#i need someone to listen to me ramble about my script and shifting

[charming-charlie]

The Compliment Game

Title // The Compliment Game

Pairing // Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings // Light amount of cussing. Some cute fluff and a bit of spice at the end.

Summary // Buck poses as your fake boyfriend at a friend’s birthday party.

Word Count // 3k

You stared at the invitation before you, trying to hold back a laugh. Having just got the mail, you found a pink envelope mixed in with your bills. The envelope had elegant script and for a moment, you thought you were invited to a wedding. Upon opening the envelope and pulling out the card, your suspicions still stood in place. Glitter fell to the floor and the invitation was written in such a beautiful script, except it was not for a wedding at all. It was for a birthday party. Your childhood friend Viola’s birthday party.

The invitation included a dress code, which basically stated prom attire. Yeah, fat chance of that happening. There was also a list on the back of the invitation with appropriate albeit expensive gifts to buy for the birthday girl. Cool, so money it is!

The invite was definitely in line with Viola’s personality. The two of you were supposedly childhood best friends, and as you grew up, you realized that Viola was a bit of an embellisher. She told the most insane stories, some you knew to be completely fake since you were there when certain events happened. It was like she always had this need to one up everyone she met.

The two of you barely talk now since you distanced yourself from her, but honestly, she was still your friend. However, since Viola liked to embellish, who says you couldn’t either? Why not one up the birthday girl at her own birthday? Maybe she needed a healthy dose of her own medicine.

The wheels were turning as you grabbed your phone and scrolled through your contacts before landing on Evan Buckley’s name. He was, in all honestly, the hottest man you knew. While he was only a recent friend, he was the best option for what you had in mind.

You called him, hearing the phone ring a few times.

“What a coincidence,” Buck said when he answered the phone, “I was just talking about you.”

You were surprised that you were on his mind, especially in the middle of the day. You were sure he was at work too, which only seemed to excite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey,” you said, unable to hide your growing smile, “I got an invite to a birthday party. Want to go with me as my fake boyfriend?”

“Whoa,” you heard Buck say on the other line and you could just sense the confused expression he had on his face, “wait, what?”

You stared at the invitation, knowing full well that this would be the perfect event to have a little fun and maybe put Viola in her place. However, you took what few precious minutes you had on the phone with Buck to explain everything. You talked about your friendship with your friend, and how she just continued to make up her entire life story in order to appear interesting. It was either that or for attention, you weren’t sure which one.

“Basically, I just want to show off the hottest guy I know, so are you in or what?” you finished. You were out of breath from rambling quickly to share your story. You never knew when the alarm bell was going to go off because of a fire or something.

“And you thought of me? I’m touched. Sure, I’ll do it. But you owe me a beer,” Buck said. You could practically hear him grinning on the other side of the phone. “I’ll pick you up after my shift. Say, eight?”

You agreed and the two of you hung up.

This was perfect. Now the party would be very interesting. Who knew what was going to happen?

The hours ticked by and you were dressed. You texted Buck your address and waited for him to show up. He knocked on the door and you truly felt giddy and nearly pranced to the door in excitement. You weren’t looking forward to the party at first, but spending time with Buck? That was clearly a game changer.

Having relayed the dress code to the firefighter beforehand, you were in awe of his outfit choice. Buck was sporting a casual black suit. It wasn’t the fanciest of outfits but that didn’t matter. He looked like a stunner. It was nice seeing him out of his usual fire uniform or regular t-shirts. You could tell he put effort into his appearance for the night.

You, on the other hand, took a page right out of Princess Diana’s playbook. You wore a black dress, your favorite LBD, with some strappy heels. It was your own revenge dress, and you knew it wouldn’t exactly fit in line with the dress code of the night, but did you really care?

You were only going to support your childhood friend and nothing else. You had a card for her with some cash and that was it. You were going to make nice and leave when the cake was cut. That was called being a good friend, you at least showed up to the events you were invited to.

Viola’s parents owned a ranch and she lived in a house on her parent’s property. The drive was smooth, with you and Buck jamming to 80’s tunes and timing the red lights. He was such a charmer, just like he was the day you met him.

There were a few cars when you arrived, and Buck easily parked along the rocky path. Both of you got out and made your way to the front door. Being polite, you knocked.

The door opened instantly, almost like someone was literally waiting on the other side.

Viola appeared and your eyes almost popped out of your head. Apparently the “elegant prom” theme was still ongoing, since she wore a floor-length white gown. It looked like a cross between a prom dress and a wedding dress. Your eyes caught Buck’s, who was standing next to you. He looked horrified. Perhaps he was just now realizing your over exaggerations were not over exaggerations.

His mouth fell to the floor, not from awe, but from shock. The birthday girl cascaded along the floor. Her hair was done up in an elaborate bun and she wore a crown. Not a cute little tiara, but a full blown one thousand gems kind of crown. The kind of crown that was obviously from a costume store, since you knew Viola wasn’t fabulously wealthy like she pretended to be and there was no way she would be able to afford the same jewels as Queen Elizabeth.

“Oh, who is this?” Viola asked you when she saw Buck. No hello. No how are you. She just immediately noticed the eye candy on your arm with absolutely no regard for you, her supposed best friend.

You had to give the firefighter some credit. He cleaned up very well. He sported a business casual suit, not at all falling in line with whatever prom theme that was happening. Then again, you did not either with your little black dress.

“This is Evan Buckley,” you said, trying to put on the best sincere smile that you could muster, “my boyfriend. Happy birthday, Viola.”

Your best friend (although, let us be honest, that is a bit of a stretch at this point), did not seem convinced nor did she thank you for the nice birthday message. Instead, she turned her sights onto the man next to you, and you felt a small hole in your heart forming. If Viola went after Buck… it would not be pretty.

“Boyfriend, huh? What do you do?” Viola asked as she extended out a hand, and you cringed when you saw the white corsage that sat on her wrist.

Buck, being as polite as ever, shook her hand and kept his smile. “I’m a firefighter with the LAFD.”

“What a coincidence!” Viola said with a smile, “My boyfriend works for the LAPD. Maybe you know each other.”

Buck was catching on and there was a sort of twinkle in his eyes as he looked at the birthday girl. “I have friends in the LAPD. What’s his name? Maybe I know him.”

The fact that Buck was pressing for more information caught Viola off guard. She acted busy, acted like someone was calling her name, but you didn’t hear anyone. “Oh, that’s for me. I’ll talk to you guys later, yeah?” she sauntered off quickly, almost like she was rushing away as fast as she could so that you didn’t have a chance to call her back.

Buck turned to look at you with a quizzical expression as if to say, what the hell was that? You only shrugged your shoulders and whispered that Viola doesn’t have a boyfriend, ending the statement with a blatantly obvious eye roll.

The two of you made your way into the house where the party was in swing. No one else looked like Viola, no one else sported fancy gowns or black tie suits. In fact, a few of the party guests were wearing jeans. That must’ve been a highlight in the tea drinking gossip Viola was probably spewing in the corner with some other friends. Is it time to leave yet?

You led Buck outside to the fenced in backyard. There were a few guests here and there, but it wasn’t a massive turnout. Both of you sat on a wrought iron garden bench, away from most of the crowd. It was kind of nice to be there at the party but not really participating or engaging in small talk with the other guests.

“You know,” Buck broke the silence with a smile, “being your fake boyfriend is a lot of work.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to look at him, returning the smile. “You only agreed once I said you were the hottest person I know.”

“Listen, that’s a compliment I don’t hear often,” Buck sat back along the bench, keeping his eyes on you.

“Should I keep them coming?” you asked, and it surprised you that there was a little bit of a tease to your voice. You never noticed that before.

“How about this? You compliment me, I compliment you. I feel that is only fair,” Buck responded.

It took a moment for you to forget that you were actually at a birthday party for someone else. In this moment, on this bench, everything around you seemed to fade into the background.

“I like your suit.”

“I like your dress.”

Okay, starting out kind of simple here but it did make you smile. You thought you wore the dress to impress Viola. Maybe you wore the dress to impress him? Did your subconscious plan that?

“You are very good at your job,” you responded.

His eyes were alight and there was that twinkle again. You could stare into his eyes forever, they were stunning, just like everything else about him.

“Not exactly a compliment, you haven’t seen what I can do,” Buck said with a smirk. That was when he pulled the move. The fake-stretch put-an-arm-around-you move. What in the fresh hell was that? Because, and this is what shocked you the most, it actually worked on you.

“You’re beautiful,” Buck said.

Fuck, he won the compliment game. Your face flushed, fast and hard, creeping down to your neck and down your spine. You had to look away from him, and you heard him laugh when you did.

You didn’t get to enjoy the moment for long because you heard Viola approaching the two of you, with some minions behind her. You looked at her. Her white dress was absolutely blinding in the fading sunlight and you squinted just to see straight.

Buck stood up to greet her and you did the same, smiling politely at her.

“Sorry about that. Being the birthday girl means never ending attention. Anyway, Y/N didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend. How did you two meet?” Viola said. There was a sudden look in her eyes, and you knew. You knew she was catching on, pulling on loose threads to see what would unravel.

You felt Buck slip his hand in your own and he didn’t miss a beat. “Y/N locked her keys in her car. I just happened to be driving by.”

That was the truth. That was literally how the two of you met. If fate were a thing, you would swear that was how you guys met, through some act of divine fate. But you remained quiet.

“Forgive me, but I’m having a hard time believing this. If you are really Y/N’s boyfriend, then kiss her,” Viola said. She seemed to be smirking, like she trapped you and Buck in a corner, like it was a big reveal that your relationship with Buck was fake.

Buck inhaled deeply, like he needed to calm down a bit. His hand gripped yours tightly, but you could feel that it was tensing up. Thank god for that, because you didn’t know how he would react if you didn’t keep him grounded and firmly planted next to you.

“Y/N,” Buck said, and your head snapped to his attention. He was looking at you. Once your eyes fell into his line of sight, he swooped in. His free hand went to the side of your face, caressing the soft skin of your cheek. His lips landed on yours, moving delicately, gently. You were not in control of your body as you felt yourself pushing into Buck’s muscular physique. When he pulled away, your lips quite literally pulled down into a frown. You didn’t want the kiss to end, and it showed.

Once the environment came back into view and you were aware of your surroundings, you quickly fixed your expression and turned to look at Viola, who looked slumped and defeated in her white gown. Perhaps she truly felt she was going to win the game you and Buck were playing, and she wasn’t prepared for the outcome.

“Is that enough proof or do you need more?” Buck quickly looked at Viola, and he didn’t look very happy. Viola got the hint. She disappeared as fast as she arrived, with her entourage scattering in different directions. Once she and her friends were gone, Buck turned to you and said, “I don’t like that girl.”

You were still in a bit of a fog from the kiss, and you could feel your lips tingling for more. The sensation would not go away.

Eventually, much to your chagrin, it hit you. The moment was over, you proved your point. No need in keeping things going. You did your job, made your appearance with a devilishly delicious man on your arm, and now you can go home and leave Buck alone. He probably was not thrilled with the outcome of events, given the look on his face.

“I think it’s time to put an end to the fake boyfriend thing,” you said with a frown as you looked at him.

There was something new to his expression, an unconvinced look as he shook his head. “Maybe I want to be the real thing someday.”

Was this playful banter or was he serious?

“That would require going on a real date,” you said. You grabbed him by the arm, keeping up with appearances as the two of you walked to the gate in the fence. You unlatched the opening and watched the gate swing open.

“So ask me.”

You stared at him in confusion as the two of you slowly walked toward the car. It was starting to get interesting again.

“Ask you what?” you replied.

“Ask me out,” he said suddenly, not missing a moment.

Your heart was erratic at this point, and you let go of his arm now that the two of you were away from the party.

“Dearest Evan Buckley, would you do me the absolute pleasure of going on a date with me?” you said sarcastically.

He wasn’t playing games anymore. Without a warning, he had you pinned against the car, leaving very little wiggle room. Your body pressed along the passenger side door, and you felt his hands rub against your waist. You were facing him, and you wished you weren’t. Looking at that incredibly handsome face was becoming a weakness. Your knees shook as you tried to steady yourself.

He leaned in and whispered in a soft voice. “Try again.”

You felt his hot breath against your ear as he kissed the sensitive spot under your earlobe. An explosion of tingles erupted throughout your body as his lips brushed against your weak spot.

“What are you doing?” you asked quietly. Any louder and you were afraid how shaky and trembling your voice would sound. First, he won the compliment game, now he was winning whatever this was.

“Ask again,” Buck whispered in your ear.

One of your arms ran up his, and fuck, that was a mistake. The bulging muscles were almost too much for you to bare.

“Will you go out with me?” you whispered.

You felt his lips leave a trail from your neck, across your jawline, ending with a sweet peck against your lips as he smiled.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said as he opened the car door behind you, “Let’s go get that beer.”

It was easy to slide into the car since you were already a puddle of goo. Your whole body was on fire just from his touch. Buck walked around the car and entered the driver’s side. He turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. His hand reached for yours and you accepted it instantly.

How in the world did the evening turn out like this? And where in the world was it going to go? You could only wonder as Buck began driving. Inviting him to a party as your fake boyfriend was the best decision you ever made, and you couldn’t wait to see what else was in store tonight.

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley x you #Buck #buck x reader #buck x you #9-1-1 #9-1-1 on fox #9-1-1 fic #oliver stark

[whoacanada]

‘Wishful Thinking‘

Summary: Every NHL champion gets a single brush with ice magic. When Jack takes his first cup with the Falconers, he accidentally undoes the wish that brought him back from the brink of death in 2009, and Bitty becomes hell-bent on lifting the cup himself for a chance to set things right.

A/N: Finally posting some concepts I’ve played around with that aren’t 100% complete massive fics, but still pretty solid, just little things that might be enjoyed. Yet another cup-wish-gone-wrong-au with monkey-paw components. Also inspired by discord convos about canon!Jack meeting an older, veteran NHL!Bitty and having a lot of feelings. Also mentor/father-in-law!Bob trying to help Bitty navigate the NHL. There’s more to this floating around but this is the meat of it

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Bob can sense when it happens. A shift of something monumental that he’s only felt on a handful of occasions his entire life. A quick glance across the ice finds a number of the celebrating Falconers looking around curiously, unsure of the sensation; for so many, it’s their first brush with ice magic. A pleasant novelty. The vets, though, they look to each other.

Bob turns and doesn’t have to look far to find his son, one hand clasped around the cup, the other around Eric Bittle’s waist, smiling from ear to ear. Something about the moment is wrong, but Bob can’t quite determine why as he’s overcome with a wave of nausea. The stadium lights are too bright and he blinks hard, face scrunching, trying to force whatever wrongness he’s feeling out of himself.

Someone’s made a wish.

The moment passes. Bob’s vision clears. There, veiled in a shower of blue and gold confetti, is Eric; alone at center ice, face twisted in confusion as he looks around for the man who only moments earlier had been in his arms.

“You take the cup, you get one real wish,” the decades old, bourbon-lacquered voice of his first coach reminds him. “But only the one. Can be something small, like an empty cab in the rain, or it can be something big. World changing, even. The one thing, the most important thing — ”

“No,” Bob breathes. “Please, no.”

“— You never use your wish on another player.”

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They don’t know exactly what Jack wished for, but the next time Bitty’s blades touch the ice, it’s as if he’s stepped into the body of a new man. No more slurs. No more targeted chirps. He’s just one of the boys.

He plays. He wins. Then, the offers start to come.

NHL teams looking for fast wingers, team players, leadership material; not one of them mentions diversity, or Eric’s status as the first out NCAA hockey captain. No one cares. No one remembers Jack, and no one cares about Eric.

The best and worst case scenarios rolled into one. If this is the reality Jack unknowingly traded his existence for, Bitty has no choice but to walk through the door his partner opened.

Bitty swallows, trying to force the words out on one of his now nightly calls with the man who would have been his father-in-law in another world, if the shared connection between them hadn’t been interred in a Montréal cemetery almost a decade prior.

“I think . . . I think he wished for acceptance.”

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“No one remembers anymore.”

Eric scuffs his skate against this ice, building up a small pile of shavings before scattering them again, focusing on the soft white as if somehow he’ll be able to transport himself bodily to somewhere cool and quiet. Jackson Hole. Banff. Tremblant. Anywhere but here. Anywhen but now.

“Saw Tater last week at a press junket. Blank stares all around. Some days, most days, I wake up and I don’t know how I got here. I can go without thinking of him.”

Weeks. Eric doesn’t say aloud. Months. Those hideous mornings when he wakes up beside a warm body and forgets they aren’t him. They aren’t supposed to be him. Was there ever even a him.

Jack. Eric mouths silently, just to remind himself. His name is Jack.

The details always slip. The universe constantly trying to correct the fallacy of Eric Bittle remembering a man who died before they technically ever met. Faded photographs and corrupted memory cards. Selfies that used to have two people in frame. Vlog posts with cosmic ADR, swapping Jack’s name for someone else’s like a hastily rewritten script. Eventually, even Eric’s memories turn traitor. First times lost to reshoots and post-production magic. Blue eyes are brown. Black hair is blonde. Jack becomes Phillip. Eric’s first love recast. In desperation, he pulls a page from Memento, finds a tattoo parlor and has ‘Jack Laurent Zimmermann’ inked in dark, unmistakable letters on his inner thigh. Adds a cup, the Falconers’ crest, and the date they lost everything. It works well enough until the name fades; there are still days where a hook up will ask why Eric has a championship tattoo for a team he never played with.

Now, all he has is Bob.

“That’s why I’m here.” Bob reminds. “That’s why we talk.”

“But what happens if we don’t.”

Bob’s familiar assurances rumble through the phone. Constant. Refusing to acknowledge the harsh realities of the passing of time. The ever-present doomsday clock moving them both toward disaster — Bob aging, Eric aging out. He’s good, but he isn’t great, and the only offers coming his way are single-season contracts with teams that haven’t sniffed a championship in years. One day very soon, there will be no more chances for Eric to undo what’s been done. No more favors to ask of teammates that have long since forgotten a world where Jack Zimmermann was a college graduate and a rookie MVP. Not just an addict. Not just dead at nineteen.

Eric listens to Bob ramble, asks him to tell him a story, to tell him about the Jack that Eric never really got to know. The Jack he can barely remember. A man that Eric has dedicated his entire life to honoring, to bringing back — from where he cannot fathom — and Bob obliges in a soft tone Eric imagines is not dissimilar from how he must have spoken to his son as a child.

Eric ignores his teammates rushing around him — tossing chirps and gentle insults about his ‘Sugar Daddy’ — and focuses on the accented voice in his ear; grasping desperately at the memory of a man who doesn’t exist. Pretending. Hoping.

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Across the ice, Eric sees Kent Parson watching him. When they lock eyes, the aging star glides toward him, under a guise of one amicable captain greeting another. He’s pushing 37, and while the years of competitive play are starting to show, he’s just as viciously handsome as the day they first met. At least, Eric thinks he is. He can’t imagine a life where Kent Parson strolled onto a college campus and played beer pong at a frat party, but there’s a folder of old photos on Eric’s computer. Jack is in none of them, but there’s one of himself and Kent. Smiling.

Eric can’t recall why the image bothers him so much.

Parson used his wish years ago on something that he’s never bothered to share — and Eric’s far too much a gentleman to ask a man who was once a rival what he wasted his golden ticket on — but now, he’s slowing down, and this is supposed to be his farewell season. Going out with a bang, riding the high of his fifth cup win. He’s worked hard, and he deserves to shove the Penguins back down into obscurity for another season. Deserves it far more than Eric, with his selfish, single-mindedness that’s ruined god knows how many careers in the last decade between his own ruthlessness and Bob’s meddling.

Except. . . this is also likely Eric’s last season. His last chance to undo the great tragedy of his life, and Parson knows it.

“How you feeling, Peaches? You ready?”

Eric hates the nickname in the same way he hates when his father calls him ‘Champ’.

Eric fights his own shame because he wants to be honest, say, ‘No, I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready,’ but Eric can’t ask for what he wants, anymore. He wants the Aces to balk on a power play. He wants Parson to flub a pass and throw the game —  he even knows the man would probably do it, too — but Eric needs to come by a win honestly. They learned the hard way in 2022 when Eric hands were wrapped around the cup, wishing, praying, crying, pleading . . .

Clear eyes, full hearts, or some such bullshit.

Cheaters don’t get wishes.

“I can’t remember, anymore,” Eric admits as they square up across the face-off circle, the resigned terror of an inescapable end creeping upon him like the burn of an old injury ignored for far too long. “Kent. Please.” Parson leans down, rests his stick against the ice, and holds Eric’s gaze as if to say, I’m here. Trust me. Just play.

The puck drops.

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There’s someone watching him, young, handsome with dark hair and the kind of bright blue eyes that scream ‘notice me’ with all of the biological bluntness of neon plumage and a mating dance. The man weaves through the crowd, unnoticed by Eric’s teammates, and comes close enough that Eric can’t help but assume familiarity. He must be a fan, the way he’s flushed and excitable.

Eric’s drunk enough on the moment that he’s happy to indulge his baser instincts. He also literally can’t remember the last time he brought company home and if there’s ever been a night to get laid, it’s this one.

“Crisse, look at you, Bits.”

The man is caught between being awestruck and simply struck, reaching out to touch Eric’s arm but not quite making contact, like his depth perception is the tiniest bit off. He drops Eric’s old nickname so easily, so earnestly, that for a moment Eric thinks they might already know each other — but that’s impossible. Eric would remember someone so handsome, so very much his type.

“Only my friends call me ‘Bitty’.” Eric cautions, raising his half-empty champagne bottle in a mock toast and flashing his best ‘you’re coming home with me tonight’ smile. “But I’m more than happy to to get acquainted with you, Sugar.”

Eric isn’t usually this forward, this unrestrained. Tonight, it doesn’t matter, he’s celebrating: another championship, the end of a career, a life well lived. It’s to be expected. What isn’t expected is how the man’s relieved smile falters; as if Eric’s unbridled joy is somehow misplaced.

“Bitty? It’s me.”

“And ‘me’ is called . . . ?”

On very few occasions in Eric’s life has he been able to witness true devastation first-hand; and those instances were related to deaths, hockey losses, or blackout morning afters.

“Jack.” The man says softly, face slack with surprise. “It’s. . . Jack. Bitty, you know me.”

“If we’ve met before, I’m sorry,” Eric apologizes, hating to see the kid look so defeated. “I meet so many people — ”

Over Jack’s shoulder, Eric catches sight of Bob Zimmermann and waves, delighting in the way Bob’s face lights up when he catches sight of Eric, practically going supernova when he notices Jack as well, crossing the ice like a man possessed; Bob moves to pull them both into a hug but Eric’s new friend holds up a defensive hand and Bob stops mid-gesture.

It’s extremely apparent something is off, and between the reporters, the confetti, the champagne, and the fans, Eric is missing all of the context clues.

“Just won my last cup,” Eric singsongs, gesturing with the bottle between his mentor and the man Eric would very much like to fuck — who look very similar now that Eric can see them side by side. “Everyone’s super excited, right? Yeah? So, what’s going on. Did someone die?”

“No.” Bob says quickly, eyes flicking between Jack and Eric warily. “No. Not . . . that.”

“Severely injured?”

“. . . Non.”

“Okay, then, we should be celebrating!” Eric throws his arms wide and nearly clocks a passing teammate. “No more party pooping, Bobbert. Speaking, this is my new friend, Jack. Jack, Bob, Bob, Jack. Though, I’m getting the feeling you two might know each other. Or might be . . . related.” Eric gasps and smacks his free palm against his forehead. “Oh my god, the Tremblant retreat? Is that where I know you from? Listen, I was fucked up on pain meds that whole weekend, I am so sorry if we’ve already met.”

Despite Eric’s continued attempts at clarifying their shared mystery past, Jack keeps looking at Bob with that same wounded expression and it’s really killing Eric’s buzz.

“Bob.” Eric redirects. “Help me, here. Cutie’s nervous.”

“Eric, this is my, ah, well,” Bob’s smile is so forced, so tense, it looks more like a grimace. “Well, this is my son, Jack.”

There is only one ‘Jack’ Eric has ever known in relation to Bob Zimmermann, and he is not someone to be mentioned in polite conversation.

“Your son?” Eric echoes slowly. “Your son, Jack.”

Bob realizes what Eric’s tiptoeing around and casts a furtive glance toward the younger man, lifting two fingers to his cheek conspiratorially to imply ‘it’s a long story, not meant for public ears’. Eric knows how to play along.

“Wow, okay, did not expect that, but now that you’re saying it, I can one-hundred-percent tell. You have the same, well, everything.”

Eric takes Jack’s hand for an obligatory shake, not missing the way Jack’s features twist up into something caught between flattery and misery, before staring down his pseudo-mentor.

“My question is this, where have you’ve been hiding him — because how long have I know you, Bobby? Shame.”

“I’ve been . . . away.”

Jack’s tone is weighted with context Eric absolutely does not possess, but can definitely read into. Given the age difference and Alicia’s conspicuous lack of attendance this evening, Jack’s definitely a love child from some 90s Zimmergroupie. Or, original Jack didn’t actually OD and Bob spirited away his kid to keep away the prying eyes of the public; but that wouldn’t explain the age difference or the shared name.

Oh, Bobbert.

“Couldn’t wheel him out too soon,” Bob jokes, but Eric can tell the man’s heart isn’t in it, reinforcing Eric’s suspicion.

“Well, I’m happy you did,” Eric says graciously, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “He’s very handsome, when he isn’t doing this Eeyore impression.”

“Just like his father,” Bob says reflexively —  defensively —  as Jack goes pink. “Eric, will you excuse us for a moment? Back in five minutes, tops.”

Eric offers a gracious wave, gaze lingering on Jack’s retreating back — and backside, bless — watching Bob rest a firm hand on his son’s neck, gripping tightly to lean in and furiously whisper something. As Eric watches, Jack looks back over his shoulder; it’s not the fond glance of a potential paramour. Regret, maybe? Grief, definitely.

He must be as disappointed to be cock-blocked by his father as Eric is.

Across the ice, Kent Parson has rushed Jack, gathering him into a crushing embrace that the younger man returns easily —  burying his face against Parson’s pads; pulling back only when Parson grabs Jack’s shoulders to push him away, taking a long look at him, holding his face between his hands briefly before pulling Jack back into his arms.

They don’t just look like old friends, it’s a reunion of desperation, like the videos his mother sends of soldiers coming home from war, but before Eric can think better of it, a teammate fists a hand in the collar of Eric’s sweater and pulls — away from Bob’s forlorn love child and forgotten first meetings — and the night goes on.  

Bob doesn’t return. Neither does Jack.

Eric doesn’t even notice.

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#Part I #maybe? #zimbits #omgcp #angst #long fic #cup magic #ice magic #my stuff #my fic #NHL!Bitty

[starsoddity]

ADHD NEIL PERRY HEADCANONS (that are TOTALLY canon)

[DISCLAIMER: everyone experiences adhd differently, so this is mainly based off my own experience :)]

once he hears about midsummer, he develops a full hyperfixation on it within an hour.

He scours the school library to try find a copy of shakespeare's comedies so he can read the script (before he even goes to the audition), and when he can't find it he goes to keating, who gladly gives him an old battered copy. He says if Neil has any questions, or wants to talk about it at all just to visit he can. Neil does. a lot. He starts staying back after every class he can, and sometimes gets there early when he doesnt lose track of time and forget.

speaking of losing track of time,, it's like he needs a baby sitter wherever he goes otherwise he will forget he exists and end up lying face down on the floor for three hours (todd has found him laying on his bed upside down so his whole torso is hanging off the side with a blank expression before. ("... watcha doing?" "i'm planning the conversation i'm gonna have when i meet james dean when we're in a movie together" "... ok, well how's it going?" "toddy, james dean is gonna think i'm a moron")

charlie has learnt to pick up on when Neil starts to feel overwhelmed because he starts to hold his breath and shift in his seat every few seconds. He doesn't really know what's going on, but he knows that giving him one thing to focus on helps

so every time it happens he starts saying whatever he can remember from midsummer, and neil starts to mutter the rest of the lines under his breath, and charlie starts drawing all the attention he can away from him (it's not hard,, he's charlie fuckin dalton)

puns become a permanant part of his personality because that is the only literary device shakespeare uses in that show.

if you mention midsummer nights dream around him you can physically see him tense up and try not to blurt out the closing monologue or shout some obscure fact about this one production of the show they did a few years back

sometimes he just trails off midsentence, losing his train of thought and he has to knock on his head a couple of times to get the brain jumpstarted

i have forgotten half of my ideas just writing this goddamn it

he cuts himself off too, inturrupting his own thoughts because he can't talk as fast as his mind thinks, especially when he's getting excited.

once he got in Midsummer, the only things he read in next few dead poets meetings were snippets of the script, and he made everyone else join in

charlie made a lovely nick bottom

he's asked the boys to come to the movies with him more than once but everytime he manages to drag one of them along he ends up talking throughout the whole thing about the actors and who they are and the work of the directors and the foreshadowing they use in the cinematography (because there is n o way that this is the first time he's seen it)

once he managed to convince todd to sneak out with him to see a community theatre production of oklahoma and he cried as soon as the overture started

when todd asked why he just said he really wants to be onstage

the same thing happened when a touring shakespeare theatre company came through and they did As You Like It

he memorised the whole "all the world's a stage" monologue as soon as he got home

neil loves rambling to todd because he doesn't like talking as much as neil, and he seems to like listening; he loves listening to neil. Him sitting on his bed, while neil paces frantically around the room, waving his arms with his voice, and never remembering to keep his voice down.

he recites lines over and over to himself as a form of vocal stimming, and if someone catches him he just says he's 'rehearsing' (even though most of the time it isn't even his lines)

i wish there weren’t a wall

i wish there weren't a wall

i wish there weren't a wall

it's like lines get stuck in his head the same way music and songs do for most people. sometimes he and todd are sitting in silence in their dorm and he just bursts out "uGH I HAVE "you're tearing me apart!" FROM REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE STUCK IN MY HEAD"

oh god this is very long i might do a part 2

#adhd neil perry #adhd #dps #dead poets society #neil perry adhd #neil perry #todd anderson #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #steven meeks #stephen meeks #gerard pitts #richard cameron #mr keating #john keating #anderperry #neil x todd #neil and todd

[clairdelunelove]

Closer Than We Seem

kyoutani kentarou x f!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, comfort, romance, mutual pining 

warnings: cursing, implied past physical abuse, mentions of physical/verbal harassment 

synopsis: college!kyoutani demanded to know the source of the obnoxious arguing that kept him awake throughout the night. The thin walls barely filtered out the yelling and he had a 7:00 a.m. class in the morning. Venturing out to immediately put an end to it, kyou stumbles upon a person with a past that changes both their lives- and romance ensues. 

a.n: 5.0k words of some kyoutani content! enjoy!

He was sick of it.

Amber eyes, bloodshot around the edges, shifted to glance at the digital clock seated on the nightstand. The dark plastic is well worn as the illuminated screen is covered in cracks. Undoubtedly, the piece of technology was victim to his annoyed clobbering whenever the alarm went off.

Smothering a plush pillow over his ears, the blonde fervently attempts to block the commotion. His fingers press tightly against the only source of comfort that keeps his sanity at bay. A raised vein etched across his jawline as his teeth grind together and he forces out a grunt. 

2:25

“It’s been two damn hours.” 

Kyoutani’s gravelly voice is barely heard over the yelling in the next room. Disgruntled, he removes the pillow from his face and tosses it beside him with a roll of his eyes. The part-time college student is openly miffed by the lack of peaceful sleep he could be getting. He, quite honestly, didn’t appreciate showing up to morning classes with eye-bags as dark as the eyeliner that he meticulously lined his eyes with. Over the past four months, adequate rest is a miracle for him to discover each day. 

“And they’re still arguing,” Kyoutani rambles on while using the bottom of his hand to hammer the pillow onto the mattress, “who the fuck argues that long?” 

Scrunching his thin eyebrows, he tries to comprehend the mere logic behind quarrelling in the middle of the night, especially on a school night. By all means, Kyoutani isn’t a saint amongst sinners but in a couple hours the blond has a chemistry quiz, a subject he’s gloriously failing, and sleep was needed. 

Another frustrated shout rips through the popcorn textured walls which doesn’t muffle the noise due to the poor insulation covering. The voice is distinctly a male’s and it takes all of Kyoutani’s willpower not to roar back to assert his dominance. Instead, his fingertips rake through his cropped hair while letting out a grumble. 

His eyelids feel like weights are strapped to them, progressively drooping shut, as his vision becomes blurry. A rare silence drifts through his cramped dorm room. The place resembles a battle zone with clothes tossed to the bed, papers scattered over the desk, and empty protein bar wrappers cascaded on the floor. Yet, Kyoutani adored the small freedom he finally had at the university dorms. 

The silence lulls him to close his bloodshot eyes, a deep exhale flares out his pointed nose, and a relief floods through him. He might actually get some rest for once. 

“Get out!” 

At the obnoxious yell from the neighboring room, the blond is far too annoyed to logically comprehend his actions before his bruised knuckles are knocking at the wall. The numbness of rapping at the wall is barely registered over how livid Kyoutani is at the intrusion to his sleep. 

“Shut up!” 

He throws in the bellow for good measure and stops his onslaught of assault on the wall. It seems awkward scolding the wall and his hand slowly drops to his lap. His sharp eyes track the movement of his fingers, dimly noting that he needs to trim the cracked edges. Perhaps his unpolished fingertips are the reason for his missed spikes on the volleyball court lately. 

A solid thump resonates back to him, to which Kyoutani dumbly blinks at. Hairs at the back of his neck stand and he can literally feel the heat leave his ears as his blood boils. The college student’s temper has simmered down since high school but hearing the other person’s unperturbed knock ticked him off. It was almost like they were taunting him. 

“Oh that’s it,” he mumbles and kicks away the blanket that interlaced his figure. 

Stretching across the small room, his legs move on its own accord and he reaches to twist the knob of the door. Using the expanse of his muscular shoulder, he pushes the wooden structure open in hopes of confronting the rowdy student that resided next to his dorm room. 

Permanent frown plastered on his pale lips, the blond urges to dramatize the expression. He crosses his arms after knocking on the neighboring door and the action displays his athletic build as a result of years of sports. The irate appearance was perfected as a scare tactic that he used to his advantage in varying situations. Petrifying the student next door wasn’t excluded out of the list.

“Could you shut your mouth? You’re being too damn loud, man--”

Kyoutani allowed himself to commit a double take before hastily shutting his own mouth, only for it to part as a sharp inhale almost made him sputter. His onslaught of vulgarity, a script he’d previously rehearsed plenty of times, fell lost on his tongue as he eyes the female in front of him. 

You’re unfairly pretty. 

It pains him that the first thought that races within his mind is a compliment when your mascara is smudged at the edges. Your frizzy hair is at a disarray, strands sticking up even when it’s pulled into a ponytail. The hoodie that you’re wearing is far too large as the end hits above your midthigh and his thoughts short circuit when he drags his gaze upward to see that you’re already giving him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry,” your voice pitches higher at the sudden appearance of the male, “were we being too loud?” 

“N-no? I mean yes,” Kyoutani sputters the first words and finishes his reasoning with a pathetic remark, “chemistry.” 

Your face lights up, visibly amused with his lack of speech at the moment while understandingly nodding, “you have a chemistry test?” 

“Yeah.”

“And you need to get some sleep before it?”

“Yeah.”

His responses are pitiful- even he knew- but there was only so much he could verbally say when focusing on the way your lips curved up when smiling. Plus, perhaps he was delusional with the lack of sleep, but your curiosity seemed to dip to his lean physique.

“I’m so sorry,” your eyes follow the blond’s movement of leaning against the doorframe, “we’ll try to keep it down so you can get some rest.” 

His brain disconnects with the small ounce of logic he carries when your sleeve sweeps across your nose to sniffle and he recognizes the dried tears that stain your face. Kyoutani isn't the best at handling emotions or being touchy-feely but he’s not ignorant.

“You good?” He asks while cautiously taking a step forward.

His defensive instincts, honed by years of avoiding other people, raise at the wary glint in your eyes. The blond’s inquisition is answered with a meek nod of your head and your nose scrunches to halt your sobs. Upon closer inspection, the sleeves on your hoodie is drenched in what he infers are tears.

Your feet remain rooted to the ground, neither welcoming him or pushing his intrusiveness away. He’s aware of the slight shake of your body and his golden eyes widen at how unnerved you were behaving. 

“My bad,” Kyoutani falters as his own doubts consume him, “I didn’t mean to make you cry-” 

“Who’s at the door, (Y/n)?”

The new voice, startling you with the sudden shout, comes from within the room. Distinctly, it’s the same tone that was hollering while Kyoutani was trying to sleep. The blond’s keen on how you were shifting your weight to each foot and the fidgeting only increased when footsteps resounded on the creaking floorboards. 

“Oh,” you squeak as your evasive gaze connects with his, “my dorm room neighbor.” 

Pulling your hands away from your face, a naive expression is plastered on when a male comes up behind you. The stranger is shorter and less lean than Kyoutani is. Yet, when the male captures your stare, you’re reeling back by fiddling with your fingers behind your back. 

The unpleasant male, brunet but his darker roots were peeking out, regards Kyoutani with a sniff, “can we help you?” 

Something about the male irked the blond and a frown tugs at his lips. He predicted that the guy was your boyfriend or had some type of connection with you. Being in university led to freedoms such as relationships. Although Kyoutani was a stranger to such involvement, he knew the attachment or void others were attempting to fill during these years.

“Yeah, you can,” the blond responds with a miffed scowl, “noise complaint.” 

There’s an uncomfortable silence when the brunet eyes Kyoutani with an agitated glower. It’s painstakingly silent. He’s surely showcasing his superiority within the uneasy situation. Though, the volleyball player is grateful for his decision of wearing a tattered, sleeveless shirt because the other male loosened into an apprehensive gaze. 

“She wasn’t listening to me, so,” the other male jut a thumb towards you and shrugs his shoulders, “sorry, dude.”

Raising a sharp brow, Kyoutani’s expression is dubious when noting how the blame is placed on you when the other male was clearly the only one hollering beforehand. It clicks that the uneasy flickering within your eyes is due to the other male and disgust engulfs him. 

His fist clenches, displeasure rolling off of him in waves before speaking up, “I’m pretty sure I just heard your loudass screeching. Just keep it down.” 

The brunet clams up at the jest, forehead wrinkling just enough to cause worry that lines would permanently stay there. Kyoutani watches the way the other male’s jaw tightens before he’s storming off. The blond regards the other’s lack of positivity with a roll of his eyes and mutters an insult under his breath. 

A whisper, faint but lingering in the silent air, leaves your lips, “thanks.” 

“Nah,” his amber eyes flicker to yours, “don’t need to thank me. ‘Ts about time someone put him in his place.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“I could,” Kyoutani pauses to toe at the floorboards and the cheap tile chips at the touch, “if you’d let me.” 

The words tumble out of his mouth before it can be filtered and the result has him reeling back. His cheeks are warm, probably matching with his reddened ears. The invitation is annoyingly corny and the staleness makes him want to hurl. 

“Sounds like a deal.” 

Your response has his attention locked onto you again and he’s internally thankful that he’s not the only one embarrassed by his impromptu. Thumbing at the sleeves of your sweater, a lopsided grin etches across your face and the blond freezes up. His mind is functioning as quickly as a bullet train but his expression only stares back at you with a stupidly blank look. 

Your giggle snaps him out of his stupor before putting him into a daze over how charming the noise sounds. An entertained peek casts over him as you tuck your hair away from your face.

“I guess I’ll see you around-”

“Kentarou,” he discloses with a respectful yet hurried bow of his head, “Kyoutani Kentarou.” 

“(Y/n)(L/n). Call me (Y/n),” you mention before begrudgingly edging the door closed, “and good luck on your chemistry test, Kentarou.”

The next day, it irritates him that he can only conjure up an image of your smile when he should be solving for Planck’s constant.

-

“Whatcha doing there?” 

Keys dangling in his grasp, he halts at the front of his dorm room door. It’s unwelcomely cold today and the brisk wind has his fingers alike to popsicles. The blond’s tried to fight off the chill with his customary varsity jacket and black beanie. Ideally he didn’t toss on the hat because he couldn’t bother with styling his hair- of course not. 

You’re situated on the floor with your knees pulled up to your chest while balancing a notebook atop of your makeshift desk. The lined paper has quick notes jotted down, highlighted words, and doodled diagrams that Kyoutani is able to discreetly peer at. A twinge of satisfaction tugs at him when your study habits are exactly what he’d picture they would be. 

“Studying,” your eyes never leave your paper as you respond to him. 

Uncapping a pastel highlighter, you exaggerate the action by underlining a phrase written in your notebook and raising a brow at him. The incredulous look on your face only comes off as sarcastic as Kyoutani rolls his dark eyes at your mockery. A grin curls on your lips while raising your shoe to nudge the side of his boot. He’s recognized each one of quirks, including your friendly banter.

“No shit Sherlock,” the blond pulls his hand away from the door and tucks the keys into his pocket, “coulda sworn you were sleeping.”

Crouching on par with you, he extends a finger to poke at your cheek and indicates the dark bags underneath your eyes. It’s lighthearted payback for the attitude he received just a second ago yet there’s a concerned glint in his stare. The darkness that surrounds your eyes is apparent even with the dab of concealer you managed to slap on in the morning and an embarrassed hand covers half of your face. 

“Kyou!” 

The threat isn’t laced with malice but the jab at his shoulder sure proves that humiliation is a strong consequence of emotion. He lets out a groan while gingerly rubbing the ache that emits from the bundle of muscle you punched. 

Childishly sticking out your tongue at his dramatics, you declare, “that’s what you get.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He pauses and then recognizes that the position you’re in is one that seemed too familiar. Your gaze flutters back to the flimsy notebook, aware of how perceptive Kyoutani was when it involved the wellbeing of yours. 

Inviting the blond to warm up to you was certainly a gradual process but you did not regret it. Shy smiles transformed into late night talks over the phone. The two of you had a special yet uncharted compassion for each other that had bloomed over the last two months. 

“What,” the words taste like venom in his mouth and he desperately wants to spit it out, “he locked you out again?” 

You feign interest in your notes, physiology facts are sprawled onto the margins, while avoiding Kyoutani’s heated gaze. His hand balls into a fist, dull fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. He knows that you won’t answer the seemingly obvious question even when you’re slumped on the floor in a feeble heap and it tugs at his heart.

Unfortunately, when Kyoutani faces displeasure he’s only adept to outwardly show his emotions. Ever since he was born, it was a rule to allow oneself to be impassioned about hobbies, beliefs, and avocations. The blond applied the rule to showcasing his appreciation to the people he deemed as special, as per usual. Except, he didn’t have the best grasp on handling his intense emotions. 

“He’s always treating you like shit,” the next part comes out like a scoff that rages within him, “and you’re always falling for it.” 

The weight of the words felt like a blow to your face, leaving a stinging sensation that resonated within you. The confrontation shook you to the core. Not once has the male ever blamed you for your boyfriend’s inconsideration. 

Kyoutani’s chapped lips form around the syllables of the offense and he automatically knows that he just messed up. Curses sling together within his mind as he pitifully watches your reaction. A silent wince morphs upon your delicate face. You’re recoiling away from him, shrinking yourself into the crevice of the wall. His fingertips reach for you, the action is subconscious, and the next words spill out of his mouth like an off brand remedy. 

“Listen, (Y/n), I didn’t mean it like that-” 

“No,” you speak up with newfound acrimony, “that’s exactly what you meant.” 

Lifting your head up, your narrowed eyes connect with Kyoutani’s wide ones. A part of you desperately wishes to become agitated with the blond. Envy grips a hold of you at the thought that he’s able to live his life freely without the burden of an overbearing significant other. By all means, he had all the attributes to attest your relationship- or lack thereof. 

Your furrowed expression mellows.

Yet, his comment awakens a self reflection that you’ve casted away to maintain some dignity. Your boyfriend’s attitude toward you equated to virtually nothing. Countless nights of arguing, getting locked out, and being pushed aside were bouts of normalcy to you. It was your responsibility to get the respect that you deserved. Cutting out toxicity, even if the future frightened you, was an initial step. 

The golden hue outlining Kyoutani’s eyes, intense in many cases, recast into a softened stare. He’s mindful of the gears shifting in your head and the tremble of your bottom lip settles it. Unknowingly, you just received a life changing message with his chiding. The doors of independence and freedom swing open. An exhale passes through your lips. 

Crouching closer to you, the blond compels your attention with a tilt of his head, “sorry.” 

The apology is gruff, likely the result of his avoidance toward wrongdoings, but the intent is clearly there. Chewing on his bottom lip, he gestures toward your fragile stance with a shifty gaze. Your cowering behavior scared him immensely. It wasn’t often someone else was willing to interact with his loner self. He can’t mess this up even when his pride is screaming at him to bicker.

“It’s not your fault,” you shake your head in reassurance, “I know that it’s mine.” 

Unintentionally, your demeanor frees open with his genuine apology and you can’t help but be soothed at the gentle prod in his scrutiny. He appreciates that you’re able to acknowledge his opposition because the male wasn’t planning on taking his comment back. The truth may hurt but it’ll ultimately improve your mentality in the long run. 

Perching on the heels of his feet, he repositions himself to improve comfort. His arms are draped over his knees and the jacket bunches at the ends due to his movement. The blond is close, alarmingly near your face, and an aromatic whiff of dry cedar invades your senses. 

“You’re just,” his confession smoothly slips out, “too good for him.”

The side of his face rests against his forearm while he awaits your response. He’s content when your eyes light up, gleaming in reverence, at his blunt compliment. Lips tugging upward, your lopsided grin is all he has to witness as he hops to his feet. His palm pats at the faded denim of his jeans before offering his free hand to you. 

“C’mon,” he easily pulls you to your feet in a quick motion, “you can hangout in my dorm room, I guess.” 

“What do you mean, ‘you guess’?” 

Kyoutani catches your teasing eye roll while organizing your school materials that are cluttered on the floor. He’s nimble, stacking your books into a pile and swinging your backpack over his wiry shoulder. 

“I mean, let’s go.” 

With the grace of a dancer, the blond balances the items while fetching his keys and unlocking the door. He nudges it open and steps aside to let you enter first. Certainly the male must’ve picked up the chivalrous acts in a sappy movie or television show because your heart thumps against your chest. It’s absurd in reality. A person helping another is ordinariness yet you feel like you’re flying when he looks at you expectantly.

“Thank you,” the gratitude is a whisper as you tug your sweater tighter to your body and eagerly slide past him.

“Don’t mention it.” 

The room is comfortably warm, easing away the shivers that racked throughout you while seated in the middle of the dorm hallway. Its surprisingly tidy, which also comes across as a shock to Kyoutani because the scrunch of his nose indicates that he’s accustomed to a messy room. However, upon closer inspection, you note that the blond is the one readily cleaning because he scoots aside a stray snack bag with his elbow. An embarrassed pout conforms to his face when he hears your amused giggle.

Gently placing your stuff on the desk, he notices your awkward stance in the middle of the room and gestures to either his bed or desk chair. You respectfully, minus the internal debate you had, settle on the chair and only then does Kyoutani move over to lounge on his bed. It’s eerily silent despite how comfortable you both are with each other. 

Indefinitely, he flops onto the mattress, much like a child would, and folds his hands behind his head to stare up at the popcorn ceiling. A couple months beforehand he would’ve despised being locked up in his dorm room without having anything to do. Now, however, his nerves were bouncing off the walls.

Peering over to your rigid position, he takes your fiddling fingers and shy demeanor with scrutiny. Not once in his life did he think he’d actually invite a person into his sacred place. Yet, when his gaze locks with yours and you return a coy smile- he’s praying that this won’t be the last time.

“So, I only let you in because I don’t get this chemistry problem-”

“Kyou!”

-

Treading backward, a sense of urgency rushes through you as you narrowly avoid the aggressive hands. It’s bewildering that he’s willing to physically confront you in public. The dorm hallway was bound to have university students frequent the place and prying eyes were not on your current wishlist. 

“What are you doing? I told you that we’re over!” 

The incredulous question goes over his head as he refuses to outrightly answer or perhaps he just didn’t wish to. Before this incident, you attempted to just force in a power nap before your next class that was situated across campus. Your ex boyfriend, however, had other plans as he lingered by your dorm room while you were unaware of the unwanted surprise. 

The unruly male is clearly tipsy and his wandering hands are not in your favor as he lunges for you once more. Thankfully, you sidestep away while your shoulder bumps against the wooden frame of a door. Your blood turns to ice.

“Come here and give me a kiss, babe,” your ex boyfriend garbles. 

The stench of alcohol overwhelms your sobriety and a part of you yearns for the familiar scent of dry cedar musk. You longed for the latter of the aromas to engulf you in a reassuring embrace but grabby hands motioned for you again. A slight tug at your cardigan fuels the hatred that ignites within you. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, inwardly loathing how you managed to date such a pathetic excuse of a person. 

Your hands defensively jab at your ex boyfriend’s chest, “get away from me!” 

“Bitch!”

The sudden force propels him backward, giving you an inch of breathing room, before he’s barreling towards you again. His furrowed brows and snarl illustrate that you’ve unlocked danger. Sweat trickled down your temples, gathering at your hairline and your tongue sweeps across your chapped lips. The thrashing of your heart is the only sensation you’re aware of at the moment. Eyes fixated on his response, you don’t dare to blink. Your ex boyfriend raises a hand, a sign you’ve been introduced to before, and you instinctively flinch at the action.

A lean figure abruptly steps in front of you to provide protection from the physical onslaught. Dry cedar breaches your uneven inhales but you’re holding onto that scent like it was a lifeline. He was your salvation. 

Landing a hit on Kyoutani’s sturdy chest, your ex boyfriend promptly pulls away with a confused glance, “get outta the way, man-” 

“Didn’t you hear her,” the blond barks out and shoves him, “get the fuck away.” 

Waves of animosity radiate off of Kyoutani, a scene that you’ve never witnessed in your encounters with him. He’s absolutely livid. His teeth gnash together while his hands are clenched at his sides. The veins on his brow protrude as a result of his creased forehead. Kyoutani’s damp in perspiration from his hurried movement, a deduction you’ve assumed. 

The male is clad in exercise attire, probably coming back from a run, and his dri fit shirt conforms to his physique. His pullover and snug joggers were clear indicators that Kyoutani was in excellent physical shape, causing a wary stare from your ex boyfriend. 

If the muscles rippling off of Kyoutani’s body isn’t a fright factor then his black, rimmed eyes are intimidatingly adequate. Yet, your ex boyfriend has intelligence compared to a newborn so he still lurches forward to attack Kyoutani. The blond dodges, grasps your ex boyfriend’s wrist, and twists it behind the other’s back. His defensive response is swift- almost alarmingly so that you wonder if Kyoutani ever brawled before. 

“Seriously, cut the shit,” the blond warns, “leave (Y/n) alone.”

When your ex boyfriend utters a curse embedded within your name, the blond pulls the seized wrist tighter and a sickening crack echoes. Your hand flies up to your lips. Yowling in pain, your ex boyfriend’s mouth instinctively shuts to avoid further punishment. 

“‘Ts alright,” Kyoutani rolls his eyes at the other’s dramatic behavior, “I didn’t break it. Yet.” 

Your ex boyfriend’s eyes widen, irises dilated at the gruesome image conjured up in his mind, and pitifully begs, “I-I’ll leave you alone! Please. I’ll do anything! Jesus Christ, (Y/n), who is this guy?” 

Turning his cheek, your ex-boyfriend gets a glimpse of Kyoutani’s face and the recognition dawns on him. He’s seen the aggressive blond before. Months ago, when your ex boyfriend was hollering at your lack of intimacy and the other’s lined eyes glared at him to surrender. One side of the blond’s lips raise, a snarky smirk directed towards the other male. Triumphant reigns within Kyoutani. 

“Her new boyfriend.” 

Raising a freshly cut eyebrow, Kyoutani incites a victorious expression as your ex boyfriend’s eyes are downcast at the message. The blond sneers. A sense of satisfaction, you suppose that’s the rare emotion, floods within you at your offender’s misfortune. You toss Kyoutani a grateful smile and he’s left faltering. He blinks- once, twice, three times- before regaining his intimidating demeanor.

“Get the fuck outta here,” Kyoutani shoves the other male forward when acknowledging the lack of resistance, “or I swear I’ll invert your ribcage.” 

Your ex boyfriend doesn’t need to be reminded, sprinting off with his tail tucked between his legs and stumbling on his uncoordinated strides. You and Kyoutani regard the pathetic male with a deplorable frown. Then, the blond is tugging you close while burying his face into the crook of your neck. You don’t mind the sweat that gathers onto him and instead delve into comfort. A giggle resounds to reach him and he lets in a shaky inhale. He was indebted to the pure luck of running back to you. The thought of you getting injured or reliving the trauma you’ve initially faced was heartbreaking. 

“Kyou,” your nickname to him was like a secret prayer you voiced, “I love you.”

He’s steadfast, a physique of strength and warmth, giving you a perfect invitation to cling onto. Respect, loyalty, and adoration were qualities that you didn’t have to force out of him. Violence, in any form, were taboos that he never crossed. The blond is undoubtedly the beginning of your journey towards self-love. 

“I love you too.” 

The genuine moment lingers on when your teasing nature resumes upon hearing Kyoutani’s forthright confession. Your hand comes up to trace his jawline, collecting perspiration that hasn’t dried up quite yet. He’s still cradling you, fingers protectively pressed against your waist. The sentiment is seldom, yet welcomed, and Kyoutani’s drawing you closer. He’s earnest. Scrunching up your nose, you jokingly flick at his forehead and he’s grumbling at your childishness. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d gone out running,” you motion toward his frazzled state. 

“Phone died.” 

He fishes out his phone from his back pocket. Sure enough, your reflection is illuminated on the dark screen and you nod in acknowledgement. Your head dips to lay on the junction of Kyoutani’s chest. Allowing yourself to get swept up in his embrace is habitual, the addiction smothering an unmistakable itch inside you. 

He’s silent before remarking, “I got us takeout though.” 

Golden eyes don’t miss your gleaming ones and you’re beaming at the mention of food. Raising your head, the narrow stare he’s given causes him to motion to the forgotten bag that’s placed on the floor. Boxed cuisine was cast aside when Kyoutani saw the trouble you were caught up in. 

“What’d you get?” 

“Pizza,” he pauses, “and mozzarella sticks since you liked that stuff.” 

“You’re the best.”

Lifting on your tiptoes, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek and you emit a carefree giggle. His ears burn crimson yet the presumptuous grin on his face brings butterflies in your stomach. Fingers pressing into the sides of your cheeks, he responds with a chaste, insistent kiss on your lips and hums in covert satisfaction. 

It’s dizzying. Your mind is flooded with images of Kyoutani- his appeal in usual clothing, each line of muscle on his physique, and the carnal desire that swirls in his gaze when he pulls away. Your knees are putty as you’re rooted to your spot. The observant fixation is all you need to recognize when he’s aware of his effect on you and he raises a smug brow. 

“Your room or mine?” 

His question is in the form of a drawl, mostly uttered to raise impatience, but it only adds to the adoration you have for him. Your rooms are, quite literally, twenty feet apart. 

Taking a step forward, the blond grasps the large takeout bag while slipping your hand into his free one. His thumb drags across your skin and you’re shivering at his tenderness. Kyoutani proudly rakes his gaze over you, openly compliant and completely in love, before slowly chuckling. 

“Not that it matters, I guess.”

#kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani x y/n #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fluff #college!kyou #kyoutani x reader #aoba johsai #mad dog

[frizzle-tales]

Despite knowing that the man was putting up a convincing acting job, Jiyeon couldn’t help but feel intimidated by his authorative voice. It never failed to make her feel as if she was doing something wrong.

“I... I am just a radio host, doing my job, sir..” Jiyeon started, her eyes shifting to her phone. It seemed that Hyun wasn’t in tonight, thinking about it, he seemed preoccupied with other responsibilities than chasing behind her and harassing her about work.

‘You found the teeth, I know you did.’

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two, as Jiyeon realized what he just said. That was impossible for anyone to know. “Me? No, no, it wasn’t me! Everyone knows it was Lee Sunghoo who found it, the teeth, not.. me.. I don’t even know what the jar looks like!” She rambled as she tried to talk herself out of this. This person couldn’t possibly know it was her who snatched up the searched for evidence, right? Surely, this was all part of a script..

“Dispose?” Wasn’t this man a bit too much? “I’m sorry that me sharing these horrific stories inconveniences you, sir... but the viewers love it and at the end of the day, my job needs to be done..”

“A-and.. it might confirm that you murdered that victim, now that the jar was found, by someone else, not me.. but.. that doesn’t mean that it shows you were responsible for all the others, as well. Anyone could claim that... sir.”

—🎙

“You can deny it all you want, sweetheart,” Taehyung intervened, getting annoyed that the woman wasn’t letting him get a word in, “But I saw you down by the river .. using a spatula you must’ve brought from home to dig around in the dirt.”

He licked his lips slowly, almost predatorily, as he tried hard to imagine what her face must look like now. He could hear the discomfort in her voice. And he knew what all the long pauses of silence meant.

“I can continue if you want me to. I’m sure I can remember exactly what it was you were wearing that night.”

But his pacing came to an abrupt stop as a disbelieved scoff shot from his chest. This girl ..

“Aren’t you a greedy little thing,” Taehyung spoke, his tongue poking the inner side of his cheek. God, did she push his patience. “The teeth just wasn’t good enough for you, hm? .. Or, perhaps, you want more, is that it? You’re fucked up, just like me, aren’t you? Getting off on the dark and twisted things if this world ..”

Flickering his eyes over to the clock above the stove, Taehyung internally sighed. He could never be on the phone too long. Who knew who was listening in, who was working behind the scenes .. “You know, sweetheart .. You certainly caught all my attention now. I’ll tell you what, how about I give you another anonymous tip, hm? Not here, of course, we can’t trust who might be listening in.”

#🎙anon #serial killer!taehyung #yandere taehyung

[monsterywriting]

Thenerius - pt 4

masterlist

word count: 7,146

AN: slight warning for mentions of animal death/general farm stuff. i tried not to write anything too graphic, but i realize what may seem pg for me may not be for everyone! i think i made up for it in the end, though :)

When you arrived back home from Alfore, you made a beeline to your room, leaving Thenerius to unload what you bought. From your desk, you grab a few blank sheets of paper from your stack and a pen, writing out a list of chores for Thenerius to do with detailed instructions underneath each numbered task.

By the time you finished and returned back outside to meet Thenerius, you’d filled out two of the papers front and back.

“Do you know how to read?” You ask as you hold out the papers for him to take.

“Of course,” he scoffs as he does, scanning the pages.

You blink at his unexpected reaction, attempting to alleviate his defensiveness, “No shame if you couldn’t. Some of the wealthiest people in the capital couldn’t. That’s what they hired so many scribes for.”

“Well, I said I can,” Thenerius not quite snapped, but he was clearly getting more wound up from you pushing the subject. You realized too late that your response came across as skeptic.

“All right. I put the faster jobs first and the longer ones last,” you say instead, opting to smooth over the topic entirely, “Don’t worry about finishing all of it today, I just wrote what I could think of. I’ll be back.”

“Wait, you’re leaving again so soon?” Thenerius looked up from the list at you, his eyebrows furrowing.

“I have to go to The Deep,” you reply, “It will be fast, just returning something and coming back.”

“What about the rabbits?” He asked, following you into the barn. You had nearly forgotten, the four creatures sitting quietly in their cage sitting in the barn.

“Clear out one of the empty stables and put them in there. All they need is hay and clean water for now,” you worry your bottom lip before continuing, “I don’t… normally leave so often when I’m not working.”

You’re not sure where the need to explain yourself comes from, nor why you feel placated when Thenerius seemingly accepts it.

You clear your throat, taking Horse by his reins and walking out the barn, “Then you can get started on that list.”

Horse makes it immediately clear he isn’t happy to be ridden again so soon - testing your commands to move and only going forward when you press your heels into his belly - but you know he’ll calm down once you reach The Deep and bribe him with a sack full of oats.

You enter The Deep in record time through the side door near the stables that lead directly into the kitchens. There was no one in there besides the new girl, who jumped and nearly collided into the large pot she stood in front of when she turned around to see you standing there, collecting herself and whispering a near inaudible ‘hello’.

She was painfully shy and as quiet as a mouse, and you couldn’t remember her name despite knowing you’d been introduced before. She couldn’t meet your gaze directly, something you knew not to take personally as she avoided everyone’s. You couldn’t help but wonder what she would do once the tavern got busy and all available hands were needed taking and serving orders.

“I need to find Lenora,” you interrupt her rambled apologies, having no patience waiting for the girl to form a sentence, “Is she in her room?”

“Uh—actually, Mr. Thistle is looking for you,” she said, shrinking back when you blinked at her - as though you were a ticking bomb waiting to blow. It dawned on you that this was not her normal aversion to social situations, realizing everyone already knew you spat with Lenora earlier. Great.

“I understand,” you say as gently as you can, “but I need to speak with Lenora, first.”

You emphasize speak, and after a moment’s hesitation, the girl nodded, looking around before whispering, “Mr. Thistle is working at the bar right now. You have to go back around to the main entrance.”

You nod your appreciation, stepping back out and going back around the building to the entrance to the inn portion, passing the main desk with a nod to the person working and climbing up the stairs. You knock softly on Lenora’s door, not wanting to draw the attention of Mr. Thistle, who had full view of you standing on the balcony if he were to look up.

As soon as you hear the door unlock, you push your way in and close it behind you, pausing once you see Lenora’s tear-streaked face. You had been until that point rehearsing what you would say, only planning on saying your piece and then leaving. Now, however, the words eluded you, seeming simultaneously too far and too little. When you finally managed to push them out, it was with a much less certain execution than you had imagined.

“I brought back your coins,” you fish the coin purse out of your bodice and force it into Lenora’s hands, “If you were meaning to trick me into taking them, you shouldn’t have used the embroidered one I gave you.”

Lenora turned over the small bag, her mouth falling open in a small ‘o’ once she saw the leaping frog, her thumb running over the vibrantly colored thread.

“Thenerius told me you thought I was… troubled. In the mind,” you continue awkwardly, going off script, the impromptu speech bursting forth now that you were in front of your friend, “I- I understand your concern. It doesn’t excuse what you did - it was incredibly stupid - but I understand it.”

“You’re right,” Lenora sniffled, tears gathering anew in her already red eyes, “I know I don’t deserve to ask for your forgiveness, but I just didn’t know how to get through to you—so I made a decision. A bad one, that only brought you trouble.

“I heard you speaking with Mr. Thistle that day. How you needed more shifts and- and gold. I knew you wouldn’t any of out help so I thought… Thenerius would be the best bet to help.”

“I’m not… as angry,” you finally admit, taking a long pause to take in the information and form an opinion. It’s true. You know firsthand that worry and desperation can drive a person to take drastic measures, and though you can’t forgive Lenora entirely just yet, you can’t fault her in trying to help.

“Has Thenerius come back to the inn already? I’m sorry I didn’t think matters through-”

“No,” you shake your head, wording the next sentence out of your mouth very carefully, “Actually, he’s staying with us for now. He agreed to work for room and board.”

“What?!” Lenora exclaimed, her recalcitrance forgotten for the moment with the potential gossip, “Tell me everything! Have you slept together yet?”

“Not telling,” you smile coyly, trying your best to come across as though you’re hiding the most passionate night of your life, the full details of which filled with debauchery just waiting for a listening ear, “That’s your punishment.”

You leave Lenora there, her pleas for mercy and just a yes or no falling on deaf ears. Rather than head back out the main entrance, however, you go to the stairs leading down into the tavern, Mr. Thistle immediately noticing you from the bar and watching your descent closely.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you until your next shift,” he said as soon as you reached the bar counter, wasting no time getting straight to the point with his usual bluntness, “What happened between you and Lenora?”

“Personal matters, boss,” you reply with a glance at the lone customer sitting on the far end of the bar, “Sorry it happened at work. It won’t happen again.”

A blatant lie. A week couldn’t pass without someone getting annoyed at someone else at work and starting fights - most much more eventful and public than your and Lenora’s brief exchange of words.

Mr. Thistle looked up at the balcony, then at you, “I take it that means everything has already been settled. I don’t suppose you would be willing to tell me what exactly it was about, then?”

“Nope,” you answer cheerfully, “Now, it’s my day off and you very specifically said you did not want to see me for a whole week, so I’ll leave you to it.”

You could hear Mr. Thistle mutter something about how you all always closed ranks on him once you headed towards the kitchen, but he waved you off nonetheless.

“Wait!” You stopped at the sudden call of your name, just about to step outside, turning to see Lenora and the other girl holding a wrapped cylinder. Food.

You accept the gift with a nod, stepping out into the courtyard with a vastly improved state of mind and a considerable weight off your shoulders, ready to return home and finally eat.

When you do return once again for hopefully the final time that week, Thenerius was hammering away on the barn roof.

You hop off of Horse, looking up at the tiefling in disbelief. Replacing the old shingles had been the seventh or eighth item on your list and you hadn’t been gone long. You couldn’t believe Thenerius could have finished every task before that one in the time it took you to go to The Deep and back.

When he noticed your arrival, Thenerius made his way down the ladder to meet you leading Horse into the barn, still carrying the meal Lenora had packed for you. He was drenched in sweat and had shred his outer layers despite the frigid air, the sun beating down thanks to the cloudless sky.

“You’ve already finished the first page?” You called out once he was within hearing range, hopping off the last rung of the ladder and onto solid ground.

“First page?” He echoes questioningly, your stomach sinking until he lets out a sharp bark of laughter at your reaction.

“Don’t scare me like that!” You let out the breath you had held, looking out at the rest of the homestead, “You mended the fences?”

“Yes.”

“Cleaned out the chicken litter?”

“Did that first.”

“Then took it to the compost?”

“If you’d like, you can go through the list yourself to check,” Thenerius offered, his shoulders shaking as he laughed.

“No. No, that’s fine,” you reply, embarrassed by your own micromanaging before remembering the food and holding it up, “I brought lunch. Go rinse off in the river or something while I reheat this.”

The house is much warmer than outside, your mother or Thenerius apparently taking advantage of the new firewood.

Thenerius enters the house just as you’re setting down the plates, looking like an illustration from a strip in a newspaper you remember seeing once - a man who fell into a freezing lake and becomes an icicle.

You peer out the window, barely noticing how dark it suddenly was, clouds obscuring the sun and the tops of the trees bowing to the wind - certainly making the trek back from the river miserable.

“Go sit in front of the fire, quickly,” you wince half with pity, grabbing one of his folded blankets and throwing it around the tiefling’s shoulders as soon as he was seated in the warm glow of the fire, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would get cloudy.”

“How the hell can anyone get in that water?” Thenerius gritted out through chattering teeth, shivering uncontrollably now that he was beginning to thaw out, “I think my stones are still inside my body…”

“The water feels quite nice in the summer,” your mother suddenly appears behind you, both you and Thenerius twisting around to stare at her slack-jawed. Her response to the former made it clear she had heard the latter comment.

You can’t contain your laughter, doubling over when you turn and see Thenerius’ mortified expression - and your mother’s amusement with the situation only fueled your own. It gave you the perfect excuse to not see how he watches you, his embarrassed grimace fading into a soft smile at your mirth while your mother watches the entire interaction with an unreadable expression.

You know she immediately catches on to the significance of Thenerius’ meaningful look, the entire reason for his sudden appearance into your lives undoubtedly obvious to her now.

“Everybody go sit,” you are still slightly winded by your outburst but considerably subdued as you walk over to your chair and plop down, taking a sip from your ale - a generous addition to the peace offering from Lenora.

The smell of the warm stew was heavenly for your senses - beef tips, carrot and potatoes all cooked in bone broth - making your mouth water at the sight. Cows were rare in these parts, Mr. Thistle the only owner of a herd for miles. Beef was the primary dish of The Deep, Mr. Thistle also offering deliveries during the holidays for those who had the gold to spend on it.

“Did Lenora make this?” Your mother breathed in deeply, both her and Thenerius clearly having the same reaction to the food as you did.

You shake your head, wasting no time taking a spoonful in your mouth, “The new girl. Applied to be a barmaid, but truthfully, her talents are as a cook.”

“The quiet one?” Your mother smiled knowingly, “I must agree she’s much better than you or I, though you’ve been making some improvements.”

You roll your eyes at the teasing jab, mirroring her smile as you chuckled. You weren’t a bad cook, but you were no chef, your own cooking style having only a goal of ‘edible’, “I helped in part, at least - harvesting the meat.”

“You slaughtered the animal?” Thenerius interjects - no judgement in his tone but definitely curiosity.

“Of course,” you laugh, nearly choking on your ale in the process, “Where do you think all the meat you’ve been eating comes from? A grocer?”

The conversation continues easily, your bellies filling with seconds and then thirds with ale still left over. You notice that Thenerius stops drinking long before your mother or you. It’s because he isn’t in the company of his crew, you try to tell yourself, but you can’t help the feeling of guilt that gnaws at you saying otherwise - that he was able to stop now that you weren’t continuously serving him.

“I’ll wash the dishes,” your mother grunts, gathering the empty plates before you can even think about getting up. You’re all too happy to let her, glad to see her so invigorated for the first time in a long while. You yourself feel your eyelids begin to grow heavy, the sheer amount of food you consumed beckoning for you to take a nap.

“I should keep working on the list, too,” Thenerius said, beginning to rise.

You place your hand on the crook of his elbow to stop him, “You’ve been up since before dawn and you’ve gotten plenty done today. You shouldn’t overwork yourself now.”

“I’ve had harder jobs. I can handle some farm work,” Thenerius snorted, dismissing your advice and standing without so much as a grunt as though to prove his point, “I’m a pirate, remember?.”

You shrug, too sleepy to seriously argue with his pride. Farm work was definitely different to manning a boat with the wind and current doing most of the work. And he also had an entire crew to rely on - here it was just him and you. The first day you worked on the homestead after so many years, you hadn’t been able to get out of bed the next day. However, you decide as Thenerius leaves to finish the shingles, it was no skin off your back if he woke up sore the next day. Either way, he was still going to work - he had to help you castrate the goats, along with all the other daily chores and whatever you wouldn’t get to on the list today.

You grab two woven baskets from the kitchen and go outside soon after Thenerius leaves, wishing the sun was still out as you walk to the vegetable garden downhill behind the pasture, a buffer between the animals’ waste and the river when it rained.

The rest of your very short afternoon is spent there, meticulously going down each row on your hands and knees pulling out the seemingly endless weeds that grew in your absence, tossing them onto the grass. Once you were confident that you got every last sprout, you began to harvest some of the tubers, yielding a good amount of carrots, potatoes and even a few onions.

Once the sun kissed the treetops and you were engulfed in the shadow of the barn from where you worked in the garden, you began the long process of drawing a bath, hauling bucket after bucket to the house. The sun sets by the time you finish, the water steaming invitingly. Your mother goes first, and you enter right after her.

You relax in the hot water, perfectly contented with your day and more at ease than you had been in a long time, something you couldn’t have imagined when Thenerius first showed up at your home and upended your quiet existence. You look up at the heavens, still able to make out the vast array of stars even through the steam rising to the sky. You watch in quiet awe for a while, only absentmindedly attending to actually bathing.

You only just stepped out the bathroom when Thenerius finally returns, your mother nearly done with dinner.

He seemed in high spirits, nowhere near as fatigued as you had been on your first day. You would never admit that you were wrong to Thenerius, but you definitely weren’t complaining if it meant he would be able to work the next day.

You go  to sleep early, eating while Thenerius was bathing and fast asleep by the time he gets out, tired after all the running around and the emotional mountains and valleys you endured with Lenora.

You don’t dream that night, waking suddenly with the sun still well below the horizon and the rooster not yet crowing his song. You get up anyways, actually feeling well-rested and not nearly as dreadful as you normally did after your days off, having done admittedly little hard labor yourself that day.

After changing into clean day clothes, you trudge into the kitchen to make coffee, Thenerius still snoring in his cot as you pass. He sleeps through the rooster’s first crow, and you let him rest until the morning fog receded from the field and the sky brightened from a dim gray to silver just before the sun broke the horizon.

When you finally do rouse him - first whispering his name and then shaking his shoulder - Thenerius startles, a pained groan leaving him before any coherent word. You hide your smirk, knowing now was not the time for an ‘I told you so’ no matter how deserved, simply waiting patiently for Thenerius to stretch his back, four distinct pops his reward.

“Have some coffee, then meet me in the barn,” you say quietly, waiting to leave until Thenerius nods in acknowledgement, with obvious difficulty.

It was freezing outside, the temperature having dropped significantly overnight, but you forgo your new fur coat, not wanting to get blood on it. You get the hardest part of the entire process done first - separating the three male kids from the herd. You let them out of their stable and into the larger barn area, the group going straight to the far door out of habit. Instead of releasing them immediately out to pasture, you picked out and carried each boy one by one into the empty stall next to the rabbits before letting the rest out and shutting the door behind them. The kids weren’t happy, bleating loudly and standing on their hind legs at the stall door to try to see where their mothers had gone, but the rabbits seemed unperturbed by their temporary neighbors as they continued nibbling their hay.

Thenerius trudges slowly in as you’re putting the loudest two month old in the tipping table, bags like bruises under his eyes.

“You’ll be helping me castrate the boys today,” you announce, handing Thenerius a pump bottle of brown liquid, “This is antiseptic. Your job is to spray them with it afterwards.”

Thenerius glances as the cleaned and sharpened knife in your hand and then at the goat on the table, appearing confused, “You mean-?”

You waste no time, not wanting to keep the kid restricted and stressed longer than necessary, rubbing a numbing paste on the area before making the first incision.

Thenerius is pale as he sprays the final goat, all blood drained from his face as you right the table and release him to waddle back to the large stable to join the other two. You wipe your hands the best you can on your skirt before handing Thenerius the bucket with the discarded testes to give to the chickens. He looks shellshocked, no doubt empathizing with the emasculated goats, even if his pain was an entirely different sort.

“I’ll give you the list of daily chores you’ll be needing to do from now on, then you can get started on whatever you didn’t finish on the list yesterday,” you said, not at all reveling in Thenerius’ stricken look, knowing he couldn’t argue with you after you had so specifically warned him about the very pain he was currently experiencing.

Before anything else, you check to make sure the goats had plenty of hay to feed on since they wouldn’t be out grazing for a while. After washing the blood from your hands and knife, you spend the morning fencing off the area on the side of the barn where the rabbits were kept, the temporary housing working out so well you decided to make it permanent rather than make a hutch from scratch. You would simply cut out a door in the side of the barn that could be opened to let them out to graze in the miniature pasture in the spring. You dug out holes for the fence posts, your plan to eventually make a fence of chickenwire high enough none of the rabbits would be able to jump over it.

Once you were done plotting out the fence, you began the tedious process of tilling the soil inside the fenced area, careful to keep the chunks of pure sod undisturbed. In the newly bare patches, you planted the leftover winter pea seeds from the main pasture.

By the time noon came and went, you had largely forgotten about Thenerius, lost in your work and only catching fleeting glimpses of him in your periphery; a colorful phantom standing out amongst the washed out wood and bluestem grass even more so than he did in the homely atmosphere of the tavern. He flitted around the property, first in the chicken coop, then in the pasture and, finally, nowhere.

You don’t realize how much time had elapsed since you last saw hide or hair of him until you took a quick reprieve to get your mother’s tablets ready with a glass of water. It suddenly struck you that you hadn’t seen him pass by the kitchen window at all in the time you’d been standing there, and when you peer out more closely, the only movement you could see was the animals lazily grazing in the pasture. His horse was still grazing with all the rest, so he hadn’t taken off. You try to think of the last time you saw him, but the brief flashes all blended together.

You left the tablets and water on the nightstand next to the bed where your mother rested and went out to milk the goats, mostly filling two pails and then going into the barn - only intending to pasteurize it and having no other motive besides perhaps making sure you didn’t accidentally kill your farmhand on his second day.

Thenerius was standing in the center of what appeared to be a wood scrap pile, staring down incredibly exasperated at his list. You caught a glimpse of a sketch you recognized immediately, having forgotten you’d asked Thenerius to build a rabbit hutch.

Unsure how to say nevermind when he was already working on it - and clearly frustrated with it - you instead walk in with the two pails and interrupt his concentration, “Come help me with this, Thenerius.”

He drops everything to take the pales from you, and you suspect it had less to do with his desire to help you than being able to take a break from building. You let him, grabbing the bottoms of the pails so they wouldn’t jostle as much during the transfer.

“The pasteurizer is over there,” you point, ignoring the giant pile and walking to the small metal contraption. Lifting the lid, you take out the funnel and seven metal bottles from the wire cage inside the main chamber, setting them down on the floor and sticking the funnel into the first bottle. You gestured for Thenerius to pour, moving through each bottle until both pails were emptied.

You place the filled bottles back into their wire slots and pointing at the pails, “Go wash those out and bring back water.”

“But the hutch-” Thenerius trailed off, looking at the unfinished scraps of wood.

“It’s fine, this needs to be done first,” you assure him, motioning for him to go.

Once he leaves, you go to the pile and grab small pieces of wood, sticking them in the chamber underneath the pasteurizer along with some hay. When Thenerius returns, you take the pails and begin filling the main chamber, stopping once the bottles were almost submerged and striking a match to light the hay.

You step back from the soon to be hot metal once you place the lid back on, keeping a close eye on the thermometer.

“You don’t have to make the hutch anymore. I’m just going to keep them in the stall,” you finally admit as you wait.

Despite still working as hard as he did the day before, it was evident that Thenerius was in pain, taking care not to move too much and antsy as he stood behind you.

“You can sit, you know. This is going to take a while.”

“I’m afraid if I sit I won’t be able to get back up,” Thenerius replies, his grim expression unchanging even when you burst into laughter.

“Suit yourself, then. You could always end the day early. Honestly, you’ve done more these past two days than I would be able to do in a month.”

Even your rare praise isn’t able to convince Thenerius, who resolutely denies your offer to rest. Deciding to get dinner started as the sun lowered in the sky, you instruct Thenerius when and how to close the bottom chamber and where the mitts were to take out the wire cage so he could bring the milk to you in the kitchen.

Later that evening, Thenerius all but collapsed into the chair next to you, favoring one leg where one of the goats rammed into his side when he was herding them back into the barn. Earlier, you had considered asking him to also draw the bath, but seeing how ravenously he ate his cold dinner, you were glad you had taken pity on him and done it yourself, your mother already out the bath.

“Go wash up,” you prod his leg with the side of your foot, careful not to hit it too hard.

Groaning, Thenerius painstakingly rose back to his feet and you could have sworn you heard him utter a few curses under his breath as he shed his boots and jacket at the door before trudging to the bathroom.

You enter a few minutes later unannounced, Thenerius immediately splashing down chin-deep into the water in an attempt to hide himself, stammering nonsense at your sudden appearance.

“Calm down, I just brought you some magnesium sulfate and scented oils,” you interrupt sternly, setting your supplies down and sitting on the edge of the tub directly behind Thenerius, who had turned away from you.

You pour a generous amount of the salt into the bath, enough that the water becomes opaque. However, before you add the oil, you hesitate, noticing Thenerius’ back is still streaked with dirt too stubborn to be rinsed away. You tell yourself to just pour in the oil anyways, or even just leaving it there to do himself

“Lean forward,” you find yourself saying instead, grabbing a clean washcloth and dunking it in the water, “You missed your back.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I don’t want to have to clean up dirt after you.” The words come out a bit harsher than you mean them to be, but you succeed in getting Thenerius to comply with your command, his chest submerged under the steaming water and exposing his back.

Scars of all kinds were scattered all over his skin, some paper-thin lines of lavender with the passage of time while others were a deep red wine - old burns and bullet holes. You lathered the bar soap into the washcloth, but your attention kept returning to the raised and puckered skin the width of your forefinger, ten overlapping stripes horizontal across the expanse of his back. The remnants of a particularly brutal lashing.

“You’ve never told me the story behind these,” you murmur, pressing the sudsy cloth against his shoulder blade at the very edge of the topmost scar, the ridge much more pronounced than the others; likely the first. You feel the phantom pain in your back, easily picturing the painful healing process. Thenerius had always bragged to you about his scars, but you never saw these particular ones - never even been shown his back, for that matter.

“I was young when I got them. Stupid,” Thenerius said, the bitterness in his voice melting into a soft sigh as you rubbed small circles around his shoulder blades.

Thenerius thankfully made no comment as you purposefully moved the cloth down his back, at first only to remove the dirt, but soon losing sight of your mission and working out the knots of his muscles, every so often splashing warm water up to rinse it. You loosened the tension in one area before moving on to the next, continuing long after all the dirt was washed away. He could not, however, hide the small sounds that escaped whenever you brushed against a particularly sensitive spot.

Your feel increasingly embarrassed with every hiss and grunt, but you continue on, guiltily enjoying every noise elicited by your hand, seeing just the back of his head leaving you only able to envision how he reacted - eyes screwed shut, lips falling open ever so slightly. Your imagination ran wild when your knuckles brushed against his side and he moaned.

It had been out of pain, the flesh bruised from goat horns, but your face burns and you swallow thickly nonetheless. You quickly finish, stopping right where his back meets the water and quickly turned to wring out the washcloth and drop it in the basin. Unable to meet Thenerius’ eyes just yet, you smell each bottle of oil, using your feigned deliberation as an excuse to keep your back to him.

Finally grabbing the first bottle after smelling each twice. It was citrusy, with the faintest hint of some herb, you think.

“Soak with this for a bit. It’ll help with the soreness,” you clear your throat, handing over the bottle. Thenerius had been falling asleep with your ministrations, but now snapped awake with the cold glass making contact with his palm.

“I shouldn’t- you still need to bathe and the water will be cold,” Thenerius begins to argue, rising from the water the slightest bit without realizing it, but you act quickly, pressing your hands down on his shoulders to keep him submerged.

“If you don’t, you won’t even be able to get up tomorrow,” the gentleness in your voice feels foreign, but it is sincere, “I know a lot about these things. Trust me, it can get a whole lot worse.”

Thenerius immediately relaxed under your touch, leaning his head back onto the rim of the tub and the points of his horns stopping on either side of your head, fortunately his eyes closed so he could not see you staring wide-eyed down at him. It took all your willpower to keep your palms rooted in their spot, your fingers itching to move lower. It would be a simple thing, to just… glide your hands down his chest, over his stomach - resting your chin on his shoulder - and wrapping a fist around his—

You are brought abruptly back into reality when Thenerius’ soft snores reach you, extracting your hands like a burn and quickly pouring the oil into the water. Once the bottle is empty, you quietly abscond.

It’s nearly half an hour before Thenerius finally exits, apologizing profusely. You had been pacing in the living room clutching your night clothes, avoiding every creaky floorboard with well-practiced coordination. As soon as he steps out of your way, you brush past the tiefling and shut the door.

The water is frigid, which you’re glad for, intent on freezing the molten heat that had grown in your core. You don’t know what’s come over you. Dangerous ideas consumed you the entire time you waited, impulses made all the more tempting with the knowledge that Thenerius wanted you; your mind twisted the memory of his confession into words of desire and his innocent noises into pleasured moans.

You scrubbed the dried sweat and grime off of you with just a little too much vigor, your attempt at grounding your beating heart. As soon as you’re finished, you pulled the plug and scrambled out the tub, quickly toweling off and getting dressed.

When you exit, Thenerius is seated on his cot, holding a steaming mug. You had been planning on going straight into the bedroom, but upon hearing the bathroom door open, your mother came from the kitchen, immediately seeing you and holding up a mug for you. Your stomach dropped. You had assumed she’d been asleep as she’d gone into the bedroom immediately after getting out the bath, and now wondered how long she’d actually been awake - if she had noticed the time you spent alone in the bathroom with Thenerius.

Out of habit, you take the mug, the smell of hot cocoa spiked with ale drifting lazily to your nose. You thought she would also drink with you. Instead, she walked straight past you towards the bedroom.

“You’re going to bed already?” Your voice is tight in panic at the thought of being left alone with Thenerius, the source of your temporary madness.

“I’m getting old,” she smiled, misinterpreting your question for concern for her health, her voice lowering to just above a whisper as she brought her lips close to your ear, “and I’m not one to stand in the way of young people’s affairs.”

Your gaze bores into the back of Thenerius’ head. Against your better judgement, you carry your mug to the cot, sitting on the very edge to keep your distance.

Blowing on your drink, you take small sips to avoid burning your tongue. Between the hot drink and the crackling fireplace in front of you, you almost forget your own awkwardness, the coziness only possible with the inhospitable winter outside lulling you into a sense of security.

“I was missing out on a lot with this drink,” Thenerius suddenly broke the silence, mirroring your own careful sips.

You temper your reaction, maintaining a smile you pray conveys a completely normal, neutral interest in the conversation, “You’ve never had hot cocoa before?”

“Never had a need. We usually stick to where it’s warm,” Thenerius said and your smile falters slightly at the implication, sobering slightly from your runaway thoughts.

“Why didn’t you leave with the others?”

The abrupt question hangs in the air between you, the pause stretching without Thenerius reacting to the point you wondered if you didn’t actually ask it.

Just as you are about to ask again, Thenerius spoke, slowly but not uncertainly, as though taking a moment to choose each word, an admission that took you entirely by surprise, “I was going to. After your rejection.”

“Why didn’t you?” You sound almost breathless, never before having considered the possibility that your extreme reaction to his proposal would have actually discouraged him. You have assumed that he had arrived with the goal of winning you over. You tried to think of some other possible motive, but you just drew blanks.

“I told you that your friend at the bar asked me to go to you,” he said, waiting until you nodded in acknowledgement before continuing, “At first, I thought she had seen- us. And I got… angry. I was embarrassed and it seemed like she was simply having fun. Then she told me she was worried about you, but that you refused her and everyone else’s offers help. I tried telling her I was the last person you wanted to see, much less accept help from, but she was persistent. Said you were just prickly around the edges, as it were.”

You grimace - a fair assessment, to be sure, but an unpleasant one to be so finely put a point on - but remain silent, digesting the new perspective. You feel dense, not having once considered Thenerius’ feelings about what had transpired between you. You also feel slightly disappointed that it was not his own passion that drove him to seek you out, though you know you have no right to feel hurt, now more than ever.

You down the rest of your cocoa, unsure if the heat or the ale is what burns down your throat, or your own disappointment. Already you could feel your face warm, the sweetness of the drink having hidden the strength of the alcohol.

“I’m sorry.” You’re unsure of what else to say, afraid to elaborate lest you drudge up every negative feeling over what happened.

He only nods, taking a sip from his drink and keeping his gaze fixed on the fire.

“I’ve always wanted to ask this,” blood was rushing through your ears as the ale settled heavily in your belly, making you just a bit bolder, “Why me? I mean—I know Paloma was leaving and she was the one to introduce us, but you seemed- I thought you were in love with her…”

You try to seem nonchalant as Thenerius chuckles, then deliberates, not sure your ego could take another blow tonight and also as if the question was a completely normal thing to ask platonically during a heart to heart with the man who proposed to you only four days ago. Tova have mercy. Had it really only been that long?

“I didn’t love her,” Thenerius finally put you out of your misery after a long stretch of silence, and you cursed the blooming hope in your chest, “She told me she was quitting. And why—she was in love. What was between us was not… it wasn’t the same. I didn’t know that at the time, I was just selfish, thought of her as mine even though I didn’t consider myself hers.”

You frown slightly, wanting desperately to pay attention to what Thenerius was sharing - obviously a very delicate and sensitive subject - but you can’t help the illogical wave of jealousy rising within you. He hadn’t known you then, only seeing for a few weeks out of the year after that. You shouldn’t have finished off your drink, too all over the place and unable to get a handle on your own emotions.

“I didn’t understand her then,” Thenerius continued, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “How she described the love she felt - to do things for someone else’s sake, rather than one’s own. And to forsake everything, be unwilling to trade anything for that love.”

It was evident Thenerius was no longer talking about Paloma, but of his own feelings for you. However, he had yet to answer your question and you’re unsure if you trust yourself to elaborate, opting instead to repeat it.

“So why me?”

“I’m not sure,” Thenerius admits sheepishly, “I began talking to you. It was the longest I ever talked to anyone that wasn’t on my crew—and about something that wasn’t about anything in particular. And I saw you interacting with others - the tavern owner, the other workers - when you thought no one was paying attention. You seemed so… carefree. Or just free. You didn’t have to worry about making it to the next port, or if you’d be paid. And when we moved on, I couldn’t think of anyone else, be with anyone else.”

You glance over at Thenerius, feeling incredibly warm, like the heat was rolling off your cheeks in waves. The alcohol had given you a buzz - not enough to be entirely gone, but enough to give you the excuse to throw caution to the wind as you observed Thenerius unabashedly.

His downturned eyes made his eyelashes brush against his cheeks, the strong slope of his nose casting an uneven shadow across his face where it veered slightly from an old break. But your eyes were most drawn to his lips - plump, slightly chapped after the hot shower and the corners tugged down into a frown that you wanted desperately to alleviate.

“What about now?” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, and Thenerius seems just as surprised by your question as you do. He doesn’t, however, seem to grasp your implication, if his self-deprecating snort was anything to go by, his next words making your momentarily-fragile heart break for him.

“I completely misunderstood your intentions. I told myself I saw no difference in how you interacted with me and your true friends. And I’m all the more the fool, because I know these things but it has done nothing to curb my useless pining.”

Your countless worries and responsibilities seemed to melt away in that moment, your rational mind telling you a thousand and one reasons not to do what you were about to do holding no power over you. You live in a place where it gets cold, you cannot go with him. But all you could see was Thenerius in front of you, present - a concept you could never before focus on. It was always thinking of the future; what needed to be done, paid for, taken or given.

In the present, you reach out your hand to Thenerius’ cheek furthest from you, turning his gaze from the fire to you. You lean forward, slotting your lips against his softly, but without hesitation.

part 5

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #reader insert #tiefling

[hyunsracha]

even a fool knows — lee minho

word count: 2.6k

summary: if you go further away, i might fall apart by myself.

“No.”

Han Jisung whines beside you, “Please? He said he doesn’t feel comfortable doing it with anybody else.”

You send the boy a quick glare before shutting your locker, “He should’ve thought about that before taking the role. If he doesn’t feel comfortable, why doesn’t he give it to Hyunjin or Jeongin?”

“Because Hyunjin is the cameraman and Jeongin doesn’t have the same charisma as I do,” Speak of the devil, Lee Minho slides up next to you and wraps his arm around your shoulders, sporting his signature cocky grin. You roll your eyes and you shift your lyric books around in your arms.

Minho most definitely wasn’t your best friend. You had been acquainted with him since the beginning of high school, but you were never the closest. Your closest friend was Jisung, as you two had been together since you were in diapers. You only became friends with Chan, Changbin, and Minho through Jisung. 

You sigh through your nose, pushing his arm away, “I’m no actor, Lee. Why can’t you just do it with Yeji or Jeno?”

He pouts, “Because I wanna do it with you! You’d be a great love interest.” 

 You roll your eyes again, trying to ignore the heat rising to your face. Minho is always like this; flirty towards you for no reason, and at this point you try to tune it out.

“Please, Y/N.” Jisung speaks up again, trying to shove a carton of banana milk towards you. Banana milk was your favorite, and Jisung always bought it for you when he wanted something from you. You click your tongue and take it from him, dramatically stabbing the straw in. 

“Fine. I’m in. But I demand lots of banana milk.” You sip from the straw, looking at Minho from the corner of your eye. He looks down at the ground, a soft smile growing on his face.

“Finally! Okay, after school…” Jisung breathes a sigh of relief, pulling a notebook out of his backpack and flipping to a page he had previously dog-eared. He starts rambling about where to meet after school, what your costume is going to be, and who is going to give you the script. You’re not listening, though. You’re too distracting watching Minho transform into someone less cocky and more shy. 

The bell rings, and you bid the boys goodbye before heading to your first class: composition. You go to an art school, and while most of your friends want to be in the limelight, you are more reserved. You want to make music for other singers; you don’t want to be on the stage. You hate being in the spotlight, to be honest. Jisung, Chan, and Changbin are in a rap trio together, and they perform at a lot of the local clubs. Minho is a dancer, and he’s been in a few music videos for idols. 

Changbin is in your composition class. When you walk into the classroom, his forehead is pressed against the desk, a blank sheet of staff paper next to him. 

“It’s not 1970, why are we still using paper to write?” He groans. 

You chuckle, setting your backpack next to your seat, “I like it. Looking at screens for too long makes my head hurt.” You sip on your milk, taking a sheet of staff paper out of your binder. You get to work pretty quickly, as you always have some sort of a melody stuck in your head, “By the way, Jisung and Minho convinced me to be in your short film.” 

Changbin drops his pencil, a short gasp escaping his lips, “Really? You know you have to...be on camera for that?”

“God, don’t remind me. Minho kept saying he wouldn’t be comfortable doing it with anyone else. He’s so weird…” You’re talking to yourself more than anything, but of course, Changbin hears you.

“That’s because he likes you, Y/N.” He’s coloring in a quarter note, saying something that holds so much weight like it was nothing. It’s like he just told you there’s pizza in the cafeteria today.

“What? No he doesn’t, we’re just friends.” You chuckle awkwardly.

“Nah...I bet he’s got a crush on you. You’re definitely his type.”

“Great. All I’ve ever wanted to be was Lee Minho’s type.” You don’t look up from your paper as you speak with a monotone voice. You don’t even know what your type is, why would you know Minho’s? The thought sticks in your mind as you write. Does he like the quiet type? People who say all they need to in just a few words, leaving room for him to say everything on his mind? Or does he like the creative type; those who are like him, who can bond with him over their passion? You shake your head. It doesn’t matter; you don’t like Minho.

After school, you make your way to the courtyard behind the school where Jisung told you to meet. Everyone else who is working on the project is there: Jisung, Minho, Changbin, Chan, and some people you aren’t friends with. You recognize them though, as these guys are some of the most popular on campus: Lee Felix, Kim Seungmin, Yang Jeongin, and Hwang Hyunjin.

“Finally!” Jisung cries out, rushing towards you with a stack of papers and school uniform that definitely doesn’t belong to your school, “Go get changed and hurry back. We’re doing a table read today.”

Table read just meant you all sat around and read the script together, either in incredibly monotone voices or in funny accents. 

“Jeongin, your Australian accent makes me want to rip my own ears off.”

“IT’S GOOD, MATE.”

“NO, NO IT’S NOT.”

You had never hung out with half of these guys before, but you’re having fun. They make you feel a little less nervous about being on camera. Of course, you get a lot more attention than you would like, being the love interest to Minho’s main character and all. You two and Jeongin are the only actors, with Jeongin playing the comic relief side character. That would explain the voices. 

The first week is mostly prepping. Figuring out sets and lighting situations and learning your lines. You spend most of your time with Minho and Jeongin.

Minho practically has to feed you your lines, “Can you at least try and sound like you’re into me?”

“Um...okay. I...I like...ugh. I hate scenes like these-”

“Y/N!! Is it that hard to say you like me?” He pouts, “Here.” 

Minho cups your cheeks, twisting your head to face him, “I like you.” 

You flush, trying to pull away from him, but he’s got you trapped. After a few moments of silence, he giggles, “See! It’s not that hard.”

The next week marks the start of the shoot, and on the first day, you feel like you’re going to be sick. So sick, in fact, you asked to be excused after three takes. 

You sit in the hallway of the school building, your knees pulled up to your chest as you take deep breaths.

“Hey.” You look up, half expecting to see Minho. But you were wrong.

Hwang Hyunjin takes a seat next to you, sending you a soft grin that’s bright enough to make you feel dizzy.

“H-Hey…”

“I know this stuff can be hard. And the lights get really hot after a while. But I think you’re gonna do great!” His voice is gentle, and you have to hold your breath to hear every syllable.

You chuckle, “Sure. Just make sure you get my good side, alright, Mr. Cameraman?”

Hyunjin stands and reaches out, giving you a hand to hold onto, “Every side is your good side.”

And so your infatuation with Hwang Hyunjin begins. 

You so desperately want to avoid him, but that’s hard when he’s shoving a camera in your face for hours a day, and then taking you and Minho into the editing room to watch the progress. 

The videos embarrass you. Is that really what you look like on camera? Bright red cheeks and bumbling footsteps?

When you voice these concerns, Minho cooes, “But you look so cute! You look like you have a big, fat crush on me.” 

You shove his hand away from rustling your hair, “As if!” 

Going back to watching the footage, you miss the way Minho’s face falls ever so slightly.

“I don’t want anybody else. It’s always been you.” He reaches out for your hand, lacing your fingers together and squeezing.

You look up at him, disbelief written all over your face, “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, but I do,” He steps closer to you, his other hand coming up to hold your face. He leans in, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbones. His nose brushes against yours, and you feel his breath against your lips and-

“Cut!” Hyunjin calls out.

Minho backs away, giggling at you and pinching your cheeks before walking away.

You thought that things with Minho would be weird, with filming all of the love scenes and all. But he seems to love it. You don’t understand how he can look at you so intensely while he delivers his lines, and then giggle at you after the scene is over.

You sigh and shake your head, wandering over to Hyunjin, who’s staring intently at his laptop.

“Hey,” You start.

“Oh! Hey, Y/N. That scene you guys just did was perfect; hardly any editing needs to be done. Sit down, come look at this!”

You think you’re obsessed with the way Hyunjin speaks. When he gets excited, he stumbles over his words, and he’s always excited when it comes to the short film. He thinks in 8000 words per minute, but his mouth just can’t keep up. He’s gotten over apologizing for it, as every day you tell him that it’s fine and you understand him. Now, he just keeps going, and you rest your chin in your palm as you listen. You hardly watch the footage on the screen, as you’re still embarrassed. You only look when he points at it, wanting you to see a frame that was particularly beautiful to him or a line that was delivered well.

After shooting is over, you all still agree to meet in the courtyard every day after school, just to hang out and talk about the film. One of these days, Hyunjin calls you into the editing room.

“Now listen. I’m not supposed to tell anybody this, but I’ll tell you because you’re my favorite.” You try to ignore the way your heart flutters at his words and nod.

“This short film was just supposed to be for my film production class, right? Well! I pulled some strings, and they’re going to show it to the whole school! And post it online! So many people in the industry are going to see it and know who made it!” 

You’re glued to your seat, lost in thought. On one hand, you’re so happy that your friends are going to get the recognition they deserve. They’ve worked so hard on this. But on the other hand, your face is going to be plastered on screens all over the school. 

When you don’t reply, Hyunjin starts to get nervous, “Y/N? Are you okay?” 

You shake your head, pushing any negative thoughts away. You’re excited for your friends. They deserve this. Hyunjin deserves this. You jump up from your seat, “So many people are going to know who you are, Hyunjin! I bet at least one person is going to want to work with you!” You grab his arm excitedly as you speak. The boy squeals, pulling you into his arms. Your heart thuds against your ribcage as you realize that Hyunjin is hugging you. You hold onto him tighter as he starts to spin around with you in his grip. You’re so busy yelling for Hyunjin to stop in between your bouts of laughter, you don’t even see Minho standing outside the door, watching it all happen.

The next day, you’re sitting in the courtyard, at the table you and the other have spent lots of time at. You’re studying for a finance test, fingers rubbing at your temple as you feel a headache forming, when a carton of banana milk is slammed on the table in front of you. You look up slowly, making eye contact with Minho, who’s breathing heavily.

“Why did it have to be him?” He yells, and you flinch at the sudden volume.

“Minho…” You sigh after a moment, but he cuts you off.

“No! Don’t say my name like that. Like you care about me. You never cared about me. It’s always been him.”

“Of course I care about you, Minho. We’ve been friends for years-”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. And you know it.”

His words silence you, and you find yourself unable to keep eye contact. 

“This was supposed to be my chance. He was finally behind the camera. No one was looking at him for once. Except for you. Even when I was right there, right in front of you. Did those scenes mean nothing to you? You didn’t feel anything when I held your hand? Anything?”

“We were acting, Minho, it was a movie.” Your eyes are locked on your notes, and you feel a lump forming in your throat.

“Not to me! I was never acting. That was all Minho out there. And you still felt...nothing.” He sniffles, and you can hear his voice crack when he speaks again, “Did you wish it was him?”

“It doesn’t matter-”

“It matters to me! It matters because I like you and I’ve done everything I can to get you to notice me. And even when I’m the person holding you, you’re thinking about Hyunjin!”

You swallow your tears, slamming your notebook shut and standing from your seat, “Just leave me alone, Minho.” You push past the boy, not missing the lone tear streaking down the boy’s face. You hurry into the school building, finding an empty practice room and locking yourself in. You slide down the door with your eyes shut tight. You feel so, so guilty, but you never meant for this to happen. You didn’t even want to be in the film in the first place. 

You wipe your eyes. Minho will come around, you tell yourself. He’ll come around and the two of you will be friends again and everything will be okay. 

Your phone dings from your bag, and you pull it out to reveal a text from Hyunjin.

[ hyunjin ]: hey!! minho just came up to me and gave me some banana milk?? and said that it’s for you?? i didn’t even know you like banana milk lol … anyway where are you? i’ll bring it to you!!

You sigh and send Hyunjin your location, feeling too down to even be excited that your crush was coming to see you. When he comes, you sadly sip on your milk and listen to him talk about the premiere of your short film. You’re supposed to be excited, but the thought of seeing you and Minho on screen together, looking like you’re in love, makes you feel sick. 

“I think Minho likes you,” Hyunjin teases when you throw the carton away. 

“He does.”

Hyunjin gasps, “And do you like him back? I thought you guys were a couple when you first came on set, he was so excited to see you.” 

You sit next to Hyunjin on the piano bench, your fingers dancing over the keys.

“No. I wish I did though. That would be a lot easier.”

“Why?”

“Because if I liked Minho, he wouldn’t hate me right now.” 

“What? Why does Minho hate you?”

You turn to look at Hyunjin, faces only inches apart on the small bench. You admire his features for a second. He was so pretty, and you wish you could blame him for all of this, but you can’t.

“Because I like you.”

#minho #lee minho #lee know #stray kids #skz #minho imagines #lee minho imagines #lee know imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #minho scenarios #lee minho scenarios #lee know scenarios #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids minho #skz minho #stray kids lee know #skz lee know #minho x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader

[paintingwithdarkness]

"i run the night slot on campus radio and some jackass keeps calling in to insult my music taste and request high school musical songs instead” with BluePulse please!

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes. Y’all just listened to ‘Today is the Day’ by Yo La Tengo. Next up we have ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes.” Jaime pressed a button on the console in front of him, starting the next song before adding on to his commentary. “If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to call in!”

Jaime switched off his microphone and let the song play, flopping back in his chair. Running the night segment of the Houston University campus radio was a pretty chill gig. It paid him above minimum wage for every hour he worked, he only had to work six hour shifts, and it was only five days a week. Besides that, it was a solo job, and no one was there to tell him what to do. Obviously there had been some ground rules when he’d been hired— no cursing on air, and he had to take call-ins from students— but other than that, he had free rein of the radio frequency and he could play whatever music he wanted from 6 pm to Midnight, Monday through Friday. All he had to do was press buttons on a control console, sit back, relax, and occasionally answer the phone.

Speaking of which... Jaime checked the time. 10:28 pm. Great, that meant it was almost time.

With a groan, he raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation, eyes squeezing shut. Every night for the past two weeks at exactly 10:30 pm, without fail, the same jackass student had been calling in to insult his music taste and request High School Musical songs instead. The first time it had happened, Jaime had been shocked at the audacity of the student, but had granted the song request anyway. (He had to. It was part of his contract. If a person called in with a song request, Jaime had to grant it. The only exception was if someone requested a song that was inappropriate to air. As long as it had clean/sensored language, and was free from overly explicit themes, Jaime queued up the song).

He mentally prepared himself. ‘Seven Nation Army’ was just about over, and Jaime already had his next song selected. If he timed things right, he could take the annoying student’s call during the next song, and wouldn’t have to subject himself to humiliation where everyone who was listening to his station could hear. It had only taken Jaime three nights to catch onto the trend.

As the guitar faded out, Jaime switched back on his microphone and addressed his audience, “That one’s a classic. ‘Seven Nation Army’ by The White Stripes. Hope y’all enjoyed that one. I’ve got a few more songs in store for y’all with the time we have left-”

The tell-tale ring of the phone interrupted him. Jaime had to bite his tongue to prevent the string of Spanish curses that wanted to fall from his lips from actually coming out. He had spent too long talking, and now he had to take the dreaded call on-air.

He took a deep breath, and had to layer on the enthusiasm thick as he ‘cheerily’ exclaimed, “It looks like we have our first caller of the night!” Jaime picked up the phone and gave the scripted greeting, “Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

Like all the nights previous when Jaime had asked this question, he got the same response. “Nah. I think I’ll stay anonymous. Keep things interesting. Though if you want a clue, I’ll tell you; I’m on the track team.”

Jaime scrambled for his notebook. That was the biggest clue he’d gotten yet about this mysterious student caller. It was almost like some kind of game. So far, every night when this student had called in, they’d said they wanted to remain anonymous, yet would give a clue about their identity. So far, Jaime had a bulleted list of eight items, with ‘track team’ being number nine. The other clues he’d received were ‘hates Indie Rock’ (which was Jaime’s favorite genre of music, thank you very much), ‘favorite movie is High School Musical 2’ (which was blatantly obvious, based on the songs this jackass student always requested), ‘favorite color is red’ (which told Jaime squat about who this kid was), ‘favorite food is chicken whizzes’ (once again, jack shit), ‘red hair’ (which was the first major clue Jaime had gotten), ‘green eyes’ (now it was obvious the kid wanted Jaime to figure out who he was), ‘5’9”’ (somewhat helpful), ‘Freshman’ (which eliminated 3/4 of the students on campus this caller could be), ‘mechanical engineering major’ (another somewhat helpful clue), and ‘gay’ (which, wow, Jaime would never out himself live on the air. This guy had some balls...).

After the mad scramble for a pencil, Jaime flipped the notebook open and single-handedly jotted down the new piece of information, balancing the phone against his ear with the other hand. When he was finished, he leaned back in the big leather chair, kicking his feet up against the edge of the desk in front of himself, feeling satisfied. Jaime knew he had enough information now to track down this annoying student and put an end to these stupid calls interrupting his radio show every night. Tonight would be the last time ‘We’re All in This Together’, ‘Bop to the Top’, or ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ would play during his segment, and Jaime was RELIEVED.

“Is that why you feel the need to call into my show every night?” Jaime fired back at the student. “So you can rope all of your track mates into singing ‘We’re All in This Together’ while you run in circles?”

An airy laugh was the response. And there a slight second where Jaime thought to himself, ‘Wow. That’s actually kinda cute,’ before his brain rebooted and he realized how counterintuitive that was. This guy was an annoyance that had to be dealt with. So what if he had an attractive laugh? It didn’t erase all of the other judgements Jaime had already formed of this student. And they were that this guy had terrible music taste and needed to find another hobby besides calling in every night to bug the shit out of Jaime.

“What better song to commemorate mutual suffering?” The other man laughed again.

Jaime scowled. ‘Mutual suffering’? Sure, Jaime knew the vexing student was talking about his track mates, but he couldn’t help catching the irony in the choice of words. As far as Jaime was concerned, the only one doing any suffering was him.

“So is that your request for tonight?” Jaime just wanted to get this over with already.

A contemplative “hmmm” made its way down the line, before being followed with, “Well, I was originally gonna ask for ‘Get Your Head in the Game’ but ‘All in this Together’ works nicely, too.”

“Por Díos,” Jaime mumbled under his breath. “¿No puede este idiota tomar una decisión?”

“Woah, hey, is that Spanish?!” Apparently Jaime’s mumblings hadn’t been quiet enough. “Yo hablo español!”

Jaime cringed. The pronounciation was terrible, but the enthusiasm was endearing. And dammit! He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. His train of thought was off the tracks again.

Without saying anything else, Jaime turned to his computer, quickly punched ‘We’re All in this Together’ into the song search bar, and hit play. He switched over the audio connection so that the only thing his audience could hear was the music, took a deep breath, and then made his rebuttal to the annoying student.

“You might want to work on that pronounciation, ese.”

The response was whiny. “Aww, it’s not that bad!”

Jaime cringed. “It’s not great, either.”

The student on the other line sighed. “Fine. But at least I have good taste in music!”

“That’s debatable.” Jaime didn’t know why he was dragging out the conversation. Usually after he granted this annoying caller’s request each night, the student rattled off a final jab at Jaime, before just hanging up. Why was he staying on the line tonight? Maybe Jaime just had to direct the conversation in that direction?

“My music is better than what you play every night. I’m doing you and your radio station a favor!” And yep, there it was.

“I don’t think people are tuning into my station to listen to the one High School Musical song you insist I play every night.”

Jaime could practically hear the smirk through the line when the other student responded. “Even if people are tuning in to listen to your crappy music, my song is still the highlight.”

Jaime groaned. He was growing weary of this conversation. “Do you listen to anything besides terrible High School Musical songs?”

That cute laugh caught in Jaime’s ears again. “Doi. A guy needs to have a little variety in his music. I’ve also got ‘Can’t Stop Singing’, ‘Turn Up the Music’, ‘Determinate’-”

Jaime’s eyes rolled skyward. “I’m gonna stop you there. Does your playlist contain any songs that aren’t from Disney Channel movies?”

A horrified gasp marked the beginning of the indignant response. “What’s wrong with Disney movies? High School Musical is the crashest movie series in existence.”

Jaime didn’t have enough time to think over the choice of the word ‘crashest’ before the other student continued rambling on.

“What other kind of music do you need?! Disney movies have great numbers, teach you about life and friendship, and growing up, and you gotta be kidding me if you don’t think Zac Efron is hot playing Troy.”

Jaime snorted a laugh for the last amendment to the other student’s statement. He’d only watched High School Musical once, and that was enough for him. And despite occasionally finding other men attractive (being bisexual himself), Zac Efron had never really done it for Jaime.

“I wouldn’t exactly call those ‘musical numbers’ as you put it, any type of masterpiece, however, I suppose you earn a pass for the friendship and growing up part.” Jaime smartly decided to skip the Zac Efron comment altogether, “I would say I’m more of a fan of the Disney animated movies. At least I can tolerate the Lion King and Aladdin sound tracks.”

A little puff of a chuckle, and then, “You should really get a better hobby than bashing on Disney movies.”

Jaime scoffed and immediately fired back, “You’re the one who calls me every night to bash on my music.”

“Oooh.” The other student made a hissing sound, as if a flame were being extinguished. “Caught red handed. But—” And here, Jaime could sense something dangerous was about to be said— “how about we settle this once and for all. You obviously don’t get out of the radio studio enough. What say you come to the next Houston U track meeting? We can settle this music debate once and for all.” Yep. That was a challenge.

Jaime took a few seconds to deliberate. He was curious to see who this mysterious caller was. Besides, what harm could it do? Jaime was not the type to back down when he was challenged. He had his pride and dignity. He would not be bested by this asshole. He was going to go to that track meeting.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, ese.” If the other student were there in person, Jaime could imagine shaking his hand to seal the contract.

“Alright,” the other student said, and if Jaime wasn’t mistaken, he sounded rather gleeful that Jaime had taken the bait, “I’ll see you there.” And then the line went dead.

Jaime ran a hand through his hair as he hung up the phone with the other. What had he gotten himself into?

The next Houston U track meeting was a week and two days since the fated phone call. Since that night, the mysterious student caller hadn’t rung Jaime’s radio station. It was a power move, and a good one at that. He had put the ball in Jaime’s court (or passed him the baton? That was a track thing, right?), meaning all responsibility was on him. In all honesty, Jaime was tempted to skip out on their ‘deal’. Sure, he’d agreed, but only because Jaime’d thought it was the key to get the student to stop calling. Now that the calls had stopped, Jaime saw no reason to get involved and draw attention back to himself. Maybe if he didn’t go, the annoying student would just leave him alone.

On the other hand, if he didn’t go, wouldn’t that just give the other student more incentive to start calling him again? Not only would Jaime continue to get bashed for his music taste, but then the other student would also be able to expose him as a liar. That was definitely NOT the reputation Jaime wanted to have. He had no choice. He HAD to go to that stupid track meeting.

It didn’t mean he didn’t drag his feet the whole way to the field though. Even with his ticket and getting there five minutes early, it was near impossible to find a seat. Jaime had no idea a sporting event like track would be so popular. What was so special about a bunch of guys running around in a circle?

It took a little shoving and some mumbled “sorry”s and “excuse me”s before Jaime was finally able to plunk down next to a young couple, in one of the only empty seats left. They seemed like nice enough people; the man even tried making small talk with him once Jaime sat down; but Jaime’s shy demeanor prevented the conversation from launching into something deeper.

Once the couple was no longer paying him much attention, Jaime surreptitiously slipped his little pocket notebook out of his jeans and flipped it open to the page where he had noted all of the little clues his mystery caller had given him.

Unfortunately, only some of them were usable in this context. Clues about the other student’s personality and preferences wouldn’t help Jaime identify anyone. Only the clues the track star had given Jaime about his physical appearance would be of use. He was looking for a redheaded, green-eyed, 5’9” Freshman. Should be simple enough.

When Jaime glanced down to where the runners were stretching by the starting blocks, he immediately noticed three boys with red hair. Luckily, this track meet was only a Houston U event and other schools weren’t participating. That meant one of the three was his mysterious caller.

From this distance, Jaime couldn’t judge eye color, and height was difficult to gage. He supposed he would have to wait for the announcers to give the names and grades of the competitors. Hopefully only one of the redheads would be a Freshman, and Jaime could find his culprit.

Within a few minutes, a runner was at the blocks for every lane. The first event was the 100m sprint. Everyone on the team would be participating. Only six could go at a time, and the announcer said that there would be three heats. Unfortunately for Jaime, the announcer didn’t bother with the names of the competitors since everyone was running, but he hoped that at least the winners would be announced, in case his redhead happened to be one of them.

In the first heat, two of the three red-haired boys were lined up at the blocks. Jaime trained his eyes on them. The first boy was in the second lane, and the other in the sixth lane. Hopefully one of the two would win so that Jaime could narrow down his suspects.

When the starting gun fired, all six runners took off like rockets. The pure speed was quite a shock for Jaime to witness. Within fifteen seconds, all six runners crossed the finish line.

“Winner!” The announcer shouted, once first place for the heat had been determined. He held up the arm of one of the redheads Jaime had been watching. “Senior Wally West with a time of 10.8 seconds!”

An elderly couple three seats over from where Jaime was sitting sprang out of their seats cheering. “Yeah, Wally!” shouted the man. His wife was enthusiastically clapping.

When they sat down again, the couple next to Jaime (conveniently sandwiched between him and the cheering couple) turned to face them.

“Wow!” the blond man next to Jaime exclaimed. “That’s his fastest time yet!”

The other blond man laughed (and it was then that Jaime noticed the striking resemblance). “He’s been working hard. Of course, he’s no match for Bart, but just maybe Wally might have a shot at beating him in the 3200m.”

The brunette woman of the younger couple hummed, a smirk resting on her lips. “I don’t know about that one. Our Bart’s got Thawne blood, too. He’s got runners from both sides. Wests... not so much.”

“Mel!” the man next to Jaime gasped, scandalized. “I thought we said no family rivalry at track meets?”

Immediately the brunette woman, Mel, appologized. “Sorry, sorry.”

“That’s right,” the man from the elderly couple interjected. “You have to remember Donny’s got some West blood himself. Iris was a West before she married me.” He slung an arm around the graying red-haired woman sitting beside him.

It was then that Jaime was able to piece it together. The young blond man— Donny— sitting next to him, was the son of the elderly couple— Iris and her husband (unfortunately Jaime didn’t have his name yet). The younger brunette woman— Mel— was Donny’s wife, and one of the runners— Bart— was their son, and the grandson of the elderly couple. Wally— the runner who had just won the first heat was a relative (?) of the two couples.

By the time Jaime was done puzzling out the relations, the next heat of runners was already at the starting blocks. Unfortunately, the other redhead, whom Jaime guessed was Bart, was not in this heat.

The starting gun fired, and the race was over within fifteen seconds again. The winner was announced, and the runners of the third heat took their places.

Jaime’s gaze zeroed in on the redhead in the first lane. That must be Bart. Mel and Donny were balanced on the edges of their seats next to Jaime.

As soon as the gun fired, Bart was nearly a quarter of the way down the lane. He was insanely fast. Jaime wouldn’t be surprised if he hit an Olympic time. His teammates stood no chance.

When he was announced the winner, Jaime had to do a double take at the 9.63 second time blinking on the screen behind him. That was more than a second faster than Wally, who had won the first heat.

“‘Attaboy, Bart!” Donny yelled.

The exclamation caused Bart’s attention to be drawn towards them. He waved proudly at his parents, and then his gaze caught on Jaime. Even from this distance Jaime could see the electric green eyes trained on him. There was no mistaking it now. Even with the other redhead to consider (since Jaime hadn’t heard his name or grade announced yet), he was certain Bart was his mystery caller. There was something in his eyes— a knowing glint— that made Jaime nervous. Could Bart know who he was?

It wasn’t completely impossible. Because he ran the campus radio at night, Jaime had a page on the school website. His name and picture were plastered right along side Cassie and Gar’s. Cassie had the morning shift from 6 am to noon, and Gar’s comedy segment ran from noon to 6 pm, when Jaime started. All Bart had to do was look him up and he would know exactly who Jaime was.

In retrospect, Jaime easily could have done the same to figure out who his annoying caller was. Once he’d received the track team clue, he could have pulled up the roster and narrowed his suspects down. He could have ruled out Wally because he was a Senior, and possibly even the other redhead based on his year. The announcer had said that Bart was a Freshman when he’d announced him as a winner, so Jaime figured he was the most likely of the three to be the caller. He matched all of the physical descriptors.

There were two more sprinting events that followed, each doubling the distance of the previous. After witnessing the 100m event, Jaime wasn’t surprised when Bart came in first for the 200m and 400m. It was honestly impressive. Bart was talented both in the art of running and annoying Jaime over phone calls. Truly difficult feats.

Once the sprinting events were finished, the competitors moved onto the field. Unlike the sprinting events, some members of the team sat out. Jaime noticed only six members of the team were participating. Two for discus, two for shot put and two for javelin. Neither Bart nor Wally was one of the six. The other redhead on the other hand, was lined up at the javelin throwing line.

Jaime paid him little mind. As soon as the announcer introduced him as a Senior, Jaime tuned out completely. Now there was absolutely no doubt whatsoever. Bart was his mystery caller.

While the field events took place, Jaime watched Bart stretching out on the side of the track. He was surprisingly limber. And Jaime had nothing to blame but the part of his mind attracted to men when he watched Bart bend over in his running shorts to stretch out his hamstrings. He had really nice legs, among... other things.

Jaime shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking things like that. He’d come here to put Bart in his place because of the annoying phone calls. Not admire his amazing calves.

When the field events were over, some members of the team moved back onto the track for the hurdle events. Again, Bart was not amongst them.

“He doesn’t do hurdles either?” Jaime accidentally mused aloud.

Donny turned to look at him. “First track meeting?” he asked, kindly.

Jaime felt a blush crop up on his cheeks. He hadn’t meant for his comment to be out loud.

“Yeah,” he admitted, despite his embarrassment.

Donny gave him a smile. “They each only do one event plus the sprints. You’ve got the three field events, hurdles, and long distance.”

“Oh.” Jaime nodded to show he understood.

Donny outstretched his hand. “I’m Don.”

Jaime shook Bart’s father’s hand. “Jaime,” he returned.

When Don took his hand back, he used it to point to his wife. “This is my wife, Meloni.”

The brunette woman waved at him.

“And my parents, Barry and Iris.” He gestured at each member of the older couple as well.

Jaime ducked his head shyly. “Nice to meet you all.”

The pop of the starting gun drew their attention back to the track where the hurdlers had just taken off from the blocks. Jaime watched on in interest, amazed at the skill that had been displayed today. He’d never imagined a track meet being this entertaining.

After a few moments, Don turned back to him. “Who’re you here for?” He pointed down at the track members surrounding the edge of the rubberized circle, cheering on their participating teammates.

Jaime felt that blush bloom on his cheeks again. Should he be honest? He was sitting right next to Bart’s parents. What if they started asking questions he didn’t have the answers to?

“Uh, I-I’m here for Bart.” He didn’t really have any other options. He didn’t know the names of any of the other track members.

Donny’s green eyes suddenly lit up. “Bart didn’t tell us his boyfriend was coming! It’s quite a coincidence we ended up sitting next to one another!”

Jaime gave a hard blink, processing the sentences that had just exited the blond man’s mouth. “Uh, we’re not-”

Meloni cut him off. “Oh! You’re the one who runs the campus radio! I knew your name sounded familiar. Bart talks about you all the time!”

The first thought that went through Jaime’s mind was, ‘Does he now?’. There was no mistaking it. Bart was 100 percent the annoying student who called into his radio segment each night. And Bart knew who he was. As soon as this track meeting was over, Jaime was definitely going to have some words with him.

“It’s so nice to finally get to meet you!”

Jaime didn’t know whether he should burst their bubble. Don and Meloni seemed like genuinely good people, and they were happy for their son having seemingly found a relationship. Although their assumptions weren’t true, Jaime knew he would feel extremely bad telling them otherwise.

Luckily, there wasn’t much time for him to dwell on the subject. As soon as the winners for the hurdling events were determined, the obstacles were cleared off the track and the next set of runners were lining up at the starting blocks. Two heads of red hair immediately caught Jaime’s attention. Bart and Wally were lining up in lanes one and two, while a few more of their track mates joined them in the other lanes.

“Who do you think it’ll be this time?” Barry posed the question aloud.

“I think Bart’s got a running shot.”

Everyone groaned at Don’s poor-quality joke.

“I apologize on my husband’s behalf,” Meloni mostly addressed Jaime, “What he meant was that Bart’s been working on his pacing. He’s the fastest on the team, and has always taken first in all of the sprinting events, but Wally always gives him some good competition for the long distance stuff.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully. Bart had definitely been fast; no doubt about that. But he was curious to see how he would do in an event that required more endurance. Apparently he would actually have some competition this time, unlike in the sprinting events where Bart had left all of his teammates in the dust.

When the starting gun fired, Jaime found himself actually holding his breath. This first distance was 1500m, just shy of a mile. Jaime could remember having to do the one mile run in P.E. back in high school and how much of a pain it had been. The best time Jaime had ever gotten was just over six minutes.

For the first lap or so, Wally and Bart were neck and neck. The rest of their teammates were about half a lap behind. Then, when they went into the second lap, Bart kicked it up a notch, pulling ahead. Wally kept his own even pace, a schooled look of determination set over his features, while Bart’s lips transformed into a confident smirk.

By the final lap, Bart and Wally were shoulder to shoulder again. It was clear that Wally had the superior skill when it came to pacing, as he had been able to keep the same speed the whole time, whereas Bart’s speed had varied in spurts, depending on his level of endurance. It was unclear which one of them was going to win.

When Jaime looked around at the stands, he could see fans eagerly debating which one of the redheads they thought was going to win. The general consensus seemed to be Wally, but Jaime had a feeling his High School Musical-song-loving caller had a trick up his sleeve.

When they reached the last 100m or so of the race, the stadium burst into cheering, each person of the audience shouting encouragement to their respective runner. Against all odds, and to the surprise of many, Bart burst into a full out sprint, easily overtaking Wally, and crossing the finish line with an enthusiastic whoop.

Jaime was absolutely shocked to say the least. After running three laps, how had Bart found the energy for that last burst of speed?

A time of 4.02 minutes flashed on the screen behind them as the announcer proclaimed Bart the winner. Meloni and Don broke into cheers beside Jaime, and Barry and Iris clapped as well to show their support. Even Jaime found a small smile working it’s way onto his lips as he clapped, in awe of the impressive speed Bart had just displayed.

There was a few minutes between events while the results of the race were recorded and the next set of runners lined up at the starting blocks. Again, both Bart and Wally were among the competitors. This time, the distance was more than double what they had just run at 3200m. Jaime was curious to see how Bart would hold up against the longer distance.

When the starting gun fired, all of the runners took off as a group, rather than Bart and Wally distinguishing themselves from the pack right away. With eight laps to go, Jaime supposed it made sense. No point in going all out during the first half of the race, only to burn out when it really mattered. Bart and Wally would probably wait until the final few laps to burst ahead of their teammates.

Around and around the track they went, keeping pace with one another until the sixth lap. As soon as they passed the starting line, all of the runners kicked it up a notch, and gaps between the competitors became more noticeable. As expected, Wally and Bart pulled ahead of everyone else, and chatter broke out amongst the crowd about which redhead it would be this time.

Barry and Iris seemed to have their money on their nephew (Jaime had finally pieced it together when Barry made the comment about Iris being a West before marriage), whereas Don and Meloni, being the proud parents they were, were betting on their son to come out on top. Jaime couldn’t help being biased, and was also rooting for Bart. After all, he was the whole reason Jaime was at this track meet to begin with.

Bart was giving his all. Halfway into the last lap, he was ahead of Wally by a few steps. It seemed like he had the win in the bag. Then out of nowhere, Wally pulled the same stunt Bart had last time.

Jaime could see Bart do a double take when his cousin passed him, but there was nothing he could do. Bart’s strength was his speed; not endurance. He was only able to give about 80 percent, whereas Wally had paced himself better, and could pour 100 percent of his speed into the last leg of the race.

While Jaime was disappointed to see Bart take second, he was still impressed overall. Wally had beat Bart by two seconds, but Bart had beat the rest of his team by nearly ten seconds, meaning he and Wally had had quite an impressive lead.

Barry, Iris, Don and Meloni were engaged in a chat about the outcome of the latest race, but Jaime found his eyes glued to his not-so-mysterious (anymore) caller. Despite losing the last event, Bart seemed to be a good sport. He and Wally were standing on the sidelines, getting a quick drink and catching their breaths before the final event was set to start. Between gulps of water, Jaime could see the cousins teasing one another, egging each other on, and hyping one another up for the competition of the next race.

When they were called over to the track for the last event, Bart elbowed Wally in the ribs with a cocky smirk on his face, and Wally retaliated by pulling the smaller man into a headlock to ruffle his hair. Jaime didn’t quite know what to make of it, other than that Bart seemed to have a cocky, playful personality. It explained why he had been so adamant about playing the stupid identity game he had roped Jaime into over the phone during his radio segments each night.

The last distance was 5000m, or approximately 12 laps. Just thinking about that much running made Jaime want to cry. Needless to say, he wasn’t a huge fan of running. Other sports, sure, but running was not something Jaime enjoyed for himself. He would have to give massive kudos to Bart for having enough dedication to running to put himself through the 12 lap race.

Again, all of the runners stayed in a pack for the majority of the race. By about lap eight, it was clear who the real endurance runners were. The six competitors had spread out, a few feet behind one another, with Wally leading. There was a black-haired guy on his heels, and following behind him were Bart and another black-haired runner, a little shorter than the man in front of him. Two more runners were taking up the rear.

Laps nine, ten and eleven passed without much change. It wasn’t until they got into the final lap that Bart mustered the energy to pull ahead of his two black-haired teammates and take up the trail behind his cousin.

Wally’s winning time of fourteen minutes and two seconds flashed up on the scoreboard, followed by Bart’s time of 14.08. Jaime almost had to do a double take. When he calculated the math, it meant Bart had averaged a time of approximately a minute and eleven seconds per lap, and Wally had been faster still!

While the judges and officials were confirming the results of all of the events that had taken place, the stadium around Jaime burst to life as audience members began to make their exit down to the track to meet with and congratulate the athletes they had come to support. Beside him, Don, Meloni, Barry and Iris stood from their seats and gathered up their belongings, preparing to go congratulate Bart and Wally on their wins in today’s events.

“You should come with us, Jaime,” Meloni suggested when Jaime didn’t stand up with the rest of them.

Immediately, a stone sank in the college student’s stomach. What would Bart think if he saw Jaime with his parents? He and Bart hadn’t even met yet. How would Jaime be able to explain if Bart’s parents brought up the boyfriend issue?

Reluctantly, Jaime got up to follow the two couples down to the track. He was sweat-dropping. He really hoped Bart’s parents wouldn’t make things awkward.

As soon as he was in range, Don slung an arm around his son’s shoulders, congratulating him on his multiple wins. Meloni also smothered Bart in a hug when she got her opportunity, cooing over how well he had done. Beside them, Barry and Iris were doing much of the same to their nephew, expressing their awe of Wally’s endurance in the long-distance events. Meanwhile, Jaime stood awkwardly by, waiting for a chance to hopefully have a chat with his not-so-mysterious caller.

When the Allens finally separated from their son, Jaime locked eyes with Bart. There was a glint in those green irises that Jaime couldn’t place. It wasn’t good or bad per say; Jaime could only describe it as making him feel on edge, ready to tip one way or the other.

As soon as Meloni noticed the stare between the two boys, she immediately turned on Bart, much to Jaime’s horror.

“Bart! Why haven’t you introduced us to your boyfriend? He’s such a handsome young man.” She used an insistant hand to push Jaime forward, so much so that he almost stumbled and fell into the chest of his supposed “boyfriend”. Luckily, Bart’s hands came up and caught him by the biceps before that could happen.

Both his and Bart’s eyes widened. Pink burned hot on each of their cheeks. Jaime took a quick step back. He felt like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“Well?” Don goaded. “Don’t be shy! I’m glad to see my son’s finally been able to put the Allen-family charm to use! How long have you two been together?”

Jaime could feel the color in his cheeks getting darker by the second. Bart was still giving him this weird look, as if it weren’t his parents who had instigated this whole conversation in the first place. The prolonged awkward eye contact was making Jaime uneasy, and he was tempted to just speak up and shut down Bart’s parent’s idea about him and their son being in a relationship, but before he had the chance, Bart was clearing his throat to speak.

The track star raised a hand to the back of his neck, and Jaime had to do a double-take at the innocent “embarrassed” façade he was now putting on. “Well,” he said, playing bashful, “Guess the cat’s out of the bag, Babe.”

Jaime’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates upon hearing the pet name. Bart was just going to go along with this?!

Without preamble, the redhead slung his arm around Jaime’s shoulders, crushing him into his side in a display of “affection” for his parents’ benefit. “Jaime’s a little shy,” Bart said, when Jaime failed to fill in the silence. “He wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I’m actually a little surprised he came to the track meet today.”

Bart subtly bumped Jaime’s hip with his own, which was a cue for him to talk. It took a moment for the raven-haired boy to scramble for a response. He would play along... for now.

“I had to see if you were as good as you were making yourself out to be,” Jaime had noticed Bart’s encoded message; he hadn’t expected Jaime to take his phone call seriously and show up. Jaime was giving his own back in return (I had to discover who the annoying caller was).

Bart chuckled. “Would I ever lie to you?”

Jaime had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Now the guy was just laying it on thick.

“Of course not, Chiquito.” The pet name came out from behind clenched teeth.

Luckily, Mel and Donny seemed to buy their act. When it was clear they were in the clear, Bart asked, “Mom, Dad, is it okay if I have a few minutes alone with my boyfriend?”

Meloni and Don shared a look before Don said, “Okay. But no hankey-pankey behind the bleachers!” He waved a finger at them, teasing smile in place over his lips.

Jaime felt himself going pink. “Of course not, Sir,” he managed to get out, in spite of how mixed up this situation had gotten.

Bart grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him a little ways down the track so that they were out of Meloni and Don’s hearing range. As soon as he had the opportunity, Jaime whirled on him.

“What the hell was that back there, ese?” Jaime hissed.

Bart shrugged. “They bought it, didn’t they?”

Jaime felt his eyes narrow into a glare. “Why didn’t you correct them?”

Bart did another shrug, this time with a knowing expression on his face. “It’s not like you said anything either.”

Jaime’s glare fell apart under the truthful accusation. It was his fault for not immediately shutting down the idea when Don had first brought it up to him in the stands.

Bart placed his hands on his hips and began rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet to his heels. “In all honesty, I’m actually surprised you showed up.”

Jaime emulated Bart’s pose, resting a fist against his hip and gesturing with the other. “Well, I couldn’t risk you calling back during my segment tonight and accusing me of being a liar in front of my entire audience, now could I?”

Bart tilted his head in such a way that Jaime had to repress the thought of ‘Oh, that’s cute,’ before it accidentally slipped out of his mouth.

A faint pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks. “I guess I did kind of back you into a corner, didn’t I?” He raised a hand to the back of his neck, and it was the moment that Jaime realized Bart was genuinely sorry for having done so. While he may have wanted Jaime to show up today, it was clear now that he wouldn’t have used Jaime’s absence as blackmail against him if he had decided not to show.

Not wanting Bart to feel guilty, Jaime shrugged it off. “No es gran cosa.”

A smile worked its way onto Bart’s mouth. “I have no idea what that means, but I’m guessing by the look on your face, you’re not actually all that bothered by it.”

Jaime sighed. “Well, besides inviting me here so I can tell you how much I hate granting your High School Musical requests every night, what exactly is the reason?”

Bart scoffed. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to say that to my face!” He was trying to deliver the line seriously, but the smile on his lips told Jaime that he wasn’t actually offended.

Jaime shrugged, a small smirk working its way onto his own lips. “What can I say? Disney Channel movies are cheesy, and their sound tracks are even worse.”

Bart chuckled. “Your music is too depressing. You need something more upbeat. Less lyrics about death, sad childhoods, and oppression. ‘We’re All in this Together’, right ah-me-go?”

Jaime cringed, both at Bart’s pronunciation and at the stereotypes. His music was more complex than what Bart was making it out to be. Besides, Jaime wasn’t here to argue anyway. Bart had invited him to this track meeting with ulterior motives, and Jaime was determined to figure out what they were.

“Not all of my music is depressing,” Jaime countered. “Besides, you ignored my question. Surely you had some kind of motive in inviting me here besides to just discuss your terrible music taste. I want to know what it is.” Jaime raised both eyebrows.

An unexpected pink blush rose to Bart’s cheeks, covering up the freckles sprayed like paint across his Caucasian skin. “I wanted you to notice me.” Jaime nearly missed the words, for they came out of Bart’s mouth in a whisper.

“You wanted me to notice you?” He repeated the statement, hoping for a bit of an explanation.

Bart’s blush deepened, skin in competition with his hair for reddest feature. His green eyes were piercing the ground, seemingly in an effort to burn a hole big enough to burry himself in to avoid such embarrassment. His fingers twisted harshly against one another. His whole aura had changed from the confident runner he had been on the track to nervous schoolboy.

“We’re in the same physics class.” Bart’s sneaker kicked up a puff of dirt as he ground his toe into the sand.

Jaime blinked. He’d never seen anyone like Bart in his physics class. Was he that non-observant that he had missed him?

“I-I usually sit behind you.” It sounded like Bart was struggling to admit something difficult. Usually Jaime was the shyer one in conversations, so he completely understood what it felt like having to lead a difficult conversation. But he wanted to get to the bottom of this. Bart was on the edge of a confession, and Jaime had to know what it was.

“I noticed how a-attractive—” Bart’s blush deepened yet again— “you were pretty much as soon as I laid eyes on you. I-I wanted to get to know you better, so I asked around a little. Turns out Cassie’s a mutual friend of ours. She told me a little bit about you, from working with you at the radio station, and I did a little bit of research on my own. I looked you up on the school website. I started calling in to your station. I kept asking Cassie if she could find out more about you for me. Your favorite color, food, movie... Any hobbies, or things you like. I started piecing together this picture of you in my mind, using our conversations on the phone to confirm or deny my theories about you. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was desperate for you to notice me, so I started dropping hints on the phone, hoping you would take an interest. But you didn’t. And I-I can understand if-if you don’t feel the same way but IthinkIaccidentlyfellinlovewithyou.”

Jaime blinked hard. “¿Qué?” That last bit had left Bart’s mouth in an unintelligible jumble of sounds. Had Bart just admitted he was in love with him?

When Jaime snapped out of his confusion and looked back at Bart, he saw that the track star was struggling to hold back tears. A salty droplet fell from his chin and landed on the ground between them, creating a dark spot in the dirt. His shoulders were trembling with the effort to not let out a cry.

Guilt settled hard in Jaime’s stomach, like a boulder being dropped into a lake. The aftershocks were still rippling through his system. The pieces were slowly coming together.

Bart was in love with him, and wanted the feeling to be mutual. He had called in to Jaime’s radio station, hoping that he could get Jaime to take an interest in him. He wanted Jaime to pursue him, that way he would know for sure that Jaime felt the same way. And Jaime had taken an interest; he’d just done a poor job at showing it.

Hesitantly, Jaime reached a hand forward in an effort to get Bart to look up at him. “Por favor, no llores. Lo siento, I-”

Bart took a step back, angrily wiping his tears away with his fists. “No. I-it’s stupid. I built this idea of you up in my head, and it’s probably not who you are at all. I was just desperate and wanted you to like me back. And I know that me calling you every night was probably annoying and that you probably aren’t even into guys-”

Jaime surged forward, grabbing onto the other boy’s bicep with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other, and did something that surprised himself probably even more than it surprised Bart.

Bart froze, teary eyes wide in shock as Jaime’s lips smashed against his own. He was too surprised to react.

As soon as Jaime realized what he had done, he pulled back, blushing madly. Despite his embarrassment however, he couldn’t help the truth that fell from his lips.

“I am.” When Bart still looked confused, Jaime rushed to clarify. “Into guys. Into... you. I’m bisexual.” He raised a hand to nervously rub at the short raven hairs along the back of his neck, chuckling awkwardly.

Bart seemed to snap out of his stupor. “You’re into me? I didn’t think you were interested. I thought you only came today because I was blackmailing you.”

Jaime’s awkward laugh turned amused. “If you think I showed up today because of your so-called ‘blackmail’, you need a new definition for the word.” He moved his hand from his neck, slipping it into his pocket to pull out his notebook. Jaime flipped it to the page where he had taken down all of the little clues Bart had given to him over the phone and turned the book around to show it to the track star. Bart’s green eyes widened slowly as he read over all of Jaime’s scrupulously written notes.

“I wrote down everything you told me about yourself.”

Bart’s gaze slowly ascended from the page, an awed look in his eyes. Hastily, Jaime closed the notebook and placed it back in his pocket. He shifted his weight from foot to foot in consideration before finally saying, “I’d like a chance to get to know you. I want to give us—” Jaime used a finger to gesture between himself and Bart— “a chance. If that’s... crash?” He tested out the word he’d heard Bart use during a few of their phone calls.

The redhead’s face lit up like a child’s after receiving a piece of candy. “Yeah! That’s totally crash! When are you free?”

“Uh-” Jaime pulled out his phone to check his calendar, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Time to get this show on the road, Kiddos.” When Jaime looked up to see who the hand belonged to, he saw Bart’s father standing between them, his other hand grasping onto his son’s shoulder. “Who knows what you two would get up to if Mel and I left you alone any longer.” Don playfully shook his head, before turning the eyes Bart had inherited from him on his son. “Your mother and I were college sweethearts, too. We know what kind of things kids your age get up to.”

Both Bart and Jaime blushed at the implications.

“Dad!” Bart groaned in embarrassment.

Don chuckled, as if it were all in a day’s work embarrassing his son. He turned to Jaime. “We usually go out as a family after track meets to celebrate. Everyone’ll be there. It’s a good opportunity for Bart to introduce you to the family. If you’re up for going, Jaime?”

The raven-haired student shared a look with his boyfriend? friend? person-he-thought-was-very-attractive-but-wanted-to-get-to-know-a-little-better-before-dating? Bart shrugged.

Jaime felt put on the spot. He and Bart had just discussed the possibility of beginning a relationship, and now he was supposed to meet the ‘rents? Not that he hadn’t already, but that was beside the point. Going out for a meal with Bart’s parents, grandparents, cousin and who-knows-who-else, and having to pretend that he’s madly in love with someone he was just meeting for the first time today? This had the potential to kill any chances he and Bart had at actually beginning a real relationship.

“I’m sorry, I already have plans,” was what Jaime wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Sure. I’d love to get to meet your family, Cariño.”

“Good evening, Tigers! You’re listening to Houston U’s nightly segment. I’m your host, Jaime Reyes-”

“-and his amazing boyfriend, Bart Allen-”

Jaime had to stifle an ‘oomph!’ as his boyfriend of three glorious months slung an arm around his neck and plopped down on his lap, leaning in close to the microphone so that he could be heard, too.

“-Next up we have ‘Flourescent Adolescence’ by Arctic Monkeys-”

“-And after that, ‘I Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You’ from High School Musical!” Bart slammed a finger into the ‘play’ button, starting the next song in the queue, before swinging his leg around so he could straddle Jaime’s lap and drag him into a kiss.

When they pulled apart, Jaime had a pout on his lips. “Who let you in here?” Bart wasn’t supposed to be in the studio, especially when Jaime was live on the air.

The younger smirked deviously. “Cassie might have loned me her key so that I could pay my boyfriend a visit while he was working...”

Jaime shook his head. “Of course she did.”

Bart booped his nose with a fingertip. “Don’t act so put out. You know you looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head, trying to keep a poker face. “Nope. You just tainted my reputation by saying that we’re gonna play High School Musical songs voluntarily. How could I love someone who would pull such a slanderous act against me?”

Bart poked his nose again. “You looooove me.”

Jaime shook his head. His lips threatened to quirk up into a smile. His poker face was cracking. “Nope.”

Bart hovered his lips dangerously close to Jaime’s own. “Admit it, Babe. You love me more than anyone in the world.”

Jaime’s mask crumbled. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “Te amo con todo mi corazón.” He pulled Bart that little inch forward to kiss him again.

Unfortunately the phone cut their loving moment shorter than either boy wanted. Jaime picked it up.

“Hello, fellow Tiger! You’re on-air with Houston U’s nightly segment. Care to introduce yourself to all the listeners out there?”

“Yeah, Jaime, it’s Gar. I’m glad to hear that you finally found yourself a good partner, but next time you might want to make sure your mic is off before making any declarations of love while you’re live.”

Crimson bloomed to life across the entirety of his face while Gar hung up on the other end of the line. Immediately, the radio host leaned forward and flicked off the switch to his microphone. Jaime buried his face in his hands.

“I hate you!” He directed at Bart in an embarrassed moan.

Bart chuckled. “Nah. You looooove me.”

Here it finally is @purple--waffles! I’m so sorry it took me so long! I’ve been slowly working on it since the day your request arrived in my asks. Life is crazy, and I haven’t had a whole lot of time to write recently, but I really wanted to finish this for you. My mind ran with the prompt, and even though it took me awhile, hopefully the length makes up for it??? Maybe? Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

#young justice #yj #bart allen #jaime reyes #kid flash #impulse #blue beetle #bluepulse #asks #answers #writing requests #sorry this took me a little while to finish

[ragnarachael]

Joyride

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k  

Summary: You're heading back to your apartment after a game night at a friend's place when you encounter Loki for the first time since his invasion in 2012.

Author’s Ramblings: hi!! this is my entry for @gingerwritess​ writing challenge! congrats on 4k!!! 💖 (i hope it’s okay i’m only like 100 and some odd words past 2k,, apparently i couldn’t make it less than that for the life of me)

Warnings: talks of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus! (it’s nothing too graphic, if i’m being honest. and yes, blame National Theatre Live for this), reader is kinda hesitant in the beginning about Loki bc of the whole “take over NYC” thing. that’s really all i can think of for warnings!

LOKI TAGLIST: @sadwaywardkid​

MASTERLIST !    FEEDBACK !   AO3 LINK !

You saw him on the A Train. You noticed his lithe form when you took a minute to glance up from your book.

Him as in the one who took New York in his clutches momentarily back in 2012 while you were in the middle of a shift at the coffee shop you used to work at that was just near the main spot of action. Loki. 

It was only the two of you on this train at this time of night. You were heading back home to your apartment where your dog would most likely be sleeping on her assigned side of the bed, passed out after trying to wait up for you. Your friends hosted a game night and insisted you had come. 

And you kicked ass in Scrabble, Life—Spongebob Edition, you remembered picking Squidward as your token to play the game—and even Cluedo.

And you never won Cluedo. 

You were proud of yourself. Three wins on one game night is better than nothing. Usually, you’re a sore loser every time you’re invited over. 

It seemed like everything was going your way tonight. 

Until you caught Loki studying the cover of your book as you read. 

After you finished your last book on the train on the way to work, you decided to shove your worn copy of Coriolanus in place and never bothered to take it out. So naturally, that was your reading material of choice tonight as you waited for the final stop. 

“May I help you?” You questioned, glancing up at the God that sat across from you. When he didn’t reply, you tried to direct your attention back to the book pages, rereading the huge section you had just skipped over 

You heard him shift, which made you look up at him again. However this time, you maintained eye contact. 

What do you say when a murderer is looking at your book late at night on your train back home? You didn’t want to end up dead by the end of this interaction. You had a life to carry on with. Manuscripts to finish, your dog to take care of, your parents to mildly ignore when they tell you how you should be living. 

Not dead on the A Train after being slain by Loki, the God of Mischief. 

He seemed like he was in a trance when he apologized quietly.

That was... odd. 

“I.. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice the author’s name on the cover of your book,” he spoke up, finally leaning back on the seat as the train started to go in the direction of the third to last stop for the night. “Shakespeare, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes,” you said hesitantly, fighting the urge to look at the cover yourself to make sure that it was Shakespeare, even though you knew exactly what it was. “Another tragedy.”

“May I ask which? The title seems to be scratched off.”

You could feel your face heating up at his words. He noticed that? Now that you thought about it, it made sense that he was staring so long for the title.

“It’s uh, Coriolanus. Roman soldiers and stuff. Right up your alley if you think about it,” you said, your eyes darting back to the pages you were permanently stuck on. You didn’t want to see his reaction when he figured out you knew him. 

Loki seemed stunned at your reply for assuming such. It’s not like you had been wrong. You did some research on Asgard a while after 2012 and learned a thing or two about their politics. 

Quite Roman-esque in your unprofessional opinion. 

He seemed to mull it over for a moment before letting a chuckle out. “It appears you may be right, darling.”

Darling. 

That made chills run up your spine. Not... not in a bad way, though. You wouldn’t mind him calling you that again, as a matter of fact.

The conversation was cut by the screeching breaks of the train. You both braced yourselves in your seats so you didn’t slide with gravity as the train finally got to a stop, reaching the third to last station. 

The doors opened for no one, and waited. 

There was some sort of silence you couldn’t decipher as the doors waited for no one to arrive. You turned the page to your book, pretending to be reading. Your mind was still replaying the words Loki said. 

Mainly darling, but that's besides the point. 

Eventually, the doors closed and the train was back to moving. Loki was back to looking at your book cover, and you actually got pulled back into the script.

Until you were interrupted again. 

“Why is your copy in such poor quality?”

Loki’s voice was like velvet as he started to take interest in you again. 

“I’ve had it for a long, long time.”

That answer seemed enough for him. You started to reread a line of Volumnia’s when he continued speaking. 

“Could you tell me more about it?”

You wanted to hold yourself back, you really did. Maybe he had some kind of motive to do something bad? You don’t know if he’s turned good. He could still be the same man he was in 2012.  Regardless of your thoughts running wild, you awkwardly scooted a bit subconsciously to make more room for Loki to sit next to you. That’s when you knew it was game over. 

You told him about the plot in deep, deep detail. You spoke about each character as if you had written this play yourself. It was, after all, one of your favorites that you’ve been reading since your senior year of high school. 

Loki sat and listened intently, drinking in your unabashed excitement as you recounted everything that happens in this play; it was as if you had actually been in Rome when the play was set. 

He found it endearing. Most mortals were not passionate like you were about literature—or anything period. But, on the other hand, Loki hadn’t talked to many mortals since his deal with the Avengers granted him his freedom. 

Another thing he found interesting, he could listen to you talk about Shakespeare for hours. 

Loki had only read some of the cliché plays that were written. Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Twelfth Night. They all grasped his attention and he read them thoroughly when he had the time. But there seemed that in this moment, there was nothing quite like Shakespeare’s Coriolanus.

The train ride was less excruciating once you were talking. You found that Loki was actually well educated and not as much of an asshole as he seemed. Loki found you even more attractive than he had when he stepped into the train car. 

You were in the middle of passionately explaining Volumnia’s relationship with her son when the train came to a stop again, announcing the last stop. 

Neither you or Loki wanted this to end. 

“I—I’d love to keep going,” you started, suddenly realizing you spent so much time speaking, “but this is my stop.”

The usual dialogue came from the speakers as the doors wheezed open. Loki stood up from his seat with you as you gathered your things, your book in hand. 

“I fear this may be too forward,” he started, suddenly feeling nervous. “But may I walk you home?”

Never in your years of living did you expect to be asked by the man who took New York in his clutches to be walked home in the dead of night.

And never did you think you’d say yes. 

The two of you fell in step as you walked out of the subway car, silent as you took in the emptiness of the subway station. 

It was peaceful. A small part of the city that somewhat slept. You realized that you were less tense than when you started this journey, and smiled small as both you and Loki took the steps two at a time to reach the surface. 

Both of you made it onto the sidewalk before you realized something.

“You know,” you started carefully once your bag was secured on your back, “you don’t need to walk me back. I’m sure you have a curfew or... or something—“

“Darling, I assure you, I’m not needed back at the tower.” Loki gripped your hand gently to pull you to a full stop on the sidewalk now. “I’d much rather hear your passion for this work than hear my brother drone on about his lover.”

For some reason, that confession combined with his touch made your breath hitch. His hand felt as if it wasn’t warm, but not cold either. It was like the perfect temperature. 

Suddenly your mind wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms. You were quick to wipe away that thought by blinking up at Loki, furrowing your brows together. 

“Are you sure? Sounds much more invigorating, hearing about someone’s dating life rather than being told about a Roman soldier in depth.”

“I am positive,” Loki chuckled in reply. “Your knowledge on this play is far better than any mortal’s. Almost as if you had studied with the Bard himself.”

You felt your face heat up from the compliment, and decided to keep your hand locked in his as you started to walk down the sidewalk again. 

“Flattering gets you nowhere, Loki.”

“I’m merely speaking the truth!” His voice sounded like he was accused of something like a child. This made you laugh. You just shook your head to dismiss the subject 

“So, back to Volumnia and how she’d rather her son die in battle than live a life of shame?”

“Please. I’m all ears.”

The walk back to your apartment was quicker than you expected as you broke down the rest of the play. And for once, you didn’t want to sleep. You wanted to stay up and keep talking to Loki. You didn’t care about the time or the place, you wanted to keep talking. 

Even if you’ve exhausted your extensive knowledge on this play. 

You and Loki stood in front of your apartment building, laughing at a small joke you had made about Caius Marcius yearning to fight Aufidius during an important meeting. 

The blanket of silence between you two was comfortable. You noticed Loki’s gaze seemed soft. Almost... loving. You tried to ignore it, but he seemed so smitten in this moment. The moonlight hit his face just right which made you swoon internally when you saw just how handsome he could be in the different lighting of the night.

“I really should get going,” you sighed, letting the heel of your hand gently rub at your eye. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

Loki shifted his weight on his feet, seeming just as dejected as you. It was nice knowing you both didn’t want this night to end. 

“I’d like to see you again, if that—“

“Yes,” you cut him off instantly, looking up into his eyes. It was like a trance. You admittedly loved every second of it. 

He chuckled at your sudden response. Minutes, maybe even hours ago, you two had wanted nothing to do with each other.

And yet here you both stood, smitten in conversation, dancing around the harsh reality that you’d have to carry on with your lives after you stopped talking. 

You licked your dry lips slowly, a smile settling across your features before repeating yourself again. “Yes please.”

Loki smiled back at you before nodding. Neither of you knew what to do from here. It seemed as though goodbyes weren’t your forte. 

You fumbled for a moment, almost as if you were getting your keys from your bag.

Which you were doing, Loki realized. Getting your keys. And a pen, it seemed. You were quick to bite the plastic cap off before opening to the first page in your copy of Coriolanus and writing. 

Loki tried to see what you had written, but you were far too fast. By the time he tried to get a closer look, you were done writing and capped the pen before closing the book and passing it over to him.

“A reason to see me again.” 

You sounded breathless, as if you had just ran into him on the street and dropped everything onto the ground. Loki felt his heart speed up momentarily before taking the book carefully. 

“I already had a reason, darling.” Loki’s smile knocked the breath right out of you before he stepped a little closer to get in your personal space, reaching for one of your hands. You weren’t sure as to what he was doing until his long, gentle fingers were grabbing your own and lifted it up to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

You were blushing. You were certain of it. 

You said your final goodnights for the night, Loki patiently waiting until you were in the lobby of the building to actually take his leave with your book.

#gingers4kwc #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki odinson #loki odinson imagine #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson #marvel #marvel writer #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #rachael writes #mcu imagine #mcu x reader

[lancearcherinrippedjeans]

It Was All Good...Then in Comes Kenny

For previous parts, click HERE

Pairings - Adam Page x OFC, Matt Jackson x OFC x Kenny Omega, Chuck Taylor x OC

Categories - Fluff, Angst, Almost Smut

Warnings/Promises - Cussing (like always), sexual jokes, and well uh, almost smut

Summary/Desc - Adam and Gabby get into an arguement, Brianna has a rough day, Parker and Chuck finally talk, and Adriana gets into a, well, entanglement.

Back in Gabby’s life, her and Adam had bought a house in Ann Arbor Michigan where they planned to raise their baby. A baby boy named Ashen Page. 8 months into her pregnancy she was on lock down not knowing when the baby would come, other on Adam’s hand he still had to wrestle.

“He’s not home yet?” Parker said, “Nope.” Gabby sighed. Gabby and Parker were facetiming while she sat on their couch, waiting for Adam to arrive home. Minutes later she heard the sound of the door being unlocked, “Ok he’s here I’ll call you back.” She hung up the phone. Adam entered the house, hair in ponytail, luggage draped over his shoulder. “Hi baby!” Adam dropped his bags and ran to where Gabby was, “Hi!” 

They kissed, when Gabby noticed something...off, “Have you been drinking again?” “Of course not, babe.” Adam placed his hand on a frustrated Gabby's stomach. While she was pregnant, her and Adam promised he’d sober up, unless it was drinking for work. She immediately moved his hand off her, “I’m not fucking dumb Adam, I can taste the whisky in your breath.” she rolled her eyes. They sat down on the couch, “I was stressed about work and you and Ashen, I just had to.”

“You sound fucking dumb, if I can’t drink for 9 months, you can’t either.” Gabby shook her head in disappointment. “When are you gonna become more understanding Gabrielle, like fuck!”

“More understanding?! I’ve been nothing but understanding bro.” A tear ran down her face. “It’s like you want me to be this person that can wrestle, and be a great dad, and pleasure you, plus be your emotional support system? I can’t do it all.” “So what? Am I asking for too much? Because if I went to Joey and asked him to be my emotional support system, or fuck it. Go to him for sex them what would you do Adam?” Gabby wiped her tears, crossing her arms. “Really? Maybe I wasn’t wrong about you and Kenny then!” he shouted. 

“What is it Adam? You think we fucked? Kissed? Want each other? I’ve told you it's not like that at all. You're the only man I want.” Gabby teared up again. Adam couldn’t bear to see Gabby cry anymore, so he pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry about the drinking babe.” “It’s ok, I love you”. Adam used the tips of his thumbs to wipe the tears off her face, lifting Gabby’s shirt rubbing her baby bump. “Love you so much more.”

All the way over in Jacksonville, Brianna was getting ready to film a BTE bit. She had agreed to film with Brandon and Frankie Kazarian, and was a bit excited. “Alright, Brianna you ready?” Brandon asked, Bri nodded enthusiastically. “Kaz you ready?” She looked over at Frankie and he was glaring at her. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He said in a sharp tone.

She went back and got into place and Brandon started filming.

Bri was hunched over looking through Twitter on her phone, not watching where she was going. “OW- What the shit!?” Frankie Kazarian yelped. Bri quickly looked away from her phone to see that her foot was on top of Frankie’s heel. “Oh my god. I am so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going-” she rambled. Frankie was steamed. He was already angry, as usual, and this made it a MILLION times worse.

“You know what I am sorry for BRI-ANNA?” He asked quite loudly which made everyone turn to look at him. “I'm sorry that someone as talented as Joey Janela wasted his hard earned money on someone like you.” Bri opened her mouth to apologize again but was cut off. “HOW are you even back here? I don’t know if you have read the fucking signs EVERYWHERE, but this is for talent only! What talent do you have Bri? Besides getting on your knees for people other than the Lord himself?” Kazarian was extremely dramatic with everything he said during BTE- but this seemed a little too real.

“Like honestly, as soon as you get here you have Marq Quen following you around like you’re important; and then the very next day I SEE you talking to Cash Wheeler- who has only been here for a couple WEEKS?! I’m surprised you didn’t all go in a room together and fuck yourselves, or maybe you did.”

Bri was actually concerned. “How the hell does he know who I’ve been with… this wasn’t in the script?” She began to notice everyone around listening into her conversation whispering to each other. “This is so embarrassing.” she thought. “What else have you done here? You’re by far the LEAST relevant outta of your little friend group, and you crave attention so much - so now you got it! Should I go off and check everyone you’ve batted your eyelashes at since you’ve been here?” 

Bri shook her head no, but it was too late. “There was Marq of course, then when you got bored with him you crawled over to the new hottest thing; Cash Wheeler. But do they know who you’ve had between them?” Bri’s eyes slightly widened.  “You had made heart eyes, with not one but ALL members of Team Taz. What is wrong with you?! Two of them have families of their own, You damn homewrecker!” She saw some of the people backstage shake their heads. 

“Kaz… stop.” she mumbled under her breath. 

“Nah nah, don’t be quiet now you fucking cheater! Everyone has heard you, like when you thought since you were in a janitor closet with Austin Gunn no one would notice the strange moans coming out of them?” Shit. Bri was tired of hearing this man exposing her, “I told you - that wasn’t me. This arena is old, could have been a ghost Frankie.” she lied of course, but she would do anything to get out of this situation.  

“Last time I checked we were at a wrestling arena not a damn haunted mansion. Everyone is smart enough to know the difference between a moan full of fucking pleasure from a cry from a ‘ghost’.” 

Brandon Cutler began to lower his camera but Kazarian yelled at him. “Don’t you fucking dare cut this! We’re all about being real, well THIS right here,” as he points as Brianna, “Is as real as we’re gonna get. Because some people are stupid enough to let bitches like this come in here and suck off the whole roster.” Bri was shocked. 

“Who are you calling a bitch? I know the least important member of SCU isn’t talking. Let me talk to Scorpio.” she rolled her eyes, there was no way in hell this was getting posted online. “Sorry, he’s trying to stay away from women that seduces half of the indie wrestlers on Dark.” 

Bri slapped Frankie with tears starting to form into her eyes, “You ain’t shit.” and she meant every word. She didn’t care that Cutler was calling her name, or even some of the wrestlers trying to stop her- she had to get out of not only this situation, but the arena as fast as possible.

The Elite

The The Elite

The Elite

The The Elite

The Elite

The The Elite

Superkick PAAARRRR-

Tan Legs

“Why are there so many rooms in this damn arena?” Adriana questioned as she was acting like she was looking for Tony Khan’s office. She had been searching everywhere as Brandon Cutler followed her with his camera. The camera cut to her in front of the Elite locker room, raising her hand to knock at the door. A relieved Kenny popped in the doorway. “Oh Adriana, am I glad to see you!” He moved over and invited Adriana into the room, closing the door behind him. 

“Well, I would love to sit here with you Kenny, but could you show me where Khan’s office is-?” Kenny pushed his finger onto her lips making her shush. “Shhh, I can show you where his office is. But I need something from you since Matt is busy handling phone calls.” 

Her face lit up to the mention of Matt’s name, but she had to stay in character, so she immediately nodded and mouthed an okay. She sat down in the chair, across from the couch Kenny was sitting on. “You’re a little far, wouldn't you say?” he said as he began to shift to the edge. “Uhm, that depends what exactly am I doing?” As she looked at him with confusion. 

“Just move a little closer.” Kenny demanded. “We gotta get this over with.” Adriana’s mouth slightly fell open, in shock of the words coming out of his mouth. “I- I’m sorry. What do you mean get this over with-” Kenny chuckled, “No one was out there right- you came alone?” She nodded quickly, unable to speak; she could feel the room closing in on her, making her move her chair slightly to where he was on the couch. He looked at her weird, “Haha a little closer than that Adri.” 

He said as he leaned over folding his hands. “Well, how close do I have to be?” she tilted her head up giving him her full attention. “I mean…you’re still a little far for what we have to do.” She began to pull her chair forward, but Kenny pushed her back down lightly and stood up. “What WE have to do?” She asked, not understanding the signals he was giving to her. At this point she was losing it on the inside, he’s never been so forward with her. His hands began to adjust the band of his gray shorts. 

“Yea, hey you mind getting on your knees?” he asked with all seriousness in his voice making Adriana almost fall out of her chair. From the corner of her eye she could see Brandon’s eyes widened a bit. She looked up and saw a slight smirk from Kenny, which made her roll her eyes. “He knows what he’s doing.” she thought in the inside of her head. Kenny stood there , looking stupid as Adriana came back to reality. 

“O-on my knees? Are you sure?” As she began to crawl out the chair. “Uh yea- I know this isn't your first time, but I thought you would be more prepared.” he joked. She had almost let out a laugh. “Oh, and take that ponytail holder on your wrist and tie your hair up- this could get a little messy.” as he pushed his shorts down his legs- making her face to face with his package. She felt Brandon move closer to get a better shot of her face, and she wished he hadn’t. She shot her head back, letting out a sigh. “Damn, he is bigger than I thought.” She closed her eyes, and tried to gain control overself. She did a slight prayer as she closed her eyes and opened her mouth slightly, waiting for Kenny. When he placed it in her mouth she was shocked, it was thick… but cold. 

She opened her eyes when she heard Kenny freaking out. “ADRIANA! STOP BEING RIDICULOUS! DID YOU SEE HOW WHITE MY LEGS ARE?” Adriana also started freaking out as she spat out a bottle of tanning spray. “STOP LOOKING AT MY RIDICULOUS QUAD DEVELOPMENT AND GET THIS GOD DAMN QUICK TAN ON MY LEGS STAT!” Kenny yelled.

 “YES- TAN! RIGHT, NOTHING ELSE.” as she scurried to pick up the bottle.  Adriana had struggled unloosing the cap not only because of the commotion, but because of the fact she thought she was about to get filmed for a porno with Kenny Omega. “ADRIANA! HURRY UP. THE COLOR OF MY ARMS, AND THE COLOR OF MY FACE DO NOT MATCH THE COLOR OF MY LEGS!” He pouted as she finally shook the can getting ready to spray but then it accidentally slipped out of her hands. “SPRAY MY LEGS!” 

She shot the cap throwing it somewhere in the room. “God, I’m an idiot.” she said to herself. “Sorry Kenny, I didn’t know they were this pale-” “MAKE THEM ORANGE!” He ordered, making Adriana spray faster. “Eh it’s looking… pretty good!” he said while examining his now newly tanned legs. “I knew I could count on you. Thanks.” he said. 

“You’re so welcome, sorry I don’t know why that was so hard for me to do.” She said as she got up from her odd position to sit on the end of the couch. “Why were you so freaked out-” He asked as he spotted the spray can top in the corner of the room. “I’m not sure honestly, it’s just something I do nowadays.” She lied, but he didn’t think anything of it. 

He took the can out of her hand and popped the cap back on as he sat next to her, “Anyways, since Matt isn’t in here. You should get over here and suck me o-”

Stolen Bit Partner

“Did you see how big his biceps were?” John Silver said, walking down the hallway with Alex and Parker, arms hooked. “You were right John, his milkshake sure does bring all the boys to the yard.” Parker said, chuckling slightly. Alex was about to protest what Parker was saying, but agreed. No one could deny that Wardlow was a beautiful human. The trio kept walking, talking about the man who’s locker room they had just left, when they bumped into another trio, one that Parker was very familiar with.

The Best Friends and Orange Cassidy.

They all stopped in their tracks. That’s when Alex detached from Parker, him and Chuckie going around in a slow circle, sizing each other up. Trent and John just looked at each other. And in the middle of all of this, Cassidy took off his glasses, and started looking Parker up and down.

The rotating finally stopped when Chuck spoke up, “You stole my bit partner, Reynolds.” “Oh, YOUR bit partner?”

And so the argument began, Trent bending down to get in Silver’s face, and Chuck and Reynolds pushing each other back and forth. Behind it all, Parker looked over to Orange and waved, but when he didn’t even give a sup motion, she turned away, a defeated look on her face.

“At least I’m not in a cult with a bunch of spooky perverts!” “Well these spooky perverts have a better hug than you guys!”

“What even is a ‘Johnny Hungie’?!” Trent yelled, “Well what the fuck is an ‘olive tit’ TRENT?!” “Boys, Boys! Please!” Parker yelled, standing between all of them. “Did they experiment on your brain!?” Chuck questioned, looking down at Parker. “What- Okay. No they did not experiment on my brain!”

“Did they TRAIN you to say that?” Trent said jumping at Silver. Parker pushed Trent back lightly. “Train Trent? What do you think we are? Some kind of cult?!” John argued. “Yes! That’s exactly what we’re saying.” Chuck answered.

“Y’know what?!” Alex grabbed Parker by the arm, “We’re leaving!”

Parker swatted Alex’s hand, that look on her face. “I think I’m going to...be on Sammy’s vlog instead.” She gave a nervous smile before walking behind the camera, “See ya Brandon.” “Uh, bye.”

Alex pointed his finger in Chuck’s face, Kool-Aid container still in his hand, “This isn’t over.” Reynolds and Silver walked away when Chuck mumbled, “We’re in the middle of a pandemic, keep your hand out my face.” Trent and Cassidy looked at each other while Chuck walked away. Trent shrugged one more time before following.

Orange just sighed, minding his own business.

Hungry Hungry Hippos

The room had conversation and laughter, when Trent spoke up, “Uh, BTE Championship match, triple threat.” The camera panned over to the left, “Marq Quen checking in.” Marq said with a smile, Isiah waving from behind him. The camera panned past Trent to the right, “Parker here, with uh, Chuck Taylor.” Chuck and Parker looked awkwardly at each other before Parker looked back at the camera, “My other friends decided to be dicks and not show up.”

Brandon pointed back towards Trent, who explained the game, “So uh, we’re playing the game Hungry Hungry Hippos, first one to get to two victories wins my BTE championship.”

The next scene showed all of them surrounding a table. “I am a GOAT at this game.” Marq said, rubbing his hands together. Parker pointed at him, “Oh yeah? Well prepare to lose Quen.” 

The game had started, and the game had almost fallen off the table. “Y’all are so aggressive!” Matt Jackson laughed, pointing out how seriously they were taking the game.

Marq had quickly gotten the first victory. Trent and Parker groaning at their defeat.

“Already halfway THERE.” “Shut up!” Trent and Parker said in unison.

And the games went on, until all of them were tied with one victory each.

The three looked at each other, before talking to their “coaches” for a moment. 

They had all returned to the table, and the tiebreaker had started. This round was definitely the most aggressive, with Trent actually trying, Marq jumping up and down making noises, and Parker trying to be as quick as possible.

When all the marbles were gone, they had each counted them up.

Trent had gone first, only having 5. Then Parker counted theirs, having 8. Marq counted the last of the marbles.

“Five, Six,” He pulled out the last marble, “Seven.” Marq had dropped to the ground, while Parker jumped up, knees almost to her chest in victory. “New BTE champ!” Nick said, grabbing the championship and handing it to Parker.

Parker held up the championship, before looking at it, “I have to go rub this in Adriana’s face so she gets mad at me.” She was about to leave the room, when she stepped back, “Oh yeah, I promised Marko I would fight him for this if I won. So next week, we balance KitKats on our heads.” “You’re gonna WHAT?!”

The screen showed Parker vs Marko for next week, for the Being The Elite Championship.

Hey, did you like that video? Click the screen for more.

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And thanks so much for Being The Elite.

The Elite The The Elite

What Nick you’re not gonna sing it all with me this time?

Brianna was so embarrassed. How did Frankie even know all that? She kept thinking to herself, “Did Marq tell everyone?” He wouldn’t...right? This was just all too much for her, cause of some stupid mistake.

She stayed outside the arena the whole show, not wanting to show her face in there. Then wrestlers and producers started walking out, some mumbling when they looked over at Bri. She looked over at the people walking out, and saw Marq and Isiah. Marq and Brianna stared at each other, before Marq looked away, almost like he didn’t want to look at her. She watched them pack up and drive off, and she heard a familiar voice call out from behind her, “Hey Brianna!”

She looked over her shoulder and saw Cash walking over to her, and they both started smiling. That smile quickly turned back into a frown, when Dax grabbed Cash by the arm, dragging him away.

Great. 

She went back to staring at the ground, upset. She almost jumped back when someone sat next to her. “They said we can delete it.” Brandon Cutler said, trying to sound sympathetic. “Thank you.” Brianna mumbled. “Look, we got Kaz to calm down, and he’s gonna talk to you about it,” Brandon put his hand on her shoulder before getting up, “Hang in there, alright?”

“Could this day get any worse?” Brianna thought to herself.

When of course, with Brianna’s luck, it could. She felt something drop on her head, then her arm, then ankle. It’s like the rain started on command. “This is so fucking cliche.” Brianna said, standing up and walking to her car, not without one of her heels breaking. 

She waited until she got in the car, and then she screamed, at the top at her lungs. She just wanted to go to sleep, and find a fucking way to prove Kaz wrong.

Back at the Hotel

It had been months. Months since Parker and Chuck broke up. She wanted to talk to him outside of BTE for months. But she didn’t have the guts to do it.

She was watching tv in her hotel room, thinking about him, like always.

She pulled out her phone and facetimed Gabby, the only person she could really talk to about this stuff. There were a few rings before Gabby picked up, clearly irritated, “Girl it is half past midnight. Why are you calling me?” “I need to talk to him.” “Talk to who?” “Chuck! I can’t keep putting it off anymore.”

“Well then just talk to him?” “I can’t just discuss that over the phone.”

“Well, ask if you can talk in person.” Parker nodded, and went to her contacts, and clicked on the one she hadn’t touched in months. She read through the last of his messages to her, she didn’t answer.

It made her feel horrible.

She finally worked up the courage to type it out, “Can we talk? Like in person?”

“Okay, I did it.” “Great, now you just have to wait and see what he says.”

“Gabby, I’m sure he’s sleeping right now. And I can’t blame him if he doesn’t respo-” Parker paused, and looked like she had just seen a ghost. “Parker? Everything okay?” “....He texted back.”

“Well what did he say?!”

“He said of course, and then his room number…” “Well then go!” Parker got up quickly, tripping over her own feet walking to the door. “Wait wait Parker!” “What?”

“Put shoes on, don’t be a hobo.”

Parker laughed, quickly putting on some shoes, before hanging up on Gabby and making her way towards the elevator.

She waited when it opened, Trent coming out the elevator. “Oh, hey.” Parker said, looking at her feet. “He sent me to James’ room so you guys could talk.” Trent said, slightly laughing. Parker didn’t say anything, “Hey, it doesn’t have to be awkward y’know. We’re still cool.”

Parker smiled, and hugged Trent, before getting into the elevator. 

She walked out the elevator, for once walking with some pep in her step. It stayed that way until she reached the front of his door. She reached her hand up, and was about to knock when she put her hand down.

Well, not without hitting the door.

When she realized, she started freaking out. In silence of course. The door creaked open, Chuck and Parker looked at each other. “Do you wanna come in?”

Parker nodded, walking through the doorway. She sat on the couch, rubbing her hands awkwardly, looking at the floor. “So, what did you need to talk about?” He asked, sitting on the opposite side.

She could feel it coming, word vomit, “I made a mistake, and I know I did when I broke up with you, but I couldn’t work up the courage to talk to you cause I know you want nothing to do with me and-” “Wait wait, you still…” “Yes I do, and I know things will never be the same and just...I know this was a mistake.”

“Parker, I have been waiting to talk to you. Just at least when you’re ready. I miss you.”

Parker continued to look at the floor, slightly smiling. Chuck lightly gripped her chin, lifting her head up. “I love you, Parker.” Parker smiled, “I love you too, Chuck.” 

For the first time in months, they shared a kiss. “I missed having my whatever.” Chuck said, foreheads pressed together.

“Now can we please go back to being bit partners John keeps saying my name over and over.” The couple laughed, “Of course, I’ll tell James to stop giving you dirty looks.” “And I’ll tell the spooky perverts to not argue with you anymore.” The couple jumped when they heard the door open.

“I forgot my bag of chips.” Trent said, walking into the room. “God Trent you could’ve texted.” Chuck said, slapping his forehead. “I did. Did I interrupt something important?” Parker and Chuck looked at each other and smiled.

Trent started to “ooo” like he was in middle school. Parker stood up, cheeks red, “Okay on that note I’m leaving.” She started towards the door, “I love you Parker!” Chuck yelled out. “I love you too.” She was out the door when she heard Trent, “OH MY GO-” The door closed, and Parker laughed listening to Chuck yelling at Trent to shut up.

Parker walked towards the elevator, glad to have that situation of her shoulders and to have Chuck back.

“So, what's next for you two?” Trent asked, sitting back on his bed. Chuck looked out the window, “I don’t know yet exactly, I just know that I can’t lose her again.”

Back at Daily’s Place

“Did you see the look on Brandon’s face, it was priceless!” Kenny and Adriana had just finished their BTE bit and were now laughing at themselves for how clever they were. “Dude, I think we’re geniuses. Only we could come up with stuff like this.” Kenny said while holding his stomach from laughing. 

“You know, for a second I thought you were serious.” Adriana said after wiping her tears. Kenny tilted his head to the side. “What are you talking about… my legs were actually white as paper.” She shook her head, “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know that.” Kenny seemed to understand her a bit clearer now as he scooted closer next to her. “Do you really think that I would let you give me head at our job?” He asked with interest in his eyes. She began to start breathing heavily noticing their knees were touching. 

“You’re right - what was I thinking. You’re all business.” She sighed and put her hand on her face covering it up. Kenny thought it was cute how she was trying to hide from this conversation instead of talking about it. “That’s not true. I do childish shit all the time. And if we really wanted to, it would be way more than just head.” 

Adriana felt like she was powerbombed on the apron. “Plus I don’t see you as a person to give head in weird places like this EVP room, in a public bathroom, or even inside of a car.” He added. Her head whipped up so fast she thought it would fall off. “Right, why would I do that? That’s gross and disgusting-” she lied. If only he knew… “What’s gross, having sex with me or giving head in weird places?” She opened her mouth to speak but decided against it. 

He noticed as he rested his hand on her thigh. “I saw the look in your eyes Adriana. The way you looked at me when we did that bit for Being the Elite, is something I won’t be able to get my mind off for a long time. So - I am not saying it has to be today, but soon I want to hangout with you out of work. I want to know the real you.” She was left speechless, once again by Kenny Omega. “I got to go, but I’ll think about it.” 

She got up from the couch and wiped her now sweaty hands on her jeans. Kenny also stood , studying her. The way she avoided eye contact, the way her feet shuffled trying to gain her stuff immediately. His heart started to get louder as she finally looked at him and reached for a hug, making him open his arms. It wasn’t anything like he wanted. It was short and meaningless but he did get the chance to smell the perfume she was wearing and that alone made him swoon. Kenny gave her a wave as he sat back on the couch, “Shit.” he mumbled. “What have I gotten myself into.”

 On the other side of the door, Adriana was trying to come back to reality. “That really just happened.” she thought. “Did you have fun with ‘Spray Tan’ in there?” a voice asked sarcastically. She jumped up and when she turned around she was met with a frustrated Matt Jackson.  “Oh! Jeez you scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know you were here today.” She mentally slapped herself, “I really need to learn how to lie.” 

Matt leaned on the wall looking her over. “Really, last time I checked - I was an EVP. You on the other hand - are not - so what were you doing in this room for that long?” He asked. Adriana bit her lip, they hadn’t seen each other since their session in the car and both of them were aching for more ever since. “I had to record something with Kenny for BTE. It’s not that serious.” Matt ran his hand through his hair shooting his head back. “I saw the segment, Adri.” He plainly said. “Is this what we’re going to do? We’re going to act like what we did was nothing?” He walked closer to her sliding his hands to her waist. He lifted his hand to move some of her hair out of her face and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Meet me at the Jacksonville Jaguars Stadium at 10 O’clock. And wear a bathing suit.” He hovered his lips over her neck before patting her ass and then walking away. 

Adriana stood there dumbfounded. She had waited a whole week to be able to get to see Matt, since they last met in the car and all she got was teasing. She looked toward the EVP room and sighed. She was so confused with emotions, she needed to get this stuff with Matt out of her system before it was too late. Adriana began her walk to her car, so she could get ready for a night with Matt Jackson.

“I SWEAR NONE OF THESE HOES ANSWER THE PHONE WHEN I NEED THEM!” Adriana threw her phone onto the bed after attempting to call Gabby, Parker, and Bri and of course they declined. Every. Single. Time. “Guess I have to go at this alone.” She sighed. She really missed talking to her friends, no matter how annoying they got. She would never feel complete without them. 

She pushed her friends to the back of her mind as she threw clothes out of her suitcase. After 15 minutes deciding which bathing suit to wear she chose a normal two piece with some shorts and a normal tee to go over them. After she changed in the bathroom she grabbed everything she needed and headed out the door. 

She pulled up to the stadium and parked confused on where to enter until her phone buzzed. Matt Jackson : I see your car, we’re the only ones here. So I’ll let you in.” Adriana chuckled. She got out the car fluffing her hair so she appealed somewhat decently. She saw Matt waiting for her at the entrance. 

He picked his head up from his phone and let out a low whistle. “Well damn, I was not expecting this.” He fumbled with his keys as she rolled her eyes. When they finally got in he took her hand and led her to the pool. She removed her shorts and shirt as he did the same. Adriana dipped her toe in removing it as she felt how cold it was. 

Before she could react she was pushed into the pool and when she got to the top for air she saw Matt jumping and doing a cannonball, making water go everywhere. Matt swam around a little before looking over to a shivering Adriana. “Yo-you’re an i-idiot.” Her teeth chattered making Matt laugh. “Ah, stop being a big baby and swim with me.” He slapped water onto her making her gasp. “I think I should wait till it gets w-warmer.” She smudged, making Matt swim over to her. 

“I have a couple ways we could speed up the process.” She smirked. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he backed her up to the edge. He lightly pressed against her, making her let out a small whine. “If you’re going to do something just do it.” She said, clearly impatient. He pressed his lips onto hers, as she kissed back. He began to lower his hands trying to find the part to disconnect her bottom. She smirked into the kiss making him hungry for more as he pushed his tongue onto her bottom lip. She opened her mouth a little, only to hear a “IS ANYONE IN HERE?” Adriana tried to disconnect, but Matt pulled her back. “Whoever it is, will either go away soon or get a free show- I couldn’t care less.” Adriana pushed Matt off making him groan. She heard the door open and was shocked when Kenny Omega came out in swim trunks. 

“Oh, it’s just you guys. What are you doing here?” he asked, confused. “Nothing much, just going for a late night swim.” Adriana lifted her finger to her mouth as she could feel her lip swollen at how hard Matt had bit it. Kenny nodded, “Right… mind if I join you?” He asked. Matt mumbled something too low to understand. “Of course, come on.” She smiled. “There it is again, that damn smile.” He felt weird seeing her in a bathing suit and it was even more weird seeing one of his best friends next to him. 

Matt turnt around and faced Adriana , so Kenny couldn’t hear what he had to say, “He totally just cockblocked me. It had to be on purpose.” He whined. Adriana rolled his eyes, “He didn’t know. Leave him alone, let's just save our first time somewhere other than a public pool.” He scoffed, but he couldn’t stay mad at HER. 

It was Kenny who was the problem, and he would make sure that he stayed out of the way.

WE’RE BACK FAM!!!! Thanks again to my co-writers @westanaew​ and @adriii-omega​ , it feels great to get back into the series! <3

#sexy chuckie t #Chuck Taylor #chuck taylor x oc #Kenny Omega #kenny omega x reader #kenny omega x oc #Adam Page #Hangman Adam Page #adam page x ofc #frankie kazarian #matt jackson #matt jackson x ofc #icbeing the elite #parker's masterlist

[toomanyfandoms02]

Tap Tap Tap // Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary ~ Three little taps becomes something much more when his best friend is in the clutches of an unsub.

Spencer Reid × Reader

Word Count ~ 2.4K

SPENCER

Y/n had discussed with me many times that she knew what she was getting into with this kind of job. She had been used as a human shield by unsubs, along as a sedutive measure for many male unsubs (and one female). But she had yet to go through something unmatchable to the rest, more traumatic.

But I guess it had to happen sometime, huh?

Y/n was an amazing profiler and agent. She always wanted the best for people. This also meant she was often getting in trouble for trying to take things into her own hands.

We had a few suspects for this particular case, but it was clear y/n wasn't convinced that any of them were the right ones. She was very smart and stubborn, and she definitely wasn't going to stand for convicting an innocent. Since this was all going on in Vorginia, she had told me that she felt responsible to keep everyone here safe, she didn't want any more people in our home state being murdered or injured because "She couldn't figure out a seemingly simple case."

Wednesday morning was pretty normal. I had come in early and was sitting at the round table, reading 'War and Peace.' For the twelfth time. The rest of the team began piling in. I looked up from my book, peering around the table. I wasn't being teased for reading War and Peace, where was y/n?

"Has anyone spoken to y/n this morning?" Hotch asked, leaning further onto the table. Everyone shook their heads. My heart dropped into my stomach, where is she? I immediately scrambled to my feet, exiting the room and calling her.

It went straight to voicemail.

I ran my hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together, calmly walking back to the room.

"I'm going to her house to check on her. Is anyone coming with me?" JJ grabbed my jacket, throwing it to me. Hotch nodded at me as we began to leave.

I was always a careful driver, speeding actually killed around 10,000 people last year. But this was important, I had to know she was okay. I could tell JJ was on edge by the way she was gripping the seat and looking out the window.

Once we arrived I knocked softly on her door. JJ was going to all the windows to see if she could see inside, any sign of struggle. Once she came back around the house, I fished the spare key that I have from my pocket, I carried it with me everywhere.

"Do you, have a key to her house?" She smiled, clearly trying to lighten the situation.

"She gave it to me a few months ago, she said I could come over any time."

"If you wanted to come over any time, you could just knock."

"She was also worried something like this would happen, and she wanted me be the one to quote on quote 'save her' if the situation had risen. She trusts me." She smiled and shrugged, pushing me into the house.

It didn't take much searching before we found a file on a man named 'Carl Desmond'.

"Here. It says that he had 3 siblings. All three have restraining orders against him, but it's not listed why. That's probably why she was so suspicious of him. He could be taking these kids and reliving a childhood life with them. Three kids at a time. I'm not seeing anything on his address." I quickly dialed Garcia. "Garcia can you look for an address on Carl Desmond and send someone there? JJ and I are going to keep looking around the house."

"Yes of course." Cue the sound of vigorous typing. "It looks like he currently resides on 162 Bradbury Lane. I'll let Morgan know."

"Thank you Garcia." As soon as I set my phone down it began to ring again. "Reid."

"It's Morgan. I really think you guys should come back, you need to see something." I grabbed the file and left the house.

I let JJ drive back this time, I was a little out of focus and I didn't want to put us both in danger.

Once we arrived I rushed into the conference room, where I saw everyone but Hotch sitting patiently.

"We sent Hotch to Carl's address." Morgan began fiddling with the projector. "This was sent to Penelopes computer a bit ago. She's really trying to figure out where it came from but it's proving to be pretty difficult." He clicked a button and a distraught, and tied up y/n was presented on the screen. There was a deep voice that came from behind the camera.

"You have five minutes. Say your goodbyes."

"He has sympathy." I said, tapping my foot.

"Hi guys. I'm alright." She was shaking, and clearly not alright. I stepped closer to the screen. "I just wanted tell you guys some things. Garcia, please never stop being a ball of sunshine, I don't know what I would do if you changed. You make everyones day better. And tell Kevin that if he breaks your heart, I'll haunt him." My I could feel the air caught in my throat, I knew she meant that as a funny morbid joke, typical of her. But I didn't even want to open my mind to the possiblity of her death. She doesn't believe she is getting out of this.

Penelope began to cry, "Of course baby."

"Morgan, I admire you so much. You have so much drive and motivation, it's inspiring. Whoever replaces me, make sure you inspire them just as much as you do me." Morgan sat down slowly, nodding.

"Hotch. I couldn't have asked for a better leader. I knew I could come to you with anything and you will help me with it. Thank you for everything." He tried to remain unphased, but I could see the hurt in his eyes.

"Emily, I'm sorry that I had to leave right as you got back. I never got to tell you how much I missed you, because I missed you so much. Can you take care of bink bink? Her and Sergio can have kittens together." Emily was now laughing through her tears.

"Rossi you have been an amazing mentor. I have learned so much from you, and I wish I could cram my brain with more cases you were willing to tell me about." Even Rossi looked emotional.

"JJ, please make sure Spence is ok when I'm gone." JJ close dher eyes, squeezing her fists shut. "Don't let him do something stupid. I can't watch him struggle again."

"And Spence. God, I don't even know what to say. You are my best friend, I never wanted this to happen. I wish that yesterday when I stopped you mid-fact telling, because I was looking over a case, I wish I would have let you tell me about the wonders of mountain goats for the rest of the 7 hour flight. You never fail to amaze me. I know, and everyone knows, that you're a genius. But it still baffles me how much you can fit in that head of yours. Never stop rambling about what makes you happy. It's your best trait." I felt a tear slip from my eye, I was now sitting. Listening closely to every word she said.

"I love you all so so much. You are the best family I could have ever asked for. Thank you for everything." I looked down at her hand, she tapped three times on the arm of the chair. That sent me into a fit of sobs.

*"Ok, so how do you feel about I love you's?"*

*"The three-word phrase is laden with all sorts of meaning; saying it signals that we're officially committed, we prioritize one relationship over the rest."*

*"Of course you would know so much about the phrase." She playfully rolled her eyes, shifting into her other foot. "Listen I say I love you, or love you, a lot. And a lot of times it is to my friends. Now, the whole team already thinks that we are dating or something." My cheeks flushed at the statement. "But I do love you Spence, and I thought we could make up a silent code thing for me to say it!" She smiled giddily. "So, if I tap you three times like this." She tapped my shoulder rhythmically, "It means. I. Love. You."*

*"I actually think that's very creative. Ancient scripts and languages have been understood using decoding and deciphering techniques, most famously the Rosetta Stone of Ancient Egypt. In fact, codes and ciphers have determined the outcome of politics and wars throughout history. There are thousands of types of hidden messages." I rambled a little, having just read about some kinds of codes last week.*

*"Well look at us, making history." She smiled, tapping my hand three times playfully*

After that, y/n would tap me three times before going into any dangerous situation. Or whenever we would hug. She even made me a little keychain that read *tap,tap,tap*.

"I'm sorry." Was the last thing she said before the video ended.

"The guy who has y/n is the unsub. She was onto him, and he took her. She probably went to find him and he took her." I was trying to pull myself out of the state I was in. I knew they wouldn't let me help.

"We sent SWAT to Carl's house and no one is there. They are investigating further now." Hotch relayed his information to us. I slid the file from y/n's house over to him.

"This is what she had on him."

"Garcia, search for relatives of Mr. Desmond. They may know any alternate locations he visits."

We had gathered many family members numbers, the last one we were calling was his aunt.

"Hello?"

"Hi is this Miss Melanie Desmond? My name is Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI."

"What's this about?"

"I'm calling to speak to you about your nephew Carl. We believe he may be involved in a string of kidnappings. We cannot locate him at his home. Does he stay at any other place?" I had just a hint of hope in my voice.

"He sometimes tidys things up at his parents farm. My sister died 2 months ago, so he's been taking care of it. I can give you the address." That must have been the stressor.

"Yes please."

Once jotting the address down. I texted it to the team and began on my route to the farm.

It was only about 25 minutes away. 15 minutes in, Morgan and JJ were caught up with me, driving right behind me.

Once we hit the driveway, my nerves were through the roof. I didn't want to walk in on my best friend dead. I just wanted to hug her ~and kiss her~ and tell her everything was going to be ok.

I nearly stumbled out of the car, heading into the house with Morgan while JJ and Emily started off to the barn.

Morgan kicked the door down, announcing that the FBI was here. I immediately noticed blood on the white tile floor of the house. My stomach churned at the sight.

"Carl Desmond?" I called into the house. I heard light footsteps coming from a room over. Once I turned the corner I could see y/n laying sideways on the floor, still tied to her chair. Morgan motioned me in there as he continued to search the house.

"I'm going to need a medic in the house, but don't send anyone yet, I'm not sure if it's safe." I spoke into my mic. I shook her shoulder a bit.

Nothing.

I put my finger against her neck, feeling for a pulse. It was there, and stronger than I had expected. I began cutting the ropes around her wrists and ankles. I scooped my arms under her weak frame and pulled her into my lap.

"Y/n? Please be okay." I shook her shoulder a little, trying to lightly wake her and not scare her.

"Spence?" She looked up at me with squinting eyes. She sat up quickly, wincing and holding her head.

"Woah woah slow down, you probably have a concussion, don't move too fast." I held my hand behind her head. She pushed forward, throwing her arms around me.

"I knew you would find me, I just wasn't sure I would be here for it." I could feel her tears on my shirt. She tapped my back three times.

"I love you too." She pulled back, looking at me with a crooked smile. "I don't care who hears it anymore. Everyone can know I love you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You always want to her me talk about random facts, even if you have no idea what I'm talking about. When I'm sick of people asking me if I 'can actually read that fast' you tell them everything about me, proudly. I love you, so much." She leaned her forehead on mine.

"Thank god." She leaned forward a bit and connected our lips. I could taste the tears that she had shed for hours and even in the past few minutes. Some tears were even sliding down my cheeks. Even though I didn't have much to cry about now. My everything was back in my arms.

"I knew it! Pretty boy and y/n! Get it man! Hey y/n remember that dream you told me about?" Morgan winked, coming around the corner with a cuffed Carl Desmond. Trailing along with the three missing children. I almost jumped away but y/n kept a tight hold on me.

"Shut up Derek." She growled, furrowing her eyebrows at him.

"What dream?"

"Nope, we aren't talking about this right now. Can you carry me to the medics?" She flashed me a cheesy smile.

I shook my head at her with a smile. I leaned down and kissed her one more time. "You really are lucky I love you." I picked her up bridal style, taking her to the ambulance where there was a medic waiting to help her. I noticed multiple smirks from the team. I set down, wrapping a blanket around her.

"So, a dream, huh?"

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg

[naptoons]

Pretend- richard camacho

Theme: fluff and angst I guess

Warnings: mild language & alcohol reference.

A/n: I love writing imagines that are a mixture of fluff and angst. And I’m sorry all my imagines are the same. This has not been proofread

Richard was your bestfriend, a bestfriend that you liked. Their were moments when you thought he liked you. But you soon realized Richard is just a touchy person by nature. He can’t talk to anyone without using his hands. You were sitting at one of their music video shoots. Watching Aaliyah. Holding her in your arms you bounced your leg up and down as she was falling asleep. Zoning out you didn’t even notice Richard sneaking up on you. His hand trying to grab Aaliyah from your arms. You pull her away ready to fight the person. Until Richard busts out laughing.

“Woah, mami chill you’re really cute when you’re angry” Richard plays off,handing his daughter to him you scoff “I’m sorry I scared you mami” he kisses your head softly. Saying nothing you just sit down afraid your rambles would pull at the seams. “Hey you alright?” Richard asks his tone changing to a deep vibrato.

“Yeah I’m fine, just tired” you answer and truth be told you were, playing with Aaliyah on set and waking up early. Your shift was insane last night you had to cover for a co-worker. Sleep wasn’t a thing for you. Richard grabs your hand helping you from the chair “Cmon, lets get you somewhere to rest” Richard mumbles, you guys go in the dressing room where there is a couch as soon as you three enter the room, the boys say hi to you again and exit the room. He puts Aaliyah in her bed that his managers bought for her. You sit on the couch laying your head against the arms, but Richard comes from behind you and cuddles you.

“Don’t you have to be back for shooting?” You ask curiously

“No, we have a break now” Richard mumbles in your neck “so let’s take a nap”

Twenty minutes later, the swinging of doors and shouting from his managers wake the both of you guys up including aaliyah. Rolling your eyes you sit up rubbing your eyes. “Richard! We’ve been calling you for fifteen minutes, it’s time to film again” the manager then looks at you with a disgusted face “and you can you go home please you’re distracting my client” they argue, before the words could fly out your mouth Richard defends you.

“Don’t talk to her like that, but you also do realize we’ve been on set since earlier this morning, we need breaks” Richard aggressively argues “if she doesn’t stay I’m walking off set” Richard walks past the manager and I grab Aaliyah trying to rock her back to sleep.

“You really think you’ll have him? He’s too busy and you’re way far from pretty for him” a girl from the set smiles, not really taking in her words, you just continue to focus on Aaliyah.

Hours later it was aaliyah’s turn to head with her mother, Richard asked you to accompany him because Aaliyah whined to see you one last time. “Bye lovely” you smile, Aaliyah smiles waving at you and giving her dad one last kiss.

Seeing Richard with his daughter just made you fall more for him. You just imagined for that second. What if all the gestures he did was real. What if they were done everyday and not the heat of the moment. You’re dealing with facades and living in weird alternate realities. You’re pretending it’s okay when he tell you about his hookup stories. You pretend how excited you are to hear about your sudden interests in a girl. You love Richard You do. But hearing this breaks you down inside. Not wanting to look at him you turn around heading the the car trying to hold the tears in your swollen heart together.

He’s talking to someone new, you couldn’t interfere with that. You snap the seatbelt on, hearing nothing but the ringing sounds in your ears. Your hollow heart whistling with the crisp winds. Searching for your headphones a hand grabs yours. “Y/n?” Richard softly pleads

“Yes?” You answer quite calmly

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting standoffish all day” Richard pushes

“Yeah I’m fine Richard, like I said I’m just tired, I covered for two people last night” you remind him of your internal crisis.

“You know you can tell me anything right?” Richard reminds you, he was always the type to ask about your day, listen to your heart pouring out the toxic chemical of a bad day. Was there to give you back rubs. Cuddles. Whatever physical medicine to cure your pain, Richard was there.

“Yeah I know, lets go we don’t wanna be late for your friends party!” You say with enthusiasm.

Arriving at Richards friends house his hand is on your lower back while drinking whatever was in his cup. For some odd reason tonight he didn’t want to leave your your side. His excuse was “I don’t want someone to offer you a drink, these people may try any slick shit” but you knew better than to grab a drink from a stranger. You see that same girl from set. She smiles walking up to Richard. “Hey care for one dance?” She smiles, Richard is hesitant at first but you push him towards her, while poking his ego.

“Scared to dance with a woman? I thought you were the king of that” you smile as they walk off into the distance. You’ve pretended so long it became your role. It was like coming to a movie set and just reading a script. It became natural to you. whenever someone asked “who’s you dream boy” your mind always went to Richard. Could you admit it out loud? Never. When you’re looking for love you pretend it’s him. And it’s a love that seems to never end. Watching how he connected with the girl on the dance made you instantly regret it.

You just couldn’t pretend anymore. The mask on your face began to crack, trailing the shards of pain and tears along with you. Escaping through the swear bodies and clouds of smoke, the first empty room you could puzzle out was the one you would let it all out. Your tears not even letting you make it to the bed. Your back slamming against the beds footboard. Your knees balled up to your face. Washing away the light makeup you’d applied.

You just wanted all this make believe to be reality. “Y/n?!” The voice causing your hairs to trickle up your arms. “Go away” you muffle through the fabrics.

“Yeah right like I’ll listen” Richard, removes your arms out your face, see the glistening shine on you cheekbones. “So are you really going to tell me what’s going on?” Richard places each of his legs on each side of your frame, pulling himself in closer, holding your hands. Kissing your knuckles softly. Your tears come back up from each tender kiss.

“You gotta stop this Richard, please it’s actually painful” your voice rubs dry.

“I’m trying to help you baby”

“Stop treating me like I’m your girlfriend knowing you don’t want me to be!” You cry, pulling your hands away your face turnt towards the wall. You can’t bear to look at him feeling embarrassed and emotional. “You don’t love me in the way Richard, but I do, I really do, but I couldn’t pretend anymore, I didn’t mean to tell you this way but here it is” you end that sentence sarcastically.

“And what valid proof you have that inquires I don’t feel that way too y/n?” Richard asks hinting a tint of frustration in his voice, turning around his eyes were darted on your frame. “Tell me since you know so much y/n, tell me since you automatically know how I feel about you” Richard calms down, his fingers against your cheek as you try to stop the tears.

“I love you y/n” Richard adds, in sudden shock your eyes widen and you freeze. Time suddenly stop making you think this was a dream, closing your eyes with your head down you felt a warm kiss on your cheeks “look at me baby” the voice pleads. Raising your head up you look into Richards, oh how they reflected a glass mirror.

“I want to be with you, not the girls I’ve hooked up with, or the girls from set, I want you and only you” he soften his tone

“You could have any other girl, they’re prettier too so why don’t you?”

“Yeah they may be pretty, but so are you, my heart wants you not just for the outside the inside too, most of them are rotten on the inside not you” before you could say any further Richard makes you swallow your words fusing your lips together. Something you wished forever to happen. His hand on the nape of your neck. Your body changing from frigid to cozy. Slowly Richard pulls away but not before he leaves one last peck upon your lips.

“We should go back to the hotel, I want to cuddle and watch movies with you” Richard looks into your eyes you smile scrunching your nose up at him “now I can finally tell how much you hurt my fucking heart being beautiful”

“Shut up” you push him slightly.

When you guys got back to the hotel ate pizza and played board games, now the both of y’all are cuddled in bed. Talking to his daughter that FaceTime him. “Did you finally tell y/n?” She smiles “si mi amour, she’s right here babygirl” he puts the camera on you, smiling sheepishly “hi lovely”

“Daddy makes you happy?” She asks smiling

“Yeah he does baby, but you make me happier” you joke Richard gives you a side eye , giggling your nerves you kiss his hand softly. “I miss you!!” Aaliyah says jumping up and down you guys talked to her until it was her bedtime. Your leg was tosses against his waist as you trace the outlines of his tattoos. Rubbing your back with his hand he pulls you in closer.

“I hope you’re ready for the million pictures and videos I will take of you” Richard speaks softly “just to show you how beautiful you are”

“You’re so soft Richard”

“It takes a real woman to make a man soft, I love you”

“I love you more”

#cnco preferences #cnco imagine #richard camacho #richard #cnco

[sm-entertain-me]

Room Service (M)

Contains: Nakamoto Yuta x (f) reader, adult language, smut, depictions of sex, love hotel (rabu hoteru), unprotected sex, rough sex, choking, facefucking, creampie, love hotel worker!Yuta, love hotel customer!reader, dom!Yuta, sub!reader.

Synopsis: Traveling all over Osaka led you to a peculiar looking hotel that you had never seen before. What you thought was a normal, upscale hotel turned into something more than you bargained for.

ALL OF MY WORK IS PROTECTED BY COPYRIGHT LAWS. DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST ON OTHER SITES WITHOUT CONSENT FROM AUTHOR. COPYRIGHT SM-ENTERTAIN-ME (KELSEY), 2019

You had been exhausted from keeping up with your tour guide all day, constantly pulling your group over to the side to ramble on about the city’s culture, how his favorite sushi place was a little bit down the road, and talking about how his friends would go out and enjoy what the city had to offer them when everything went dark. Sure, you enjoyed the history part of it, but you really didn’t feel like listening anymore to his stories involving women and what he could make them do for over 10,000 yen....

Another sigh escaped your lips as you wandered the streets of Osaka, your eyes darting around to find some kind of hotel that didn’t seem to unsafe or too greasy. Osaka is a beautiful place filled with beautiful people and beautiful architecture, but you were convinced you were just on the wrong side of the tracks. That was, until you stumbled upon a peculiar looking building with modern-esque features, brightly lit red neon signs that showed off the Japanese characters, and bored no windows.

A little interesting, you thought to yourself as you walked through the frosted glass doors that opened to a large floor plan, decorated with sculptures, fancy fountains, and replicas of the finest art you had ever seen. Funny how the tour guide never once mentioned a place like this in Osaka. The building was absolutely beautiful and judging by the rates posted behind the large oak wood desk, it wasn’t too badly priced either.

The options they allowed at this establishment were pretty cheap considering the wonderful atmosphere, although you did find it a little weird that they offered rates for 1-3 hour “rests”. Whatever that meant. But still, you approached the wooden desk and came face to face with a well dressed employee with dark black hair that swept to one side, and a small smirk resting on his face as he greeted you, “Konbanwa.” (Good evening)

One good look at you and he realized very quickly you were a foreigner, so he decided to switch to a universally known language that almost everyone could speak: English. “My apologies ma’am, good evening. My name is John, but please call me Johnny, and I would like to welcome you on behalf of our own little rabu hoteru. How long are you looking to stay with us?” The employee behind the desk asked as his eyes grazed over your body momentarily, bringing himself to look back up at you and wait patiently for your answer. Rabu hoteru?

After a brisk conversation with the desk-keep, he finally gave you a key to your desired room and gave you instructions on how to get there. For one night, it only cost you about 10,000 yen as opposed to the other hotels in the area that would run you a pretty penny of at least 50,000. 

As you approached your room, you noticed how dimly lit the hallways were with a thin layer of smoke from a fog machine, hearing a low rumbling sound around the halls as well to drain out some... interesting sounds coming from the other rooms. To be fair, the rooms did seem pretty soundproof and who were you to judge someone else and their sexuality? Everyone needs a little break here and there.

Sighing to yourself, you sat on your bed that felt like a cloud and immediately sunk into the comforter. Groaning out softly, you gripped onto the pillow and brought it closer to your face, relishing in the cold feeling of the fabric on your face that nearly coaxed you to sleep until the absurd ring sequence of the phone sounded next to you. Another groan.

Picking up the high tech phone, you pressed the receiver to your lips as you asked into the phone, “Yes?”

“Ah, Y/N, I forgot to tell you something during our conversation,” A soothing voice rang out from the other end, dripping with sex as he spoke. Johnny. You shifted uncomfortably on the bed, pressing your thighs together as you waited for him to continue speaking since you simply couldn’t get enough of hearing his voice. “Don’t forget to use our top notch services. I guarantee they’ll make your experience that much more enjoyable.”

The emphasis of the last word in John’s sentence had you cocking a brow to yourself, trying to figure out what he meant by that. Enjoyable. After you said your goodbyes to the desk-keep, you set the receiver back on its hook and decided to take a look at the “top notch” services Johnny felt obligated to tell you about.

Reaching into your bedside table, you opened the wooden drawer to reveal a leather bound book that read “Holy Bible” in gold script, and then a smaller red book that had Japanese characters dancing across the cover. Luckily for you, there were words written in English underneath the characters to act as a formal translation so you could know just what you were requesting. As you were flipping through the calligraphy filled contents, you were taken aback by just what was in that book.

Descriptions of sexual activities littered the page, explaining in perfect detail what sexual activities could be bought with the right amount of Yen. The acts themselves were ordered by price, from least expensive to most expensive, depending on how much sexual activity would be going on and who would be giving it. They even offered both male and female companions that each came with a list of their own kinks and “difficulty ratings”. One star being for beginners whereas five stars were for more experienced lovers. You were about to slam the book shut and go to sleep when you stumbled upon a picture of him.

At the end of the “Companions” section, you were greeted with a picture of a man with reddish brown hair, obviously dyed that way, with a nicely chiseled jawline, wide eyes that exuded lust, and a perfectly taut smirk that mocked your very existence. He knew he was hot, and that’s probably why he has the highest going rate and the highest difficulty ranking of all of the people in the book. Nakamoto Yuta was his name, and by god he was gorgeous.

You finally succumbed to the “top notch services” the hotel had to offer, requesting to have Yuta as your companion and informing Johnny that you didn’t care what kind of service Yuta was willing to give you. 

“Are you sure you want Yuta to choose?” Johnny asked, the cockiness in his voice coming through perfectly clear. He knew what Yuta was capable of, which is why he’s the most expensive. He also knew that you had no idea what Yuta could do, but it was ultimately your decision in the end.

“Yes, Johnny. I’m sure I want Yuta to choose the service. I’m only in Osaka for a little bit and I would love to see what you guys have to offer. Money is not an issue for me,” You replied to your semi-concerned desk-keep who was typing away at the computer, making arrangements for the two of you. 

“Very well,” Johnny said after you had ultimately signed your death wish, finishing the typing on his computer and sitting back in his seat to review the arrangement with you. “One Heaven on Earth package with our famed Nakamoto Yuta. He should be coming to your room in about ten minutes, so please dress to impress. 100,000 yen will be charged to your room balance at the end of the service, thank you for choosing to use our services and we hope to see you again in the future... Oh, and good luck.”

Your heart raced as you ran to the bathroom of your living space, running your hand through your hair to make it seem a little more presentable. You then stripped yourself of a bra just to make the process go faster and made sure to change into your sleep shorts that offered a bit more skin to the room, opting to change your shirt into just a tank top. When you felt like you were ready, you sat on the edge of your bed and thought about just what was about to happen. Until there was a short sequence of knocks coming from the opposite side of your door.

Swallowing your last bit of pride, your hand gripped at the door knob and turned it slowly, opening the door to reveal a man that was slightly taller than you, that same reddish brown hair that was swept back in the most attractive fashion you could think of, and that signature smirk still on his lips. Yuta.

“Well hello, darling. I hear someone wants to use me as a companion for the night, is that right?” Yuta’s deep voice spilled out, sex lining every single syllable as his eyes drank in your appearance. Yuta’s eyes took a liking to the fact you weren’t wearing a bra as he could see your nipples standing erect against the flimsy fabric of your tank top, licking his lips at the sight. When he noticed you didn’t answer, he lunged forward and gripped he side of your neck, the crook of his hand resting along your jawline as he forced you to look up at him with an intense hunger in his eyes, “Answer me.”

“Y-Yes,” You breathed out hastily, your breath catching in your throat as your heart raced uncontrollably, losing yourself at Yuta’s simple touches along your neck. He had you right where he needed you and knew you were going to be the perfect sub for him, no doubt about it. You were putty in his hands, someone so willing to take his orders and act them accordingly. Someone to wreck properly.

When Yuta was satisfied with your answer, he smirked at your desperation as he leaned in and captured your lips on his, kissing you roughly. Upon impact, Yuta’s tongue fell into your mouth and played with yours, pushing his tongue flat against yours and tasting you completely as his grip on your throat increased. Yuta could feel your pulse racing against his hand as he continued to toy with you, kissing you with so much raw passion that it nearly took your breath away. But before you could enjoy yourself any further, Yuta pulled his lips off of yours, a small string of spit falling from your lips.

Yuta loved how desperate you look for him by simply kissing you that he couldn’t control himself as his hand dropped from your throat to your shoulder, looking at you with a fiery glare, “On your knees. Now. And don’t make me tell you again, babygirl.”

Nodding at his demands, you assumed the position by slinking down to your knees in front of Yuta. His hands slipped to his belt buckle and unfastened it at a painfully slow rate, him watching the way your eyes would widen at the bulge that pressed against the confines of his black slacks. He loved to watch you fall apart without even touching you.

“Just know,” Yuta spoke as he unzipped his slacks and hooked his thumbs in between the fabric of his briefs and his honeyed skin, looking down at you to have your eyes meet. “You can stop me at anytime. I’ve been known to get a little carried away.” Before you could even muster up an answer or a nod of your head, Yuta’s hand was on the back of your skull, fingers entwined with a bunch of your hair, and his cock was being shoved down your throat.

Upon entering your throat, you gagged around Yuta’s length that was now pushing its way down your throat, smacking against your uvula with no resistance. Yuta’s grip would get tighter the longer he went as his head was thrown back in pure ecstasy, his hands forcing you to choke around him as he had complete control over the pace he made you comply with. 

Through teary eyes, you managed to look up at Yuta, admiring the way his neck vein was surfacing against his skin and how his jaw was clenched tightly together to stop him from letting you know how good you were doing. In response to seeing him struggling to keep his composure as he throat fucked you harder, you hollowed your cheeks around him and gripped his thighs to keep you centered, moaning against the skin to feel his cock twitch in your throat. You even went as far as to reach up and grip his balls in your hands, but were quickly yanked away from him.

Confused, you looked up at Yuta to find out why he pulled out of you so quickly only to see a cocky look on his face, a smirk tugging at his lips again. Yuta chuckled as he reached down and grabbed your wrist rather harshly, pulling you up to your feet as he towered over you, “Careful princess, wouldn’t want to be punished... Would you?” 

You shook your head vigorously at his question, not wanting him to get any rougher since your throat was now burning from the abuse of Yuta shoving his cock into you repeatedly. Although you were pretty sure you were willing to give everything for Yuta to completely dominate you in ways you couldn’t even imagine, you would much rather be able to walk out of the hotel room instead of crawl.

“Jump,” Yuta demanded as he got rid of the rest of his pants that were pooling at his ankles, bending down in front of you to hook his arms underneath your ass in order to pick you up. You kindly obliged and jumped into his arms, Yuta smiling at you brightly before his lips latched onto the skin of your neck, trailing open mouth kisses to your collar bone and began to suck harshly. As Yuta turned your neck red with busted blood vessels, you keened for him, leaning into his figure as he began to walk to you to the bed while digging his teeth into your skin to hear you moan louder for him.

Your back hit the mattress shortly after, relaxing into the soft fabric while Yuta moved up on your neck to your earlobe, whispering in a sultry tone, “Time to show you what Heaven on Earth is really about...” Yuta pulled away from sucking languidly on your ear lobe to look down at you with hooded eyes, piercing into yours with a look that one would describe as pure desire, “I’m going to fucking wreck you.”

And wreck you Yuta did. There was never a moment when his nails weren’t digging into your hips or wrists if he decided to keep your wrists restricted while he fucked his way into your guts, curses flying from his mouth with every thrust. Sweat was coating both of your bodies as you cried out in pleasure your nails digging into his forearms as Yuta pinned you beneath him, rolling his hips harshly against your throbbing clit.

“Fu-Fuck Yuta!” You screamed, feeling yourself getting closer to your release as Yuta kissed down your neck, peppering the abused skin as the intensity of his strokes never faded. Yuta smirked against your skin as he gripped your ankles that were wound tightly around his waist, pulling them off of him and spreading you wide so he could fuck you harder and much deeper than before. 

With the new angle, Yuta’s cock could pierce into the deepest parts of your slick pussy, causing lewd squelching sounds to ring out through the whole room that only seemed to egg Yuta on. His grip on your ankles got tighter as he leaned forward, pushing your toes to the wall behind you as he completely buried himself inside of your seeping entrance, pulling out and looking at the thick sheen of your arousal coating his cock nicely.

Yuta continued to push your toes against the wall, leaning forward with each stroke to have his cock drag against the most pleasurable spots of your ever clenching walls, grunting with every thrust he forced on you. His grunts were low and short mixed with a few Japanese curse words, him throwing his head back and biting his lip to distract himself from bursting inside of you. The longer he fucked you at this angle, the more his resolve weakened. He needed you to cum before him.

As Yuta fucked you the hardest he’s ever fucked anyone before, he removed one of his hands from your ankle and wrapped it tightly around your throat, looking at you for a look of assurance. You simply nodded as your hand was placed on top of his, holding him there as he steadily applied more pressure to cut off your air supply in a euphoric way that had you arching up against him. The sensation of his groin rolling against your throbbing bundle of nerves, his cock burying deep inside of your walls to feel you completely, and the new act of restricting your airflow had you feeling too good for your own good. All that you remembered was you screaming out for Yuta, clawing at him to come closer to you as you let the wave of pleasure crash over you.

Yuta felt your walls clench tightly around his cock, sending him spiraling over his edge as thick ropes of cum could be felt deep within your pussy, Yuta moaning out as he completely emptied himself into you. Yuta seemed to sputter syllables that reflected your name in pure bliss as he let himself crash on top of you, the only feeling he could feel before passing out with you was the sensation of his cum struggling to stay inside of your pussy and began to leak on the sheets below you two.

When the two of you woke sometime after you had the best sex of your whole entire life, you looked at each other with fond eyes and bright smiles. Yuta was actually a funny guy when he wasn’t forced to act on his dominant persona for tips from his lovers, telling jokes and making you laugh to seem more comfortable with the whole idea of paying for sex in a love hotel. 

“This was probably the highlight of my whole trip,” You said as you two cuddled afterwards, laying your head on top of Yuta’s toned chest and playing with the peaks of his abs. 

Yuta shifted a little bit to give you a kiss on the top of your head, smiling against your scalp as you could feel him breathe in heavily like he was in a supreme state of relaxation with you, “I’m glad I was a part of it... I think I’m going to crash here with you tonight if it’s okay with you, you really wore me out.”

“And don’t worry about payment, I’ll have Johnny take it out of my pay. With a performance like the one you just gave me, I should be paying you.”

#NeoWritingsNet #Nakamoto Yuta #Nakamoto Yuta smut #Nakamoto Yuta fanfiction #Yuta #Yuta smut #Yuta fanfcition #NCT #NCT 127 #NCT smut #NCT fanfiction #NCT 127 smut #NCT 127 fanfiction #Kpop #Kpop smut #Kpop fanfiction

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 121

If you were still incredibly naive, you would have remarked how surprising, how fantastic it was, when the powers that be decided to get together for the greater good. Only two days after what the papers were labeling as The Bombing of Hell’s Kitchen, a benefit was put together and invites were sent out. Strangely enough, it wasn’t just you and Tony who were invited- which would have been considered normal, in your world. No, instead an envelope addressed to The Avengers had showed up, with tickets to the charity art auction for every single member of your team. 

You were lucky Pepper had gotten the mail that day and had brought it up to you. The script and envelope complete with wax seal were a little too refined to just  be fan mail from a child. The fact that there was also no return address made it seem a little nefarious. But, with the tickets and invite in hand, you had a choice to make. ...hide it from the team? Make the decision for them that nobody was going? 

Didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Especially not when your senses for something being up were all but screaming. Four Russian mafia warehouses had all been bombed within minutes of each other in a coordinated attack. No one had claimed that attack yet. It was true, if it was a gang war type thing, it wasn’t like a different organization would come forward and tell the cops or the papers they’d been behind it. No need. If it was a turf battle or one gang pissing off another, the Russians would know exactly who it was already. 

The media was touting this as something terrible- and maybe it was. There had been collateral damage, of course. People had been hurt. And now someone was throwing a benefit over it. Something to revamp Hell’s Kitchen. And all of this happening just after WHiH had released a report on crime statistics in the entire city being lower than ever- all thanks to the same Avengers who had not shown up that night of the bombing. And who had been invited to the gala in Hell’s Kitchen’s stead.

What to do, what to do. What a mess. 

The whole thing left you overthinking. Driving yourself up a wall. Maybe that was exactly what this mysterious person or people behind this whole thing wanted. Or… maybe, as Pepper had quietly trying to get across… maybe not everything was about you. And, maybe, as half of your team had been trying to say… maybe the Avengers didn’t always need to be involved in every little thing that happened. 

Surely the latter was true. But… your entire team was in New York City right now. And you’d sat this one out. 

It wasn’t like nobody had reported on the absence. Of course WHiH was all over it, thanks to Christine Everhart. Did the news outlet also know your team had been invited to come show their faces and donate to the cause? Hard to say. If they did, they’d wait it out. See if any of you showed up. And if an unagreeable number happened to do so, they’d surely make noise about it. But should they go? 

You and Tony… perhaps that was all that was really necessary. As usual, in affairs like this. The two of you were far more used to being the face of things. And sometimes that hurt you more than helped. ...more often than not, it felt like, recently. If news reports came out, they’d have your faces on it, your names. Your blame. Especially now that Stark Industries- or, rather, you and Tony, were the sole benefactors to the team. Their follies were really just your follies in light of all that. Something you’d been warned about by Fury, and had taken in stride.

Because what the hell else could you do? 

A broke version of the Avengers just wouldn’t work. Someone had to bankroll them. Someone had to take care of them. So it was up to the two of you. 

Someone also had to continue to look out for them, and keep them out of trouble if they could. And that was why… 

That was why late that night, when Tony was nowhere to be found in the penthouse, you went back to the labs. It was so late that everyone else was gone. Bruce included. You found him in his private room, bracing himself over one of the lab tables, hunched over in bitter defeat. Keying yourself in was a loud affair, he no doubt knew you were approaching. 

Still, he made a soft noise of shock when your hand laid between his shoulder blades. He had dark circles under his eyes. And a cloud above his head. “Everything okay?” Asked as gently as you could, knowing, obviously, it wasn’t. 

“Just spinning my wheels out here. Have been for a while.” He sounded as tired as he looked. 

He was just so spent, not making progress on this Ultron project… it made you rethink asking him about this. Asking him to accompany you. This was something you could handle on your own, right? “Why don’t you put it down for now and come to bed.”

Even his grin held a shade of grey. “That doesn’t sound like a request.” 

You gave him a pat on the back. “Smart man.” 

“Doesn’t feel like it tonight.” Sighing out a noise of annoyance, brows squinching before he reached up to rub at his own temples. 

Very suddenly terribly raw. Being honest with you. Persona of that overconfident, over-egotistical, undoubting genius gone. And instead, in its place… just a man. A man who was losing time on a project that had no date to meet. ...only to him. For reasons that still haunted him. All of this you could feel, as real as the muscles tensing in tight knots beneath your palm. 

He turned as your hand slid up, touching at the line of his jaw, palming his cheek for a moment, and then reached further up to take his glasses carefully off the bridge of his nose. After setting them down on the table, you returned that loving caress at the side of his neck, an action that seemed to ease him. But more so was the smile you aimed his way. “Come on. Let’s go take a walk.” 

“It’s one in the morning and freezing outside.” Despite his weak attempts at protesting, he was smiling a little more real then. 

“You’ll keep me warm, and I happen to know Burger King is still open.” Luckily for him, a man that rarely slept living in the city that never did. 

He admired you for a moment, reaching up to settle his hands at your shoulders. “I love you.” A statement of fact as much as it was how he was feeling just then. 

“I love you more. On the way you can tell me about what’s got you stuck.” 

“Oh yeah?” Slipping his right arm around your shoulder as the two of you headed out. 

“Call me your little rubber ducky.” You probably wouldn’t understand a lot of what came out of his mouth about it, but… sometimes it just helped to talk. Even if your subject couldn’t keep up. 

“If that’s what you’re into. I think I can get behind it.”

                                                   --- 

While, just as you’d suspected, listening to him ramble his list of heated frustrations didn’t really resonate with you, it did seem to be helping him let off a little steam. When you thought you had something not absolutely stupid to add- where you thought you understood something or perhaps were seeing it a different way- you tried to interject. And, rewarded, more than once he took his phone out to scribble some notes down. You may not have been as smart as him but… if you could help in any way, even something small and stupid, that was really the most wonderful feeling. 

It was halfway through his large box of fries, while you were still sipping on a soda in the completely empty (by design, of course) Burger King that that cloud seemed to lift off him. And with it gone, he finally had the clarity to ask, “So. What’s on your mind?” 

You felt a little flush of guilt. “Nothing as serious as world-saving tech.” 

“I’m not so sure about that.” Shifting, he reached to lay one of his hands atop yours. “C’mon. You let me ramble. Your turn now.” 

“Well…” Breathing this out on a hum of a sigh. “We got invited to a charity benefit.” 

“And water is wet.” 

“It has to do with the bombing the other night.” 

At this he paused for a moment, considering it. “That was fast. You sure you didn’t put it together?” A small smile. 

“Pretty sure. Also… it wasn’t just us that got invited.” When he raised a brow in silent question, you continued. “The whole team got an invite.” 

“Hmn. Potentially messy.” 

“Not that I don’t love them but… that was my thought, too.” And you hoped your level of guilt over it was at least respectable. “I think we should go. For a lot of reasons.” 

He stopped you, “I’m sure you could go on all night, but I trust you.” Implicitly, as always. Something that warmed you. “-by the way, not that I actually want to go. But. I will. For you.” Wearing one of those charming grins then. 

“Well thanks.” Trying not to be lured in so easily. ...or at least trying to pretend not to be. “My problem is, if we’re going and we don’t think them going is a good idea, I don’t know how to go about it. I think not telling them could lead to trouble.” 

“Lie of omission. Good stuff. Almost never comes back to bite you in the ass. Believe me. I would know.” Speaking from some very personal experience. Some that related heavily to you.

Easy to joke about now. How funny life was. 

“Yeah- well-... if I tell them but then tell them I don’t want them to go I feel like it might… hurt their feelings? I don’t know.” It would at the very least open a huge can of worms. That was definitely for sure. 

He eased a breath out, eyes going out in thought. “Well- chances are Nat and Barton won’t want anything to do with it anyway. They don’t really like being in public that often- and Banner is busy. And starting to shy away from the limelight again, too. Thor is easy enough to persuade not to want to go to something that boring. It’s really just-” 

“Steve. I know.” Feeling bad. Terrible, really. “I don’t want him to think I don’t want him around, because that’s not the case. But-” 

“You don’t. -for this, anyway. So what?” He gave a short shrug. “I’m sure there’s stuff he doesn’t want you around for. He’s a big boy. He can handle it.” 

You couldn’t help your glowering. “Even so… it’s not really that nice to be told someone doesn’t want you around.” 

Tony thought about this for a minute and then gave your hand a squeeze. “Just- frame it… tactfully. There’s a battle plan here. He’ll respect it. And your honesty.” 

Your eyes lowered. “I just wish not everything had to be a battle plan.” 

“...yeah. Me, too.” 

                                                  ---

While it wasn’t the easiest thing to do, and definitely not fun in any way, coming clean to the team about the invite and then subsequently telling some of them you didn’t need them to go… it felt pretty shitty. Tony happened to be right. Nat and Clint excused themselves almost immediately. Bruce seemed to pretend about thinking on whether or not he wanted to go and then so sadly said he couldn’t make it. Thor was an easy sell. Boring people at a boring art gallery. Not what he wanted to do just then, especially considering Jane had asked him away somewhere. 

But Steve. 

It killed you that it hurt him so much to be excluded from this. He seemed almost disinterested at first, hearing it was just a charity thing- but still willing to go, of course. It was when you explained the sketchiness of it all and that you and Tony wanted to scope it out- seeing as you would know the people at a gathering like that, and could tell who was out of place- that you had a plan- 

...it burned you, that he felt unnecessary. So you did the next best thing you could. Promised him something more. “If this turns out to be what I think, we’re in it all the way together, okay?” 

He tried on a smile for you, but it just wasn’t real. “Yeah. Understood. Don’t worry about it. I’ll wait to hear back from you.” 

With everything settled after that, and the gala coming up on Monday of all days, there wasn’t really a lot of time to prepare. You picked a simple black gown for you and a simple black suit and tie for Tony (something he complimented with one of those fancy pairs of colored specs). This wasn’t a huge event- something you realized when the two of you pulled up and Happy escorted you both out. There was a fair amount of media standing around begging for pictures and soundbites but something seemed… off. 

The feeling only worsened as the two of you stepped into the venue, arm in arm. The air was cold. And… anxious. Everyone was holding themselves stiffly while trying to pretend otherwise. Smiling in that weirdly fake Stepford Housewives way- and generally they always did that, because the rich liked to pretended they cared just to look good. But this was different in an unnerving way. And as you and Tony came in, a small break happened, it seemed like people relaxed but only a little bit. 

As the two of you made your way down one of the halls after giving your coats to check, looking at art hung on the walls, you clutched to him a little tighter. “Something’s up.” Murmuring as quietly as possible. Impossible to hear, you were sure, underneath the group speak in the wings. 

“I thought we knew that already.” Speaking back just as quietly as the two of you stopped to pretend to look at a gigantic surrealist painting. 

“Worse. Everyone here is freaked out for some reason.” Which really never signaled anything good. If these people were that aware of their surroundings enough to be spooked by something, that something was probably pretty terrible. 

“Well…” He took a deep breath. “They’re here because four buildings in this area were bombed. Maybe they’re scared there’s a target here. There’s a lot of extra security, too.” Probably for the same reason, he meant. 

And they had felt better when two Avengers had shown up. Maybe Tony was right and there was a logical explanation for all of this. Maybe you were just overreacting. “There’s not a target here, right?” 

“Hard to tell. I have JARVIS monitoring the area. Building came back clean before we entered. If something comes up, we’ll be the first ones to know.” Tony had had a game plan and had made sure things were safe before even coming in. He trusted you, and you trusted him. For reasons like this. He always had your safety in mind- and that of the general public where he could- and… while still not making progress on his own project probably found something as simple as this easy to sink into. 

You rested your head against his arm with a little extra squeeze. “Thank you.” Not the least of which for taking care of all of that. “In that case…” 

He eased as you let go of him and served you one of those handsome smiles. “Glass of wine?” 

“You know me so well.” Leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I’d like to think so.” Returning the gesture with a little bit of a fuller kiss instead. “Don’t wander off.” 

“Of course not. I’ll just be here. Thinking about how this Dalí knockoff really speaks to my soul.” 

“I wanna hear all about it when I get back.” 

You listened to the sound of him retreating, footsteps echoing down the hallway as you clasped your hands together and looked up at the larger than life nonsense displayed on the wall. It took you a little too long to realize that you actually heard him leaving- where… only moments before… the hall had been alight with the sound of voices. And now… 

It was deathly quiet. The chill returned. 

Maybe they’d followed after Tony. He was always the life of these little parties. Maybe there was an event going on in another wing you hadn’t been paying attention to. Maybe the auction had started- 

Or, maybe, you’d been right the entire time. And the person slowly approaching you, basking in self reverie, was about to really ruin your evening. But you really just had no idea how much ruining would be happening. 

“It’s a nice piece, don’t you think?” The voice was not immediately familiar, though the deepness of it dropped your heart right into your stomach. “It will be up for auction later. You should put a bid on it. It goes to a very good cause.” 

A heavy presence landed beside you, and you were almost suddenly too frightened to look. People may not have been sharing this space with you any longer- either scared off by this man or simply ordered to leave so he could be alone with you- but they were watching from the corners and balconies. You had to hold yourself steady as you turned and were freshly chilled all over again as you found yourself in the shadow of a larger than life man. 

A very imposing man. 

“Mr. Fisk.” Wilson Grant Fisk. One of the most dangerous men in this entire city. One you hoped you’d never cross paths with. Drug dealer, arms smuggler, murderer- Kingpin, so you’d heard some rumors label him. No one would dare speak them aloud, though. They’d be dead before they dropped. 

One of the only men in the world to have just about everyone in his back pocket. Incapable of being told no. 

And apparently, just a few nights ago, below the Avengers’ pay grade. 

“You look lovely, my dear. We weren't sure you would come. Did the rest of your friends join you?” He lifted his glass of bourbon, sipping at it slowly, rings glittering in the light along his big meaty fingers. If he’d had a mind to he could have reached out and wrapped that giant hand around your throat in one clean move. 

No one would have stopped him. 

“Busy, I’m afraid. Just Tony and I are here. I hope that’s not disappointing.” You made every attempt to hold still, to not let him frighten you, as you smiled plainly up at him. People with superpowers… aliens… gods- somehow they all paled in comparison to a simple and dangerous man of conviction. 

He chuckled. “Not at all. I know it’s a very taxing thing. Saving the world. Cleaning up the ills of the streets. That’s what my new vision is. Hell’s Kitchen has been a mess lately, and I intend to do something about it. I’m sure you understand the fire.” 

Fisk had definitely been behind those bombings. He was basically telling you so himself. He’d blown up those buildings- probably to just get rid of that mafia hold out. Maybe even just for fun, but it was more likely someone had said something to him snidely and he hadn’t taken it well. So he’d bombed four warehouses over it. Seemed like the kind of thing he’d do. And now he was holding a charity function. 

When you didn’t answer, he swirled his drink around in his glass and continued, “Crime fighting is such a territory battle these days. I would surely hope you don’t think I’m edging into your claimed spaces.” 

“And here I thought WHiH had just posted the crime rates in the city had never been lower.” Squeezing your hands together just to get a literal grip on yourself as you continued placating him. 

“Bah. Useless media drivel. Though I’m sure it’s of no surprise to you, I think your little Avengers are giving rise to quite a bout of vigilantism. Then again…” He laughed a little darkly. “I’m sure in some circles your group could be considered as such…” 

“We’re government sanctioned.” Chipper as you beat him back on the idea. Probably a bad thing to do but… oh well. “I work very closely with President Ellis.” 

“Ah, yes. President Ellis. There are many who are quite inconsolable over what a poor job he’s been doing. Not the least of which… well. I suppose it can’t be considered his fault aliens came to New York.” He was staring you down, lips quirked. Probably trying to get a read on you. Trying to see if he could make you squirm. 

“I think he did the best he could. And we were happy to have helped.” This was where you were planting your flag. No matter if it was Fisk you were up against. 

“You? You mean to say Stark Industries? Or the Avengers?” 

“Both. First the latter and then the former.” 

He chuckled again, eyes lowering, taking a long slow sip of his drink. Breathing out. “Yes… I quite admire you and Mr. Stark- although I hope you won’t think it terrible of me, I’ve always envied Mr. Stark. Quite a man of vision, wouldn’t you say? Always had the steel to do what it took to get things done. Still does, I think. Which is why I was hoping to get a word in with both of you. About-” 

Tony’s blessed presence popped on your proverbial radar as he came sort of rushing- yet in that cool way of his that just seemed natural- to your side. Wine glass held out, “Sorry it took me so long. The selection here is fantastic.” Putting himself square between you and Fisk. “And we no doubt have you to thank.” Turning, when you took your glass in hand. 

You didn’t want to appear to be cowering behind Tony. But… now that he was here… 

Fisk grinned at him. “No detail too small to overlook. Your gratitude is appreciated. I hope in kind you’ll listen to my proposal.” He stuck his hand out. “It’s good to finally meet you face to face, Mr. Stark.” 

No stranger to shaking hands with men who wanted nothing good for him or the world, Tony was a pro. Slick as he reached out and gave Fisk a hard handshake. “Proposal. You’ll have to call the office. We’re a little busy, at the moment.” 

The mood shifted immediately. Fisk’s smile dropped. “Some might call that rude, you know.” Then, easy as it left, the grin returned. “You’re here now.” As if he’d caught Tony in a trap. “I’m merely speaking about cleaning up the filth in this city. I’m sure you must respect the notion. I think joining together on something like that could be groundbreaking.” 

Tony tipped his head up, steely-eyed as he made his presence huge. “I’m pretty sure I’ve made it clear where my loyalties lie.” Lifting his own glass, he took a sip of his drink before adding, “If you’d like me to explain it for you, I’d be happy to. But only for about five more minutes. We’re leaving soon.” 

All the ghosts in the hall shook with electric shock. Tony Stark. Easily standing in open defiance of Wilson Fisk. 

Fisk’s grin twitched before growing wider. “If that’s how you feel about it.” Threatening the both of you with a strange gaze. Lingering on it. The two of you standing without flinching to it. Eventually he broke, turning away finally and walking off. “Some might consider it poor form to get drinks at an open bar of a charity event and then leave.” 

Lifting a little on your tiptoes, shivering with frantic terrified energy, steadied by Tony’s arm moving around your waist, you raised your voice just to reach him, “Stark Industries has already made a donation to the people hurt by the bombings.” 

The last thing Fisk did was laugh in the corridor. “The world is so lucky, isn’t it? What would we do without you two, I wonder?” 

You and Tony stood there. Stock still. Watching him leave. Drinking until your glasses were empty. Then you did exactly as Tony had said- left. Though you took your time in getting your coats. Not running. Just leaving. But as soon as you were in the car his hand moved to take yours in an iron grip. 

Anxious energy flooded out of you. “This is bad.” 

“I’m sorry.” Though him saying that confused you. 

“What for?” Aiming a puzzled look up his way in the darkness. 

“For letting him shadow you like that- something was up- I felt it. Right as I put my order in I felt this…” Struggling just a little as he tried to put words to a feeling- “It was like someone zipped their fingers up my spine. And then I rush back to find Wilson Fisk standing over you, staring you down.” 

Your alarm had somehow touched Tony. So much so that it had frightened him into flight to come find you. But apparently a little too late. You settled a hand over his bouncing knee. “I just don’t get it… it’s not like he believes we have no idea what he’s up to.” You would put a good bet on that being why he operated in shadow for so long. If he didn’t get in your way, maybe you’d stay out of his. But then… why this? “Why now? What does he want?” What would provoke him so much to be this public?

And not only that- 

But to ask you and Tony to try out a life of crime? 

There was no way in hell he was actually trying to err on the side of good for once in his life. 

“I don’t know.” Tony’s answer was tired and frustrated. “Something’s got him spooked.” 

“Really?” You didn’t get that sense but… then again… you’d been a little too preoccupied with your own fear to feel clearly. 

“Guys like that- c’mon. They don’t bow out of their own rings unless something bigger than them is looming. Enemy of my enemy type deal.” Speaking from rough experience, it seemed. “Maybe spooked isn’t the right word. ...angry, might be closer.” 

The threads of connection pulled taut. “He was talking about vigilantes. You think someone’s trying to bring him down?” 

Tony settled back a little bit more, arm coming around your shoulders. “Maybe. Let’s just hope it’s not someone with a dramatic cape-and-cowl deal. ...and someone who knows what they’re doing.” 

You sighed, laying your head against his shoulder, raising your hand just over his heart. “I don’t know. Sometimes I still don’t even know what we’re doing.” 

At this he breathed out a soft little amused noise. “Yeah. Well. Either way I’m sure we’ll find out sooner rather than later.” 

Through the darkness you peered up at him. “And whose side do we land on in the event of a nuclear explosion?” If someone was trying to bring down Fisk, it was going to get ugly. Very fast. And if it was an enhanced individual? There was really no telling what the landscape would end up looking like. Other than scarred. 

“Our own.” 

For many reasons this soothed you. Eyes closing, you rested a little easier against him. Even more so when his own hand moved over yours. “That’s where your loyalties are, huh?” Tony was a tough man. He’d stared down more in his life than anyone ever should. 

...but it still had been kind of cool to witness him, unflinching, verbally backhand Fisk that way. 

Still speaking seriously, “With you. The team. And people that can’t help themselves.” 

Moving your hand a little higher, you palmed his cheek, turning him so you could press a kiss to the opposite one. “I love a loyal man.” 

This broke the darkness hanging over him, though in all fairness maybe the two of you should have stayed serious about this. Still… it dragged a smile out of him. “If nothing else, I’m always on your side.” 

“Don’t I know it.” He’d rushed to your side- literally- as soon as he thought something was wrong. And stood by your side to talk down a very threatening man. It was no wonder you felt safe with him around. Whether or not you could, as he’d put it, help yourself. Straying a little, you left a gentle kiss at his lips. “I love you.” 

His hand reached up to thread back through your hair, holding steady at the back of your head. “I love you, too. Let’s not overreact on this one. Someone’s on to him. I’m gonna find out who knows what.” 

You found yourself agreeing with this. The more information you had, the better. Leaning your forehead against his, “I trust you.” 

He hummed out some sweet, lost noise of warm gratitude as your lips met again. You decided very quickly; the rest of the world could wait. 

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter One Hundred Twenty One

[wittystarkk]

The Last Five Years || Bucky Barnes || Part Seven

author: wittystark

word count: 2.8k

relationship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Reader

chapter title: A Summer In Ohio

A/N: Reader is in Ohio for the production of a script she'd written, and she misses her new husband.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

(Y/N) groaned when her phone reflected her own face at her, Bucky’s name in white font set across her forehead and “Dialing…” in smaller white font underneath that. She was sat on the uncomfortable mattress in her rundown apartment for the summer, exhaustion setting in after two miserable days of poor sleep and too much work. Her legs ached from swimming across the lake the day before, attempting to relieve (or rather, escape) her stress from the director of the play forcing her to rewrite the entirety of the second act. She wanted to brain the director to death with her laptop, and the fact that she was unable to talk to Bucky for two consecutive days wasn’t helping the problem. 

The moment he told her he was free she’d pressed the “FaceTime” button on her screen so fast she had hardly been aware she’d actually done it. Now she was sitting in jittery anticipation, listening to the dull dings of the ringer. 

When her phone changed from “Dialing…” to “Connecting…” her entire body tensed, her bottom lip tucking between her teeth. Bucky’s handsome face finally appearing on her screen made her heart ache with longing underneath her ribs. “Hi, baby.”

He gave her a wide smile, his whole face lighting up. “Hi,” He shifted a bit on the bed he was lying in, reaching across his body to pull the string to turn on the lamp. She smiled, being able to see him better. She’d struggled with having to leave him back home in New York, had hardly been able to part with her newly betrothed but the knowledge that he was now only a phone call away was comforting her just a tad. 

“How was your press yesterday?” She wondered, standing up from the mattress on legs that ached in protest. It took a considerable amount of effort to keep herself from letting him become aware of her sore muscles. 

“It was nothing special. I was bored most of the day, being shuffled from room to room. I wish you were here,” he added on as an afterthought. She frowned a little at his comment, slipping her feet into the tattered old Toms that were discarded beside the front door to her apartment. 

“I wish I were there with you too, babe. But instead I’m here in Ohio, withering away.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead, melodramatically acting as if she were going to die. 

“Hey, babe. Remember I’m the actor here, don’t come for my job.” He teased with a wink, watching his wife closely through the screen of his cell phone. “Where’re you right now?” He wondered, noticing the background behind her changing. 

“I’m walking out of my little apartment on the edge of camp. Though, really, it should be called a fucking hut the thing is so run down.” She sighed, walking past someone she knew, carefully angling the camera so that Bucky could see the man behind her. “That’s Carl, one of the other adults here. Has dwarfism.  He’s playing a role because he fits in with the children so easily. He’s kind of a grump and I am certain he hates me,” She informed Bucky who laughed. 

“(Y/N), c’mon. I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.” 

She panned the camera back to herself, nodding her head confidently. “No, he does. If it were up to him I’d be off of this stupid thing and they’d be using his play.”

“He’s a writer too?”

She nodded, “yes. In the most liberal of senses. I don’t think Carl is very literate.” 

He let out a howl of a laugh, shaking his head a little. “(Y/N),” he admonished. “Be nice.”

She rolled her eyes, making a mocking face at him. “I’m being nice,” she defended as she continued walking towards the camp. 

“So,” Bucky smirked. “How are you really liking the camp?”

She sighed, taking a moment to think. “It’s wonderful. I don’t think that there is anything that would beat being here. I mean, let me think. I could have a whole mansion on some hill in a remote country, and I’d be less content than I am here. I could have a satchel full of dollar bills, and I’d be like ‘pft. I shall not leave Ohio.” 

He rolled his eyes, smiling amusedly at his wife. “You’re something else.”

She shrugged, “I would certainly hope so. Who would want to be normal?” She wondered. She continued on her walk, gasping loudly when a thought crossed her mind. “Oh, shit. I didn’t tell you about the stripper, did I?”

Bucky widened his eyes in shock, “what stripper? You’re at a summer camp for children.” He reminded her, as if that weren’t painfully obvious already. She rolled her eyes, lowering her hand as she passed by a group of the children of the camp, not wanting them to see her talking to her phone. When they were a safe distance away, she raised her hand again, getting an odd look from her screen. 

“Why was I staring at your hip?” 

She shrugged, “kids were walking by.” She skipped a few feet, stopping near the dock. “So right, anyway. Her name is Alexis, right? She lives in Columbus but apparently is trying to get herself brownie points with the judge over some custody hearing thing with her kid. I don't know the whole story. Regardless, she used to be a stripper in Columbus before she got knocked up. You can tell, too. Just in the way she carries herself and dresses. She’s pretty great, honestly. Oh!” Her lips curled in a big smile as she kicked her shoes off, settling down on the edge of the dock, dangling her feet into the water. “She has a snake too. Guess it’s name?”

“Snake?” He ventured, unimaginatively.

“Wayne,” she supplied, resting her elbow on her thigh to support her arm. “He’s kinda gross, because he’s shedding right now. And you know how gross snakes are when they shed,” he nodded his head in agreement. He was smiling an almost lazy smile, just happy to be watching his wife and listening to her ramble on about the ongoings of camp and about the snake he would never meet. “Anyway. We share a room, whenever she actually bothers to come back for the night. I think she’s sleeping with the director of the camp, but. Who’s to say for certain?” 

“Who knew a children’s summer camp would have so much drama?”

Her smile was big, warming up her entire face. Bucky’s heart panged with longing, he missed her. Missed her more than he would care to let on. “How’s it apart from the stripper, and the illiterate dwarf?” Bucky wondered, shifting on his bed to get more comfortable. 

“Oh, it’s just horrible.” She groaned, rubbing her forehead tiredly. “I mean. Let me count all the things I would like more than being in Ohio for the summer.” She took a second to think before rattling things off. “Let’s see. Okay, I could literally shove an ice pick in my eye. This one.” She brought the phone a little closer to her eye, letting him get a good look at it before pulling the phone back to show her full face. “And it’d be better than this here state.” She grumbled. 

Bucky laughed, “really?”

She nodded, “yep!”

He rolled his eyes, “you’re really a drama queen you know that? I love you, I do. But c’mon. It can’t be that bad.” 

“No! It really is, Bucky. I swear to God. It’s horrible. I have no cable, no hot water - you know how much I hate having cold showers. I have no vietnamese food, which. How terrible, I miss our takeout joint. Whenever I have a bad day at rehearsal with the kids, all I want to do is cuddle up on the couch with a box of takeout. And the worst part. The very worst part is.. I don’t have you, Bucky.” 

Her frown was enough to make him feel sad too. For him to want to rush to Ohio on the first plane and pull her into his arms. To kiss her and rub her back and tell her how much he loved her. It was torture being away from her. It was torture for her to be away from him. It was all nonsense and if she never went back to Ohio, it would be too soon for the both of them. 

She sighed heavily, trying to figure out a way to lighten the mood. She came up with nothing and he had nothing either. He could smile at her, in that award winning way of his. Her heart melted. “Baby, I love you.” He said in a soothing way. She beamed a smile back at him, the smile reaching all the way to her eyes. 

“I love you too,” she responded, blowing a kiss at her phone. He grabbed at his chest, pretending like the kiss was a bullet to his heart. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the giggle that escaped her lips. He was too much for her, and she was too much for him. They were under each other's spell, and marriage proved to only worsen it. 

His hand came up to rub tiredly at his eyes and she saw the glint of the simple gold band around his fourth finger. She knew that it was her ring on his finger. Her possession of him. She smiled big, “I love seeing your ring.” 

He chuckled, spinning it absently with his thumb and pinky. “I’m pretty fond of it myself,” he acknowledged. The two sat there for a moment in silence, both wishing they were together before she perked up.

“So, I forgot to tell you. The other day, the other adults and I took a quick drive to Kentucky, right?” He nodded, showing that he was listening. “And we stopped at Target because we needed to get some things. Anyway, I walked in and the entertainment section was directly to the right. Which was convenient because I have to solely rely on watching DVD’s for entertainment. And I looked over and guess who the hell I saw?”

His eyebrows raised in surprise, smiling. “Who?”

“You! You were on this like, big poster thing advertising your movie. Of course I walked over immediately and grabbed a copy. Richard followed me and he was like -” She changed her voice to be snarky, “‘All things considered I guess you don’t have to buy that’. Which, first of all? How offensive is that? Like, just because you’re my husband doesn’t mean I don’t have to buy your movie? Second of all, him being snarky about it made me want it even more. So, I smiled like Mona Lisa, walked over to check out, and bought that DVD before we even started our shopping trip.” 

Bucky laughed loudly, rubbing his hand down his face. “(Y/N),” he sighed. “You really didn’t have to do that. I know you were being petty and proving a point but you didn’t have to buy a copy of my DVD.” 

She shrugged, “like I said. We don’t have cable so I needed DVD’s to watch on my computer. It’s a good movie, baby. Like, really good.. You did such a good job in it. I’ve seen it a handful of times and every single time I’m still in awe of you, babe. I really am lucky being your wife.”

The blush on his cheek was so obvious it almost made her giggle. “You really are too flattering, babe.” She winked at him and the two dropped the conversation of flattery. 

“So, Richard. Don’t like him?” Bucky asked, bringing the subject off of himself. 

She laughed, nodding her head, her hair falling in front of her face. “No, I don’t, not really. But, God. He wants me, he really wants me. He flirts with me every single chance he can get and he doesn’t make it subtle at all. He just does everything he can to get time with me. And he’s the assistant director of this camp, so it’s not hard for him to get his way.” She shrugged nonchalantly, “it’s fine. He isn’t gonna get me. I’m kind of spoken for. I have a pretty great guy, you should meet him sometime.” 

He rolled his eyes at his wife, “yeah. I’ll make that a priority.” He rolled over onto his other side, placing the phone against a pillow to prop it up and free his tired arm. “Damn right he isn’t going to get you, though. You’re all mine.” He winked at the camera. 

She took a moment to look his face over, sighing dramatically. “God, look at you. I mean, look at me, and then look at you. Sonovabitch, I must be doin’ somethin’ right to have landed you.” She shook her head. “Hell we aren't perfect but. We’re pretty damn close, don’t you think?”

“Damn right,” he whisper cheered. 

Her head snapped to the side when she heard noises, seeing a gaggle of children running towards the lake in their bathing suits. She groaned, looking back at her phone. “I gotta go baby. I do, I’m sorry.” She sighed heavily, standing up from the dock, letting her feet dry for a moment. “Hurry up and get your ass out here to Ohio, you schmuck. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, baby.” He sat up in the bed. “I love you and I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too,” she replied. “I gotta go though, babe. I’ll talk to you soon.” She pressed her thumb against the red ‘end’ button and turned just in time. The children all ran past her shouting ‘Hi Mrs. Barnes’ as they made their way into the lake, Richard following behind them.

“Interesting call?” He asked, raising his eyebrows at her, seeing her phone gripped tightly in her hand. 

She shrugged, “guess so. Anyway, I should probably get back and finish those last little edits to the script. I’ll uh, see you around. Good luck with them.” 

Richard’s jaw was set tight, nodding as he watched her leave. She was already missing Bucky. 

~~~

Two weeks later, she was drying her sweaty hands on her skirt clad thighs, watching the children all run around backstage, screaming and giggling while waiting for the cue that the show was going to be starting soon. To say she was nervous would be an understatement of the century. It was the first time that one of her scripts were to be performed in front of an audience. She’d helped with scripts in the past at the summer camp, editing here and there. Helping with dialogue occasionally. But never once was it solely her work. Never was it something that she had created and crafted all on her own.

She felt like she was on the verge of vomiting. Her hair had begun to come out of it’s neat bun, falling around her face and if she hadn’t just gotten her nails done she would have been anxiously picking at them. She didn’t know how people did this so often. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it. 

Alexis noticed her legs nervous twitching, shaking her head a little at the bundle of nerves that was her roommate. “Listen,” Alexis said, walking over to (Y/N) with a pageant smile on her lips. “You’re not going out there to perform it, so there’s no reason to be nervous, okay?” She gripped (Y/N)’s shoulders tightly, rubbing them to calm her friend. “The kids all know their lines, and with any luck they’ll be half decent. Besides, they’re just playing to a bunch of elderly people. They won’t be the harshest of critics. Just breathe, and know your play is good.” 

She wanted to smile, but all that came out was a shaky laugh. “Thanks, Alexis.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s wonderful. I’m excited to see it,” said a voice from behind her. Her entire face lit up as she shook Alexis’s hands off of her shoulders and spun on her heels, running to the source of the voice. She jumped into Bucky’s arms without a moment’s hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist while peppering his face with kisses. “Baby!” She shrieked between kisses. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist to hold her against him. “I wanted to surprise you, babe. I wanted to be here for your opening night and your first performance of your first play ever.” 

She giggled, kissing him again. “You’re a wonderful husband, you know that?” 

He smirked, “so I’ve been told.”

~

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@petlaufeyson​, @lovely-geek

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[mossdeemo]

6 Dad’s — Chapter 1

Buckle up, kiddos

Ship: Roman x Deceit x Emile x Remus x Thomas x Remy (yeah try and think of a ship name for that)

This chapter specifically is mostly Demile, Roceit, and whatever Emile x Remus’ ship name is, but is Deceit x Emile x Roman x Remus

Characters: The sides, Thomas, Emile, Remy, and Dice.

This chapter specifically has Deceit, Emile, Virgil, Roman, and Remus.

Plot: 6 dads and their 4 kids are cute and get into shenanigans. The 6 of them all meet and get into a poly relationship, and fun 👌 and drama ☕️ insue.

This is really fun to write, and @pricklyfish777 and I had so much fun planning it XD

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Virge Raspberry stumbled down the stairs of her home, eyes half shut. She wrapped her arms around herself as he reached the cool, wooden floor, following the smell of pancakes in the air.

Her fathers stood in the kitchen. Emile was the one cooking, standing in front of the stove and humming the “Bacon Pancakes” song from Adventure Time. Dee was pouring three mugs of coffee, and was the one to turn his head when Virge entered the room.

Dee leaned against the counter, reaching out and offering Virge her mug. She drifted over, shutting her eyes as she took a slow sip of her bean juice.

“Good morning, my little vampire queen!” Emile grinned, walking over to Virge and kissing her on the head.

Virge looked up at him as he grabbed a few plates from the cupboard, rubbing her eyes. “Hey, my, uh… yeah you’re better at the nicknames than I am.”

Emile laughed, putting everyone’s plates together. “Well, that’s okay, bubblegum.”

Virge smiled, taking her usually seat at the kitchen table. “Lemme guess, you rewatched Adventure Time recently?”

“Dee and I watched a few episodes last night! I have some patients I have to visit at the hospital that I think could really relate to… oh, well, never mind that! Breakfast is ready!” Emile chuckled, setting a plate of pancakes and fruit down in from of Virge.

The three of them sat down at the small wooden table, and all started eating. They both thanked Emile, and he just giggled and waved a hand.

Dee took a slow sip of his drink. “I start rehearsals today, so I probably won’t be home until tonight. You’ll be home before 3, Emile?”

Emile nodded a few times, pancake stuffed in his mouth. He gave a thumbs up.

Dee nodded, adjusting the collar on his button-up. He finished first, setting his dishes in the sink and glancing at the clock. He put his hand on Emile’s shoulders from behind, kissing the top of his head.

“I’ll see you both tonight. I love you.” He moved over to Virge, pecking her on the cheek quickly before heading out of the kitchen. They both called “I love you’s” back to their father/husband, and watched as he left the house.

Emile and Virge finished eating, grabbed their bags, and then headed out to Emile’s car. He glanced over at her as he drove.

“You have your school bag? And your lunch? And your phone?” Emile asked, reaching over and pushing the bangs out of Virge’s eyes.

“Yeah, dad.” She chuckled, looking down at her legs. “I’m good. It’s not like this is my first day.”

“I know that, silly.” Emile slowed down, stopping near the school. “Just making sure. Have a good day, love.”

“You too, dad.” Virgil nodded, getting out of the car.

Emile gave his daughter one last little wave before driving away.

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Dee stood in the rather small theatre. He stared at the script in his hands, squinting as he read it over. Emile always told him he should get glasses, but they would just look ridiculous on him.

Dee has gotten one of the leading roles in this show, and he intended to do well. To do amazing, actually. He was a professional, and nothing could possibly distract him from his work.

Except for handsome theatre nerds, apparently.

Roman Mango, who was going to be playing his love interest, was a massive flirt. And he was gorgeous.

Dee hadn’t met him before, but had seen him around quite a bit. He had been to a few shows Roman had been in, even. He was a very good actor. But now, seeing him up close like this… wow.

Roman had approached Dee, a grin on his face. He seemed a bit tired, and his flowing hair was pinned back in a messy bun. Roman introduced himself, made a comment about them both having fruits as surnames, and then took Dee by the arms and lead him away to talk to the other members of the cast together.

The two of them got along fairly well, which was definitely a relief. They would be working together a lot for the next few months.

Dee and Roman stayed together for the day. They still did their jobs, and didn’t cause any trouble, they weren’t children. But the tension between them from the not-so-subtle flirting and touching was a little intense for the other cast members. Dee suggested that Roman should come over sometime soon to practice their lines together.

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Emile had two appointments at the hospital; one at 10am, and the other at 12am. In the hour-ish between those two appointments, he decided to take a walk outside. To get some fresh air, and to get away from the icky hospital smell.

Emile hummed “Island Song” to himself, stepping into the grass at the side of the building, away from the parking lot. There wasn’t a lot over here; there was fence blocking him from a steep hill leaning down to the ocean on this side of the hospital, and the other two sides were blocked in by a cliff and the building itself. In this small area, there was grass, a picnic table, and a nice looking doctor sitting and smoking a cigarette.

Emile wasn’t sure that smoking that close to the building was allowed, but he decided that wasn’t a great conversation starter. He approached the man, waving a bit and adjusting his glasses.

The man was cute, in a grungy, tired older guy kinda way. He leaned against the table, looking up at Emile when he approached. He gave a lopsided grin that made Emile’s heart flutter.

Emile was invited to sit down, and started chatting up this doctor. His name was Remus Halva, and he was a neurosurgeon. Remus liked to talk. A lot. He was rambling about… basically nothing, but Emile still listened. He asked if he had any cool surgery stories, and then immediately regretted it a little. Remus seemed pretty spacey, but could apparently remember some really disgusting stories in graphic detail. It didn’t bother Emile; just caught him off guard.

“And that’s why Ms. Moreno quit last month. I offered to help her wash it all out, but..” Remus cackled, shrugging. “Anyways, so… what’s your name?”

Emile grinned, giggling and shaking his head. “Emile Picani.”

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Virge headed into the cafeteria, glancing around and heading towards her usual spot. Neither of her friends had shown up yet. She zipped open her bag, digging around for her lunch.

She frowned as she felt a presence over her shoulder, glancing up without moving her head.

“Hey Blake. What do you want?” She asked, pulling out a paper bag.

“Nothing, bro. I skipped Hawkin’s class, did I—”

“I asked you to stop calling me that.” Virge leaned forward, biting her lip. She unwrapped her sandwich, fiddling with the plastic.

Blake blinked. “What?”

“I just… I’m a girl, and I don’t really like it…” she said quietly, staring down at her sandwich.

Blake stepped back slightly. “Uh, okay, whatever you say, dude…” Virgil heard him laugh as he walked away, and felt like flipping him off. This was the fourth time today she had to correct someone on her name or her pronouns— was she really asking for so much?

Virge’s train of thought was interrupted as someone dropped a tray down on the table. Dice Vanilla flipped the seat backwards before sitting down in it, leaning forward.

Neither of them spoke, eating their food in silence. Dice had started hanging out with Virgil’s friend Talyn earlier this year, and they had kind of become friends through them. Though, Dice was kind of a dick. Talyn joined them at the table, sitting next to Dice with their partner Joan.

“You need to redye your hair, girl. It looks like crap.” Dice told her, after almost 15 minutes of silence.

Virge just snorted, tossing one of her baby carrots onto his tray. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He picked it up and took a bite of it, smiling.

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Dee didn’t arrive back home until around 6pm. He had been having so much fun at the theatre with Roman, during and after rehearsal, that he hadn’t realized time had passed.

He entered the house with a grin on his face, looking around for his beautiful husband. “Emile?”

Emile looked up from where he was sitting on the couch as Dee flopped down next to him, resting his head in his lap. Emile grinned, taking Dee’s hand and kissing it. “Have a good day, love?”

Dee hummed, shutting his eyes and stretching out. “It was wonderful. I met someone. Emile, you have to meet this beautiful man.” He laughed, turning and snuggling into his husband’s stomach.

“Really? I was gonna say the same thing to you! There’s this doctor at the hospital. He’s so lovely, Dee. You’d adore him.”

Dee grinned, shifting so that he could sit up in Emile’s lap. He kissed him, chuckling and taking out his phone. “I guess we both had a very good day. Here, let me show you him…”

Roman had insisted that Dee and Roman took a picture together for Roman’s Instagram. Dee took a moment to find it, before showing it to Emile.

Emile took the phone, squinting and adjusting his glasses. “This is the guy you met today? That’s so weird, he looks just like that doctor..”

Dee chuckled, looking at the picture of himself and Roman again. “Ah, yeah, that’s weird…”

Emile rolled his eyes, playing with Dee’s hair. “Get your head out of the clouds, Romeo. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him. They could be twins! Except mine has a really cute moustache.”

Dee gasped dramatically, getting up out of his husband’s lap. “Mine’s way cuter! I’m going to invite him over soon. How does Saturday sound?”

“Sure, love. Virge’s gonna be staying at her friend’s house on Friday night. Maybe I can invite Remus over too..”

Frowning, Dee glanced towards the stairs. “How is Virge? Did she tell you about her day at school?”

“She said it was alright, but she seemed pretty tired. I told her to go lie down for a bit…” Emile stood up next to Dee, putting a hand on his back. “We should make pasta, it’s one of her favourites..”

Dee took Emile by the hands, leading him towards the kitchen. He spun him around, planting a kiss on his forehead. “That sounds lovely, gumball.”

Emile flushed and squeaked, resting his hands on Dee’s chest and giggling. “Stop being cute and boil some water, Deedee.”

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That Saturday, Dee invited Roman over to “rehearse their lines”. They had seen each other a few more times that week, and Dee was really looking forward to this. Roman had texted Dee several times beforehand how excited he was to come over.

Roman approached the house, checking the address one last time on his phone. He had been lucky enough to get a babysitter for Patton, and didn’t want to ruin this date— he was just calling it a date, he wasn’t sure what it was— by getting himself lost.

He knocked on the door, and was relieved when it was Dee who pulled him inside, wrapping an arm around his waist. Dee shut the front door, grinning and looking down at him. Roman returned the expression, pulling away and taking a quick look around.

“Your house is so lovely, Dee. Do you live here alone..?” He asked, as he was led over to the couch.

Dee paused for a moment, then shook his head. “No, of course not. I told you about my kid, didn’t I? One moment love, I made some tea.” Dee winked, heading over to there kitchen.

Roman nodded at him, sitting down on the couch. “Yes, right! You did.” He spotted a framed photo on the coffee table, reaching over and picking it up. It was of Dee, what he assumed was his daughter, and another man he didn’t recognize. “Is this her? She’s very pretty..” he said softly, setting the photo back down.

Looking around the room, there were a lot of family photos. Dee, Virge, and this other man. Roman stopped to think for a moment. Did Dee wear a wedding ring? Maybe he should leave.

But Dee came back with their tea, sitting down next to Roman as they began chatting. Roman kept getting distracted. Dee was wearing what was certainly a wedding ring, and Roman knew that he should go, but didn’t.

Small talk and sipping tea very quickly turned into heavy making out, with Dee sitting on top of him. Did Roman feel guilty? A little, but he was starting to forget about that. At least, until he heard noises outside.

Roman put his hands on Dee’s chest, breaking their kiss. “Dee, I think someone’s…”

Dee turned to the window, where he could see a car in his driveway. “Oh. That’s just my husband.”

If Roman wasn’t currently pinned to the couch by Dee’s body, he would be scrambling out of the window right now. “Your what?—”

The front door opened, and two men stepped into the house. Roman couldn’t see them well, with Dee blocking most of the door, but the one he could see better was definitely Dee’s husband.

Emile and Remus entered the house after their date, Emile humming to himself and holding his date’s hand. They had gone out to eat and went for a walk together, but it was getting chilly, and Emile’s flirty length skirt was not enough to keep him warm. So, they decided to come back home.

Emile has completely forgotten that Dee and his friend would be here. When he entered the house and saw them, he started giggling, politely glancing away. “Oh, I’m sorry! Am I interrupting, love?

Dee started laughing, turning a bit to face Emile. “Of course not, darling. How was your date?”

“We had a lot of fun!” Emile glanced at Remus, who was staring at Dee and Roman with his eyebrows raised. “You wanna maybe take a break and come say hi? I’d love to meet Roman…” Emile smiled, tilting his head to get a better look at Roman.

Dee smirked at Roman, winking before climbing off of him. He offered the smaller man a hand, pulling him to his feet.

Roman and Remus locked eyes, Roman giving him a “what the fuck is going on” face. Remus just shrugged, then frowned, as he got a better look at this man.

“This is Remus, the surgeon I was telling you about, Dee! I told you he looked just like Roman.”

That was true. The two of them looked really similar. Besides from some facial differences, their difference in height, and their hairstyles— they could probably be twins.

Remus looked Roman up and down, a hand on his hip. “Oh, I’ve definitely fantasized about this.”

Roman’s eyes widened, and he felt his face heating up. He sputtered for a moment, taking a small step back. “Why— I— who are you?”

“Remus Halva. It’s nice to meet you, beautiful.” He winked, reaching out and taking Roman’s hand. He bowed dramatically and kissed the back of it.

Roman pulled his hand back, smiling and biting his lip.

Emile and Dee looked at each other, both smirking. Emile stepped forward, taking Roman by the arm and leading him back over to the couch. “Cmon, I’m super chilly! We should cuddle and watch Tangled!”

That got Roman’s attention. He grinned and allows himself to be dragged away by Emile. Dee and Remus looked each other over, decided that they would definitely like to cuddle, and followed them over to the couch.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #human au #demigirl! virgil #deceit sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roceit #demus #remrom #vic writes #my writing #polysanders #sanders sides fanfic #vic’s post