phone, wondering if YoonGi will be annoyed or even answer. He remembers when they crossed paths a few days earlier. On 7 April Year 22, JungKook heard a familiar tune while roaming the dark streets and saw YoonGi playing piano through a broken window of a music shop. YoonGi stopped and eventually staggered out of the shop without noticing JungKook reaching out to him. JungKook tried to play the music by memory, and suddenly YoonGi returned—just like their days at the classroom. (Note: In his 7 April Year 22 entry of The Notes 1, YoonGi is drunk and stumbling by an empty construction site when he recognizes a clumsy piano tune that he’d been playing “not long ago.” But when he runs to the music shop and finds JungKook, the text does not indicate that he remembers this is his second visit to the shop this evening. Additionally, the Wings short film First Love seems to reference some of the events of this night—or evokes YoonGi’s distorted memories of it, mingled with a representation of JungKook’s later accident.)

In the present (11 April), JungKook wonders if YoonGi is doing well. He has thought about him since their chance encounter but doesn’t have the courage to call him first. (The narrative paths rejoin here.) JungKook wonders where he should go now yet doesn’t want to think about anything. He stops in the middle of the road, and a passing car’s headlights make him dizzy. SeokJin arrives in the distance and shouts his name, but JungKook just thinks, “One more step from here. Just one more step, and everything ends.” He steps in front of the honking car. SeokJin calls him in the distance, and JungKook feels everything slip farther away. The glass shatters and the loop resets.

Awakening once more on the morning of 11 April, SeokJin vows to protect JungKook until the end. The memory of arriving too late as JungKook threw himself in front of the car reminds him of how he was also unable to protect his childhood friend when he was 9. He needs to devise a new plan, since JungKook practically ran out of the house when confronted by Kim ChangJun. The story cuts to that evening, with JungKook looking at the photo in SeokJin’s bedroom. This time, SeokJin ignores his phone’s buzzing reminder about Songho Foundation’s inaugural ceremony. He asks JungKook where he’d like to get next and, when he doesn’t have any ideas, offers him a tour of the university campus.

JungKook seems happier looking around the campus, the cherry blossoms in full bloom. SeokJin uses this opportunity to ask him if anything is on his mind and if school is going well. JungKook answers nonchalantly, but SeokJin remembers how grim he looked at the school crosswalk that afternoon. He asks if JungKook still hangs out with the other guys. “HoSeok and TaeHyung are working part-time jobs. The others… I’m not sure,” JungKook answers, expression darkening. SeokJin wonders if he shouldn’t have brought it up but still presses him. “How come? You should talk to them from time to time.” “But it’s because of me,” says JungKook. “The reason why YoonGi was expelled… It was because he was trying to protect me.”

SeokJin either responds “It’s not your fault” or “Don’t think that way.” Following the first choice, JungKook insists, “No, it’s my fault. YoonGi wouldn’t have talked back to the teacher if I wasn’t there.” SeokJin shakes his head. “No, you couldn’t really do anything given the situation.” JungKook replies that he should have at least apologized and that he never had the chance to tell YoonGi he was sorry. “That’s how you felt, huh… I should’ve done more. I’m sorry,” SeokJin apologizes. JungKook shakes his head with a smile, but SeokJin knows that he doesn’t understand what he really meant. (Per events in The Notes 1, it is technically SeokJin’s fault that the teacher found them in the classroom.) If the second dialogue choice, “Don’t think that way,” is chosen, JungKook questions, “How could I? When it was because of me.” “No…” SeokJin is not brave enough to say that he’s the one to blame. The camera (i.e. the animation) starts wobbling as though SeokJin’s vision is swimming. “SeokJin?” asks JungKook in concern. “I should’ve done more. I’m sorry.” The episode ends with the same dialogue and animation of JungKook shaking his head with a smile, except that in the second path the camera is still wobbling from SeokJin’s perspective. (This is the only episode I noted in the game that has a slight difference in endings based on the player’s final choice, although it is essentially cosmetic.)

Episode 5 opens with a more detailed memory of 11 June Year 20 from JungKook’s perspective. The high school was holding an open house for parents. Not wanting to stay in a classroom, he wandered off and heard piano music drifting from the annex. JungKook slipped into their classroom hideout and settled down to listen. YoonGi continued to play without acknowledging him. The music helped calm JungKook—it seemed as though YoonGi understood how he felt and was trying to console him. The sound cut off abruptly as the door slammed open. “You rascals! What are you doing here?!” the Dean of Students demanded. He slapped JungKook, knocking him down. A flurry of verbal abuse poured over his crumpled form. YoonGi shoved the teacher’s shoulder and stepped in front of JungKook. “Wow, look at this kid… You put your hands on a teacher? You better be prepared, Min YoonGi.” With that ominous threat, the Dean departed. JungKook spoke from the floor. “Hey, sorry for making you—” “It’s nothing,” YoonGi cut in. JungKook wondered why he helped him. It was the first time someone had protected him, and he believed that he would never forget the view of YoonGi’s back. YoonGi asked why JungKook was smiling. “I don’t know.” Still smiling, JungKook touched his throbbing cheek. YoonGi stared at him before breaking into his own smile and sitting down next to him. They sat there wordlessly for some time. The feeling of growing closer to YoonGi made JungKook feel giddy the rest of the day. But YoonGi did not come to school the following day, and two weeks later, he was formally expelled. (The encounter with the teacher and YoonGi’s subsequent expulsion are also referenced in JungKook and YoonGi’s 25 June Year 20 entries in The Notes 1.)

In a brief interlude in the present (11 April at the university campus), SeokJin reflects again that he does not have the courage to confess to JungKook the real reason why they drifted apart. He walks with his eyes trained on the ground until JungKook calls for him to look at the cherry blossoms floating in the wind. The scene cuts to 30 September Year 20 for another of JungKook’s school memories. He stood outside the school’s annex, reflecting that his friends probably didn’t know that he went there every day. Although school was a place he found awkward and unfamiliar, their hideout was a space for him that put him at ease. On that day however, only HoSeok was inside the classroom, gathering up the items they’d left behind. JungKook realized that the time they spent together was now a memory and would never return again. (This is also an entry in The Notes 1.) Back in the present, SeokJin notices that JungKook looks grim once more and tries to improve his mood by asking if they should go to the beach. JungKook privately wonders: “Do you think YoonGi would go? And no one knows what’s going on with JiMin. Will we really be able to go together like we did then?” Holding up his pink camera, SeokJin says they should take a picture to commemorate the evening. They’re both smiling in the photo, and he hopes that they’ll all smile together again one day. After their campus tour, SeokJin walks JungKook home, ignoring the many calls he receives from his father’s assistant JunHo.

At the crosswalk outside the high school the next day (12 April), SeokJin reflects that staying with JungKook instead of attending the inauguration ceremony seemed like a good choice. He prevented JungKook from jumping off the building and stopped NamJoon’s incident too. But SeokJin wants to keep an eye on JungKook for a few days. While he’s waiting, the principal Jo JinMyung approaches and greets him, asking what brings him to the school. SeokJin tries to excuse himself, but the principal brings up the ceremony. “I thought you’d be there, but you weren’t. Did something happen? Why weren’t you there?” Caught off guard, SeokJin either answers vaguely (“I had something important to do”) or honestly (“A friend had an emergency and I couldn’t attend”). JungKook joins them slowly during the exchange, and the principal seems a little suspicious regardless of the player’s choice. In the “honest” path, he adds, “Next time, think about what's truly important before acting.” The paths rejoin when the principal smiles pointedly and mentions that he should call the Assemblyman soon. SeokJin wonders if Jo JinMyung intends to tell his father that he was with JungKook. Kim ChangJun did not approve of the time SeokJin spent with his friends even in school. “Father thinks it’s useless to have human relationships that don’t help you succeed.” When he and JungKook are in his car, SeokJin notices that the principal ominously watches them pull away.

Later that day, SeokJin meets with his father in his office. Kim ChangJun looks exhausted. Though they’re similar heights, to his son he seems like a massive grey wall. “Why didn’t you attend the inauguration ceremony yesterday?” he asks. SeokJin either lies (“A professor asked me to do something last minute”) or answers honestly (“A friend had an emergency and I couldn’t attend”). The ultimate result is the same: Kim ChangJun speaks after a long moment of silence. “The one thing I want from you is for you to be a good son.” “Yes,” says SeokJin. “I don’t think it’s a difficult task. You may leave.” As he exits, SeokJin hears him call Song JunHo and worries that his flimsy excuse will fall apart. Running into the principal may have made matters worse too. Despite his uneasiness, SeokJin has no choice but to keep going and trust that everything will work out. While NamJoon and JungKook are safe for now, he wonders if he can be a person for JungKook to lean on for comfort whenever he needs it so that he will not resort to such an extreme decision again.

SeokJin visits JungKook after school every afternoon the following days. On 15 April, JungKook asks if it’s okay for him to come like this every day. SeokJin assures him, “Yeah. I come to see you because I want to.” He observes that JungKook still seems to take social cues from him rather than acting comfortably, so he encourages him to either pick what they do next or where they should go eat. On 19 April, however, JungKook does not appear at the school gates. SeokJin tries calling him, only to learn that the number isn’t in service. Someone shouts his name, and HoSeok emerges from the Twostar Burger across from the school. “I had heard you were back, but I didn’t think I’d see you here in front of the school.” HoSeok digs a piece of paper out of his pocket, explaining that JungKook stopped by earlier. “He said he’s switching schools.” SeokJin asks where, but HoSeok doesn’t know. This has never happened before in a loop, and SeokJin wonders if he caused it. HoSeok hands over the paper, which JungKook requested be given to SeokJin. It’s a drawing of the cherry blossom tree they saw together, with a thank you note written at the bottom. SeokJin hopes that his suspicions aren’t correct.

Hunting for clues to JungKook’s whereabouts, SeokJin visits Jeil High School’s administrative office the next day (20 April). He receives slightly more information if he acts like he knows the Director of Administration, but as the student records are confidential, the man only reveals that JungKook transferred to a boarding school. On 30 April, SeokJin is summoned to his father’s office. Kim ChangJun asks him to sit down and continues speaking with his aide, Song JunHo. He confirms an upcoming appointment with the Deputy Mayor before asking, “Oh, did you take care of that incident?” “Yes. Do you mean the one concerning the Jeil High student?” JunHo responds. “I’ve taken care of the issue with the student.” Heart racing, SeokJin realizes that his father was behind JungKook’s transfer and deliberately let it slip as a warning to him. On their way out, Uncle JunHo adds, “SeokJin. You do know how difficult it was because you didn’t attend the inauguration, right?” SeokJin promises that he’ll be at the next meeting. Back in his bedroom, he decides that he made the wrong choice in this loop. He wanted to be someone JungKook could always come to, but instead he pushed him farther away. HoSeok calls him at that moment. Voice wavering, he relays that JungKook has disappeared. Some of his classmates stopped by the restaurant that day, inquiring if anyone talks to him often.

The story cuts back to 25 April with JungKook in class at his new school. His mom likes the dormitory here, and he suspects that she feels more comfortable without him at home. School, home, the dorms—he doesn’t belong in any of those places. While pairing up the students, the teacher notices that they have an odd number now and asks JungKook where he wants to go. He closes his eyes and remembers a voice: “JungKook, let’s all go to the ocean.” He thinks, “I want to go…” The scene jumps to JungKook walking towards the ocean shore. The glass shatters.

SeokJin opens his eyes on the morning of 11 April. He wonders what caused the loop to reset and assumes something must have happened to JungKook after he transferred schools. Again, he could not keep his promise of getting them all to the ocean. The episode ends with SeokJin sitting atop the seaside observatory at sunset. (This is a key location on 22 May Year 22, recurring in The Notes and depicted in the HYYH On Stage: Prologue short film and Euphoria MV. It looks the same in the game.) SeokJin ruminates on what may have happened to JungKook and where events started going wrong. He thought he could be the person JungKook needed to lean on, but he failed. This arc concludes with him wondering: “Was my method wrong? Or is it not supposed to be me? Maybe… If the person who’s supposed to console JungKook’s scars and be there for him isn’t me… Then, who can save JungKook?”

The End of His Gaze

SeokJin’s main challenge in saving YoonGi is the unpredictability of his actions between loops. The opening of this story is no different. On 2 May Year 22, SeokJin chases YoonGi after he leaves his workroom with a heavy bag but loses sight of him in the streets. As soon as he picks the nearest motel, black smoke pours from one of its windows. (The sign matches the motel in YoonGi’s scenes of the I Need U MV.) YoonGi ignores the commotion outside the room’s locked door. Once again, SeokJin is too late, and the glass shatters, resetting the loop.

Waking in his bedroom on 11 April, SeokJin considers how YoonGi backs himself into a corner no matter how or when he tries to intervene. It’s different from the incident with NamJoon because no outside person or situation is involved. SeokJin realizes that if YoonGi’s struggle and variables that make his decision so unpredictable are within him, then the only way he can stop YoonGi is by truly understanding him. He takes out his old camcorder from high school, hoping its footage may reveal some clues. In the first video clip he plays, YoonGi is off in the corner of their classroom hideout drawing music staves but speaks up to tell HoSeok and TaeHyung not to play a prank on JiMin. SeokJin wonders if YoonGi still writes music and remembers the piano in his workroom. In the second video, TaeHyung quibbles with NamJoon, who is tired yet refuses to take a nap until YoonGi pushes some desks together and tells him to lie down. SeokJin focuses on YoonGi for the rest of the video, but he is either motionless or off camera. He finds a similar challenge within his photographs: he has less than ten solo photos of YoonGi, and though his face is visible in group pictures, he is never looking at the camera. Still perusing the photos, SeokJin overhears voices from the camcorder. “It being here is a secret. Okay?” TaeHyung whispers to YoonGi. “What’s a secret?” SeokJin in the recording asks. TaeHyung and YoonGi, standing by the piano, both whip around. TaeHyung dismisses it as nothing and shushes YoonGi when he asks, “Why are you hiding something like that?” In the present, SeokJin wonders what they hid in the classroom and decides that it’s worth investigating in case it can help him save YoonGi.

On 15 April, SeokJin visits their old classroom hideout at Jeil High School, which is still being used as a storage room. The player can choose from a total of four locations to explore, provided they select the piano last. SeokJin identifies his father’s name alongside the message “Everything started from here” on the graffitied wall (he first saw this note in his 25 June Year 19 entry from The Notes 1). Even after thoroughly examining the piano, he does not find YoonGi and TaeHyung’s secret or anything else useful. Uneasy at leaving YoonGi alone for so long, SeokJin leaves the school and parks in front of his friend’s workroom. YoonGi appears to be safely inside, so SeokJin browses through the old video files on his camcorder and finds one that continued recording after he thought he had pressed the stop button. Listening to his and YoonGi’s voices, he recalls a forgotten memory of the day they walked out of school together.

The majority of episode 3 plays through a memory of an afternoon that SeokJin and YoonGi walked out of school together (date unspecified; this event is also referenced in YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry from The Notes 2 and the similar Note accompanying Map of the Soul: 7). SeokJin receives a text summoning him to the principal’s office. The office is empty yet suffocating when he arrives. Principal Jo JinMyung arrives and apologizes for making SeokJin wait. SeokJin looks down, heart suddenly heavy. The scene cuts to YoonGi entering the storage classroom as he thinks about all the days he doesn’t feel like going home. It’s not a comfortable place for him, yet there’s nothing for him at the school either, except for the group’s hideout. He feels awkward in the oddly quiet room and puts some sheet music on the piano’s rack. But when he thinks about how no one is there requesting songs from him, he can’t bring his hands up to the keys. The flashback transitions back to SeokJin’s perspective following his meeting with the principal. As expected, the principal wanted him to report on YoonGi’s behavior. SeokJin spoke carefully so as not to tip him off about anything, but he hears internal whispers calling himself a hypocrite even when he’s laughing with his friends. Fretting over how much longer he can protect YoonGi, SeokJin runs into him at the classroom hideout’s door. He hopes YoonGi doesn’t notice how flustered he is, but YoonGi doesn’t say anything beyond confirming that he’s heading home. SeokJin tries to strike up a conversation as they walk out together, but the conversation awkwardly fizzles out whether he brings up food or the weather. YoonGi points out that his phone is buzzing, and SeokJin’s camcorder falls from his bag as he looks for it. YoonGi waves him off when SeokJin films him to test that it still works. He sheepishly lowers the camcorder and forgets to turn it off. YoonGi breaks the uncomfortable silence when they are almost across the field. “Is something up? You didn’t look very happy earlier.” Heart pounding, SeokJin tries to laugh off this sharp question with an excuse, but YoonGi stares straight at him. “You’re awkward too, SeokJin.” “What is?” “Your laugh.” YoonGi pauses before continuing, “When was the last time you genuinely laughed?”

The scene fades back to the present in SeokJin’s car (15 April). He can’t make out the rest of their conversation in the recording or remember what he answered. He wonders why YoonGi asked him that. SeokJin was always tense then, afraid that his friends would learn of his meetings with the principal. Did the others notice, too? While he’s lost in these thoughts, someone outside shouts, “Fire!” Flames erupt from YoonGi’s workroom. Realizing he should have focused on YoonGi and not the video, SeokJin runs into the building. As he tries to open the locked door, he hears the glass shatter.

The fourth episode opens on the night of 11 April with SeokJin watching JungKook and YoonGi walk away from the construction site and towards NamJoon’s container. A few days later, SeokJin spots JungKook on the sidewalk on his way to YoonGi’s workroom. When asked where he’s going, JungKook avoids his gaze and replies, “I was just… walking around.” SeokJin knows this is because he has nowhere to go. Not wanting JungKook to keep wandering and remembering that he was once close with YoonGi, SeokJin invites him along. The perspective switches to JungKook as they enter the workroom. It reeks of alcohol, and YoonGi is fast asleep among empty bottles. “YoonGi… will be okay, right?” he asks. SeokJin picks up the bottles without responding. A memory from their school days occurs to JungKook. TaeHyung chased him around their classroom hideout, trying to snatch his sketchbook and succeeding when JungKook found his escape unintentionally blocked by YoonGi standing in the doorway. JungKook was dismayed when YoonGi called TaeHyung over to the piano so they could look at it together, but then YoonGi deceived TaeHyung and threw the sketchbook to JungKook. In the present, SeokJin doesn’t want to waste time while YoonGi sleeps. He taps a lost-in-thought JungKook on the shoulder and says they should leave, but JungKook responds that he will stay until YoonGi wakes.

Back again at the classroom hideout, SeokJin hunts further around the piano. He uses an old mop handle to fish out a piece of paper from underneath it. The hidden secret turns out to be TaeHyung’s abysmal math test. Dejected, SeokJin slumps to the floor. On this level, he notices a small handle on the piano’s lower panel and uses it to pop off the cover. Faded music sheets are wedged into the piano’s frame. A phrase on one of them catches SeokJin’s eye. (함께 라면 웃을 수 있다 : The Korean is not translated in game, but Google translates it as “if we are together, we can laugh.” This recurring phrase is instead translated as “we can laugh when we’re together” in The Notes 2. In YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry, he also reflects on finding the note written in the margins of the music scores he took from the classroom. The handwriting isn’t his own. Additionally, a similar sentiment is expressed in a line of You Never Walk Alone, which is the basis for one of the BU-inspired Graphic Lyrics books.)

This message reminds SeokJin of YoonGi’s question: “When was the last time you genuinely laughed?” “This moment is the answer to that question,” he thinks, initiating a flashback to 20 March Year 19. The boys gathered around HoSeok in the classroom, chattering excitedly about the new club he’s leading. TaeHyung jokingly called him “Mr. President.” HoSeok told him only members could call him that before asking YoonGi if he wanted to join. “I’ll allow you to join without an audition, but only you.” TaeHyung exclaimed that he was just trying to get YoonGi to call him president. “Oh, it was obvious?” HoSeok chuckled. “Acting up again, huh?” YoonGi spoke up from the corner. The memory fades, returning to a pensieve SeokJin. He clearly remembers YoonGi’s face as he laughed with the others. “When did we stop laughing? Did it start that day, when I ruined everything?” SeokJin wonders. “It’s my fault,” he says aloud, standing there with the sheet music in hand until the sun begins to set. (Note: the date of the memory may be a typo. On 20 March Year 20 in The Notes 1, TaeHyung overheard SeokJin in the classroom informing the principal of the trouble he and YoonGi had gotten into. SeokJin realized that NamJoon heard it but not TaeHyung, who remained hidden out of sight and then pretended not to know. It’s not impossible that this memory really occurred in March Year 19, but most of them had only met at the beginning of that month.)

On the night of 15 April, SeokJin follows YoonGi at a distance from his workroom to an alleyway bar. (It is possible but not entirely clear that this is the same day SeokJin found the sheet music at the classroom, which is why I did not specify the date earlier.) It appears that YoonGi visits this bar often since the owner asks him if he has money today. SeokJin sits at a table behind YoonGi and watches him knock back shot after shot. Deciding that he shouldn’t leave him alone any longer, SeokJin musters up the courage to join him. YoonGi doesn’t look surprised to see him. He smiles before looking down again. SeokJin attempts a natural conversation to catch up. YoonGi asks why he didn’t come along the night when everyone got together at NamJoon’s container. “It’s been awhile since we’ve all seen each other, and JungKook… Never mind. You were probably busy.” SeokJin apologizes and inquires how JungKook is doing, then turns the same question on YoonGi when he replies that he doesn’t know. “Anything new with you?” SeokJin presses when YoonGi avoids his gaze. “Well, as you can see.” YoonGi dodges a direct answer.

The restaurant owner brings them a second glass. They are quiet in a restaurant full of chatter. SeokJin brings up the past to break the awkward silence, asking if YoonGi remembers the day they walked out of high school together. “Why do you ask?” says YoonGi. SeokJin explains that he remembered what YoonGi said to him that afternoon. “I want to ask you the same thing you asked me then.” SeokJin is nervous but continues, not wanting to waste this opportunity. “When was the last time you genuinely laughed?” YoonGi is silent for a moment. “Who knows.” SeokJin encourages him to think about it. “What good is it whether I remember or not? It wouldn’t change things now, even if I remembered.” YoonGi’s refusal to express his feelings upsets SeokJin more than his indifferent tone. “I just wish he would open up to me so I could figure out… anything. If only I could tell him,” SeokJin thinks. His internal narration continues over a shot of him in high school looking at his phone: “Or maybe… If I went back further in time, mustering up the courage to protect my friends, and prevented YoonGi from being expelled. If I did, maybe now we’d be…” “What’s with that expression?” YoonGi’s voice snaps him into the present, and he stares at SeokJin the way he had when they walked home from school. “Nothing, just… I feel like it’s been a while since I last saw you and I’m wasting time with useless subjects. It’s nothing—” SeokJin tries to laugh it off, but YoonGi interrupts. “You’re the same as always… There’s something there in your expression, but you say that it’s nothing.” This remark hits hard, rendering SeokJin speechless.

YoonGi’s words echo in SeokJin’s head even after he arrives home later that night. How did YoonGi notice what SeokJin thought he kept well-hidden? He once viewed YoonGi as someone who was indifferent to the world and trying to distance himself from everything. It dawns on SeokJin that he is mistaken. He opens his camcorder, hoping to see something new with this changed perspective. A recording plays in which he, YoonGi, and JungKook are the only ones present in the classroom hideout. When YoonGi starts playing piano, JungKook gets up from the desk and carefully stands by him. YoonGi doesn’t seem bothered and continues to play. Suddenly, he stops. “You wanna try?” In the present, SeokJin wonders why he asks JungKook that out of the blue and replays the footage, feeling like he missed something. This time, he notices that JungKook begins chewing his nails before YoonGi asks him. “Can I?” says JungKook. “Why not? It’s not my piano or anything. You can play if you want to.” At YoonGi’s words, the color returns to JungKook’s face and his hands drop from his mouth. SeokJin watches a little more of the video. As the recorded YoonGi patiently corrects JungKook’s wrong notes, he realizes that YoonGi doesn’t merely ask JungKook to play on a whim but out of respect for him.

SeokJin turns his attention to his box of photos. The player can choose up to three to examine. SeokJin realizes that YoonGi is a little further behind the group and not looking at the camera not because he feels left out or is avoiding attention, but because he is always watching how they are all together. YoonGi knows us very well, he thinks. He stopped JungKook from biting his nails by asking him to play the piano rather than acknowledging it directly. He saw through SeokJin and recognized when his laughter wasn’t genuine, even after several years apart. SeokJin thought that YoonGi wanted to give up everything, would never open up to anyone, and experienced feelings that were impossible for him to understand. “But if we were the ones to make YoonGi laugh… It may be possible to save YoonGi,” SeokJin reflects. With more determination, he vows to save him. “I’ll save him no matter what, because we can laugh when we’re together.”

SeokJin visits YoonGi every day after their meeting at the bar, responding that he’s making time to see him when asked if all university students have this much free time. They grow more accustomed to each other’s company, but SeokJin’s glimmer of hope fades as alcohol and aimless wandering continues to fill YoonGi’s life. Since just visiting YoonGi’s workroom seems meaningless, on 24 April SeokJin decides to show him the sheet music he found in the hideout, hoping it will encourage him to resume songwriting. Upon seeing the music, YoonGi has a flashback to 25 June Year 20, the day he received the school expulsion notice. He ran immediately to the classroom and played the piano as though possessed. The anger refused to settle. He shoved all of his sheet music into the piano and vowed to never play the piano again. In the present, YoonGi asks, “Where’d you find this?” At his cold expression, SeokJin wonders what he’s done wrong and explains aloud that he just happened to find it in the hideout’s piano. The papers fall from YoonGi’s hand, scattering across the floor. “Leave,” he spits. “What? Min YoonGi, what’s going on?” SeokJin asks. YoonGi shoves him. “Just leave.” “Don’t do this, let’s talk for a moment,” SeokJin tries again. But YoonGi replies, “I have nothing to say to you.”

YoonGi avoids him after that. On 25 April, SeokJin calls him numerous times without any answer and finds only torn sheet music and empty bottles in his workroom. He remembers YoonGi’s last words to him and says aloud, “It can’t be. No way.” An ominous thought crosses his mind, but he forces it out to focus on recalling something from memory. The story cuts to him running down a street, trying to figure out where YoonGi went to set the fire in the last loop. (It is never clarified what SeokJin’s “ominous thought” is—it may refer to YoonGi setting a fire or possibly even a suspicion that YoonGi figured out SeokJin was involved in his expulsion.) SeokJin finds the same motel (the one with the sign like in the I Need U MV) and rushes upstairs in a cold sweat. Faced with a hallway of identical doors, he doesn’t know how to locate YoonGi’s room. Whether the player chooses for him to call out to YoonGi or “think of something else” (which results in him pulling the fire alarm), the result is ultimately the same. SeokJin forces open the last closed door with a fire extinguisher, but the room is empty. Filled with regret, SeokJin wonders what he has done wrong. “Like an idiot, I… I knew that the location and method of YoonGi’s attempt could change, and yet…”

“Fire!” someone yells. The motel across the street erupts in flames. “No! Please…” SeokJin begs, falling to his knees. “How can I stop this tragedy? … Am I not enough to stop it?” The story ends as he hears the glass shatter once again.

Additional Thoughts

For me, JungKook’s arc really draws back the curtain on SeokJin’s private life. It demonstrates SeokJin’s challenge to balance saving his friends and maintaining his own daily life, particularly fulfilling the duties that fall to him as a prominent assemblyman’s son. We see little of this side of him until The Notes 2, when his perspective has already drastically changed.

JungKook’s reflection about his habit of walking along the edges of walls is an interesting moment of self-awareness. This “tightrope-walking” is depicted frequently in the MVs.

The car accident and loop reset at the beginning of JungKook’s 4th episode suggests the possibility that the I Need U MV depicts JungKook deliberately stepping in front of the oncoming car rather than accidentally. (Maybe people have already interpreted it this way, but personally the thought had never occured to me due to how it’s shot and acted.) The car accident is a recurring theme in the loops for JungKook, particularly as he is struck the night of 22 May and comes to believe that it was SeokJin who hit him.

This internal dialogue of SeokJin’s from YoonGi’s arc gives me a lot to think about: “If I went back further in time, mustering up the courage to protect my friends, and prevented YoonGi from being expelled. If I did, maybe now we’d be…” SeokJin’s first experiences of the time loops are depicted in the Save Me Webtoon. At that time, he believes that 11 April is the date that he can begin fixing things, but it’s not clear if this ability granted by the cat-like creature truly gives him control over to which date the loop resets. (It is more obvious that he cannot control what triggers the reset itself.) Does he ever go back earlier? Only *ahem* time will tell, but if you want some more food for thought, please check out these interesting quotes that occur before 11 April Year 22.

As mentioned above, the following “tl;dr” commentary summarizes the parenthetical notes I provided in the summaries in case you want to review them on their own.

The Boy on the Threshold — tl;dr commentary

SeokJin’s flashback to 3 March Year 19, when all seven boys arrived late on the first day at Songju Jeil High School and were scolded outside by the Dean, looks very similar to the BTS Begins Middle Scene VCR (aside from the absence of extra students), including the detail of YoonGi arriving last. This VCR predates official BU content.

The photo in SeokJin’s collection that catches JungKook’s eye resembles the shot in the Euphoria MV at 5’32” (the seven boys sitting on a wall with the ocean behind them) except that they appear to be wearing school uniform shirts and slacks.

JungKook’s flashback to the night of 7 April Year 22 expands the context of his reunion with YoonGi, adding that he is drawn to the music shop by a familiar tune and through its broken window sees YoonGi playing piano. YoonGi doesn’t notice him when he staggers outside, and JungKook tries to play the music by memory. In his 7 April Year 22 entry of The Notes 1, YoonGi is drunk and stumbling by an empty construction site when he recognizes a clumsy piano tune that he’d been playing “not long ago.” But when he runs to the music shop and finds JungKook, the text does not indicate that he remembers this is his second visit to the shop this evening. Additionally, the Wings short film First Love seems to reference some of the events of this night—or evokes YoonGi’s distorted memories of it, mingled with a representation of JungKook’s later accident.

I mentioned in part 1’s introduction that every episode’s ending is identical regardless of the decisions made by the player, but the end of episode 4 is actually cosmetically different (a wobbling camera/animation effect) if the second path is selected for the last choice. The dialogue is the same.

The end of episode 7 depicts the seaside observatory. This is a key location on 22 May Year 22, recurring in The Notes and depicted in the HYYH On Stage: Prologue short film and Euphoria MV. It looks the same in the game.

The End of His Gaze — tl;dr commentary

The motel sign at the beginning and end of the story matches the one visible in YoonGi’s shots of the I Need U MV.

When searching the classroom hideout for clues on 15 April, SeokJin identifies his father's name alongside the message “Everything started from here” on the graffitied wall. He first saw this note in his 25 June Year 19 entry from The Notes 1.

Episode 3 presents a memory from both SeokJin’s and YoonGi’s perspectives of the afternoon that they walked out of school together. Although the date is unspecified, this event is also referenced in YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry from The Notes 2 and the similar Note accompanying Map of the Soul: 7.

On his second attempt at searching the classroom, SeokJin finds sheet music that was hidden inside the piano. A phrase written in the corner of one paper catches his eye: 함께 라면 웃을 수 있다. The Korean is not translated in game, but Google translates it as “if we are together, we can laugh.” This recurring phrase is instead translated as “we can laugh when we’re together” in The Notes 2. In YoonGi’s 2 August Year 22 entry, he also reflects on finding the note written in the margins of the music scores he took from the classroom. The handwriting isn’t his own. Additionally, a similar sentiment is expressed in a line of You Never Walk Alone, which is the basis for one of the BU-inspired Graphic Lyrics books.

SeokJin has a flashback of 20 March Year 19 in which the boys are excitedly chattering about HoSeok’s new club. However, given the larger context of this moment (both in the past and what prompts it in the present), the date of the memory may be a typo. On 20 March Year 20 in The Notes 1, TaeHyung overheard SeokJin in the classroom informing the principal of the trouble he and YoonGi had gotten into. SeokJin realized that NamJoon heard it but not TaeHyung, who remained hidden out of sight and then pretended not to know. It’s not impossible that this memory really occurred in March Year 19, but most of them had only met at the beginning of that month.

Did you learn anything new from these stories that I did not specifically mention? Let me know in the replies or tags! Please stay tuned for part 3, featuring JiMin and HoSeok’s stories.

#armiesnet #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #armysource #dailybangtan #bts universe #hyyh #bangtan universe #bts universe story #bts universe story highlights #seokjin #jungkook #yoongi #jinkook #yoonkook #yoonjin #bts theories

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cosmiclatte28 · 3 years

Text

Strike! (Jaehyun x reader)

a/n : okaay soo this was almost from a real story :)) i twisted and improvised something that happened to me :p not important though, but please enjoy this scenario!

warning : none, i think this is save for everyone.. except if you have bad memories with bowling...

characters : you, Jae, and his friends (Yu,Tae,Johnny)

tagging @yutahoes (since she knew what happened) and @neopalette anyone else wants to be tagged in my works tell me :)

enjoy!!

Spring is happening, the flowers are blooming, and the sun has been staying up longer! Everyone’s toasting under the heat and hoping that summer can just come now. You personally enjoy the heat rather than shivering in the cold winter wind. It’s just that you don’t really have anyone to enjoy this beautiful weather with. Just like any other day, you got down from your room to look for dinner. The sun is still up and you choose to just use one of your jacket and plop into your shoes before locking the door and walking nicely to look for food.

You turn on your earphone, playing on some light music so you feel less lonely. It’s just that you have friends but today you don’t feel like eating with them. You’ve been to two classes today and worked on some homework, you noticed it’s time for a “me time”. So, with the sun shining warmly and you enjoying your afternoon walk you smile when you notice how many couples are walking around the campus.

You’re jealous, you wont lie. Come on, who’s not jealous to see cute happy couples walking under the sun and with the blooming flowers things just look like a scene from a movie. You personally slow down to think of which dining hall to visit today. You choose to go to the west side and see what menu they offer.

You don’t see much student there which make you settle quickly on pasta and have them wrap it up to go. Now, with your boxed food, you walk happily to go back to your room only to pause when there’s a sport car filled with hot guys zooming through you.

You notice a lot of people have their eyes glued on the car, or maybe the guys in it. You don’t know them, but one of them seriously looks cute. You locked eyes for a second and you swore you love him at first sight.

“Woah, last time there were girls zooming around in their opened-cabriole cars and now guys too. Guess summer is really near.” You shrug your shoulder and continue to walk.

You pass by the car again but this time it is parked and the four guys are just chilling around their cars. Sipping on some cold energy drinks while giggling and tossing light smiles to the people passing by.

“Who are you looking at young boy?” The man behind the wheels earlier nudges the boy who has his eyes glued on you.

“Um no one-“ he stammers before turning away to look at his feet and feeling his ears burn.

“Oh I see, some freshman I guess-“ the guy with a Japanese accent teases the younger boy.

“Where? I wanna see too!” the smallest one between the three extends his neck to look around.

Their actions bring the crowd’s attention, and you realize you should keep walking. Why were you stopping in first place?

So, without much thought you continue to walk down your road while humming to your music.

“Stop staring,” the guy who’s looking at his feet finally speaks up.

“Why Jaehyun? You’re shy?” The tallest, Johnny aka guy behind wheel, pokes his cheek.

Jaehyun turns red “Nah, I don’t know her. She just passed by and I locked eyes with her.”

“Don’t worry, if Yuta saw her he will know her name.” Taeyong puts a hand over Yuta’s shoulder “Right Yuta?” he asks to clarify his statement.

Yuta nods “If only you justified if that was the girl you’re staring, I may have her name tomorrow.” Yuta plays with his phone.

Jaehyun sighs “Come on, this school is big… there’s no way you’ll get her name.” he hugs his three friends’ shoulders and sighs “Guess that will be the first and last time I see her.”

Johnny clicks his tongue “So dramatic. Duhh, I know how to see her.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen “How?”

Taeyong giggles “She went that way, there’s only three houses there. We can just hang around there and see her if she goes out of her building. It’s that simple Jae, don’t be so sad.” Taeyong pats his shoulder and jumps into the car.

“Come on, we have a bowling match tomorrow might want to practice a little bit before the game.” Taeyong calls his other friends into the car and once they’re all in, Johnny hits the road again with high speed to show off his car and the guys inside.

You finish your dinner and clean up your room already. In an hour or two, you’ll wrap up your task and readings then maybe take a rest because tomorrow is a big day. You got more classes to suffer and some dance class to attend.

Your mind flashes back the image of the cute guy seating in the back seat of the sports car earlier. His dimple, his carefree smile and his fluffy wind-blown hair looks perfect. Oh you really wish you can see him one more time.

He doesn’t look like he belongs in your major, man like him probably is an athlete or studies something related to business or sports.

“Come on come to your senses (y/n)! What are the odds he meet you again? Even if he sees you, he won’t notice or realize you’re there.” You try to burry your hope by reminding yourself boys like him belong to the pretty girls with long legs. Unlike you, totally you’re way out of his league.

That night you dream of a fortunate encounter with the mysterious guy and he gives you his name. Weird how you cannot remember his name at all when you wake up, but the day is running and you need to wake up and face reality. He is a prince charming and you’re no Cinderella.

“I told you, I can get her name by today.” Yuta proudly shows Jaehyun and the guys an Instagram profile.

“Wait whoah you really did.” Taeyong says after examining the profile picture because of the private account.

“How did you?” Jaehyun stops asking when his eyes accidentally spot you coming into the room.

“Am I seeing things or is she really here?” Jaehyun whispers to his friends and Johnny gives him a smack “Hurts? It’s real. I see her too.”

Yuta chuckles “Come on, I see her walking to this place and thought maybe she’s here this afternoon. So, I made a quick run through the participant list and look up one by one.”

“Thank you- but oh I am so fortunate to see her again.” Jaehyun is literally having his moment. If this is a drama he’d have romantic bgm and flower petals falling out of nowhere. But this is the bowling room in the campus and it’s far from romantic. Especially when the judge calls for the competitor to get ready.

“Good luck there bro, focus on the game not on the girl.” His friends tease him before leaving to sit in the spectator seat.

You tie your bowling shoes and pick out your own ball. Polishing it and feeling it with your hand before bumping into someone’s sturdy chest.

“Oh- sorry.” You mutter an apology before looking up and freezing in place when you lock eyes with the same man you’ve been dying to see again.

“You-“ he turns pink.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump you. Please don’t kill me.” You beg for him

He chuckles “I will not kill you, but if you want my apology…” he trails off and bends a little bit to see your face closer “Give me your name.”

You turn red now and you feel your face heat up “It’s (y/n)”

He smiles and reaches out his hand “Jaehyun, nice to meet you (y/n)” he shakes your hand and you grin. This is awkward…

“I saw you yesterday on the car. Nice car.” You whisper after both of you sit down to wait for your turns.

Jaehyun nods “Wasn’t my car sadly, but it’s my friend’s.” he points to the three guys enjoying pizza on the spectator bench. You only nod, his friends all look hot.

“So, bowling eh? Good at it?” you ask him when it’s almost his turn. Jaehyun stands up and wears his bowling glove “Good? I just pick this up as a new hobby and I join this to look for new friends.” He gets up to his lane and picks his ball before posing nicely and hits a strike.

You smirk, not bad. He has some talent.

Jaehyun returns after his turn is over and it’s yours now.

“What about you?” he asks

You sweetly smile “Watch and see,”

Jaehyhun notices how you change. Your posture is different, and your gaze definitely burns hole to the wall. He secretly has to control his heartbeat from going up when he sees you hit a strike.

You’re not a newbie, he notices that

“Great posture, accurate and precise.” Jaehyun offers a high-five and you take it.

“Well, thank you that came from years of practice. Pleasure to be your competitor tonight, I am (y/n) the school’s official bowling team leader.” You wink and Jaehyun feels his heart burst into million pieces.

How can you be so cute and so attractive at the same time? Plus what, you’re the bowling athlete team? Hot.

He sure is going to brag on you to his friends, but most importantly he’ll win your number first after the hot tight match. He’s glad Johnny forced him to sign up for this competition, and he’s glad he has the courage to talk with you.

“So, nice game and you’re really good.” Jaehyun nudges your shoulder when the game ends with you winning.

You grin “Oh yeah? Well, what do I get for winning?” you playfully tease him.

He knits his eyebrow for a while before grinning “Do you want my number? We can have lunch together or dinner someday.” He offers you his suggestion and you feel your cheek burns.

“Sure, yes I’d love that.” You gulp and type in your number to his phone.

“Okay, I’ll text you my number so you can save it.” He winks and turns his head around when his friends call him

“I got to go, do you want to go back to your dorm with us?” he offers you a ride but as much as you want to, you know not to accept rides from stranger easily.

You shake your head “I will go with them,” you point to a new group of friends living in the same building you just met earlier.

Jaehyun nods coolly “Okay, text me when you got home.” He points to your phone that lights up with a message from him.

You smile and wave your hand as you walk to the other friends “Bye Jaehyun! It was nice meeting you.”

Turns out yesterday was not the first and last time he sees you.

end

#multifandomnet #jaehyun x reader #jaehyun x y/n #jaehyun x you #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun oneshot #nct oneshot #nct fluff #nct flirt line #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun college au #nct college au #nct x reader #jung jaehyun #jung jaehyun x you

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aprilsrant · 4 years

Text

When I kissed the teacher | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) and Oliver finally accept their feelings for each other.

WORD COUNT: 2,065.

WARNINGS: a kiss, (?), a few curse words.

A/N: English is not my first language, if there are any mistakes, let me know! This part wasn’t supposed to be here so soon because I was working on the other fics, but this actually took some of my writer’s block away so here it is.

This is the final part of the mini series, but I think I’ll do some blurbs about Oliver and this particular reader in the future, like dates, life after Hogwarts, and more.

Please like, reblog or comment if you want!

PREVIOUS PARTS:

Lay all your love on me. (Part 1)

Honey Honey! (Part 2).

MASTERLIST. / WORK IN PROGRESS.

The poor Slytherin girl had been trying to hide her feelings towards Quidditch’s rising star and Gryffindor’s Team Captain, for a little more than a year and a half. It wasn’t necessarily difficult at first since they barely saw or talked to each other, only sharing a few classes and having one friend in common —that was more of an acquaintance to him, which made things easier for a few months—. But then, her friend’s conspiracy to get them together interfered with a plan of her own named “avoiding Oliver Wood for the rest of my school days”.

Many tutoring sessions followed the first one, Oliver was improving a lot faster than they had expected. “All your work, of course”, he would say with a thick, scottish accent that made (Y/N) nearly faint every time he’d utter a single word. This was actually one of the reasons why she tried to convince him of calling off their meetings, —that and the fact that it was getting harder to conceal her sweaty hands, the fidgeting, the occasional stuttering, the evident stares and, of course, that the girl was unable to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds—.

Oliver thought differently, he energetically insisted about needing her as tutor more than ever now that he was catching up with Potions and Transfiguration. And once more, incapable of saying no, she agreed, accepting to tutor him for the rest of the year ‘just in case’.

Dorian almost had her head when she talked about the conversation and her desire to stop helping Oliver. He couldn’t comprehend her reasoning, not when his friend was finally getting what she wanted for so long. Ethan and Isla didn’t take his side this time, instead, they supported (Y/N), sympathizing with her logic.

“If it’s becoming a burden for you, maybe you should tell him,” the Ravenclaw boy advised, concentrating on beating Isla on the game of Exploding Snap in front of him.

“It’s not a burden, it’s just…,” (Y/N) started, the lack of words interrupting her sentence, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

The only Gryffindor in the Multicolour Quartet —horrible name indeed and his idea— kept quiet. He wanted (Y/N) to be happy, so why was she giving up her chance to actually be happy with the boy she liked for more than a year?

No one spoke about Oliver again that Wednesday afternoon on the Courtyard, a pact to keep quiet about the subject forming silently between them.

By the group’s seventh, and last, year at Hogwarts, Oliver Wood and (Y/N) (Y/L/N) were official friends —something Dorian took full credit of and something no one in the school had foreseen, except for her friends and the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (why was their Captain, Oliver obsessive Wood, postponing practices all of a sudden?)—. Not long after she tried to end their tutoring sessions, Oliver asked her if she minded to spend some time with him outside of their “study dates”.

Since then, she and Oliver could be seeing together round Hogwarts. Sometimes (Y/N)’s friends joining them because of the boy invitating the Quartet, or rest of it at least, to Hogsmeade, making up silly excuses to leave them alone or telling Oliver all the embarrassing things (Y/N)’d succeeded to do, most of them narrated by Dorian, —how could he know so many stupid stories when he joined the group not that long ago?—, who loved laughing at the angry faces she did until her elbow hit his ribs.

While (Y/N)’s feelings kept growing without restraint, Oliver’s were blooming slowly, at first unnoticed, but strong. His heart jumping whenever he saw her smiling, or talking about a subject she was passionate about. His body going still momentarily if she was too close to him, showing him how to cut ingredients, or the order they went in, or how to move his hands to perform a spell correctly.

He realised during the fifth month of the school term. It wasn’t romantic nor beautiful. It felt like taking a Bludger to the head —believe or not, he had experience with that—, you weren’t prepared for the hit and the consequences it would bring. Ruining their friendship was the last thing Oliver wanted, so he kept quiet about his discovery and acted normal, begging no one, especially not (Y/N), would notice.

Reckless, and sometimes irresponsible, they were, but not fools. So of course the experts on the matter of ‘friends being complete idiots and denying their feelings’, Dorian, Isla and Ethan knew exactly what was going on when they noticed Oliver’s change of attitude towards their Slytherin friend. How he seemed more nervous around her; the way would look for her before a Quidditch match; how he would ask easy questions about the assignments, claiming he was going to die without her help, and how he put more effort on his appearance whenever they were going to hang out.

The three friends couldn’t believe their luck. First, (Y/N), the smartest person they knew and yet, at the same time, the most oblivious and ignorant. Then, Oliver, the boy their friend had a crush on, now seemed to reciprocate her feelings but was trying to push them aside.

“How can someone be so daft?,” Isla whispered to the boys beside her while watching (Y/N) and Oliver leave Zonko’s and starting to walk slowly towards the Three Broomsticks, “you know, we could make them smell Amortentia and admit their feelings once and for all.”

“You are actually onto something there, Islandic,” Dorian said, beginning to follow the pair in front of them. The Gryffindor snickered after Isla hit him on the head because of the recent nickname he’d given her.

“Oh no, we’re not doing that,” they heard Ethan from behind them.

“Why not?”

“Why not?,” Ethan repeated before letting out a scoff, ”because you two are going to make me brew the potion and I’m not brewing Amortentia.” Isla and Dorian gazed at each other, trying to conceal their smiles, knowing their other friend was right.

They’d started to follow (Y/N) and Oliver in silence when Dorian talked again.

“Why don’t you want to brew Amortentia?” The noise of the village almost drowning the suspicious tone in his voice. “Are you trying to evade something, maybe?”

“Shut up,” he responded, tightening the dark blue coat closer to his body, and unknowingly giving Dorian the answer he hoped for, “and come on, don’t just stand there. We’re going to lose them.”

Their continuing attempts were a failure, nothing they did made the Slytherin or the Gryffindor confess. Fortunately, these thoughts were starting to appear more frequently in the latest’s mind.

|||

It was the first Saturday after the Easter Holidays and the whole school, including the professors, was waiting impatiently for the last Quidditch match of the season, Slytherin versus Gryffindor for the Inter-House Quidditch Cup.

With Slytherin leading the championship with more than two hundred points, Oliver’s team needed a massive win if they wanted to get their hands on the Cup.

(Y/N) made her way up to the stands alongside her friends, all of them hoping for Gryffindor to win the match. Even as a Slytherin, she wished for him, and the whole team of course, to crush her House’s Quidditch Team. Marcus Flint was everything but kind and a fair player, his tactics consisted purely of hurting his rivals, not caring about the damage the injuries could cost. (Y/N)’d have supported her own House if they weren’t cheating bastards.

A few of the students looked at her weirdly before starting to whisper when she sat down on her seat beside Dorian, who went full on Gryffindor pride. Yes, she was wearing a green blouse —she should have accepted Dorian’s offer on using one of his red t-shirts—, but that didn’t mean anything. She was on the Gryffindor stands, so she was supporting Gryffindor, and for a good reason…

The first ten points went to the lion’s house thanks to Angelina Johnson, but the cries of joy transformed quickly into shoutings and insults directed to the Slytherin Captain for nearly knocking her off her broom after smashing into the Chaser. Fred Weasley reacted by throwing his beater’s bat at the back of Flint’s head.

The rest of the match followed pretty much the same way. Slytherin played using dirty tactics and attacking the Gryffindors, which resulted in them answering their violence with, well, more violence.

“Harry spotted the Snitch,” shouted Dorian while raising his arm, pointing towards the third year boy. Before the Gryffindor Seeker could grab the shiny, golden ball, Malfoy grabbed the end of his broom and pulled it back.

“Not the fucking Firebolt, you twat,” (Y/N) thought of hearing her best friend Isla, seating on her right side, said. Everyone started screeching insults at the Slytherin Seeker, even (Y/N) and some of the professors.

Finally, after more penalties, Harry Potter caught the Snitch, handing his House the Quidditch Cup.

Students from Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff roared in excitement, quickly leaving the stands and flooding the Pitch, running to congratulate the winning team.

Three of the four members of the Multicolour Quartet stayed a few feet away from the crowd, Dorian celebrating in the middle with Oliver, who was carrying the Cup, on his shoulders. Isla grabbed her arm and carried her to where the Gryffindor Captain was, a memory of Dorian doing the same thing a year ago entered her mind.

Looking up at Oliver, (Y/N) noticed his rosy cheeks and some drops of sweat forming on his forehead, but his brown eyes and smile were what captivated her the most, his enthusiasm turning contagious.

“Congratulations, I guess,” the girl said, a serious expression on her face while rolling her eyes exaggeratedly to show him she was teasing. (Y/N) extended her arm, still acting, but was taken by surprise when Oliver grabbed it and pulled her towards him, engulfing each other in a hug. She giggled near his ear and whispered, “I’m so proud of you.”

The Gryffindor glanced down at her, bodies still close to each other, neither of them wanting to let go, eyes thrilled because of his team’s victory and something more she couldn’t figure out. Slowly, his face approached her’s, staring back to the other’s eyes, asking themselves internally if this was the moment.

“Fuck it,” Oliver mumbled before closing the distance between them and planting a chaste kiss on her mouth.

They stood motionless for a couple of seconds, arms still wrapped around each other and the whole school watching them silently, waiting for her reaction. From the corner of her eye, she saw Fred Weasley giving his twin, George, some sickles, a grim look on his face for losing what she assumed was a bet on them.

(Y/N)’s attention went back to the boy in front of her, one with a desperate expression. Standing on her toes, she pulled her hands away from Oliver’s torso, directing one towards the back of his neck and the other to his cheek, caressing the skin tenderly. She smiled, unable to stop another giggle, and pressed their lips together for the second time, hoping it wouldn’t be the last one.

The crowd around the pair roared again, making them laugh between the kiss, lips separating and then reuniting. Her heart almost jumping out of her chest from how fast it was beating, her necessity to breath becoming more prominent with each second her mouth was against he’s. Ignoring it, (Y/N) continued on kissing Oliver, whose hands were now on either side of her head, trying to bring her impossibly closer. Biting her bottom lip, his tongue rushing through her mouth. The hand on his neck pressuring now with more force, bringing him down so her feet could touch the ground.

A hand on each of Oliver’s shoulders forced them apart.

“Okay, I’m really happy you two finally stopped the painful yearning for each other, but this is my best friend you’re snogging, Oliver, so try to do that privately,” a voice that could only belong to Dorian came from behind the Gryffindor boy.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, one of them pressing into Oliver’s side, and looked at her friend before speaking.

“Are you going to tell…”

“Yeah, I am,” he interrupted her mid sentence, “I bloody told you so.”

TAGLIST: @peeves-a-legend @weasleybees @acontinuationofstuff @parkeroffline @lilac-wrists

If you want me to add you to the taglist, ask me! And if you asked but you’re not here, please remind me!

#Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #slytherin!reader #slytherin #oliver wood x slytherin!reader #oliver wood #oliver wood fanfiction #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood oneshot #oliver wood x reader #hp fanfic #hp imagine

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 9)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 3827 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 8 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

The lobby of Stark Industries is bright and almost blinding compared to the dull grey that looms over the city outside. To make matters worse, the sky would darken into a deep black in just a few hours, a depressing casualty of setting the clocks back.

It was mid-November with winter closing in. You bundle up your coat, adjusting your scarf before daring to step outside. You were having a conversation with Steve, or at least you thought you were.

“He’s been like this all day,” Mr. Lee said, laughing as a confused Steve finally picked his head up from his phone.

Steve apologized as his cheeks turned pink, again. He was texting Peggy and he just couldn’t help the way he felt about her. They had gone on a few dates since they met on Halloween weekend and Steve was one-hundred percent smitten.

“Well anyway, I have to head to Metro-Gen now so you boys have a good afternoon,” you said, saluting them before stepping outside.

Your internship was going well. It had only been a few months but you were very comfortable working in this type of environment. You were familiar with the hospital and some of the ER staff other than Sam. You assisted Elena with her cases and tried not to forget everything you’ve ever learned while under pressure. It was scary but exciting and most of all you were happy to provide assistance and care to those that needed it.

When the weekend finally came you were thrilled to finish up your hours at the hospital. You were cold and tired, and really wanted to take off your bra immediately. Wanda was coming over which was rare since she and Sam became official. Any time he had off they tried to spend together and you understood it, especially with the hours required for his job but you really missed her and were happy to finally hang out after so long.

“So you seriously can’t eat this?” you said, taking a hefty dip of guacamole onto your chip.

“Uh yes I can bitch, don’t hog all the guacamole,” Wanda joked, pushing you aside as she grabbed the dish for herself. “I just can’t eat the chips.”

Wanda was always trying new diets, not that she ever needed to be on one. She was doing the Keto diet now and while you applauded her commitment you could never give up carbs like that.

She sat cross legged on your couch, moving her fork around her bowl absentmindedly as she worked up the courage to speak. “So I wanted to ask you something…”

A pang of anxiety hit your stomach as it tends to do whenever someone says those words, but you tried to remain neutral, wondering what Wanda was going to say.

“I know we usually have Thanksgiving together but Sam happened to be off this year and I know it’s really soon but he invited me for dinner at his parents’ house and I haven’t said yes yet because I wanted to speak with you first because I know it’s our tradition to do something together but– ”

“Wanda!” You had to shout her name so she could stop and take a breath. You smiled at her, letting her know you were okay with her having Thanksgiving with Sam. “I’m really happy for you,” you said against her ear as she leaned over to hug you.

That night you thought about Wanda and Steve, how they both got into a relationship on Halloween. Meanwhile, the only thing you got that night was a blister on your heel.

“Hey neighbor.”

Bucky’s voice echoed from down the hall as he stepped out of the elevator, seeing you locking your door, with a laundry bag at your feet.

With everyone’s new relationships and Natasha prepping for a case no one has gone out since Halloween and things definitely felt a little weird.

“Hey,” you replied shakily, offering an awkward smile in return.

The truth was you were still upset with Bucky on Halloween. Well, not just you but the whole group. It had been weighing on you each day that passed without seeing him. The closer Bucky got to you and his door, the more nervous you felt and you really wanted to get this off your chest.

“Bucky… sorry this is out of the blue but…” You chewed on your lip trying to figure out exactly what to say.

His brows knit together. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a tense smile, wishing you hadn’t said anything in the first place, especially with the way concern filled those ocean blue eyes of his.

“Yeah I just…” With another big sigh you pushed the words out. “I thought it was kind of rude for you to ditch everyone on Halloween without saying goodbye. I know we’re not that close and you don’t owe me or anyone an explanation for wanting to leave or whatever but I don’t know, I just… needed to say that.”

Your lips pressed together firmly, feeling your heart pound rapidly against your chest as you waited to face whatever backlash there was after sharing your feelings.

Bucky sighed, letting his shoulders slump down. “I’m sorry Y/N. Honestly, that’s not how I wanted that night to end. But you were talking with that guy so I didn’t want to interrupt anything and everyone else had each other so I thought I’d do my own thing.”

“Guy? What guy?” You wondered out loud. When Bucky described him you realized he was talking about Bruce. “You thought something was going on with me and that guy? No, no. He’s a friend from work, just a friend.”

“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to block… anything… just in case.” Bucky chuckled, flashing his bright teeth as he smiled. “Still that was a dick move of me so I’m sorry.”

You accepted Bucky’s apology, feeling a little better about why he left the way he did. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t have left with that girl anyway, not that you care, because you don’t. Although now that most of your friends were in relationships you were feeling a little envious. It’s not that you didn’t want to date but you were too focused on work and school at the moment.

“Well I guess I’ll see you later,” you said, picking up your laundry bag.

“Wait!”

Throughout your conversation one thing stuck out the most in Bucky’s mind, when you said you weren’t close. He really thought you were and he’s not sure why it affected him so much but he wanted to change that and make it right.

You’ve definitely become a good friend of his even if you hadn’t gotten off on the right foot. And maybe he’s been a little busy lately, he hasn’t kept up on the group chat and didn’t think about how his lack of communication impacted anyone else. You were his friend, and so were Steve, Sam, Natasha, Clint and Wanda. He wanted to do better and be there for everyone so he might as well start now.

“If you wouldn’t mind the company I actually need to do my laundry too.”

There wasn’t any hesitation as you nodded back to him, your lips pulling into a smile that grew wider when he returned one of his own. Bucky took a few minutes to gather his laundry and together you walked a few blocks to the laundromat.

It wasn’t too crowded for a Sunday afternoon which was a pleasant surprise so the machines were pretty available. Bucky shared his detergent with you which was kind, saving your quarters from buying the single use packs the shop offered.

You sat beside him on uncomfortable chairs, bouncing your leg to keep warm as you shivered. There was some heat circulating through the room, a muggy wet heat that poured out every time someone opened the machines to check on their still damp clothes. Bucky was a good distraction, keeping you focused on your conversation as you caught up on what’s been going on in your lives.

“Thanksgiving’s going to be a little weird this year with Wanda and Steve doing their own thing but it’s alright.”

Bucky heard the disappointment you tried to hide in your tone but your face didn’t mask the emotions as well. He listened as you explained this was your tradition since you moved to New York. Since you couldn’t afford to fly home for both Thanksgiving and the holidays you had to choose, and so every year you spent the day with friends.

“Why don’t you spend it with me?” he asked, watching as the corner of your mouth slowly began to turn upwards into a smile.

“With you? You don’t go to your parent’s house?”

Bucky’s expression softened, “Normally I do but this year they’re flying out to spend Thanksgiving weekend with Rebecca.”

“Where does she live again?”

“It’s ‘they’ and Arizona.” Bucky rubbed the chill from his arms despite wearing a jacket. “Kinda wish I was there right now,” he chuckled.

The machines shook for their final spin cycle and you and Bucky got up in preparation to grab your clothes.

“You didn’t want to go with them?” you wondered.

“I’ve got a lot to work on plus I’ll see Bex soon, they usually come in for Christmas. So… is that a yes? I know I’m not Wanda or Steve but I’m still your friend.”

Bucky’s expression was hopeful as he awaited your answer. A beaming smile spread across your face as you replied, “Yes. I’d love to have Thanksgiving with you!”

If you looked at Bucky’s browser history over the last few weeks you would find a lot of food related searches: How to cook a turkey, how long to cook a turkey, how to cook a turkey fast, easiest way to cook a turkey, simple Thanksgiving dinner, Thanksgiving for 2, best Thanksgiving sides.

He wanted to make your Thanksgiving special but truthfully Bucky wasn’t the best in the kitchen. He could cook a few things but the idea of making a full Thanksgiving dinner was daunting and he couldn’t exactly ask his mother for help.

Since it was going to be just the two of you he finally found his answer– Thanksgiving dinner on a sheet pan. Bucky wrote out the list of groceries he needed, making sure he had everything needed so he could prepare the dinner.

You were working a full day at the hospital so Bucky had extra time to prepare for your arrival. His clothes were folded neatly, placed in his drawers that could now actually close. He made his bed, well he made sure the pillows were straight and draped his comforter over everything neatly. His instruments were gathered together neatly beside his desk and he made sure his bathroom was clean. Bucky spritzed his cologne in the air for good measure to make sure everything smelled nice.

Once that was done it finally dawned on him that he didn’t have a table. “Good job Barnes,” he scolded himself as he cleared away the last remaining clutter on the trunk that served as his coffee table. It would have to make do.

Bucky opened the package he bought at the store, a harvest themed tablecloth that was entirely too big for the trunk but with a few extra folds he made it look alright. It was an extra touch he hoped you would be happy to see. Checking his phone Bucky began to prepare the food, hoping to time it right for when you were coming by.

“No, no, no,” you cried, passing another bakery that was sold out of pies.

You hadn’t planned this properly. Not one bit. With Bucky preparing dinner you offered to bring the dessert and for some reason you thought making pumpkin pie from scratch would be easy. You were very wrong.

By the time you got home last night you were too exhausted to even look at the recipe. You needed sleep and had no shame in going to bed pretty much right away. The fact that it gets dark before five o’clock definitely helped you justify your early bedtime.

The genius idea you had was to wake up a little early so you could make the pie crust which might have worked out if you hadn’t overslept. Yes, despite the extra sleep you got your body wanted more.

Although you made it to work on time you ruined any shot at trying to snag a pie from any bakery along the way. Now you were headed home, defeated and upset with yourself for ruining Thanksgiving.

You trudged through the hallway, sighing heavily as you stood outside of Bucky’s apartment. Your knuckles rapped against the door, waiting for him to answer. Bucky pulled open the door with a smile that dropped the moment he saw your face.

“Y/N, is everything okay?” His hand came upon your shoulder as he offered comfort.

With another deep sigh you shook your head, “No… well yes.” You reconsidered your words, not wanting to worry him. “I ruined Thanksgiving.”

His mouth opened but Bucky didn’t speak, silently wondering why you think you’ve ruined something that hasn’t happened yet.

“I said I would bring dessert and I wanted to bake but I was too exhausted, so I thought I’d get something from the store but everything was sold out and now I feel like a shitty friend.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the way you pouted so seriously over something as insignificant as dessert.

“Hey, c’mere,” he said, opening his arms. You rested your head against Bucky’s chest wrapping your arms around him as he rubbed circles on your back through your jacket. “You didn’t ruin anything, doll, I promise.”

With a few more reassurances from Bucky you pulled away from his embrace, feeling a little better even if part of you was still disappointed. You told him you would be over in a few minutes, desperate to change your clothes.

Bucky’s door was unlocked and you let yourself in, now wearing a loose sweater and black leggings that would allow you to feel comfortable as you stuffed your face, and casual slip-ons your feet thanked you for. Bucky was equally casual, in a dark grey t-shirt and black jeans so you didn’t feel bad for underdressing.

You stepped inside seeing the coffee table set up in a themed tablecloth and a scented pumpkin candle that smelled delicious as it spread throughout the room.

“Dinner should be ready in a minute or so. Can I get you something to drink?” he asked as you set your bag down beside the couch.

“Wine, I guess?” You weren’t really picky to be honest, happily taking the glass of Pinot Noir as Bucky poured for you and himself.

Bucky barely had a chance to take a sip before the alarm on his phone was going off, his reminder to take the food out of the oven.

“I hope this is okay,” he said, pulling out the sheet pan of turkey breasts surrounded by stuffing, green beans and sweet potatoes.

Your mouth was watering as you inhaled the enticing aroma. “Mmmm it looks delicious. Do you need any help?”

Bucky shook his head, telling you to relax. It was hard, because even though you were still pretty tired from the day you felt like you should be doing more than sipping wine on his couch. You stared at Bucky as he stood in the kitchen, dividing the food amongst two plates.

The muscles of his back were entrancing to watch as they moved beneath his shirt. Dropping your gaze you couldn’t help but stare at the way his jeans hugged his butt.

“You like what you see?”

Bucky’s voice seemingly came out of nowhere as you hadn’t realized he was looking over his shoulder.

“What? No, I’m… tired and stuck in a comfortable stare,” you laughed quickly, masking the awkwardness of definitely getting caught staring at his ass.

Bucky chuckled under his breath. He placed both dishes down, proud of the work he had done. Pressing his lips together Bucky had hope written across his face as he waited for your reaction.

Your hand came up to cover your mouth as you tried to chew fast enough so you could tell him how delicious it was. A smile stretched across his face, happy that he made you happy, and then Bucky began to dig in.

There wasn’t much to watch after deciding to skip over all the football games and sitcom reruns but choosing from Netflix wasn’t much better. There were a dozen cheesy, romantic Christmas movies but neither of you wanted to watch any of those.

“Oh how about this?” Bucky asked as he flashed by Nailed It! Your eyes lit up with delight as you nodded your head. If there was one show that made you feel better about your baking skills it was watching these hilarious disasters.

Bucky had the cutest laugh. The sound itself wasn’t anything out of the ordinary but the way that his whole face lit up while he was laughing. The joy reached his eyes first with crinkles pulling at the corners, his nose scrunched up reminding you of a bunny, and that smile… Bucky had one of the nicest smiles you’d ever seen because it had the power to make your own greater just by looking at it.

You were crying with laughter as the contestants revealed their cakes, each one somehow more horrifying than the last. By the third episode you found yourself comfortably resting your head against Bucky. It was nice to have someone to hang out with like this again especially since Steve had rightfully been spending most of his free time with Peggy.

“I hope you don’t get your baking skills from this show. Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t make pie,” Bucky teased. Your immediate response was to playfully smack his leg. “Ow I’m kidding!”

“It would have been good, a thousand times better than this,” you gestured towards the screen.

Bucky cocked his head to face you. “So let’s make it now.”

Your head shook rejecting his suggestion. “It takes too long. The dough needs to rest for a while after you mix it and I don’t want to eat pie at two in the morning. Not when I have to get up early again.”

With another day off from Stark Industries you’d be spending a full day at the hospital, trying to chip away at all those hours you needed to do.

“It’s still early, we can make something right? Cookies? Is that the same dough?” Bucky asked, because even though you had to be up early he still wanted to spend time with you and he could also go for dessert.

“It’s not exactly the same but I have all the ingredients. Do you want to make cookies?”

Bucky’s stomach rumbled as if on cue making both of you laugh.

Since it was easier to bake in your apartment you helped Bucky clean up the dishes you made in his, feeling it was rude to leave things a mess. Bucky didn’t want you to clean but you at least insisted on rinsing the plates clean and since you were at the sink anyway you ended up washing most of them.

You didn’t see the way Bucky smiled while watching you. This was probably the only time he’s felt comfortable having a woman linger in his apartment. His flings all begged to draw out their time, promising him pancakes or the best eggs and bacon he’s ever had. As hard as they tried, he shut them all down ushering them out quickly but things with you were different. You were friends and closer than he would ever be to any of the random names in his phone.

In your apartment Bucky helped gather the ingredients needed. Counter space and New York didn’t exactly go together, not in your price range, but together you cleared space on your kitchen table and set everything up there.

Bucky ignored his phone that rang as he cracked eggs into the large bowl you were using to mix everything together in. He picked up the bag of chocolate chips pouring a generous amount in the dough, not that you minded; the more chocolate the better!

Together you scooped up balls of dough onto a baking sheet and placed them in the oven.

“Bucky!” You turned to find him swiping his finger through the bowl of raw dough and eating it.

“What?”

“You can’t eat that you’ll get sick!” you protested, taking the bowl away from him and washing it before he could risk his chance of getting E. coli any further.

He sucked his finger into his mouth, smiling, “No one has ever gotten sick from eating raw cookie dough.” His comment had you look back, blinking in silence. “Okay well I’m sure someone has but it’s never happened to me.”

“I want you to enjoy these cookies Bucky, not vomit all over the place.”

He brought over the rest of the bowls that needed to be washed, this time taking over and returning the favor since you washed his dishes. “You mean you wouldn’t take care of me if I got sick?” He pouted, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

“Not a chance,” you said teasingly, unable to hold back your smile.

Checking your phone you pulled out the cookies just in time for them to be crisp and chewy. After letting them cool you let Bucky take the first bite this time, watching as his eyes rolled back as he let a sinful moan slip.

“So fucking good. You’re amazing.”

This isn’t the first time you’d heard similar praise coming from Bucky, and combined with the orgasmic look on his face it made you turn away with embarrassment, now having a visual of what things might be like at night on the side of the wall. You grabbed a cookie to distract your mind, biting into buttery perfection with a massive amount of chocolate thanks to Bucky’s heavy hand.

“Thanks for a great Thanksgiving Bucky. Tonight was awesome,” you said, kissing him on the cheek before wrapping your arms around him.

“You’re welcome Y/N,” he murmured against you, squeezing back a little tighter, both of you now aware of the friendly kiss you had given him.

Bucky left with a dish containing most of the cookies at your insistence. He couldn’t help but eat a few more when he was back in his apartment. Before getting into bed Bucky listened to the voicemail he received earlier.

“Hi James, it’s Mom. We missed you tonight. I don't know why your deadline was on a holiday but I hope you finished everything. I set aside some leftovers in case you wanted to come over tomorrow. Call me back. I love you.”

PART 10

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

Photo

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

> I’m doomed > paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll. > help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End.

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared.

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest.

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth?

It’ll be fine.

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air.

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does.

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot.

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge.

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?”

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter.

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory.

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle.

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?”

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.��

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease.

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face.

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts.

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body.

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl.

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned.

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.”

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room.

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious.

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture.

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue.

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream.

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back.

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing.

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye. Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

#starker #ironspider #high school au #enemies to lovers

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 41

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3.

If you want to talk about books, join my Discord server.

----

Chapter 41

Ron clutched the final envelope in his hand. He didn’t want to open it. What if there was a reason that one had arrived last? What if they’d given him false hope with all of the other parts, and then this was the big letdown?

He was reminded of the time the OWL results had arrived and how sick he’d felt. He’d been convinced he’d failed everything back then, because during every exam, it was as if his mind had gone blank of information, almost as if he was three years old again and didn’t know how to perform a single spell.

But that worked out, he reminded himself. He’d gotten seven OWLs in the end, which was extremely impressive.

And so far, he’d passed every single aptitude test in the three years of his Auror training, including the final ones. It was the theory component that worried him.

He wasn’t good at theory. He couldn’t look at a book and absorb the information. That was Hermione’s area of expertise, and he admired her for it. But… at least he’d remembered some of the stuff this time round.

He’d taken the final tests two weeks prior, and those two weeks of waiting had certainly been the worst of Ron’s life. He’d checked multiple times a day for any Ministry owls making their way through the windows to the point that Hermione had forbidden him from getting the mail. Now it was her job to check it, and if anything arrived, she’d let him know.

It wasn’t helped by the fact that the two week wait had him at home by himself while Hermione worked. There was no more training left, and he couldn’t become a fully licensed Auror until his results were in.

Thankfully, Harry was in the same boat, so Ron had spent most of his time at Grimmauld Place helping Harry prepare to sell the house.

It had been all over the Prophet the moment Harry put it on the market, receiving a lot of interest from people who, Ron was sure, were more interested in coming to see where the Harry Potter lived than buying the actual house.

Who would want to buy a house owned by a Dark wizarding family for most of its existence? Especially one that was unplottable.

Still, Harry was adamant that he couldn’t live there anymore, and he wanted to be done with the whole thing.

“Maybe you should just hold onto it,” Ron had said as they packed up a room used as a storage space for the Blacks and Harry. “Keep it for the future.”

“Can’t anymore, even if I wanted to,” Harry had replied. “I’ve given half the wizarding population the address now. I’m moving.”

Two weeks had passed since that conversation. The two weeks Ron needed to get through in order for the final exam results to arrive. Hermione had left for work at seven that morning, and Ron had Floo’d over almost instantly to see Harry. Together they waited for midday, when the results were due to arrive.

Harry was already tearing into his, scanning the letter. Ron stared at his name on the front. He wished Hermione was here. She would be able to comfort him, probably assure him that he needed to stop being an idiot and that he would do just fine. But she was at work, blissfully unaware of his turmoil.

“Er, I passed!” Harry said, looking at Ron. “How’d you —” He noticed Ron’s unopened letter and rolled his eyes. “Oh, go on. You passed, I know you did.”

Ron swallowed. Harry just didn’t get it. He was probably going to pass even if he’d gotten every question wrong, because he was Harry, and they wanted him in the Aurors. But Ron wasn’t Harry. Neville wasn’t Harry. The rest would have to work for their results.

“You did just fine,” Harry said, almost irritated. “Want me to open it for you?”

“No,” Ron said. “I’ll… do it.” He broke the Ministry seal on the envelope and took out the letter.

This wasn’t like getting his OWLs at all. This was ten times worse. He’d dedicated three years to training, he had no alternative plan if this didn’t work out. What was he supposed to do if he didn’t pass the test?

He slowly unfolded the letter that would seal his fate.

“Oh,” he said.

“What?” Harry asked.

Ron looked up, his whole face burning red.

Harry’s smile faltered a little. “You, er, did —”

“Ninety-five percent,” Ron said.

“What?” Harry asked. “That’s… really good!” He folded up his own letter.

“What did you get?” Ron asked.

“Ninety-four,” Harry said.

“I beat you?” Ron asked, surprised. He’d never beaten Harry at a test before. They’d received identical results often, but Ron had never beaten Harry. And he’d not expected it in Auror training either.

“Was never good at multiple choice questions,” Harry said, shrugging and then smiling. “I guess drinks are in order, then?”

“Yeah, alright,” Ron said, air being let out of his lungs like a balloon.

“Ginny’s idea. She said once we got the remaining results, she’ll organise a celebration.” He paused, his smile turning into a grin suddenly. “Hey! This means we’re fully trained Aurors now. We’re Aurors.”

“It’s all I wanted to do!” Ron said, a grin spreading on his own face as the realisation hit him. He was an Auror. Finally. He’d never really thought it was something he could achieve. It usually required higher marks, Outstanding NEWT results and better wand ability than Ron ever could achieve under normal circumstances.

It had just been a dream, but that dream had just become a reality for him.

He sat down in the armchair, clutching the letter still.

He was an Auror.

“Ginny’ll be home tonight,” Harry said. “This afternoon, actually. Once Hermione finishes work, I think we should go out. Me, Ginny, you and Hermione. Neville, too. We should ask Neville. I’ll send him an owl now to see.”

Ron nodded, still not sure he believed it.

He was an Auror.

Harry vanished into another room to find a quill and some parchment and returned, sitting in an armchair beside Ron.

As he was scribbling the note for Neville, he said, head still down, “Hey, I never actually asked officially.”

“Asked what?” Ron asked, vaguely.

“You’ll be my best man at my wedding, won’t you? We’ve set a date. August twenty-fourth this year.”

Ron came to then. He looked at Harry. “Y-yeah, of course,” he said. “Of course I will. And you’ll, of course, be mine?”

“Would be an honour,” Harry said, folding the note up. “The biggest honour to be at the wedding of my two best friends. You guys set a date yet?”

“No,” Ron said. “We’ve not really discussed it. With all the tests, and then waiting for results… hasn’t been the best time to make any clear-cut decisions about something so important. For me, anyway.” In the six weeks they’d been engaged, he knew Hermione had been going through books, reading up on traditions, considering some places, some dates, looking at wedding dresses, and doing a lot of other things to do with the wedding.

But Ron had been too stressed to think clearly about something that seemed a while away, and then after he’d taken his tests, too nervous about the results to plan.

He wanted to be able to make clear decisions about what would be the most important and special day of his life, and while he awaited the results of his future, he couldn’t.

Hermione had understood and said she’d keep some things aside so they could talk about it when he was ready.

“Well, after today you’ll have more time.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, and some of his shock about becoming an Auror dissipated. Now he could anticipate something much more exciting than test results.

…

“I knew you’d both do it!” Hermione said, giving Harry a hug. She then turned to Ron and kissed him. “I’m so happy and proud of both of you.”

“And those test results are amazing!” Ginny added. “One hundred percent on all your final aptitude tests, and almost one hundred percent on the theory. The pair of you are going to make formidable Aurors. Dark witches and wizards have no chance. I think Tonks told me once that she scored ninety on her theory.”

“Don’t give us a reputation before we’ve started, Gin,” Harry said.

Ginny smiled. “You deserve it.”

“We still need our formal offers into the Auror department,” Ron said. “Can’t start a job when we don’t have one.”

“As if Kingsley wouldn’t offer you actual jobs,” Hermione said. “Apart from being very depleted, he needs people like you.”

Ron thought she was right. Now that they’d passed, Kingsley would be sure to offer them actual jobs. And with that came a decent pay rise, which meant a nicer wedding than before.

“Hey, guys.”

Everyone turned. They were standing out in front of the Three Broomsticks, waiting for Neville to arrive, who’d graciously accepted Harry’s invitation to celebrate with them.

“Hey, Neville,” they all said together.

“How’d you go, mate?” Ron asked.

Neville nodded. “I passed. I did well. Eighty-nine percent on the theory, one hundred percent on two of the aptitude tests, and ninety-seven on the rest.”

“That’s great, Neville,” Hermione said, and she stepped forward to hug him. Ginny did the same. Harry and Ron clapped him on the back.

“We should go in then now that we’re all here,” Ginny said, her hand resting on the entrance to the pub.

“I’m still waiting on… someone,” Neville said suddenly, and under the pale moonlight, Ron saw his cheeks tinge pink.

“Who?” Ron asked.

“... someone,” Neville muttered.

“As in… a date?” Ron pressed. Hermione elbowed him as a warning to not pry.

Neville nodded, his blush deepening.

“Who?” Ron said again. “Is this new?”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded. “Stop being so nosy.”

“A few months,” Neville said quietly.

“Thanks for letting us — your friends — know,” Ron said, but he smiled. “They on their way?”

Neville nodded again. “She’ll be here in a moment.”

Ginny took up a conversation with Hermione about Ginny’s Quidditch team and how she was going, while Ron, Harry and Neville stood in silence.

After a moment, Ron said, “Seriously, who is she? You’ve been seeing someone, Nev?”

“Someone from school,” Neville said. But before he could elaborate, a woman who looked vaguely familiar to Ron approached them, albeit not without a little hesitation.

It took Ron a moment, but he placed her as Hannah Abbott. Ron didn’t think he’d ever spoken to her in his whole time at Hogwarts, though it wasn’t because he had any strong opinions about her. They just… never interacted. Not even during their time in Dumbledore’s Army together.

“Hi, Hannah!” Hermione said before Neville could even introduce them. Of course Hermione would be on more friendly terms with her. She seemed to have spoken to everyone during their time at Hogwarts. “How are you?”

“I’m great, thanks!” Hannah said. “How are you…” She looked around at everyone standing there. “How are you all? Thanks for inviting me.”

“That’s quite alright,” Ginny said before anyone could share an uncomfortable look that they actually hadn’t invited her. Until a moment ago, they hadn’t even known she was coming. But, to be fair, if they had known Neville was seeing her, she would have been invited.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” Ginny then said. “I had a table reserved as there’s a few of us and it’s become a popular night time spot for more than just the creeps of Hogsmeade. Sorry, Hannah, I organised this a while back and Neville only told us today you were coming. I’m sure an extra chair won’t be a bother.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said.

“Just over there,” Rosmerta said when she spotted them. She pointed to a table at the back in a corner that was out of the way of everyone else.

“Do you have a spare chair, Rosmerta?” Ginny asked.

“If you can find one,” Rosmerta said, waving a hand in the general direction of other tables, clearly distracted by her customers.

“You seem awfully friendly with her,” Ron said as he picked up a vacant chair and carried it over to their table.

“The Harpies like to come here after a game sometimes,” Ginny said. “Would anyone like a Butterbeer? Firewhisky? I’ll get them.”

While Ginny disappeared to get the drinks, everyone else arranged themselves around the table. It was a little squishy, but they all somehow fit. Ron found himself squished into the corner of the booth with Hermione (which he didn’t mind one bit).

“It’s nice of you guys to organise something,” Neville said. “And to invite me.”

“You’ve been through the three years with us, Nev,” Ron said. “You’re always invited.”

Neville flushed with pleasure, and Ron felt a wave of affection for him.

“How are you going, Hannah?” Hermione said, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. Ron shifted to give them a little more room and placed his arm around her waist. “I heard that you’re at St Mungo’s?”

How she knew that, Ron had no idea, but that was one of the many things he loved about Hermione. She knew everything.

“Yes, there’s a few from our year who’re doing Healing too,” Hannah said. “Seamus Finnigan… you probably know that, he said he’s still in contact with all of you. And Padma Patil.”

“Yes, I heard she was, too,” Hermione said.

“How is it?” Harry asked. “Healing, I mean?”

“Oh, I love it,” Hannah said. “It’s so rewarding. Tiring, but still rewarding. I’m working in the long-term resident ward. Do you remember Professor Lockhart? He’s still there!”

No one said anything to that. Ron assumed the others were of the same mind as he was — they had seen him there a few years ago, still as mad as ever. Thankfully, Ginny chose that moment to return with the drinks, so no one had to. She had two in her hands, and was levitating the others with her wand. She slid into the booth next to Harry.

“Have you and Neville been in contact all this time?” Ginny asked, looking at Hannah.

“Oh, no,” Hannah said, and she laughed slightly. “Through Seamus, really. We went out one evening after a rough day — me, Seamus and Padma — and he invited Neville and Dean along too. We got talking, reminiscing on a lot of Herbology lessons, and we kind of just clicked.”

Neville flushed, but Ron saw a smile hidden within his red face.

“That’s so good,” Ginny said, grinning at Neville. “What a nice story.”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, also smiling. She then looked at the others with more focus. “And Neville told me about you all getting married.” Her eyes flicked to Harry and Ginny first. “Congratulations.” She then looked to Ron and Hermione. “And to you two as well. Such lovely news. Have you set any dates?”

“We have,” Ginny said. “When we send an invitation out, we’ll be sure to send yours with Neville’s. Guests are welcome, of course, we’re just putting secrecy charms on the invitations to stop any unwelcome guests showing up.”

By unwelcome guests, Ron knew she meant the media. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley would be a wedding that gossip magazines and the Prophet would love to get a story on. High profile weddings such as theirs were not a common thing in the wizarding world.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Neville said, sounding impressed.

“Yeah,” Ginny said. “It sounds mean, but… we just want family and friends there, not snooping journalists trying to get in. So all stuff will be revealed on the invitation and once people read it, they’ll not be able to speak any of it out loud.”

“That’s a bit insulting to your brother, don’t you think?” Ron asked her. “You don’t trust even me?”

“Knowing you and your big mouth, you’ll let it slip by accident somewhere,” Ginny said, and Harry and Neville chuckled.

Ron scowled at both of them and sunk back into the booth.

“Well, we aren’t telling you ours either,” he said, knowing he was pouting.

“Because you don’t have one,” Ginny said.

Ron shot her a glaring look, to which she only rolled her eyes. “By the time you bother to even choose a date, people will have forgotten you’re even engaged. You are the definition of taking things slow.”

Everyone bar Hannah nodded in agreement, including Hermione. Ron looked at her.

“It doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing,” she said kindly.

Ron folded his arms across his chest, leaning on the table again. He said nothing more on the subject.

The evening ended up being a pleasant one, the conversation going on until near midnight. Hannah, who Ron had always considered rather quiet, talked a lot and asked lots of questions about everything.

“Are you really selling your godfather’s house, Harry?”

“Why did you choose to live in Nottingham? That’s where I grew up. I live in London now.”

“How do you think the Harpies will fare against the Magpies next week, Ginny? My brother supports the Magpies.”

She was nice, though, and if Neville wasn’t Neville, who acted shy in many social situations, Ron would have thought he was quite pleased with himself.

“When do you think we’ll be able to start our actual jobs as Aurors?” Ron asked as the clock now ticked past midnight. There were still a few people left in the pub. Though, the later it got, the shadier the people became.

“I’d think very soon,” Hermione said. “They need more Aurors, and now that all the first lot of trainees since the war have finished, I’m sure Kingsley will want you all in as soon as possible. You probably all know what you’re doing more than half the Aurors already there anyway.”

“Flattering, Hermione,” Harry said with a tired smile.

“The truth,” she said firmly.

Hannah stifled a yawn, and truthfully, Ron didn’t blame her. He’d enjoyed the night, but he was starting to think about his bed more than the people he was spending time with.

Ginny and Hannah were still chatting when he fell into a peaceful stupor that had his mind wandering to what was to come for him. Starting a real job, getting married…

He was startled when he felt a hand on his leg. He turned to see Hermione smiling at him. “Do you want to go?”

“Do you?” he asked. “If you want to stay, we can stay. I’ll just… nap in the booth.”

“I haven’t even been home,” Hermione said. “Only to change from work clothes. I think we’re all going anyway.”

Ron looked around to see everyone else grabbing coats, getting to their feet as the conversation died down. Ron took Hermione’s hand as they all exited the pub.

“I don’t know how many times I went there in school,” Hannah said. “But now that we’re out, we mostly go to the Leaky Cauldron. My great uncle is the owner there.”

“Tom’s your uncle?” Hermione asked.

“Great uncle,” Hannah said with a nod.

“I never knew,” Hermione replied.

“Yeah, it doesn’t always come up in conversation.”

They were standing outside now. The temperature had significantly dropped while they’d been inside. Now that he was on his feet, Ron could feel the four Butterbeers and two Firewhiskys he’d drank going through him. No wonder he’d been falling asleep inside.

“Thanks for inviting me again,” Hannah said brightly. “I had fun.”

“It was nice to meet you,” Ginny said. She then looked between Harry, Ron and Hermione. “Or see you again.”

Neville and Hannah left, heading up the main street of Hogsmeade hand-in-hand.

“How nice.” Hermione sighed. “I’m happy for them.”

“Neville with a girlfriend is… strange,” Ron mused, watching their disappearing figures step into the night. He gripped Hermione’s hand tighter, then dug into his pocket to retrieve his wand.

Hermione’s hand covered it.

“Maybe I’ll Disapparate?” she suggested. “I don’t want any unnecessary Splinchings.”

Ron hesitated for a moment, trying to count how many drinks he’d seen her have but couldn’t recall. His brain was a little foggy on the details.

He didn’t even feel drunk, just… heavy-headed.

“Yeah, alright,” he said and stowed his wand back into his pocket.

“You’ll be at the Burrow tomorrow night?” Ginny asked.

“I guess?” Hermione said, sounding confused. “Is there a special reason?”

“Nope, Mum just asked me to ask you. I think she’s a bit upset over the fact that we all only seem to come over for ‘special occasions’ these days. You know, with us having jobs, our own homes, and all that. Kids, for some of us.”

“We’ll be there then,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, count us in,” Ron added, only realising since Ginny had said it that his presence at the Burrow really had dropped off in the last three months or so. They still visited, of course, but he’d spent more time at Grimmauld Place than he did there.

The flat had been comfortable, but it had never been ‘home.’ To a point, the Burrow had still felt like home to him while he and Hermione navigated apartment living. But the Nottingham house had changed his perspective. That was home now, and he felt the same warmth he’d always felt at the Burrow every time he set foot in his house.

There was just so much potential there, so many things that felt right about living there, and so many things he could envision for the future.

“Great, see you tomorrow night then.” Ginny beamed at both of them, and then she and Harry Disapparated from right in front of them.

Ron flinched at the sound, his hearing suddenly oversensitive.

“Come on,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand tightly and taking out her wand with her free one. “Let’s go to bed. I’m so tired.”

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