#layers of fear 2 opens up so many questions with so little answers

[squirmhoney]

TO BREAK A WIFE | NAOYA ZEN'IN

Please read all warnings carefully, my fics cover dark topic matters, that may be upsetting to certain readers. Read at your own discretion. Warnings: Dark. Arranged/Forced marriage. Non con Dub con. Spanking. Loss of virginity. Violence against reader. Abusive relationship. Forced pregnancy. Misogynistic views. Degrading views. Submissive reader. 18+ A/N: This is part 2 to a little series so if you haven’t read that, read it first.

AS ALWAYS MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! MASTER LIST HERE

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Naoya dragged you out of that ceremony, forcing you to practically run to keep up with him. 

You knew where he was leading you to and when you reached his chambers, you were just ready for the bedding part to be over with. 

But it felt like he had something else planned, leaving you alone for what felt like hours to stew in your own thoughts. 

You wished you had taken something, had drunk more after the ceremony, something that would leave you inebriated or completely incapacitated before this happened. Something that meant you wouldn’t have to remember this day for the rest of your life. 

The air felt still when the bedroom door opened again. All you could wish for was in that moment was for the bed to swallow you whole, for anything to save you from being there. It was like everything was slowing down as he made his way towards you, only making you more aware of how fast your heart was thudding in your chest. 

You hadn’t even moved from the position he had left you in, still sitting at the edge of the bed and you only wished you had moved as he came to stand in front of you, his whole body towering over your frame. 

His fingers touched the tip of your chin, lifting your gaze to look up at him. The first thing you noticed as your eyes trailed his frame was his lack of clothing, only a thin silk robe covering him now. 

“I’ve been thinking about this for years,” Naoya confessed, hand cupping your cheek. 

You parted your lips, wanting to ask so many questions but not knowing where to begin or what the right thing would be to say. 

But he seemed to have all the answers. 

“Not the marriage part,” he shook his head at that, a smile creeping on his face. “That hadn’t really been planned at all.” His hand trailed down the column of your neck, stopping at the edge of your shiromuku. “Take it off.” 

Your fingers fumbled with the front, struggling to untie it. It was thick in layers and there was a slight tinge of hope that they’d protect you. 

But you didn’t need to worry about that, not when Naoya dropped down, kneeling in front of you just to be able to tear the material from your body. 

You had always known he was strong but to have the material torn to shreds in a matter of seconds by his hands, had you terrified. 

You had always thought you had been a strong sorcerer, if you weren’tNaoya would have never even considered you as a marriage prospect. But you knew that it was no match to take him, his strength alone would be enough to hold you down. 

He took a step back when the robe fell apart, eyes scanning over your frame as you desperately tried to cover it. 

“Hair down,”  he demanded. 

You listened, snatching the pins from your hair and placing them by your side. 

“Better.” 

“Why?” You finally asked him, cracking under the pressure of his cold stare. “Why did you decide to marry me?” 

He stalked over towards you, making you fall onto the bed as you backed away. 

You knew he could see the fear in your eyes, he was feeding off of it, and it only grew as he started to untie his robe. 

“I never desired you when we were younger,” he began to speak again, taking his time to undress himself. “Who would desire such a disobedient brat?” He shook his head, jaw clenching as he remembered something. “But after that day when you came screaming at me about your stupid friend- What was her name again?” 

“Hana.” Her name set something off in you, a burning fire your parents had pleaded you to leave behind with your teenage years. The version of you that Naoya knew. 

“Ah yes,” he flicked his fingers as if it was all coming back to him. “Hana.” 

His robe dropped from his body then and your eyes were quick to look away. 

“Look at me.” 

His voice was stern and you found yourself unable to do anything but obey. 

“That’s it.” 

He moved then, crawling onto the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he made his way over to you. He stopped by your feet, taking your ankle in his hand as he examined it. 

“When you came screaming at me because of her. I thought to myself how could someone ever want to marry a bitch like this.” 

His hand slithered up your subtle skin, slow and calculated, fingers tickling your calf all the way up to your mid thigh. 

“But then my brain got to thinking, how fun it would be to train the brat out of you. To completely destroy you.” 

His fingers dug into your tender flesh and you winced. 

His eyes looked at you again, the darkness still there but there was now an insatiable hunger that lingered along with it. Almost pained in nature as if he’d be completely empty if he didn’t feed it. 

Your hand grabbed his wrist, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you gasped, “Please, it hurts.” 

He released his hold, trailing his hand up until it was just below your cunt. 

“To break you apart,” he continued, fingers grazing your lips. “And to build you back together again.” 

You fell into the pillows as he hovered his body over you. 

“But I think your parents managed that one for me.” 

When his fingers moved, your hand reached out on instinct to push him away. 

“Or did they?” He was snickering now, snatching your hand away as he shoved it against your side. “I don’t think they did. I think she’s still there.” 

Your other hand went to push him away by his shoulders but then his free hand dove right between your thighs, not wasting any time.

“Do you remember what you said to me that day?” He asked, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he was genuinely curious. 

“I don’t know. Something about you being a dick and hurting my best friend,” you fumbled on the words, trying to rack your brain. 

It was near impossible when he was touching you. 

Especially when he lazily dragged a finger through your folds, a sickening grin reaching his lips as he brought his fingers to your face. His fingers were soaked, your fluids coating him and you stared at them in horror. 

“No.” He shook his head, fingers retreating back down. “After all of that.” 

You remembered. “I fear for the woman who ends up marrying you.” 

“Do you fear for yourself, Y/N?” 

His fingers slipped into your walls now, not bothering to take their time to stretch you out. He forced two of his thick fingers in, not listening to how your walls were fighting against the intrusion. 

“No, I think you wanted this all along.” 

“I never wanted this,” you hissed, thighs clamping around his hand. 

This didn’t anger Naoya like you thought it would, after all he hated disobedience. Instead it seemed to please him and he was grinning as he bound your hands to the bed, tying them to his wooden headboard. 

“There you are,” he chuckled, breath fanning against your skin as he tied your hands.

You wriggled around, trying to make it impossible but you knew it was a game you had already lost. 

“I guess I’ll get to break you after all.” 

“You’re sick,” You spat at him, leg kicking him. 

When he caught your leg, his smile finally faded, twisting into a deep scowl. 

“Do that again and I’ll break it,” Nayoa threatened, before he flipped you over. 

He moulded your body into whichever shape he found fit, burying your face into the pillows with your add stick up for him to see. 

You hated not being able to see what he was doing, having to wait for his touch in whichever form it came in. 

“Does it make you happy fighting back?” Naoya questioned, hand rubbing over the skin of your ass. “Make you feel slightly better about yourself. I mean we both know you’re not going to win.” 

“I should have fought back from the start,” you told him. “Maybe I wouldn’t have ended up here. I could have ended up with Haru.” 

His hand was sharp as it was brought down against your cheek, not just once, but several times. 

You screamed at the feel of him breaking your skin, he wasn’t even holding back as he hit you till you ass was raw red. 

“I’m not a jealous man, Y/N,” Naoya told you, slowing his pace as he took his time between smacking each cheek. “But you belong to me now and I’ll make you very aware of that. Trust me.” 

“Please,” you sobbed into the pillows.

“Please, what?” You barely heard over his brutalising hand coming against your ass a few more times. 

“Please stop,” you cried out, trying to move away from him. 

He chuckled at that, pausing his assault as if to only hear your pathetic cries. “Now why would I do that?” 

“Fuck you,” you spat, defiance still lingering there. 

“Oh you will,” he hummed before shoving his fingers in you again.

This was a different kind of torture, one mixed with pain and pleasure as he forced your walls to accommodate his thick fingers. 

In some ways you wanted this to be as painful as possible, to remind you who was doing this to you. But it hurt so much you just found yourself begging for him to stop. 

“I’m sorry,” you pleaded with him. “I’m so sorry, Naoya.”

It was the first time you had said his name and you think you both realised that. 

You couldn’t tell if he hated it or enjoyed it, only slowing down his brutal pace of his fingers for you. 

“You're so wet down there,” he pointed out, fingers toying with you know. “I just don’t believe you when you say you don’t like this.” 

A new feeling seemed to seep into your skin at that realisation. He had abused you, taunted you and was about to use you, and yet you were dripping around his fingers. You liked it.

You couldn’t quite put your tongue on what this feeling was at first, not until he spoke again. 

“Pathetic really.” 

You were pathetic. A humiliated mess.

Naoya was doing what he had always dreamed of, according to his confession earlier. He was breaking you down and you were sure by the end of it there really would be nothing left.

When he slipped a third finger in, your walls seemed to be more willing than before, sucking him in. You couldn’t even help yourself as a moan slipped from your throat, his fingers finally feeling good as they massaged your walls. 

Naoya slid his fingers out of you without warning and you bit down a whine at how empty you suddenly felt. 

“I think you’re thoroughly prepared,” he said, flipping you onto your back.

He towered over you in an instance and he didn’t even give you time to think before he was crushing his lips against yours. His lips were bruising, anything but soft as he tried to inhale you. 

It made you wonder if he had truly fantasised about this, if there had been times he actually caught himself thinking about you. 

Naoya had been a man that went through women like there had been an endless supply. You never once heard of him fuck a girl more than once, not even in more recent years. 

But the way he kissed you now and the things he had confessed about you earlier, made you believe that he had been fantasising about this a bit deeper than he was letting on. 

You don’t just marry a woman because you want to break her. If he truly wanted to do that, he could have had his way with you and still let you marry Haru. No one would have even batted an eye at that. 

The Zen’in clans delusions ran deep like it’s misogynistic values and you were sure they would have called you privileged to even be touched by Naoya. 

When you sharply moaned into Naoya, you were brought back to reality. The kiss had sent your mind reeling, snatching you of all the air from your lungs, leaving you unable to think. 

It’s why you hadn’t even noticed how he had situated himself between your thighs. You only seemed to catch on when you felt the tip of him flick against  your clit. 

“You like that?” Naoya teased, finally pulling away from you.

Your mind could barely focus on what he was saying, eyes too drawn to him sliding his cock against your folds. 

“You’re literally dripping onto my bed,” Naoya tutted, stroking himself with his hand. You could see the wetness between his fingers as he lubed himself up, the sight of it made you hate yourself even more. “Making such a mess, Y/N.” 

You wondered if this is what the girls before you had felt like in the moment. Not the sickening feeling at yourself or the hatred you felt for the man you now called husband. 

Most of them had been the ones to practically offer themselves to him. Had their minds been reeling as he pressed the tip of himself at their entrance, had this been the feeling they cried over the next day. 

You weren’t sure but the feeling made your skin feel ablaze and you wanted to scream at yourself to make it stop. 

When Naoya ducked his head down again to capture your lips, you were twisting your head away. 

Although you couldn’t see him as you stared at the wall, you knew he wasn’t impressed, feeling his body tense above you. 

It’s like you had forgotten about how cruel he could be but you were suddenly reminded as brought his hand down against your cunt. 

He didn’t even seem pleased to do it as you looked back at him, lips drawn in a thin line as if he was almost tiring of your resistance. 

Then he leant down again, eyes scanning your face as if he was questioning you to dare resist him again. 

You didn’t. When his lips touched yours, you accepted them, sliding your lips across his.

It was a distraction, keeping your mind focused on his kiss that you forgot momentarily what he was doing down there. But it didn’t last long, Naoya swallowing your protests as he finally slid into your walls. 

The feel of him inside you had you wincing, closing your eyes in some sort of hope to drown out the pain. You couldn’t help yourself as your nails clawed at the head board, urgently trying to ground yourself. 

Naoya, however, was clearly enjoying it. His lips parted ever so slightly as he sighed. His eyes half lidded as he took the sight of you breathless underneath him. 

You were glad once the burning sensation started to fade, being taken over by a pleasurable bliss that crawled all over you. Especially when Naoya was barely focusing on you anymore, picking up his pace. It was almost as if eyes were looking right through you as he lifted himself up. 

This was how you imagined he treated all of the women he had been with before as if they weren’t truly there. Like they weren’t more than just a glorified hole that to him.

He became completely oblivious to your sharp moans and soft whimpers even when you slipped out his name. He was completely lost in his own euphoric feeling, grabbing your hips with both hands as he used it as leverage, to rut faster into you. 

“Wait,” you had practically screamed at him when he started to pound into you. But your words were quickly lost on lewd noises being torn from the back of your throat. 

While Naoya became completely lost in his mission to please himself, you became lost in the tightening feeling in your stomach. You couldn’t even think properly as it grew, each thrust of his cock was stroking something in your walls that you had never felt. 

You had touched yourself before, made yourself orgasm several times but this had you babbling incoherent sentences. You wondered if Naoya could even hear you over his own thoughts. 

You felt the need to warn him, to tell him something wasn’t right but it was near impossible with your hands tied behind your back and his name dying on your tongue. But his attention started to drift back to you when your cunt began clenching around him, begging for some sort of release. 

“I think you’re about to cum,” he chuckled darkly, eyes drawing in on your face. 

The feeling only continued to grow as you felt his attention on you, lapping every expression on your face. He was hovering over you again and for some reason you seemed to believe his smile was egging you on, waiting for you to finally snap. 

You didn’t think Naoya was a person to really care about another’s pleasure but when his hips started to violently hit against yours, you were sure he was desperate for you to cum. 

So you did. 

The coil finally snapped inside of you as his thrusts got deeper, making your back arch off the bed. You were squirting all over him, your fluids literally hitting his abs and you were sure he’d be pissed at the audacity of you cumming all over him. 

But he wasn’t. 

He didn’t even seem to be paying attention down there, entranced by the sight of your face as he continued to bury himself in you. 

Was it because you had finally snapped? Finally been broken enough for him to build you up again? 

You couldn’t decipher any of this as you looked into his eyes and in reality you didn’t even want to. Instead you focused on your shallow breathing, trying to calm down the prickling sensation that had formed across your body. But that was near impossible with the way Naoya was continuing to drill into you.

Your cunt was still in overdrive with the way he was going, squeezing him as if it didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t sure if you wanted him to stop or not, so hooked on the sensation he was giving you that you found yourself numb to it all. 

“Fuck, would you stop that,” he groaned, fingers digging into the bones of your hips. 

“I can’t- I can’t help it,” you choked up. 

“It’s like your pussy is begging me to cum,” he hissed, pressing his forehead against yours. Even though he sounded angry about it, he didn’t look angry and you weren’t sure how to take it. “Do you want me to cum inside you?” 

You didn’t know what to say, too scared to say the wrong thing. 

Luckily he answered for you, spilling into you with a few sloppy thrusts. 

It was only when he stilled on top of you, both of you barely able to look at each other did reality start seeping back in. All you wanted to do was shut it out though, clearly in no right state of mind to be thinking about anything other than what was taking place in these four walls.

You wanted to sleep, you had thought, eyes fluttering shut when Naoya finally had left you alone on the bed. And when you finally felt the restraints around your hand loosen, you believed sleep was going to be easy. 

However Naoya seemed to have other plans, yanking your frame back onto him as crawled into the space behind you. 

“Did you seriously think we were done?” he whispered in your ear, cock lining up with your entrance. “I don’t think I have fully broken yet.”

TAGLIST: @mammons-wife @integers

#jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin #naoya x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #naoya zenin smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader

[marshmallowprotection]

I was wondering since Saeyoung never met Ray and Suit Saeran in game but what would be his reaction if he did meet them? щ(゜ロ゜щ)

It's a complicated answer to think about. I’ve dabbled with this a little bit in my head before. Saeyoung feels a lot of guilt and shame when he thinks about the things that he and Saeran suffered as children. He thinks that he needed to be stronger, that he needed to do more, and that he wasn’t about to help as much as he should’ve. He’s had a hard time trying to accept that he was a child just as much as Saeran was... and it wasn’t his job to save them. He deserved to be a kid just as much as Saeran did. 

But, that’s something that has to be pointed out since a part of how Saeyoung heals is learning how to forgive himself for what happened.  it's going to be very difficult for him to realize that no matter how much he tried to protect his brother, there was so much that was outside of his control that he could not fix or make better. Realizing that the abuse had been so bad on his brother that it had done enough to create Ray and Suit Saeran would be difficult. 

Like, he would accept them with open arms without a shadow of a doubt. There would be no part of him that would judge them or seem to be confused. They are still his brother no matter what and that doesn't change. It's going to take some education and some getting used to for him to understand everything, but as far as being able to accept them, he does that from the first second. He would be able to love them as much as he loves Saeran. They’re not Saeran, but he’s not had the chance to get to know them, but he knows that he will come to care for them and understand them just like he cares for his brother. 

But, a huge part of what he feels internally is guilt and shame. “Would you have suffered less if I continued to sacrifice myself?” is a common question in th back of his head. He has to navigate those feelings no matter how much it burns him to the core because if he doesn’t, he’ll never be able to heal. He blames himself so much for Saeran’s suffering even if there were so many things that were out of his control. That’s the hard part for him, but it’s unlikely that he’d talk to Ray or Saeran about guilt for a long time unless it’s forced out of him. 

He does apologize for not being there enough but... neither Ray nor Suit Saeran want to hear that immediately. It’s not easy. Ray is the one that struggles with his desire to hug his brother and hate his brother. He wants to be okay again but he also fears his reality. He fears not knowing if it’s okay to be close to Saeyoung in any capacity. What if the Savior was right? What if he gets abandoned again? It is a real fear for him. Saeyoung would look at Ray and see the terrified child he left with V and Rika in Ray and that... that’s the hardest part about all of it. He’s seeing Ray and... he’s sick to his stomach. He left Ray back there and... he was suffering and miserable all by himself with nowhere to go. 

He wants to embrace Ray but he would hesitate... afraid to upset Ray more since Ray would be crying between “I want my brother back, I want my brother back,” and “Don’t you dare touch me! Don’t come near me! Liar!” It’s painful as hell to watch. Ray is angry and frightened. His emotions are layered and have the tendency to blow up... so he might still get angry with his brother, but I can see him running off and locking himself up. Maybe he and Saeyoung can talk through a door and it be... okay. 

Suit Saeran? That’s just SE Saeran round 2. Saeran is angry in the same way that SE Saeran was. He’s angry and upset that they were abandoned in his eyes and left to rot. All his anger bubbles to the surface and it’s going to lead to a lot of fighting both internally and externally if we’re being honest. It’s not going to be a pretty situation for anyone involved when Saeran gets angry at Saeyoung. We have seen how Suit Saeran reacts to V and Saeyoung... we know how upset it can make him regardless of if he choose to see them willingly or not. 

So, in some ways, we already know how Suit Saeran would respond to his twin brother... but we also know how Saeyoung would react. He would try too make it better but in his lack of knowledge on how to handle mental health properly, he’d make a mistake somewhere along the way... which makes it harder for the two of them to talk properly. Again, Saeyoung blames himself for that and wishes he could know how to make it better. But, not even Saeran knows how to make it better. 

#character analysis #ask #anon #mod kait #mystic messenger #mysme #mm #mysticmessenger #saeran choi #choi saeran #saeyoung choi #choi saeyoung #suit saeran #saeran #ray choi #choi ray #ray #luciel choi #choi luciel #707 #seven

[zerachielamora]

hi, i’d like to share a possible theory about lof2 with you since you are probably the person who knows the most about this game ahah. the other day i was thinking about the fact that lily died and james was so desperate that with the help of the rat queen he brought her back in his own body. now, james never pretend to be lily since the two siblings shared the same body, so that mean that also lily made a path with the rat queen? like she knows what is happening and she’s also fighting to not “destroying” her “part”, she wants to be alive. i don’t know if i am over analyzing but it just make sense to me if actually lily met the rat queen too. like she wanted to be an actress not james, so i’m starting to think that it was not james who was following her sister steps, but it was actually her. she was the one who was capable of not breaking the character, not james. lily is stronger than him. and also the fact that rat queen met james even before lily died it’s kinda suspicious, right? and we can also understand that she (the rq) doesn’t really have a favorite, like she just want that one sibling take over the other while the director is trying to tell james to get rid of her sister. i wonder why, who is the director. what if he was helping james and testing lily. i feel like it was lily the artist chosen by the queen and not james. also in layers of fear inheritance at the end we can see that the painter painted her daughter with a lily in her hand. it has to mean something. and also the fact that at the beginning of lof2 we see a cabin probably owned by him. idk. i see a lot of people that actually agree with the fact that both lily and james share the same body but then only referring to james and i don’t understand why ahah like lily is alive!!!! i know, i wrote a lot and i’m sorry but i’m going insane trying to understand this game and i don’t have anyone to talk to. i hope it’s understandable ahahha if it’s not clear please let me know!!! i hope you have a nice day :) (my tumblr is giving me problems, i’m sorry if you received this message multiple times)

Thank you for sharing your theory, it’s very fascinating!

My take is that it’s very possible when James took Lily into himself that she learned of the Rat Queen through him. I mostly believe it was James trying to follow in Lily’s steps because it every kind of mention of the Actor, promo and whatnot, they are referred to as a he. Not to mention the existence of the Formless Man, which is a representative of the indecisiveness and improper growth of James from having his sister’s soul within him as well. But you could definitely make the argument that in the Lily route of the game, Lily is slowly overcoming him, guiding his movements and making his choices until she completely takes over. I also get frustrated though in main talks about the game where it’s only mentioned about James - you can be Lily in one ending after all haha - and honestly the Lily ending is my favorite one.

The Director’s identity is an entire can of worms I haven’t been able to decipher yet myself. I’ve considered a ton of theories about him in depth with no meaningful conclusion. One possibility I entertained was the idea that he and the Rat Queen were opposing deities who were fighting over who was going to win in the case of the Actor’s identity. It does seem the Rat Queen doesn’t really have a preference as to which sibling wins, though if she’s such a fan of good art and the like, it could be that she secretly wishes Lily would win. Why the Director wants James to win, I can only guess, but maybe it’s because he seems more easy to manipulate, whereas Lily is a free spirit who does her own thing.

I have wondered if there’s a connection between the Director and the strange man who interviews James a child in those recordings. That guy is also a complete mystery to me.As for the daughter’s portrait in Inheritance holding a lily while there’s a character in the next game called Lily - that is VERY intriguing. Especially because the Actor’s childhood home has the first floor looking just like the first floor of the house from the first game. I wondered if this meant that the two families were neighbors and perhaps knew one another casually, but of course there’s no evidence to back me up on that one.

Is it possible that the Rat Queen, after having dealt with the painter’s family, thus learned of the Actor’s family, and moved onto them? Could be.

#ask box #layers of fear 2 opens up so many questions with so little answers #didn't even touch on the mystery objects where Idek where to begin #anon

[itsallyscorner]

♥︎ The Struggles of Getting A Valentine

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!reader

Summary: The three times Peter tries to ask you to be his Valentine and the one time he successfully does.

Warnings: none. Just a lot of fluff. Peter being a simp, Bucky being the cutest bby ever, and Tony being a dad. This is long. Happy reading💞

(Source — Pinterest)

Attempt #1

Peter watched as you vigorously took down notes. From time to time your eyes would shift back up to the projected screen on the board. Your hair would graciously fall past your ear and to the front of your face, causing you to continuously tuck it behind your ear whenever it bothered you. He let out a dreamy sigh at the thought of running his fingers through your hair and tucking the loose strands behind your ear for you.

He wasn’t paying attention in class; he should have cared more about World War II, but you had his undivided attention without even trying. Besides, he could ask Steve for help if he ever needed it, he’s literally lived through part of World War II. Peter felt foolish as he stared at you, a lovestruck expression was on his face while he admired you from afar. You were just a few seats away from him. You were in the next row, two seats ahead of him. He was so hopelessly in love with you, his feelings for you were more than just a crush. He admired every little thing about you. From your kindness to how talented you were as an Avenger; you were the girl of his dreams.

Ms. Atwell’s voice faded in the background while his mind clouded with thoughts of you. Beside him was Ned, who was also taking notes while trying to get Peter to focus once again. When Ms. Atwell turned her back to the class, Ned roughly shoved Peter’s shoulder. The hearts in Peter’s eyes popped and the chorus of How Deep Is Your Love by The Bee Gees stopped playing in his head. He whipped around to look at Ned, annoyed that his friend took him out of his daydream.

“What?” Peter asks him through gritted teeth.

“Ms. Atwell already yelled at you twice yesterday for not paying attention in class, do you really want her to call you out again?” Ned whispered back harshly. Peter was one of the smartest dudes Ned has ever known, but sometimes he could be as dumb as a rock and as stubborn as a mule.

Peter shrugged him off, “She won’t notice.” He looked to the front to make sure Ms. Atwell’s back was still turned to the class, “I think I’m gonna ask (y/n) to be my valentine.”

Getting lured in with curiosity, Ned asks, “Don’t you guys see each other everyday? And do patrol together? How have you not asked her yet?”

“I don’t know—I couldn’t find the right time to.” Peter answered, turning his head back to the front when he sensed Ms. Atwell turn back to the class. She briefly mentions something about the Howlling Commandos and turns back around.

“When are you asking her?” He hears Ned whisper behind him. He leans back, face still towards the board, “Right now.”

Ned nods then takes a double take at the back of Peter’s head, “Now?!”

Peter rips the corner of the page his notebook was open to and began to sloppily scribble the words:

(Y/n), will you be my valentine?

Yes ⃞ No ⃞

— Peter :)

As childish as his note was, he believed that you would find the gesture cute. Little did he know that Ms. Atwell would too. While he excitedly folded the piece of paper, he had not realized that Ms. Atwell had stopped talking and was looking at him with that stern stare of hers. Cluelessly, Peter quietly giggles to himself and tapped MJ, who was in front of him. When she didn’t turn around, he looks up from the note to see Ms.Atwell hovering above his desk, arms crossed with an unamused look on her face.

Startled, Peter jumps in his seat, eyes wide and cheeks growing warm. He looks around the class to see everyone staring at him, including you. Although, you had that same unamused look on your face as Ms. Atwell. Like Ned, you also scolded Peter whenever he didn’t pay attention in class.

“Dumbass.” You mouthed at him shaking your head. A sheepish grin forms on his face as his eyes shift back to Ms. Atwell. Her red painted lips were in a thin line and her hand was held out at him.

“Give me the note, Mr. Parker”

Peter’s eyes widened even more, making him fear that they might pop out of their sockets, “NO—no, no, no. I—I can’t.”

“And why not?” She asks him in her posh accent.

“Uh—because..” Peter struggled to come up with an excuse. His eyes shifted between you and Ned, desperately asking for help. Ned shrugs in response.

“Just give it.” You mouth to him. He shakes his head at you furiously and was about to respond to Ms. Atwell, but the note was removed from his hands. Peter squeaks as he tries to take it back from his teacher but shoves himself back into his seat when Ms. Atwell glares at him. She opens the note, eyes skimming at the words written on the piece of paper. A small smirk grows on the older woman’s lips.

“P—please don’t read it out loud.” Peter pleadingly whispered to her. He leaned forward, “I’ll go to detention, I’ll even grade your papers for you—just please don’t read it out loud.”

You raise a brow at the brown haired boy, wondering what could have been written on that piece of paper that made him beg Ms. Atwell for detention to not read it. You shift your questioning gaze at Ned, who waves off your nonverbal question.

Ms. Atwell sighs, crumpling up the piece of paper, “Detention after school.”

“Yes.” He whispered to himself in victory, hands clasping together. “Thank you, thank you, Ms. Atwell.”

“I’m only letting this slide once. The next time I see you writing notes in my class, I’m reading it to everyone and calling home.” She warned pointing a finger at him. Peter nods eagerly, “Got it, Ms. Atwell.”

She returns back to her lesson while Peter shoved his face into his hands in embarrassment. A thin layer of sweat had formed on his forehead and his heart was pounding out of nervousness. He musters up the courage to look at you again.

Much to his surprise, you were already looking at him over your shoulder. He flashes you a shy smile to which you reciprocate with one of your own. You turn back around, resuming to take notes from the board. The smile on his face only grew wider as he stared down at his scribbled notebook, the image of you smiling at him stuck in his head.

Attempt #2

The next time Peter tried to ask you to be his valentine happened a few days after his first failed attempt. He was spending the weekend at the tower after Tony and Steve suggested that he should begin training with them more. Of course, he took their advice; this was an opportunity for him to improve on his skills and learn new things. But most importantly, he would get to see you everyday.

Peter was sat on the floor of the Avengers’ shared living room setting up Netflix on the giant flat screen attached to the gray wall. He had finished training an hour ago and was now going to have a movie night with you. You had also finished training the same time he did and suggested that the two of you should watch some new movie that came out on Netflix. He thought it was an amazing idea to have a movie night, obviously it was an amazing idea, you came up with it. He agreed willingly and insisted on grabbing food for you both. He swung from building to building until he ended up back in Queens at the entrance of Delmar’s. The two of you would go to the bodega everyday after school and pick up your usuals. Then Peter would swing you to the rooftop of some building and the two of you would eat before doing some patrol work around the city.

He pulled out your usual sandwiches from the plastic bag and placed them on the coffee table. To pair with the sandwiches, he also bought chips and two bottles of soda. He set up the coffee table and made it look neat. He wasn’t usually a perfectionist, but he felt the need to impress you. Did table or food presentation matter to you? Would you think he was sloppy if he carelessly placed the food on the table? Or maybe you’d think he was a neat freak from how neat and trim the food was laid out?

While you gathered extra pillows and blankets from your room, Peter continued to fidget with the food on the table. He moved the bottles of soda around too many times and even tilted the chips to make it look aesthetically pleasing. When he was content with how everything was organized, he glanced at the plastic bag. Along with the food, he had also bought a box of chocolates. The red heart shaped box caught his eyes and he felt his fingers inching closer to it. It was almost Valentine’s Day and he still hasn’t asked you to be his valentine. He felt a rush of adrenaline in his body when he took the box from the shelf and purchased it. Peter made the spontaneous decision that he was going to ask you to be his valentine during your movie night. He would place the box on top of your food and when you come out of your room, you would see the box and then he’ll finally get the chance to shoot his shot.

Peter gripped the red heart box and gingerly placed it on top of your chips. He eyed it nervously before shifting his attention back to the tv. He was searching for the movie you suggested on watching when Bucky walked into the living room. The two greeted each other quietly until Bucky caught sight of the box of chocolates.

“Are those chocolates? I haven’t seen them in these heart shaped boxes in forever.” Bucky reminisced, picking up the box and inspecting it. His eyes were filled with curiosity, “Woah, they make them look all flashy now. Back in the day, ours didn’t have bows or glitter on ‘em. It was just some picture.”

Peter found himself smiling at Bucky’s sudden interest in the box. “Did they come in different flavors back then, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky whips his head up to look at Peter, “No! They only had milk chocolate. They come in different flavors now? No way.” Bucky exclaimed, turning the box around to see all the flavors listed on the back. After seeing Bucky’s reaction to the chocolates, he wanted to just give them to Mr. Barnes. But if he gave them to Mr. Barnes, then he would have nothing to give you when he asks you to be his valentine. He didn’t necessarily need to give you anything to ask the question, but it would have made the gesture more sweet and somewhat romantic. Though, that smile on Bucky’s face was a rare sight.

Peter’s shoulders slumped against the couch he was leaning on. He mustered up a smile and told Bucky, “You can have it if you want.”

“Oh no, it’s fine, this is yours. I could ask Steve or Sam to buy me one at the stores.” Bucky waved him off, trying to hand the box back to Peter. Peter shook his head, making the brown curls on his head wiggle, “No, take it Mr. Barnes. (Y/n) and I already have plenty of junk food here. You know, with training and all, wouldn’t want all that work to go to waste just to eat a bunch of junk food.”

“Are you sure, kid?” Bucky asked still holding out the box at Peter.

Peter sent him a soft grin and motioned for him to take it, “Yeah go ahead, you’ll enjoy it more than us.”

Bucky’s grin widens and he holds the box of chocolates up to his chest, “Thanks Peter! You’re not as bad as Sam says you are.” With that, he turns around and walks back down the hall.

“Thanks?” Peter said, a brow raised at Bucky’s retreating body. You come around the corner with an arms full of blankets and pillows. Peter chuckles and gets up to help you.

“(Y/n), you didn’t have to get so many pillows.” He teased, taking a blanket and two pillows from you. You huffed and placed the items on the floor.

“I just want to make sure we’re comfortable, Pete. Comfort is important during movie nights.” You defended yourself.

As you set up the blankets and pillows you glance at Peter, “Bucky told me you gave him chocolate. That was sweet of you.” A tint of red forms on his fair cheeks.

“It was nothing. Apparently they didn’t have different kinds of chocolate back in the day. When I told him, his whole face lit up, it was probably the happiest I’ve ever seen Mr. Barnes.” He explained, sitting beside you on the floor.

You smile fondly at the boy next to you, he truly was the biggest sweetheart. “It’s not nothing. That probably made his day, Pete. We barely see Bucky smile.”

Peter hummed in response, too busy being mesmerized by the light in your eyes. He averts his gaze before you can catch him staring at your face.

Peter’s eyes land at the food on the table. His bottom lip pursed into a pout when he spotted a dent on the bag of chips created by the box of chocolates. The small dent taunted him and was only a reminder of how he should have been already popping the question. He mentally cursed at himself, he couldn’t help but become a perfectionist when it came to you. He couldn’t just ask you the question—you deserved a bouquet of flowers, boxes of chocolate, teddy bears—heck he’d give you the world without you even asking for it.

“Hey! I got you your favorite.” He sees you instantly perk up. That beautiful smile of yours takes over your features and the butterflies in his stomach came to life. He found himself reciprocating your smile.

“Thank you, Peter! You’re the best!” You squeal, pressing a light kiss on his cheek and throwing your arms around him. He was taken aback by the sudden form of affection. Shock was written on his face while his body was frozen. Meanwhile, you were already digging into your sandwich while he was still in his flustered state, processing what just happened.

Attempt #3

This had to be the perfect time to ask you, Peter thought to himself. The two of you were sat on the ledge of some random roof Peter swung you both onto. You were sat beside him, feet swinging back and forth while you looked down on the bright city. Your hands gripped onto the edge of the roof, your fingers brushing against Peter’s once in a while, making the both of you blush.

Wind gently breezed past you, causing strands of your hair to brush over your shoulder. He should have been patrolling the city, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but his eyes were glued to the side of your face. The lights from the city reflected on your features; giving your skin a warm glow and your eyes a sparkle. He thought you looked absolutely stunning.

“It’s not nice to stare.” You suddenly tease him. He’s been caught. His mouth was agape and he quickly turned his head away from you sputtering. You smirked to yourself knowing that his cheeks were turning bright red.

“Oh—um, I wasn’t—yeah, no, I’m sorry.” He muttered. His hand awkwardly scratched the back of his neck as he glanced at you. He was thankful that it was the night time, this would’ve been more embarrassing if you saw how red his cheeks were.

A playful smile was on your lips, “I’m playing, Peter. Is there something on my face?”

Besides beauty? No, there’s nothing on your face, was what he wanted to tell you.

“No! Your face is—fine.” He answered smiling nervously.

Wait, why would you say her face is just FINE? He thought to himself. He then continued to stutter out words, “I—I mean, your face is really pretty.”

You stared at him, amused at his flustered state. You always found his bashfulness adorable. He easily blushed at any compliment or kind of physical contact. You could nudge shoulders with him and his cheeks would instantly go red as a tomato. Even though he easily blushed, he was the sweetest person you knew. He cared about others around him, he had the kindest soul, and he knew how to treat a girl right. He was also a thief, because he stole your heart the moment you first laid eyes on him.

You giggle at him and bite your lip, “Thanks Pete. Your face is pretty too.”

“Thanks.” He breaths out. His inner voice then spoke, this is your chance idiot just ask her the damn question. Peter agreed with himself, this was the perfect moment. The moon shined in the night sky, the twinkling lights of the city set the mood, and the two of you were finally alone—this was perfect.

“Hey, (y/n)?” You turn your attention to him to see him fiddling with his fingers.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

You laugh, “You just did, twice, but yeah, shoot.” Your joke seemed to loosen him up because it got him to chuckle.

He eyes your hand before grabbing it. He fumbles with your fingers until you decide to help him out and interlock them together. You see him smile at your fingers.

His thumb rubs the back of your hand, “Well, I’ve been trying to ask you this for a long time now. People just keep getting in the way of all my plans. Uh—I was wondering, only if you want to, if you want to be my—“

A shrill scream interrupts Peter. He clenches his jaw, hanging his head down in defeat. You squeeze his hand, catching his attention. The adorable pout was on his lips again and you were tempted to kiss it away.

You flash him an apologetic smile, “We should check on that.”

“Yeah, we should.” Peter grunted, taking his mask and shoving it on. With the hand that was still holding yours, he helps you up from the ledge.

You wrap your arms around his neck while one of his hands rest on the small of your back. He checks to see if his web shooters are on properly and pulls you closer to his chest, “You ready?”

“Yeah, let’s get ‘em.”

Success

It was only a night away until Valentine’s Day and Peter still hasn’t asked you to be his valentine. His heart felt heavy when you didn’t walk through the doors of your shared first period class. You must’ve been running late, he remember thinking to himself. He waited to see you at fourth period, but to his dismay, you were still not there. During lunch, he kept to himself and picked at his food while he worried about you. Asking you to be his Valentine was long forgotten, now he was wondering why you didn’t show up to school. Were you sick? What if you were in danger? Was there an invasion at the tower? Maybe you were on a mission? But that didn’t make sense, since you’d usually tell him you had a mission before hand. His entire day was spent thinking of reasons why you weren’t at school.

The second the bell rung, he rushed out of the school, leaving behind a concerned Ned. He sprinted to the train, then stopped by Delmar’s to get your usual order and another box of chocolates. He shoved the items into his book bag and swung his way to the tower. He greeted the receptionist and squeezed his way into an elevator. When he landed on the Avengers’ floor, he saw Sam, Tony, and Rhodey at the kitchen.

“Hey kid! How was school? Educational?” Tony greeted him, ruffling his hair as he passed by.

“Uh, yeah.” He answered, not bothering to actually answer Tony’s question. “Where’s (y/n)?” He asked them looking around the floor. Sam and Rhodey share a look at the boy’s eagerness.

“A mission came up. She’s out with Nat, Wanda, and Steve.” Sam answered, taking a sip out his mug.

Peter’s shoulders sag, “Do you know when they’re coming back?”

Rhodey glances at the time, “Not till tonight.” Peter curses to himself. Tony raised a brow at the boy, “Why are you so desperate to see (y/n)?”

“I’m not desperate!” Peter weakly defended himself. “I just—I had to ask her a question before tomorrow.”

Tony smirks at Peter, “It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow.” Peter sighs and tosses his bag onto the floor. He pulls out one of the stools at the counter and shoves himself to sit on it.

“Exactly.”

“So you finally grew the balls to ask (y/n) out? About time, I was getting tired of seeing the two of you make puppy eyes at each other from across the room.” Sam snickered. Rhodey nodded, agreeing with Sam.

“We don’t make puppy eyes at each other.” Peter grumbled crossing his arms. Tony leans on the counter across from Peter, “Did you get her anything?”

“I got her usual sandwich from Delmar’s and a box of chocolates. I was gonna ask her to hang out in the garden and we’d eat our sandwiches there, then I would’ve asked her to be my Valentine.” Peter explained to the three men.

“You got her a sandwich and a box of chocolates?” Rhodey asked him.

Peter shrugged, “It’s all I could afford! I don’t get any money from being Spider-Man.”

Tony felt bad for Peter. He saw how the two of you interacted; bright smiles and attached at the hip. You guys obviously liked each other, but were too chicken to admit it. This was the exact push you both needed to admit those feelings. Tony patted down his pockets until he felt his wallet.

“I don’t trust you with my card, so here’s a hundred.” Tony slides the bill across the counter to Peter. The boy’s brows knitted together, “For what?”

Tony motions to the elevator, “Go and get your girl some flowers or something, I don’t know. You’ve got time before she gets here.”

“What? Mr. Stark I can’t take your money.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “Kid, you’ve been making heart eyes at this girl since the moment you first saw her. Now take the damn money and make this a memorable Valentine’s Day for her.”

Peter takes the bill and shoves it into his pocket, he stumbles out the chair and slings his bag over his shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Stark, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” He surprises Tony with a hug before running out of the kitchen.

Peter ended up at the nearest Walgreens. He went all out with the gifts, that he needed two baskets to hold his items at the store. When he got back to the tower he headed straight to your room. He wasted no time in decorating your room. He hung up stringed lights with little heart lanterns attached to them on all four of your walls. He got a few stuffed animals and a giant squishmallow. He laid those things out on your bed paired with some of your favorite candies. He also got that lip balm you’re always raving about, fuzzy socks, and a scented candle. The last thing he got, that he knew you would enjoy, was a Harry Potter Lego set. It was only a small set, but he knew you’d like it nonetheless. You’ve always told him that you wanted to build a Lego set with him and now he was going to make that happen.

He stood in the middle of your room admiring his work. Everything was set perfectly and he was proud of his decorating skills. A knock was heard on the door, making him rush to grab the bouquet of roses on your desk.

“Um, COME IN!” He yelled, fixing his hair and standing straight with the flowers to his chest. The door opens to only reveal Mr. Stark.

“Hey—wow.” Tony observered your room, surprised at how it looked. He turned to Peter and gesture to the roses, “Listen Pete, I appreciate the gesture but I’m a married man.” He raises his ring finger for show, snickering at his own joke.

“Mr. Stark.” Peter whined setting the roses on your bed.

“What? I just came in here to tell you that they’re landing in a few minutes. I got your sandwiches out the fridge and sparkling apple cider for you guys.” Tony hands the items to Peter and two champagne glasses.

“Oh, thanks Mr. Stark.” Tony waves him off, “Don’t tell the others, but you’re both my favorites in this building.” The smile on Peter’s face widens.

“I’ll get outta your hair. Good job on the room by the way, good luck!” Tony leaves the room and shuts the door behind him. Peter sets the sandwiches on your desk and takes the roses again. If Mr. Stark liked how your room was decorated then so will you, hopefully. He sits on your chair and waits for you to come through the door. He waits for a few more minutes until he distinctly hears your voice from behind the door.

He gets up again and fixes his hair and clothes. His heart skips a beat when the handle of your door twisted. The door opens painfully slow till it finally revealed you behind it. You stumble in shock once you enter your room.

“Hi.” He breathes out, hands tightening around the stems of the roses.

“Hey.” You greet him shutting the door behind you. Peter scanned your body, not to ogle at you in your suit, but to check if you had any injuries. You walk towards him and stop when you’re just inches away from him.

“How was the mission? Are you hurt?” He questions you. You fondly shake your head at him, a soft smile gracing your lips. “It was good, we were just gathering intel, nothing too hectic.” You reassure him. Peter nods in response while your eyes dance around the room.

“What’s all this, Pete?” You ask him, a playful glint in your eyes. Peter swallows nervously and offers you the flowers. You quietly thank him, admiring the red and pink flowers.

“Well, remember that one night during patrol?”

“Yes, I do. You had a question for me.”

“Yeah—um I’m gonna ask you that question right now.” Peter explains, fiddling with his hands.

“Okay. But are the heart lights supposed to be a hint because I kinda have a feeling I already know what you want to ask me?” You take one of his hands and interlock it with yours. Peter eases up and chuckles bashfully, swinging your hands from side to side.

“I’ve been trying to ask you this for weeks now and every time people would get in the way of me asking you. I wanted it to be perfect and everything—because you’re perfect. And you deserve something romantic and extravagant for Valentine’s Day. I was gonna give you a sandwich and a box of chocolates; because it’s what I can get with my money. Then Mr. Rhodey called me out so Mr. Stark gave me money and—“ He was in the middle of explaining when you interjected.

“Peter, you’re rambling.” You giggle squeezing his hand.

“I know, I’m nervous, I’m sorry.” He apologized blushing. You shook your head and pulled him closer to you, “You don’t need to be nervous, just ask me the question, Pete.”

He looks down at you, gazing into your eyes, “(Y/n), will you be my Valentine?”

You beam up at him, “I would love to be your Valentine, Peter Parker.”

#marvel #mcu #avengers #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker fluff #peter parker oneshot #peter parker headcanon #Peter Parker #Tom Holland #Tom Holland x reader #tom holland imagine

[piratewithvigor]

How I listen to each of my favourite bands (a bullet point piece)

Aerosmith: They're on the radio. It's the fifth time today. Somehow never the same song. Until tomorrow, anyway. One will make you homesick. One will make you sit in slack-jawed awe of Joe Perry. One will make you curse the day he was born. They all make you love him. In the back of your mind, your thumbs hurt.

The Beatles: You have all the studio albums on your iPod nano with the scroll wheel. It has 2GB of space, so there's nothing else. You sing along to the songs with your best friend in 7th grade during school. The teacher tells you to keep it French or to shut up. You switch to "Michelle" because you're 12 and a smartass.

Bon Jovi: You're on the bus home from a long day of fifth grade. When you get home, the same old, same old. You don't know it yet but this is the beginning of your depression. As you graduate from Crossroads to a 2-Disc Best Of, everything feels worse. You work on a puzzle in the basement and even though maybe no one will ever love you, Bon Jovi understands.

Buddy Holly: For the first time since high school started, you have a friend. She's wonderful and she understands you. Maybe there's 3 time zones between you, but it doesn't stop you from digging a hole deep into a fantasy world that you live in for months with her. Buddy's music is simple and the records are bright yellow. Maybe everything will be okay.

David Bowie: You didn't care when he died. You didn't know better. You got a CD of greatest hits for your birthday two months later. You still didn't understand the fuss all too well. A few tracks pop out at you and you get the album that features them. Dad insists you listen to the album in the dark on the floor (he doesn't say while smoking weed, but if it were the 70s, you would have). Finally you understand: David understands you.

Def Leppard: You're 13 and trying to find your place in the world. Trying to make a name, so you write. As the characters who make no sense are fleshed out in 1667 words every single day, the drum loop that finished Pyromania follows you around.

The Doors: You don't know how Jim Morrison came into your life. Maybe it was by an experiment gone wrong or a curiosity. Your classmates question why you're reading a book with a shirtless man posed as if being crucified. You don't know how to answer that you think you might be him. You hadn't believed in reincarnation, but he sparked something inside you. You can feel consciousness slip away when he plays his game called 'Go Insane'. You hold a Celebration Of The Lizard for a poetry slam and the adrenaline pushes you through your fear. You feel Jim's words in your actions for years. He watches you when you sleep.

GNR: You send your siblings out of the basement. They aren't old enough to hear swear words in music and you want to listen to Appetite in the dark. You want to jump on top of the couch and punch the floor. You can feel Axl's anger and it courses through you.

Journey: You've been told you look like Steve Perry. You aren't sure if it's a compliment or an insult. You think you sound like him. You know all the words to Don't Stop Believing at the school dance. Your first memory of your boyfriend was him singing it at the talent show. Your last memory of him is singing I'll Be Alright Without You, severing the final tie. Wheel In The Sky opens your next day. Things don't feel okay anymore.

KISS: You're 4 years old and your Dad is watching the scariest freaks you've ever seen on the TV. In the next scene, the scariest one is sitting and talking to people who look like your grandparents. You forget about them for 7 years. They show up again in your newest hyperfixation and you give them a chance. The freaks who once scared you strip away your fears and set you free.

Led Zeppelin: Your imagination was just opened to the possibilities of stories beyond the realms of reality. What you thought you never knew opened you to a new layer of your past that you didn't understand. The tendrils of influence wrap around every part of your future.

Motley Crue: The writings paint them as the villains. In many ways, they are. In just as many ways, they're the same scared kids you are. For better or for worse, they bring you into a community. There, you experiment hurting yourself in ways therapists don't look for. The greatest friend you could ever want.

Ninja Sex Party: They're a rock band for kids who don't understand rock bands. You have no physical media for them and it feels like you may never get the chance. Copies are limited. So your spotify is thick with every song they've ever recorded. They're fleeting and they're your rock.

Queen: You know just a little too much about them. They're bigger characters than the radio lets them be. You love Bohemian Rhapsody before you begin to hate it before you learn to love it once more.

Rammstein: As they bleed for their art, so you bleed for yours. Perhaps out of spite, perhaps out of desperation, but plague cuts your work short. It cuts you from the glory you could have had. The first album you've ever waited for the release of by a band.

Reckless Love: Never before has a band felt so attainable and yet so far away. Your family doesn't understand them, so you hide them away. The only recklessness was falling in love.

Rolling Stones: Angie helped you through more than you know. The lips are on your tapestry for a reason. You were blind for so much for so long. You never gave them a chance. They're using their chance now.

Rush: Once shrugged-off nobodies. You gave them a chance out of curiosity and desperation. Now you can't understand the possibility of never having liked them. They brought you your first great grief and your first proof of miracles. The red star of the solar federation burns bright. Assume control.

Styx: You're standing in the snow. The bus is an hour late. You can't contact your parents because they took your one method of contact as a punishment for not making your bed. You're listening to a Greatest Hits on your iPod. Crystal Ball. It's an hour. Blue Collar Man. You get home and no one noticed you were late. They're eating without you. Suite Madam Blue.

Tom Petty: The news hits you. Your throat is blocked and you don't say anything. You listen to I Won't Back Down before telling your Dad. He was the first you experienced while being a fan. He wasn't the last. You torture yourself artistically in his honour. You attend a tribute concert and scream yourself hoarse.

Tuff: You want to leave home and block out all the memories as best you can. Stevie makes it impossible. But he's also one of the only ones there as all your best friends who aren't online forget your birthday. He acknowledges you.

Van Halen: The grief is insurmountable. For weeks afterwards, Eruption makes your heart sink. 5150 makes you cry instead of imagine pleasant nonsense as it once did. There is no comfort. If he can go, what's stopping anyone else?

The Who: Maybe they got to your head a little. You were sitting in a room in school for hours each day, completely alone except for Tommy playing on your tiny laptop. No supervision. No classmates. Just your monstrosity of a project and Tommy.

#okay so this began as something that was supposed to be funny and then I accidentally wrote an autobiography through semi-poetic annecdotes #maybe someone will like it I dunno #Classic Rock #Writing #Aerosmith #The Beatles #Bon Jovi #Buddy Holly #David Bowie #Def Leppard #The Doors #GNR #Journey #Kiss #Led Zeppelin #Motley Crue #Ninja Sex Party #Queen #Rammstein #Reckless Love #Rolling Stones #Rush #Styx #Tom Petty #Tuff #Van Halen #The Who

[jay-and-dean]

Stolen Crown  Chapter 1 : Under the hood

By @roonyxx​ and @jay-and-dean​

Pairings : Dean x reader ? Kight!Dean x reader ?

Summary :  What happens when she is sent in a world that isn’t hers, but with very familiar faces ?

This, as much as it looks like it, is not ‘technically’ an AU, because your Dean, our Dean, exists too...

Serie Warnings : Smut (please be 18+), Fluff, Angst, Swearing. Mention of physical pain. Each Chapter will have detailled warnings.

Chapter warnings : Swearing for now.

Chapter Wordcound : 3230

Note : This is a collaboration beetween both of us. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like for Firefly.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

Text divider by the awesome @talesmaniac89​

Want to read more:

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

Whistling. 

Only a shrill whistling in her ears, and her heart pounding hard in her temples…

She holds her head and tries to get up, but the ground seems unsure of where it is supposed to be.

“Dean ?” she tries with a weak voice but, even with the high-pitched sound fading quickly, she can’t hear any answer. “Dean !”

She opens her eyes and they widen right away.

The seedy warehouse is gone, the smell of gasoline and the night are too… But above all, he is gone. Dean is nowhere to be seen. 

Instead : A sunny beautiful forest. Shiny rays of lights come through the radiant, high trees and birds are signing. So many birds.

“Shit” she grunts, looking around. “DEAN ! SAMMY !”

But her voice echoes and dies in the woods, only making a few rodents run through the bushes, themselves moving some butterflies and bees. Nothing else. 

Where was she sent ? Is it witchcraft or some stupid God ? She had told them that this case seemed more complicated than what they said ! And here she is, probably miles from home.

“Please, tell me I’m still in the United states” she whimpers, taking her phone from her jeans shorts pocket. “No come on ! No signal now ?”

After pacing around to try and find any sign of signal, she gives up and puts the useless phone back in her pocket, regretting her morning choice to wear only a t-shirt and shorts, because if she has to walk miles to find a road, the night might be here before she finds her friends again, and nights are colder out there.

“DEAN ! DEAN !” she tries again.

But he is obviously not with her.

What if he had been sent far too ? What if he was in an indian market now ? Or in a boat on the australian seas ? 

“Sammy you have to find us” she mutters, looking around to gather clues.

This forest is not tropical or northern, it’s a temperate one, and it’s obviously still early summer…

Suddenly, hooves disturb the forest’s calm in the distance, rapidly approaching her. The metal clattering with every step the big animal -probably a horse- takes, says it’s not alone…

She quickly moves in the bushes and stills behind a large tree to hide herself from whoever is coming. 

“Your highness ?” a deep, oddly familiar, voice calls.

Her back flat against the tree, she turns her head a little to be able to see beyond the thick bark, holding her breath and reaching for the knife in her boot. 

A beautiful, massive shiny black horse is nervously stepping on the ground while the owner of the mare pats it on the neck.

“Easy girl” the man says. 

She frowns, keeping the dagger in her hand, ‘that voice… I know it.’ When she dares to look between the leaves, her eyes widen.

“Dean?” she says with a confused smile, putting the knife back in her boot, as she steps from out of the bushes.

“My Queen !” he throws his leg over the majestic black horse and steps off, right away going down on one knee in front of her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I have been looking for you, my Queen” he says towards the ground, not looking up to her once.

“Queen ?” she huffs, still a little dizzy. “Where the Hell are we, Dean ? And what the fuck are you wearing, is that... a freaking armor?” she asks, pointing at his weird clothes.

Dean finally tilts his head upwards. And when he sees her, his eyes nearly fall out of his head, his mouth is open but no words leave his lips. The more he stares at her like she was naked, the more she starts to feel a little self conscious.

His eyes slowly travel up her bare legs, a confused expression on his face, when she bends a little to make eye contact with him he quickly adverts his gaze.

“Your Majesty, what happened to your robes ? Are you harmed ?” he asks, obviously worried. 

“Cut the crap, Dean, what’s happening ? Where are we ?” she asks, annoyed.

“We are in the…” he looks around a little, apparently wondering what to answer. “In the woods… Not far from the Castle, my Queen” he says.

She stares at him, mouth agape, a deep feeling of confusion replacing the annoyance totally. Her tone changes to something colder, more distant.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘queen’ ?” she asks. “And what’s up with the stupid clothes ?”

He dares looking up at her again, a sorry frown on his face. 

“My apologies, your Highness. I do not understand… Is there something wrong with my apparel ?” he stands up, his eyes searching her face. “Did you hit your head or have you fallen maybe ? You disappeared, my Queen. I have been so worried” he turns to his horse to retrieve a big grey fur cloak. “What happened to your gown, did someone attack you ?” 

His head low, he comes closer to carefully drape the very heavy cape around her shoulders.

“I obviously failed at my duty” his eyes are dark and she clearly recognizes that crushing guilt on his features

She touches the floor length fur coat he put around her with a frown. It’s pleasantly warm outside, there is no need for this... 

Everything he does is weird, and why does he look so different ? Was he hit by a spell of some weird stuff like that time he was losing his memory ? 

Unless… 

She takes in his appearance. He looks exactly like him but he has more scruff, and his hair is a little longer, his clothes are very strange too. 

The closer she looks, through the fading cloud in her mind, the more this costume he is wearing really doesn’t look like one. All the layers of leather and metal make him look like he was ready for war, and his shoulders are even more broad under the armor he is wearing. 

Everything about him seems heavy and powerful : Between the metal on his chest, the big belt holding several weapons, including the scabbard of that seems to hold a very authentic sword, the real huge grey fur around his shoulder, like he had killed a wolf…

She shivers at how impressive he looks, at how she realizes she doesn’t know anything about him..

“Shit…” she mutters realizing this is not her Dean at all. 

This is not the United states of America, and this is probably not even her world… But if the Dean from around here is willing to protect her, that might be her best chance of survival.

She clears her throat, nodding to encourage herself to play along.

“No... I’m…” she suddenly has no idea how to use her voice. “I’m okay and I am your queen, because you are my…?” she leaves the sentence open, hoping he’ll answer it.

“Your knight” he says, uncertain.

Knight, right… She nods and looks around once more.

If this is some kind of fucked up middle age alternate universe, there is a big chance that the forest is going for miles and miles, and an even bigger chance that she starves to death before Sammy finds a way to bring her back to the Instagram century. And dressed like that, she might have to fear more than wolves…

She stares at him for a minute and he seems to be just waiting for orders, his green eyes on the floor.

“Kneel” she says with a corner smile and he just does, with no question, comment or delay.

Dean Winchester obeying her to the letter… If that is not a good side of this whole crap !

“You can get up” she chuckles, letting him stand on his feet again.

But her amusement quickly fades. 

Royalty is not really the easiest undercover, and the discretion will be impossible. She wants to ask for help but, even if her whole body and soul tell her she can trust Dean -for it is still Dean-, her eyes travel the thick leather covering his forearms and she remembers she doesn’t know him.

So maybe she better stay silent for now, and follow his lead until she decides if he is an ally.

“Your Majesty” he speaks, with a deference she never heard from him. “If the news of your disparition comes to the Council, there undoubtedly will be trouble. We should head back now. Please.”

“Y-yes” she nods, a lump growing in her throat.

Council ? Trouble ? Castle ? How is she supposed to deal with all that ? People close to the queen will know she isn’t her in a minute…

The knight offers his hand, and she follows, frowning when he joins his wrists to help her get on the horse. 

“This is not the best comfort for travel, your Majesty, for that I am sorry” he apologizes again.

“It’s okay Dean” at her words, he frowns again, but she puts her feet on his wrists and jumps on the tall horse, quickly understanding, by the look on his face, that she is not supposed to ride “like a man”.

Her eyes can’t decide where to look, and her hands can’t decide where to hold him.

Gripping his belt tight in this uncomfortable position, she takes in the unbelievable landscapes before her : Untouched forests and large lakes, small villages down in the valley, with all those wood houses that remember her of Braveheart. 

All she can think of is when she is going to tell the boys about everything she saw… If she ever goes back to them.

“Put on your hood, my Queen” the knight asks, so she does. 

Her unsure hands grasp the heavy hood of the animal fur around her and she hides her face in the huge hood. He probably needs her to not be recognized.

“What animal is it ?” she asks, touching the hair with a mix of curiosity and disgust.

“Animal, your Majesty ?”

“The hood ?” she asks, quickly grasping his belt again when the horse half jumps above a root.

“My coat is made of a bear” he answers. 

“Poor animal…”

He lets a silence and clears his throat slightly. 

“I had never thought of it that way, my Queen. Your empathy for the creatures of this world is godly.”

But she stopped listening.

Her breath stuck in her lungs, she discovers the huge, beautiful castle coming in her sight. 

A gigantic wall surrounds a little city, itself surrounding a huge, elegant castle. The light stone walls seem to be touching the clouds from here, and a vibrant living noise comes from it.

“Wow” she murmurs, looking up the thin sharp towers surrounded by birds.

“My breath gets cut short each time I see your home in sight too, your Highness” he says with a soft voice. 

Inside the walls of the city, everything is different. 

People are busy, all dressed like they came from a movie, carrying vegetables and raw pieces of meat, sheeps and baskets of fabric… Each and everyone turning their head at the sound of the huge horse’s steps on the stone pavements. 

“Sir Winchester !” a kid exclaims.

She keeps her hood low, suddenly very aware of the trouble that could come from the crowd recognizing their queen. 

The knight version of Dean stays unfazed, guiding them to the stables where several horsemen are waiting for him. 

He gets off of the horse, helping her and closing his coat neatly on her.

“Keep your head down” he murmurs next to the hood and she just nods, determined to let him guide her. “You” he says louder to one of the men here. “Go tell the guards that the wolf hunt is done. My men can gather again peacefully, nothing is to fear.”

She can’t help but very quickly look up at the man giving orders next to her, his remarkable charisma making her feel so small. 

She always looked up at Dean with an infinite admiration, but at least, she knows him… This stranger is different. 

“Allow me to touch you” he says under his breath and she just nods again while he wraps his strong arm around her.

Under the hood, she can’t see everything precisely, but the little she can distinguish of the inside of the castle he is guiding her in is enough to amaze her. 

Huge corridors and busy servants, carpets that seem to come from a museum, gold and flowers decoration the thick stone walls.

“Sir” a guard comes in their way, bending before Dean in respect. “Your men have been called back. The news never spread outside of the Queen’s guard.”

“Thank you” the knight answers.

“Glory be to the Queen” the guard bows again. 

“To the Queen” Dean answers.

The knight guides her further into the castle and up an infinite number of stairs, a serious look on his face. With every step up, the coat on her shoulders feels heavier and heavier, and her apprehension does too.

Once they reach the top, he walks to the left, his heavy boots echoing in the spacious corridor. Still holding her, his grip both reassuring and oppressing, he stops in front of a big wooden door that she may be supposed to recognize. 

She looks up at the door a little, still not completely daring to stop hiding under the big hood. He opens the door and stands with his back against the wall, his eyes straight ahead.

She hesitates, waiting for him, but when he doesn’t move, she carefully steps inside, not sure what she will meet on the other side of the massive oak door. 

Before her, a large room with thick wooden furniture and rich fabric. In the middle, a queen size bed with wooden bed posts that are near the stone ceiling with wolves carved in each of them. Hanging from the posts, a dark red velvet-like canopy that matches the heavy curtains. A big antique closet stands to the left side of the room.

Taking a cautious step, she looks right. Behind a great arch is another room that holds a big wooden tub covered in a sand-white sheet.

Despite the cold stone everywhere, the many carpets with many different colorful illustrations, the curtains, and candles everywhere makes the room somehow warm. 

She stands in the middle of what she guesses is the queen’s room, unsure of what to do now. Looking back to the door, she sees Dean’s elbow from where he is still standing against the wall, straight and still.

“Dean, come inside please” she states, using the most authoritative voice she has.

A queen has to be, right ?

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The knight steps inside immediately, his hands behind his back, his gaze fixated in front of him.

“What are... my plans for today ?” she asks him, trying to figure out what to do, to convince them, a whole Castle and Kingdom, that she is the damn queen.

“The Council requested a parlay with you when the sun is at its highest, and after you have your usual walk in the garden before you talk to the People. I think, Majesty.” 

“Right, the Council” she says unsure, wondering what the council can be. “Take me to them.” 

She holds her chin high, trying desperately to look like the Hollywood idea she has of how royals act.

His gaze finally finds hers, a small frown is on his face, an expression of confusion growing on his hard but still so beautiful features.

“Do you not wish to be dressed first, my Queen?”

“Oh… yes, I-I do wish that” she nods. 

She walks towards the closet and opens it, checking his face in the corner of her eye to try and find clues of what she is supposed to do, but all she can see there is worry for her, well hidden on his bodyguard face. 

Inside the huge closet, put in color order, are dresses, all of them big and complicated… And on some shelves, smaller white dresses, that may be for inside or summer. She takes them out.

“This will work” she states to herself as she turns around but stops when she hears Dean gasp. 

When she looks up he’s stepping towards the door quickly.

“No wait !” she calls out for him and he stops right in his tracks. “Dean...” 

He turns towards her, his gaze on the floor, jaw clenched.

She doesn’t want him to leave. She is, in fact; terrified of being without him. Although he is a stranger, his face is the only thing she knows in this weird place she knows nothing about.

What will they do once they find out their queen disappeared ? Is there a king she has to sleep with ? Do they torture people ? Kill ? 

She just needs him close.

“I don’t know what to wear” she admits.

Or even how to wear it, she thinks to herself.

“Any gown makes you look divine, my Queen” he says in a husky voice, still watching the floor intensely.

If the circumstances were different her knees would wobble at what he just said… But he is not Dean, and maybe he just says that to not get his throat slit.

“Okay, I will put on this gown” she says as she lifts the small white dress that she is holding, a questioning look on her face.

The knight swallows hard and seems agitated. For a second, she wonders why he is acting so weird.

“What is it ?” she asks him. “Tell me.”

“Pardon me, your Highness, but that is not a gown” he clears his throat and stands up straighter. “That is your undergarment.”

“Undergarment ?” she looks at the little dress, holding it in front of her by the straps. 

Her lips open in an ‘o’ when she understands this is her underwear. She has been flashing him her royal underwear this whole time, of course he was acting weird !

In a quick motion, she hides it behind her back and mutters an apology.

“Yes, my undergarment, of course. I-I will get dressed now” she walks towards her closet to retrieve a big gown in a hum of hesitation.

“Let me just call the maids, your Majesty” he says low. 

“Yes ! Oh and Dean ?” she starts, waiting for his gaze to meet hers before she speaks again. “Thank you” she kindly smiles.

The knight nods, turns slowly and steps towards the bedroom door with a determined gait, closing and locking it by sliding the metal rod in the slot.

She frowns, seeing him lock himself with her. His back still on her, he clears his throat before he talks.

“My Queen...” he starts. 

With that hunter speed her Dean also has, he suddenly unsheaths his sword from his scabbard and holds its sharp end under her chin without touching her 

“Would never have said something like that” he finishes his sentence. “Or call me Dean…”

She searches his face, slowly lifting her hands up in surrender.

“That is because I am not your queen.”

__________

Chapter 2 on @roonyxx​‘s blog 

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[mandowh0re]

Remember Me

Chapter 2

Summary: While cleaning up the timelines that he broke, Loki meets and inevitably loses the one person that’s understood him in life. But he’s not losing you without a fight.

A/N: Another chapter within a week?? More likely than you think! Beta'd by the ever beautiful @edgyvege. Go show her some love!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2303

Happy Reading!

Loki’s lying in his bed, clutching the book you had loaned him close to his chest.

He finished the book the first night of having it, and he regrets not pacing himself because he still has six days before he can see you again and isn’t sure how to keep himself sane until then. He doesn’t have much to his name anymore, having missed eleven years of his life and his home having been destroyed. So it’s not like he can turn to his favorite books or activities.

The Avengers had reluctantly agreed, mostly out of guilt because of Thor’s previous loss, to let Loki stay in the compound under the condition that he did not leave, did not use his magic unsupervised, and did not cause chaos. It had been an incredibly difficult adjustment, especially on his part, but he was willing to do whatever it took to see you again. So he did not complain even once.

When Loki had returned from timeline 656, the timeline in which he first met you, he was broken but determined. He was on a mission and refused to get distracted until his job was done. He had to find you again. He didn’t know what he was going to do if he didn’t.

So when Mobius agreed to bring Loki to this point of the timeline, he had given Loki the information to be able to find you.

You were his insurance, a way to make sure Loki stayed in his place.

So after two weeks of near perfect behavior and constant sulking from the trickster, Steve and Tony agreed that Loki could leave the compound, though only under Thor’s supervision.

When he first saw you again in that tiny bookstore, he felt like he had been hit in the chest by Thor’s hammer. He thought he was prepared to see you again. Your bright eyes and soft lips were all he could think about the past several months. But apparently, he wasn’t prepared in the slightest.

But you being you, you gave him a sweet smile and kindly helped him find the book you had told him about when the two of you had first met back in timeline 656. Because no matter the timeline, you were always one to help others.

And then you did something he wasn’t expecting. The possibility wasn’t even on his radar. You gave him your own copy to read, telling him it was so he had to come back and see you. He felt his chest constrict in that moment, yet at the same time a spark of hope exploded inside of him. It was something that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then when you asked him for his name, his heart broke again.

He had forgotten to even give you his name, because he had already known yours. Your name, your scent, your favorite laugh, your body.

He knew it all.

Yet you knew nothing about him. And after telling you his name, he was afraid you’d remember what he’d done to your city all those years ago. That you’d be afraid of him and reject him, just like most everyone else in his life. He wouldn’t blame you. He believed himself a monster, just like everyone else did.

But he kept himself from spiraling into his dark thoughts with the sole knowledge that the version of you in timeline 656 wasn’t scared of him. Not even before he explained to you what had really happened.

No, you had accepted him, helped him, and eventually loved him.

He could only hope that this version of you could do the same.

***

The day you met Loki, you were a bit shell shocked.

He left almost immediately after telling you his name, and you watched as he met up with a much larger blonde man before walking away. It took your brain one too many seconds to realize the blonde was Thor, making Loki the actual Loki. The Loki that reigned chaos and destruction to your beloved city all those years ago.

A few pieces of information struck you throughout the day, startling you each time:

Number one; you had actually hit on a literal god. The God of Mischief, no less.

Number two; he actually flirted back! What the fuck?

Number three; he never asked for your name.

And number four; you weren’t scared of him. More than that, you weren’t even angry with him.

You couldn’t for the life of you figure out why. Why he didn’t intimidate you. Why you felt as if you understood him. Or why you felt like you knew him, more intimately than just having heard of him. You had only spoken to the man once, for crying out loud.

The week passes by incredibly slowly, and every time you think about your interaction or of seeing Loki again, butterflies come to life in your belly and a smile slowly comes across your face.

But today is finally the day.

It’s a quarter past eleven when the door to the shop opens, the small wind chime signaling someone had entered. You look up from your current read and see Loki taking a few short steps to the counter. He’s dressed to the nines again, wearing a dark grey suit with minimal green accents.

He looks positively delicious, and you curse yourself for letting that thought slip. You slide your bookmark into your novel before setting it on a small shelf behind you.

“Hey! You came back!” You say, your voice a few pitches higher than usual. You really weren’t expecting him to actually return the book himself. In fact, you weren’t sure what you expected at all.

He nods, “Of course, darling. I wanted to see you again,” his voice is deep and his eyes are trained on yours, “And discuss the book, obviously,” He lifts the loved copy in his hand, held between his nimble fingers.

Warmth blooms in your chest and you smile shyly. Your eyes flicker to the window where you saw Thor waiting last week.

“Where’s your chaperone?”

Loki raises a brow, glancing to the window next to him.

“I saw Thor meet you when you left last week.”

Realization dawns on Loki’s face, “Ah, yes. I must be accompanied by my brother at all times outside of the Avengers Compound. It is a term of my arrangement.”

“Arrangement?” You ask, cocking your head slightly.

For a moment, Loki falters. He’s said too much, explaining his situation could cause more questions to arise, and he did not need that right now. Because how in the nine realms would he answer them?

So instead of answering, he sets the book on the counter in between the two of you and smiles, “Nothing for you to concern yourself, dear. I would much rather talk about the blatant misinformation contained in this book.”

His tone is light and playful, so you laugh and pull the book closer to you, “Misinformation? You mean to tell me that you didn’t give birth to a horse?”

Loki rolls his eyes, “Gods, no! I did no such thing. Nor am I the father of Fenrir, Jormungandr, or Hela.” He makes a disgusted face.

“That’s a shame,” You fake pout, “You just ruined my favorite book for me.”

He scoffs, “Darling, I am the living, breathing version of the character in your book. How could a novel be more interesting than the real deal?”

You look at him, a mischievous glint in your eye, and Loki feels his heart jump in his throat. He’s seen that look before. The way your nose crinkles just slightly, causing your eyebrows to scrunch, barely noticeable. There’s a sparkle in your eye, one that tells Loki every time that you’re up to no good.

It was one of the many reasons he fell so hard for you.

“You’re very handsome, I’ll give you that. But I just think Book Loki has more layers. Ya know?”

Normally, if you had made a comment like that, Loki would have pinned you against a wall and put you in your place.

But that was another time. One that Loki desperately hoped would come to him once more.

“Well, I think that if you come to know me better, you shall see I am much more… Complex than you humans have made me out to be.” His voice has lowered a few tones, sweet and smooth like honey.

He’s closer now, leaning over with his forearms on the counter, and you feel a warmth spread across your belly. You curse yourself and discreetly press your thighs together.

But unbeknownst to you, Loki knew every single one of your mannerisms, quirks, and habits. And by default, he saw the little movement you made, and had to use his glamour to hide the way his body reacted.

Conversation flowed from there, banter flying back and forth, your quick wit almost matching his.

It somehow felt normal to you. Comfortable. It was bizarre and pleasant at the same time.

But for Loki, it was just a painful reminder of what he lost so many months ago.

Before he knew it, there was a single knock against the front window, signaling that his time was up. The both of you glanced up to see Thor, dressed in jeans and a casual cotton jacket, peeking inside.

Loki sighs, “While I wish I could stay longer and chat, I fear I must take my leave.” He stands from the chair you had pulled up next to you and straightens his jacket.

Your heart drops slightly, not wanting him to leave, and you stand with him.

“Well, how about I give you another book to read?”

“I was already planning on coming back,” He smirks, tilting slightly downward, “But I shan’t turn down a chance to read a book.”

“Good, because I love this one too.” You tell him, grabbing the book from your stash. You rip a piece of receipt paper from the small printer and quickly scribble on it, then tuck it into the front cover.

“And my name is Y/N, by the way. I didn’t get a chance to tell you last week.”

Loki smiles and takes the book from you, walking towards the door.

“Well, Y/N, it has been a pleasure. I shall see you again next week.”

***

“Brother, I see you have another book.” Thor says as he moves to walk alongside Loki, who was already reading the book summary.

Loki only makes a hum of acknowledgment, but doesn’t say anything.

They walk in silence towards the secluded alley where Loki can transport them back to the compound without curious eyes.

The silence is comfortable, yet eerie. Thor is still recovering from the shock of having Loki back, though it wasn’t the same Loki he lost on that forsaken ship.

And Loki… He’s just trying to wrap his head around everything that has happened. Everything he missed because he jumped from 2012 to 2021. He didn’t get to say goodbye to Frigga. He didn’t get to have a last look at Asgard. And now the one woman Loki is sure he cannot live without, doesn’t remember him.

They get back to the compound without incident, and Loki heads back to his room like he always does, choosing to interact with the Avengers as little as possible, lest there be a fight.

He tilts his head up slightly, eyes screwed shut and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “Friday, is it? Where is the spider child?”

“Peter is in the penthouse. Would you like me to relay a message to him?”

Loki bites his lip. Is he really going to do this?

Yes, he supposes he is.

“Can you ask him to come to my quarters?”

“Of course.”

Loki paces, waiting for Peter. After several minutes, there’s a tentative knock at the door.

“Come in.”

It opens slowly, revealing a confused Peter.

“Hey, Friday said you asked for me?”

“Yes.” Loki nods, then hands the boy a small piece of paper.

The same paper you put into the book earlier in the day.

Peter, now fully in the room, takes the paper and shoots a curious glance at Loki, before reading.

~

I don’t know if you have a cell phone, or even know what one is.

But if you do, feel free to text or call me :)

555-555-5555

-Y/N

~

“If you tell anyone about this, I shall have your head.” Loki hisses, but there’s no heat behind it. Peter is one of the few humans Loki cares about dearly. The little shit had somehow managed to weasel his way into Loki’s notoriously cold heart within the first week.

And Peter knew this.

“Yeah, yeah,” He smirks, “Why are you showing it to me in the first place?”

“While I know what a cell phone is, I am unsure about how to acquire one. That is where you come in.”

Peter’s eyes light up, “Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

Loki crosses his arms, fearing he may come to regret this.

***

“What do you want?”

“It’s been a while. Nice hearing your voice.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual.”

“Ouch.”

“Answer my question.”

“I want you to join us, of course. Thought that was clear by now.”

“Fuck off.”

“Well, figured I’d try... Anyways, I received word that Loki is back on Earth.”

“Not sure why you think I care, or how this concerns me.”

“I would like for you to bring him in.”

“I don’t work for you. Use your own goons.”

“He’s protected by Thor, and the Avengers by default. But you could easily-”

“Like I said. I don’t work for you. Why don’t you try intimidating one of your other experiments?”

“Star-”

“That’s not my name. Goodbye.”

***

Remember Me Taglist: @idunnomayn @savinasavers @stardust-walker @evelyn-4034 @dazedkrosupreme @sophlubbwriting

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#loki #loki odinson #loki friggason #loki laufeyson #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x y/n #reader insert #fic #fanfic #marvel #mcu #avengers #thor #thor odinson #peter parker #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x y/n #toni writes #remember me #eventual romance #eventual smut #slowish burn #slow burn #bookshop au

[imaginativeamateur]

[Gaara X Reader] You Feel Like Home {Part 2}

Prologue   Part 1   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Epilogue

~~/ / You hated to admit it but you were growing closer to the hosts during your stay at Suna, maybe too close, and too quick. / /~~

You had two more days before you needed to head back to Konoha. Your job here was basically fulfilled, both of you were able to come up with a consensus for trading commodities and taxes, as well as the security between the two villages. You were quite downhearted to leave the place that you grew so comfortable with for the last several weeks, or the people here, you supposed.

Tonight was different. Temari and Kankuro suddenly had some personal responsibilities to attend to so you did not come over for dinner as usual. You were sitting on a big branch, legs dangling in the air, eyes gazing at the clear sky above you. You honestly still had so many things to do here, there were people that you called friends, there were so many questions that needed answers, your feelings for a specific person being one.

The air on your right stirred and you shifted a little bit to the left, lending your expected visitor some space to sit. Gaara silently took a seat next to you, letting out a long sigh, “You remember the Missing-nins that attacked you on your way here?”

You nodded, curious to as why he brought the topic up, “Did you manage to find anything?”

He lowered his gaze to your round eyes, “Y/N, this is getting more serious than we initially thought.”

You narrowed your eyes, “Go ahead!”

“I received this from an anonymous,” he pulled out a paper envelope from his pocket, “it was sealed and left in front of the tower.”

You quickly grabbed the envelope in his hand, not expecting the package to be that heavy. You opened the folded paper and found tons of photos inside. Giving Gaara a glance, you proceeded to turn back onto the object as remained silent beside, nodding for you to resume your action. You looked back inside the enveloped, eyes widened at the sight of familiar faces being tied to the poles, bleeding and unconscious, some were even chained with rusty metal, the wounds on their bodies were fresh with trails of blood, dried ones layered with new ones. The graphic content made you gasp and clench your fist, these were faces you recognized, and were painfully familiar with. Seeing them in such a state thwarted your heart, your breathing became rapid as you found it impossible to focus on the photos, head wildly spinning, threatening to collapse at any moment.

Gaara noticed your change in behavior and hastily took the envelope back with one hand, the other stroking your back gently. He knew the question that was running in your mind as he felt you trembling beneath his touch, “I figured it was most likely from Orochimaru.”

“Where?” You managed to whisper, voice hoarse and raw, still shaking from the shock.

“You’re not going anywhere, Y/N,” he pulled you into his chest, lending you his shoulder, “Temari and Kankuro already took off earlier.”

“I need to go, my friends… I,” you began to choke on your words, tears prickling in your eyes, “I can’t be sitting here while they are suffering, they need me.”

“Listen,” his voice hardened, “whoever sent the photo here means they know where you are, Y/N, you are their next target. If you go, you’ll fall right into their trap. As long as I’m here, I’m not going to let you go!”

You knew Gaara was right, but you could not stand your friends being tortured in such cruel ways. You held on to him even tighter, tears flowing, and he slowly patted your head, “It’s okay Y/N. From now on, you are under my supervision, I will protect you, no matter what. Temari and Kankuro will get the captives out safely together with other Sand Shinobi.”

You sniffed against his chest after you had calmed yourself down, your voice hoarse, “I want to go back.”

“You will be staying with me tonight, I will have your stuff here in a minute.”

“No need to summon your Ninjas, I will go back and pack,” you gave him an assurance smile but he sure knew it was nothing but a cover.

Gaara helped you stable yourself on your feet as you continued to stare at the ground. You both chose to walk back, using the cold, dry wind to ease away the mental trigger earlier. You leaned against Gaara as he led you through the woods, absentmindedly made your way back to your accommodation.

He patiently waited outside in the living room for you to gather your stuff, eyes wandering around to observe your place.

“Gaara?” You called from your bedroom.

“Yes?” He hurried inside. “Do you need help packing up?”

“Something’s off, I don’t know,” you whispered, “but my room doesn’t look like how I left in the morning.”

“Is there anything missing?”Gaara immediately surveyed your room thoroughly, trying to spot anything odd, “Let’s hurry up. It’s not safe here anymore.”

You grabbed your folded clothes and stuffed them in a bag together with some books and toiletries and made your way to the door, Gaara was right behind you. You two went straight to his home, after checking the outside area once again, you decided to go for a shower first, desperate to rinse the exhaustion away.

Drying your hair as you got out of the bathroom, Gaara was slumped on the couch. The red-haired Ninja was fast asleep, eyes peacefully closed. You took your time to notice how the crease between his brows was relaxed, his chest rose and fell rhythmically. It was tiring and assiduous, his position, being a young man in his blossoming age but bounded to such duties, you deeply understood the responsibilities that he had, having to experience them yourself. After working with him for quite an amount of time, you were sure that the red-haired could not be any better as a young Kazekage. The sight before you was indescribable, it was rare and precious. Right now, he was not the Kazekage feared by nations, nor the cold-blooded Gaara of the Desert, he was just… Gaara.

Gaara sensed your appearance as he flicked his eyes open and sat up straight, mumbling, “I did not fall asleep.”

You chuckled, not failing to stress your words, “Yes, you totally did not fall asleep!”

“Anyway,” he smiled, “are you feeling any better?”

“Um, better than before,” you grinned in return, “you can take a shower now, I’ll wait out here.”

After a warm shower, you rummaged through the fridge and found some leftovers, enough for you and Gaara, and went to heat it up. You spent your dinner going through the possible causes behind Orochimaru’s insanity and the reason why he was after you concerned Gaara.

“What if it’s not Orochimaru who’s behind all this mess?” You questioned, the gashes on your fellow Shinobi did not look like they were left by Orochimaru or any of his guys, they were different, more painful.

“That’s not impossible,” he tapped his finger on the table, “but who could possibly do all this besides him?”

“Maybe they are not only targeting me, or Konoha?”

“What makes you think so?”

“If they wanted to make a fuss with Konoha, it would be more efficient to just come straight to the Hokage, rather than someone out of town like me. Konoha’s citizens would have been a better catch, holding them in danger would immediately get our Hokage on her nerves.”

Gaara furrowed his brows, “I see your point, their intention is much bigger. Besides Orochimaru, the only active rogue organization to date is… the Akatsuki.”

------------------

Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu​

#gaara x y/n #gaara x you #suna no gaara #gaara x reader #kazekage gaara #naruto #gaara imagines #naruto gaara

[spookysmujer]

No Más pt.2, O.Diaz

Summary: Things seem out of place after Oscar asks you to skip town for the weekend. You never listen and you were right not to this time.

warnings: angst, DamselinDistress!Oscar 🤪, cute s h e t, violence

word count: 3.1K

a/n:  Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays! THANK YOU FOR 1.3K OF Y’ALL! Here is the long awaited part 2 of No Más which was fun asf to write, hehe. Please don’t forget, follow me if you aren’t, join the fam 💗 heart/comment/ reblog my content as well. And turn on those notifications for when I post new content, love y’all!

(Gif belongs to @merakiaes​ ✨)

“Oscar? Hey, I’m back, Oscar!” You move through the house, looking frantically throughout the rooms. When he doesn’t show up anywhere you’ve looked, you sigh in defeat and you lean against the bathroom door. 

“Dammit!” 

Your ears perk at the sound of his voice coming from the back yard. The shuffling of metal can be heard as you start to make your way towards the shed, you find him with dirty hands and a car part in his hand. You sigh in relief as you’ve been worried about him the whole way home.

He gives you a brief look before putting his attention back to the part in his hand, you step towards him and rub his back despite the thin layer of sweat, “I thought something had happened to you, I was worried and you couldn’t answer your phone.” You are peering up at him as he continues to keep his attention on what’s in front of him.

“Been here all day, mami. You worry too much.” He steps forwards to get under the hood on a project car he’s been working on. You roll your eyes as he’s been working on this car for as long as you can remember. 

“I worry too much? What was I supposed to think with how things had gone down? Excuse me for thinking something happened.” You throw your hands in defeat, Oscar loved to see you get frustrated like this. When you voice your concern for him, it made his heart do a little dancey dance. He glances at you as he sees you rubbing your temples, “Aye.” You open your eyes.

Oscar wipes his hands on a rag and cradles your face, the motor oil smells strong but whenever he gets you to look into his eyes, all else falls away. “I’m good, you’re good, we both good. Mmkay? No one is gonna get me. Everything is handled.”

You nod and settle your hands against his chest as he pulls you in for a kiss, “The Prophet$ are done for.  Now we just worry about our hustle and getting the fuck out of the Ridge.” He steps back to his project and you settle any worries right then and there, sitting on the old, yanked out car seat to keep him company.

But that 4 months ago. 

That’s when Oscar and Cesar had gotten themselves in a little beef with the Prophet$. You were always so worried when he would he leave the house when he wouldn’t tell you where he was off to, or worst when he had some of the Santos keep you on the opposite side of town that one day, when you got home and you couldn’t find him til his cursing for jamming his finger from the shed gave him away. The day the Prophets$ no longer stood a problem for the streets.

Right now you are standing in the middle of his living room, chest tight and burning from running from the bus station. You’re lungs and calves on fire as you stand there waiting for him to emerge from the back side of the house. But to no avail, despite his car being parked in its usual spot. With a trembling lip, “Oscar..?” 

But again, nothing. You have his cross chain tight in your balled up fist. As you head tips forward, you hold in the sounds that threaten to escape you as the tears begin to trickle down your cheeks and onto the floor below you. All those feelings, those nagging feelings that kept bugging you that something wasn’t right. But Oscar kept on reassuring you that everything would be fine. 

And the level-headed you tries to make sense of the situation at hand, to make it rational and that this is no different from any other type of business Oscar had to handle. You make your way to the kitchen to sit at the table to calm your nerves before jumping into action. But the hope lasts just for a moment, you see a note hanging from the refrigerator. 

           “Mano, you will always be one of two reasons I fight everyday to find a way out. Garcias por todo. Take care of Y/N for me.”

In that very moment, you understood those sappy love movies. Those long novels made sense. And if you could explain what it feels like? Ripping fabric down the middle, stitches tearing apart and barely hanging on. It feels very much like that. 

The sound of a people talking catches your attention as you peer out of the kitchen window. You see a few santos, one including Sad Eyes. Before marching out to question them, you snatch the note. They turn at the sound of the door swinging open. The ones who were just about to plop down on the run down couch immediately stand and straighten their stances as if you were the Queen of England or something.

“Y/N, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a bus out of town?” Sad Eyes towers in front of you, a look in his eye that has him just as bewildered as you are.

You wipe your face, “Where is he? Where did he go? He sent me away, why? Tell me!” You begin to push at him to which he begins to stumble back, he tries to get his footing right but your constant shoving makes it nearly impossible. “Yo, cut the shit! Nothing you need to be concerned about. He said he can handle it which means we don’t ask questions.”

A laugh escapes you. So much so that you double over with your hands resting on your knees. When you straighten yourself upright again, the Santos can see you are laughing as tears are streaming down your face. They look at you like you just escaped the insane asylum.

“What’s this? Tell me everything's okay then.” You hold out the note, the tremble in your hand visible. Sad Eyes keeps his eyes on you as he grabs the note. When he does look at it, you see the very moment he realizes Oscar does not have whatever he says he has handled. A goodbye letter? That’s not something he would do though. It’s better to break amends if you know you aren’t making it out. Why would he do something like this? Sad Eyes stares at the note even though he read it over times.

He doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is sigh deeply and look back to you. And he sees how far you are beginning to slip. Funny, he used to be the one to tell Oscar that your tendency to worry would be the death of you and here you are now, descending in the hole that used to be filled by Oscar. 

You aren’t sure what happened in the next few moments but you are suddenly staring at the ceiling of Oscar’s room. The room is dark and quiet, the light from the street lights barely shining through the curtains. 

“You fainted.”

  Cesar’s voice sounds from across the room, causing you to jump. He gives you a half smile as he stands to make his way over to you. Once he sits besides you, he reaches over to grasp your hand, “Sad Eyes called. I saw the note when I got home from my shift. He told me he had some things to handle with Cuchillos. I told him I could go with him but he said he doesn’t need back-up… it’s my fault. I should’ve gone with him. No one knows where he is. No one has seen him.”

The panic spreads through the younger Diaz like wildfire and you immediately sit upright to pull him into your hold. He unravels quickly in your arms, fearing that he made a grave mistake to not be more adamant on going with Oscar.  “Cesar, stop. None of this is your fault. You did nothing wrong, okay? Hey, look at me,” You pull his face to look at yours, “You did not do anything to harm your brother. And we are going to find him. You hear me? Me and you, we’re gonna look for him.”

“We all are.” Monse stands near the door with Ruby and Jamal behind her. They give you small smiles and you return it back to them, nodding in agreement. You look to Cesar and squeeze his face and take a deep inhale. Where do you even start?

And for the rest of that day, you all were stumped. How do you find someone who left no clues? Who left no trace to where he went? It was useless to try to go to the police, you knew from Cesar that some cops work for Cuchillos. Oscar left his phone and wallet at his place so trying to trace his phone would be moot. The silence started to eat away with you, you tell them you were gonna get some air. 

You walk onto the porch and lean against the railing looking out at Oscar’s shiny red baby. You smile to yourself thinking off all the memories you’ve had with him in his car. The many late night drives when you couldn’t sleep. The drive-inn movie dates. The first time you got to drive his car as well when you nearly took off the bumper parking at Santa Monica pier. All those memories infiltrate your mind, the good ones as well as the bad ones. When he would bring you home early from a party if you two were arguing. Or when you’d sit in the passenger sit, arms crossed, lips sealed as he would be going off on you.

With all those memories replaying in your head, you walk over and run your hand over the hood. If it’s three things Oscar loves is: Family, Food and his impala. That makes you chuckle out loud. How you wish he were here right now, “Where are you, papas?” You whisper to yourself.

Before you walk back to join the others, you spot the scratch mark near the rear tire on the driver side. You try to wipe at it but the scratch is deeper than the paint. You remember instantly Oscar telling you some little traviesos had swiped his car with their bikes when he went to meet Cuchillos that night. 

And when you push the first domino, the rest fall with it. 

You remember he didn’t tell you much about that night he was supposed to grill but had to last minute meet with the boss lady. He did mention the scratch though. He said that’s what he gets for stopping by Saul’s Place, a little taco restaurant, right after his inconspicuous meeting. You remember he took you once. And you also remember that very time he took you, he needed to handle something briefly in the area and told you he’d meet you at Saul’s place. 

Cuchillos has lots of territory and with that territory comes lots of hiding spots for little meetings such as the one she had with Oscar that night and the others. Which has to mean that Saul’s Place has to be near wherever they met and could possibly be now. And if I were Cuchillos, I would make it so that I meet specific people in specific places. You pull out your lanyard from your back pocket, unlocking his car with the spare key he gave to you. 

The teens in the house are alerted when they hear the impala roar to life. They exit the house in time to see you take off away from the house. Cesar tries to call out for you but it’s no use, you’re gone in the blink of an eye. He stands in the middle of the street, feeling defeated. 

The shaky breath you’ve been holding is finally exhaled as you make the drive to Saul’s. And when you do reach, you open the maps app on your phone. Searching the screen for nearby areas. You zoom in, zoom out, slide it left and right and there are no obvious answers. You lock your phone and slam your head back, you gaze out of the window and from the distance see an abandoned warehouse. 

“Plain sight. Ordinary. A perfect spot.” You say to yourself out loud.  And then you see the spec of black shine. An SUV. That’s gotta be it. You reach over to the glove compartment and nearly cry out with rejoice when you see the 9mm still rests on the registration papers. Quickly checking the chamber to see if it is loaded, which it is, you exit the car and make your way across the street. 

What am I gonna do? Walk there and threaten someone like Cuchillos and her guys? The anxiety in you begins to speak, halting your trek. You shake it though, despite how loud it becomes. The sound of gravel crunching causes you to move quickly behind a nearby bush. 

Two men are walking the grounds, quickly appearing in front of the entrance visible to you and then disappearing around the side of the warehouse soon after. You take the opportunity to get in before they double back. When you get in, rays of the sun are poking through the rusted metal. The quiet is eerie but it’s quickly overcome with distant noises. 

“You don’t come through when I need you to and that is the reason you are here. Do you understand that?” A female voice sounds and it could only belong to the elusive Cuchillos. “Go, I want to do this alone. He can barely move. I won’t be long.” 

Shuffling of feet can be heard approaching you which causes you to quickly stumble back into the shadows, you hold your breath as people pass you by and you going unnoticed. You take a look and see that a few men exit the same way you entered. Cuchillos is talking again so you follow her voice until it gets loud enough to be directly next to you. 

You finally see them. Oscar is chained with his arms above him, body beat and bruised. An eyebrow split open and running blood down his face,  an eye swollen shut. He looks awful and the sight clenches your heart. At the moment, you see Cuchillos with a gun to his head. It takes all your restraint you have to not lunge out in the moment but it would just end badly for the both of you. 

The 9mm resting in the band of your pants behind you. You reach for it and pull out the silencer barrel, twisting it on as you slowly move towards them. Your heart is racing, your breathing harsh as you step quietly closer.

“Truly sad. So much good potential. At least this way, your hermano can rise up in the ranks. Hopefully he’ll do much better than his big brother and waste of a father, 3rd time a charm, right? I’d ask you if you have any last words but I don’t care.” She clocks the gun as he looks at her dead in the eyes, ready to accept his fate. 

But she sees it. She sees Oscars eyes move slightly when he spots you. Cuchillos swivels on her heels and faces you. Her hands move to point the gun at you but if it’s one thing Oscar had taught you is that when there is an enemy approaching behind you, to move your weapon toward them first before turning your attention and/or body. There will always be a second delay if you turn your body first. And in this moment, you see what he means. Because you were quicker. 

You fire a shot at her thigh causing her to shriek and fall. She turns over to grab her handgun but you kick it away and shoot her hand, another screech escapes her. She clutches her hand to her chest, rolling on her back. Her face shows disgust. You squat and cock your head, a sinister smile appearing on your face, “3rd times a charm, right?” An empty shell falls after shooting another round, this time between her eyes.

A giant weight is released off of your chest as her lifeless body lays there. You grab her gun and shove it in your waistband as you look at Oscar, who has a look of relief plastered over his bloody face.  You hold the gun to the chains and shoot, they break and he falls. Quickly rushing over to him, you cradle his face, “Oscar? Hey, look at me. You’re alright, just get up. We gotta move out of here, her guys are gonna be piling in any minute.”

He only groans as you try to help him stand, he weighs a ton. But he manages to stand and lean on you, you hold the gun on your free hand and walk towards the exit, the sound of someone approaching causes you to panic. But Oscar jumps into action mode, pulling the gun from your waist band and into a stance for the advancing party. The both of you in position.

“Hey!” 

“Yo!” 

Oscar curses under his breath as Cesar appears with Sad Eyes close behind. You nearly throw up from the amount of panic that had just built up. Oscar relaxes his body as you plant yourself into his side. 

“Jesus H, when did you two become Mr. and Mrs. Smith?” Cesar’s comment even manages to get a laugh out of Oscar. The older Diaz steps forward and pulls his mano into a bear hug. Cesar immediately hugs him back. Definitely a sight for sore eyes. The four you look back to see the darkness finally defeated. 

The drive home was quiet. But even then you would take the quiet over anything else. Oscar rests his hand on your thigh as you pull into the driveway of the Diaz household. You help him in the house and to the bathroom to get all cleaned and bandaged up. 

“Hey, te quiero mucho.” Oscar whispers to you as you finish wiping off any dried blood from his forehead. “It’s done. No more. All of it. And within the next couple of weeks, we’ll be out of here. Living in some suburban ass neighborhood where curfew is 9PM.”

You laugh while he smiles, pulling you into his arms. You rest your head against his chest as he kisses the top of your head. But truly it didn’t matter. Whether you were fated to spend the rest of your days here in unpredictable Freeridge or in a gated community with a weekly neighborhood watch meeting on Thursdays. Home is him. Whenever he may choose to go, you follow. From this moment til beyond.

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#Oscar Diaz #oscar spooky diaz #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz fic #oscar diaz x you #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz x y/n #spooky diaz #spooky diaz fic #spooky diaz imagine #spooky diaz x you #spooky diaz x y/n #santos #east la #freeridge #spookysmujer #mine #on my block #omb imagine #omb fic #netflix on my block

[rowan-underthehouse]

Last Night

Chapter 3/3

Rating: Mature

See first chapter for more notes

Read it on ao3 here

Dean’s heart stops.

Ten seconds ago, he would have given just about anything for this moment. Now he’s not sure he can even turn around.

“Thought you'd wait until I was done pouring my friggin’ heart out to show up? Thanks, Cas. That’s just…that’s just great.”

It doesn’t come out as angry as Dean had hoped.

He swipes a hand over his face in a feeble attempt to mask the shake in his voice. Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze boring into his back.

“What are you doing here?”

That does it. Dean spins around, the bitter laugh in his throat winning against the tears still stinging his eyes.

“Not sure how I could make that anymore obvious, man.”

“You should be home with Lisa and Ben.”

No matter how hard Dean tries, he can’t twist Cas’ words into anger. Fear, maybe. Shame. Not for the first time he finds himself wishing angels came with a comprehensive instruction manual.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“There are things I can’t tell you Dean. Things you wouldn’t understand.”

Dean gives into the little nagging voice in the back of his mind and takes Cas’ rough hands in his own. He’s come this far, he may as well commit to the whole chick flick.

“Let me try.” His voice cracks around the vulnerability of it. “Please. You’ve never given me a chance to try.“

Cas squints at him, a sort of intensity burning in his eyes that makes Dean want to kiss him or run. He barely has time to wonder if this is about to be a summer rerun of Cas beating the shit out of him in that alley before Cas has him by the collar, backing him against the car. Cas crowds right into his personal space, and Dean swears to every god he’s ever heard the name of he’ll never complain about it again.

“You don’t want this, Dean.”

His voice is impossibly more gruff. Dean feels it pour through his entire body. His eyes flick to Cas’ lips.

“That’s not for you to decide.”

And Cas kisses him.

Cas finally fucking kisses him.

In the split second it takes Dean to get a hold on Cas’ face, desperate for some kind of anchor to reality, Cas hands are on him.

Dean has felt good. He’s felt the ghost of kisses pressed into his thighs for days after they were gone. He’s lost himself in dingy truck stop bathrooms and motels that cost less than a good meal, and apartments with comfortable couches and clean sheets. He's spent years soaking in pleasure until the pain of everything around him dulled.

None of it compares to this.

When Cas pulls away, Dean catches him by the belt loops.

“Dean…”

“I want you, alright? And everything that comes with that. Don’t make me say it again, I sound like fucking Air Supply.”

It’s Dean who leans in this time, catching Cas’ lips in a kiss so sweet he finds himself waiting for the swell of an orchestra or some The Notebook style rain.

“Things have gotten…messy,” Cas gasps between kisses. “Heaven is in chaos because of me.”

Dean tilts his chin up, looks him in the eyes. “We’ll figure it out just like we always do. Let Heaven burn for a night.”

Dean’s not entirely sure who opens the impala’s back door, but they stumble in with equal enthusiasm, a tangle of limbs and breathy laughs as they wrestle with too many layers.

Logically, Dean knew Cas’ hand would fit perfectly against the mark he left on Dean’s shoulder, but feeling it there is something else entirely. The stars visible through the back windshield are brighter. Blinding, almost. It’s overwhelming, but Dean doesn’t care. He could drown in Cas’ grace and go with a smile on his face.

After what might be an hour or a week, Dean hooks his legs around Cas, pulling back to catch his breath.

“You know what you’re doing?” It’s an honest question.

“Yes.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Dean only knows two things for certain: One, Cas definitely knows what he’s doing. Two, however he survived without hearing his name on Cas’ lips like this before, he’ll never be able to do it again.

“Dean?”

Dean opens one eye, beams up at the angel above him. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Cas smiles back, pushes a piece of hair out of his face. “I love you.”

Eventually they’ll have to talk about this. They’ll have to talk about Sam and Raphael and what this new thing between them is.

Eventually there will be a shabby little house in Northern Illinois. They’ll spend nights there when they can, and the shelves will collect dust when they can’t. There will be nights when Dean wakes up in a cold sweat and learns to curl into the body beside him until he can steady his breathing. There will be days they barely get out of bed to eat and mornings where Dean wakes up to an empty bed and a note with updates about Raphael. Some days will be spent pouring over maps and plans, and others Cas will stagger home, beaten and bloody, unable to do much more than collapse silently into Dean’s arms for comfort. But for now there’s only the impala's backseat, and they way Cas’ mouth curves into happy little smiles against Dean’s. Everything else can wait.

…

They’re in an overcrowded parking lot when Lisa asks it, people pouring out of the stadium around them. Ben and Matt laugh a few paces ahead, trying to explain to Castiel what exactly about the baseball was supposed to be exciting.

“Do you regret it? Going back to all this?” She gestures at the cut still healing on the side of Dean’s head. A souvenir from yet another hunt gone wrong.

His smile, the way he looks at his boyfriend like he hangs the stars in the sky, serves as enough of an answer.

“Do you regret telling me to go?”

“Not for a second.” She squeezes Dean’s arm through his jacket. “I’m happy for you, Dean. You did the right thing.”

And for maybe the first time in his life, Dean is sure he did.

Chapter 1 // 2 // 3

#my writing #supernatural #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #Cas #spn #spn fic #fanfic #destiel fic #deancas fic #deancas fluff #destiel fluff #lisa braeden #supernatural fic #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #fic #dean winchester fic #castiel fic #spn season 5 #castiel supernatural #dean supernatural #dean loves him back

[anntoldst0ries]

Everything else is just the weather

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count: ~5.3k (I sinned!) Summary: Ethan takes Elle out on their “first” date. Category: Fluff Warnings: None

A/N: It has literally taken me ages to finish this fic. To the point that I couldn’t look at it anymore, but here it is. I had it in mind for a really long time and now that OH is back, I feel like I’m ready to show it to the world. As always thank you for your support and I hope you like it!

This fic is part 2 of birthday present for my friend, part 1 is the fan art which you can see here. Once you read the fic, the fan art makes more sense :)

This is my submission for CFWC Silly Love Stories, Day 12: Date night.

Loud knocks resonated throughout the room. 

"Come in!"

"Good morning, Mrs. Peterson.”

“Good morning, Dr Valentine. I think you are the only doctor in this hospital with some sort of manners, everyone else just waltzes in here as if it was a damn barn!”

“Hospital or no hospital, everyone has their right to privacy.”

“Thank you, child. Once again, please call me Faye."

"Alright Faye, but only if you call me Elle.” She smiled sweetly, and the whole room seemed to be suddenly lit by a thousand suns.

“How are you feeling? Are the meds making a difference?"

"They are. I am ready to be discharged today.”

"Not so fast. I am not ready to say goodbye to you yet."

“Why would you possibly like to be lumbered with an old nuisance like me for even a second longer than necessary?”

Elle just laughed and shook her head. The ‘nuisance’, as the elderly lady so lovingly put it, was exactly what she loved about her job. She loved spending time with her patients, she loved their stories and their worldly wisdom. It made her sad to see how many of them thought they didn’t matter or considered themselves and their lives boring. To her, they were anything but. 

Many of Edenbrook’s staff members kept asking themselves: what is it about her? She was a great doctor, no two ways about it, and she was a genuinely nice person. But what was the source of power she had over people? If she woke up one day and decided to start a rebellion, patients would have most certainly followed her, even if it meant they’d be leaving the premises of the hospital with naked butts or trailing their IVs behind them. Doctors, nurses, administration, cleaners and security would follow shortly. She only had to say a word.

And how on Earth was she capable of turning Dr Ramsey, the grizzly bear of Edenbrook, into a benign teddy bear with as little as one look? It was beyond everyone’s apprehension.

Had they spent more time actually observing her, rather than gossiping in the corners, the answer would have unveiled in front of them within minutes.

It was very simple.

Noelle was truly curious about people. She genuinely liked them and was determined to get to know their story, for it helped her diagnose them faster and also satiated the young doctor’s hunger for knowledge.

Patients never felt like “curious cases” or “numbers” in her presence. They were… themselves - people with hopes, dreams, fears, pet peeves and odd habits. They were human. 

So little and yet so much.

Those never touched by serious illnesses often failed to understand that sickness strips you of your dignity and becomes your identity. Your true self becomes covered by this weird, annoying sticker that wouldn’t come off no matter how hard you tried to remove it. 

But this young woman, despite the nature of her profession, somehow managed to notice what was hiding beneath this misleading layer.

Had all these gossipers spoken to her patients, that’s exactly what they would have heard.

"What's happening today?" The older lady asked with a flick of curiosity in her wrinkle-haloed eyes.

"What do you mean, Faye?" The young doctor sounded genuinely baffled by the out-of-the-blue question.

"Well, I am no diagnostician, but I believe I am rather observant and you radiate with happiness. Something special is happening today, am I right?"

"Yeah, you are right." Elle blushed like a teenager caught in a lie. "My boyfriend is taking me on a surprise date today, but he won’t say a word about it, so I'm super excited to find out what he planned for us. He usually isn't one for romantic gestures, so the secrecy is killing me."

"Do you think he's gonna pop the big question?" Faye’s eyes lit up with excitement.

"No, we're not there...yet." Elle faked a smile, but a tone of doubt and sadness coloured her voice. They probably never will be, those things weren’t in the cards for Ethan, as he already stressed once.

But once was enough and she didn’t dare mention the subject again.

"Well, I'm pretty sure he's got some big guns in store, I would if I had a lady like you." - a male patient lying in the bed adjacent to Elle’s patient added smiling flirtatiously. 

"Jerry, you were supposed to focus on getting better, not stealing my girlfriend." They all jumped when a deep baritone echoed throughout the room, hitting present company like a wrecking ball. She must have left the door ajar or Ethan could penetrate the walls soundlessly, because no one heard him coming.

Exactly how long has he been standing there for and how much did he hear?

"Dr. Ramsey, flirting makes your blood flow faster. Isn't it the very definition of life itself?” Jerry’s tone was brisk and lively.

"Well, it definitely isn't the definition of recovery after a heart attack." Ethan used his authoritative doctor’s voice but knew this wasn't a battle he was going to win. Jerry had something he didn't: a couple more decades of life experience under his belt and even the best medical school in the country couldn’t compete with this.  

"Besides, Dr. Ramsey, I don't think that the beautiful Dr. Valentine here fancies old farts like me." 

"That's where you are wrong, Jerry, looks like this is exactly the type I fancy." The two women laughed, however Ethan was far from amused. "Dr. Ramsey is 10 years older than me."

"10 years? What is 10 years in these times? Nothing. When I was getting married 40 years ago, it was something. But today? Look at all them playboys with girls younger than my granddaughter. 10 years is actually a very healthy difference. Men are immature and slower with growing up emotionally. So I'd say you've caught up, Dr. Ramsey, and the two of you are emotional peers now.”

“Thank you for the fascinating lesson in human psychology, Jerry. To think I’ve wasted all this time and money on medical school and no one taught me this.”

“Dr. Ramsey, it’s because schools and useful knowledge are mutually exclusive.”

Elle and Faye were on the verge of bursting out in laughter, but managed to keep their composure and used the non-verbal communication of exchanging glances instead.

Once they made sure their patients had everything they need, Ethan and Elle wished them a good day and promised to stop by in 2 days, as the following day was their day off.

The moment the door closed behind them, Ethan crossed his arms on his chest.

"I lose you from my sight for one second and this happens. 5 more minutes with Jerry and I'd be single again."

"At least no one wants to poke your eyes out for being with me."

"And someone wants to poke yours?"

"Where do I start... nurses, who had a crush on you long before I even set foot in Edenbrook? Female interns? Anyone, who has a pair of functioning eyes and ever looked at you?"

She was adorable when she was doing this, her whole body overtaken by excitement and her hands waving. When she was talking about something really important to her she wasn't just conversing with her mouth, she was doing it with her whole body.

Suddenly, his pager painfully reminded Ethan that this was neither the place nor the time to lose himself in adoration.

"I need to go, I'm completely swamped today and I have my favourite cherry-on-top board meeting. In case I don't see you for the rest of your shift - I’ll pick you up at 7."

He was gone before she was able to form a response. Was it just her or was Dr Ramsey weirdly… nervous?

* * * * * * * *

At 7pm sharp, Ethan Ramsey curled his palm in a fist and gently knocked. The door opened in an instant, as if someone knew he'd been standing there for the past few minutes.

"Ethan! I mean Dr. Ramsey...please come in!" Sienna squeaked with nervous excitement as she let him in.

"Outside of Edenbrook Ethan is just fine, Sienna. If you don't mind me calling you by your first name, of course."

"Mm..mme? No, yes, I mean... Elle is on the balcony." She tried to hide her embarrassment and motioned towards the tall windows surrounding the living room. Some time ago, he would have been oddly proud to have such an intimidating effect on people - nowadays, more than anything, he was amused. Has he really changed so much?

The answer to his question was leaning against the railing, glass of wine in her hand. Gauzy, flowery dress enveloped her frame and tanned skin. 

For Ethan, it was as clear as crystal: summer had the face and scent of Noelle Valentine.

Long before she started leaving her toothbrush in his apartment and sleeping in his old JH t-shirts, Ethan noticed that whenever he laid eyes on her, his whole body started acting in a very irrational way. His doctor’s instincts prompted him to think of all types of biological causes and chemical reactions in the brain. Then, when he sort of admitted to himself it’s not just pure science, Ethan leaned towards the forbidden fruit theory - the more he couldn’t have his drug, the more he was craving it.

But the feeling never disappeared. Whenever he wouldn’t see her for a while - be that an hour, a day, or just when she went to take a shower or make a coffee - the very moment her face came into his view again, he felt his stomach somersaulting.

Every. Single. Time.

It wasn’t any different now.

"Drinking without me?"

She almost dropped the glass when his voice stopped the train of thought in her head. But then she saw his face, the way too seldom relaxed muscles and a barely-there smile.

A perfectly tailored shirt clung to his torso marvellously. If not in medicine, he surely would have made a name for himself in the fashion industry. Fortunately for her, the idea never crossed his mind. 

The warm wind blew in her face, carrying the scent of expensive cologne which overwhelmed her nostrils. She didn’t know this one, so it must have been new. But she did know that smelling it for the whole evening while staring at his handsome face will be a pure torture.

Simply put, she was a goner.

"I don't know why, but I was quite nervous. Had to summon the courage somehow.”

“As you should be. After all, it's not every day that one goes on their first date."

She looked at him as if she’d just been told that a UFO landed on the roof.

“On a what?”

"Well, I was thinking a lot lately about how we never had a first date. Nothing was ever...typical with us. I promised myself I will do my best to fix things that caused you pain or deprived you of the things you deserved. Maybe I cannot fix some immediately, but this one I can, so I will."

Her eyes, overbrimming with affection struck him like thousand lightnings. Thank god a comfortable silence fell between them - had she asked him a question, it would have been clear that right now he is nothing but a simpering moron.

With this in mind, he took his hands from behind his back, holding a small bouquet of pink gerberas.

"These are my favourites." Her face instantly illuminated at the well known sight and smell. "How did you know?”

"I had some amazing helpers."

Elle instantly turned her head left and looked inside, where grinning, Sienna was showing her the thumbs up.

"Wow, now I actually wish I'd downed the whole bottle."

"I'm glad you didn't. I want to go on a date with a woman, not her lifeless body, even though the body itself is very appealing. Shall we?”

“King of compliments…”

* * * * * * * *

"You actually look like you are having a good time, Dr Ramsey.”

"Why wouldn't I? There is alcohol, sitting under the sky definitely has its charm and the company is acceptable." She playfully swatted his arm, the gesture a quick reminder of how comfortable they felt with each other, something he constantly remembered to never take for granted.

“Although I love this, I still don’t understand why you dragged me all the way outside Boston, I’m pretty sure the rooftop bars are pretty acceptable there, too. A bit more crowded though, that’s for sure.”

“Are you complaining about the fact that we have this entire place to ourselves? I know the owner and he was indebted to me.”

“Of course he was.” Looks like the whole town is indebted to Ethan freakin’ Ramsey.

“With regards to why I brought you here… you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Gosh. She couldn’t decide whether the mysterious side of Ethan Ramsey was hot as hell or annoying as hell. But she didn’t really have time to contemplate, because her companion asked her a question.

“Why did you become a doctor?” The ocean eyes pierced her to the core and she had a feeling that even if she was the best actress in the world, there was no way she’d be able to hide something from this man.

“That’s a terrible change of subject. Also, I must have told you like a million times already.”

“No, you never told me.”

When she looked at him and really, really thought about it… she suddenly realised Ethan was right. Elle told the story so many times she sort of… assumed she told Ethan, too. 

“Are you sure you want to hear it today? It’s a pretty sad story, a mood killer I’d say.”

“It’s what makes you you, so yes, I want to hear all about it - the good, the bad and the indifferent.”

“I’ll tell you, but I need to ask something first. Why now? We’ve known each other for a while and you just… I just sort of assumed this isn’t the type of conversation you’d like to hold.”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head.” Ethan’s expression was gentle, not a hint of irony in his voice. “I’ve known you for a while now, but there are still so many things about you that I don’t know. At first, I didn’t want to ask, because asking these questions meant admitting that there is something more between us. What a fail would that be, after I’ve mastered the art of denial.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a bitter or a nervous laugh, it was a genuine banter between them, as the British half of her soul liked to call it. “But you made me want to dig deeper.”

Was it the heat that made her catch her breath, or did it have nothing to do with the temperature?

“Plus, this is sort of what first dates are for, right? I’m sorry for skipping right to the more complex questions. It’s not that I don’t want to know what you were afraid of as a child, I want to know all the details… but it feels like the atmosphere calls for something…bigger.”

So she told him all about her friend, how she fell ill, how she couldn’t be saved and how the experience wreaked havoc on her whole life, tears glistening in her eyes at the mere memory of the events that shaped who she was today.

Ethan listened, his whole body tense and eyes transfixed. She was giving him one of the most fragile parts of her and he had to make sure his hands were there to catch, carry and care for this treasure.

“And that’s when I realised that if I focused on becoming the best doctor I could be, then maybe one day, I’d be that person who has an answer, who can solve a mystery and save a relationship that means the world to someone. Sometimes, people don’t realise that when a person dies, it’s not only them that’s gone. The part of someone who stays, who has to deal with the whole ‘me after you’ - that part is gone, too. So for me, in a way, this meant saving more than one life.”

For a couple of seconds he didn’t move. Then, without saying a single word and with an unreadable expression he got up and offered her a hand, which she silently accepted. He led her to the railing, where the sun was slowly sinking into the boundless waters of Quincy Bay.

His lips found the all too well known way to her forehead, placing a loving kiss on her delicate skin.

“I am so proud of you.” There was something so mesmerising in his whisper, sending a shiver down her spine.

“As a mentor or as a boyfriend?”

“Both. I want you to know that your dedication to people who rely on you is astounding and hardly present in doctors your age. Or any age, for that matter.”

“Wow, Dr Ramsey, smooth. Trying to hit on me with a recycled pick-up line used on a national TV? No wonder you didn’t have too many girlfriends.”

“No, I didn’t. But I believe everyone has a limit of luck they can get per life. And looking at you, I got a couple of lifetimes worth of luck.”

This was enough to render her speechless. She smiled and at this very moment he knew he would do anything to make her smile like this. She wrapped him around her pinky finger and suddenly his whole existence revolved around finding ways of seeing her curve these breathtaking lips as often as possible and making sure he is the reason she smiles… not crying her eyes out.

Although the other didn’t know, because none of them said it out loud, they both thought the same thing.

This feels so right. 

There isn’t a hint of awkwardness in the fact that they can go from being serious or emotionally vulnerable to funny and teasing in seconds.

In one effortless movement, Ethan spun her and pressed her back against his chest.  Then, he started placing a series of tender kisses along her jawline and the crook of her neck, slowly moving towards her shoulder. 

Come on, just say it Ramsey. It doesn’t get any better than this.

He wrapped her palm in his and pointed them towards the sky. 

“There they are - the Little Dipper and the Big Dipper.” Their intertwined fingers were jumping from one tiny flashing point to the other, as if they were playing connect the dots. “And that’s Orion’s Belt.”

“I really don’t get why at this point I’m still surprised that you’re good at everything.”

Elle was drunk on his every word, as this annoying trait of Ethan Ramsey being the know-it-all was actually one of her favourite things about him. 

As for Ethan, he couldn’t help but think that life wasn’t perfect and was never going to be. But this - this moment - it was in fact perfect. Why take chances of ruining it, when so many things can go wrong?

What if she doesn't say it back?

What if she's just gonna laugh at him or tell him he had it all wrong.

What if he misinterpreted everything and she never thought about him this way?

He was terrified of being this exposed. The last person he loved so much left him without batting an eyelid and disappeared for 25 fucking years.

Maybe it was better to live in a perfect illusion than a reality in which there was even a 0.01% chance she doesn't love him back.

So they both drowned in the moment, drifted in the sea of rapture, lost in the illusion that it can all last forever.

It was her who broke the silence.

“I’m getting a bit cold, is it ok if we call it a night?”

“Right, of course.”

“Thank you for the first date, I loved it.”

Handing her his jacket (her favourite, the dark green leather one) Ethan was furious at himself. 

Maybe he was broken. Maybe he will remain broken forever. Maybe that’s the way it must be.

“Do you want to spend the night at mine?” The question slipped his tongue before he was able to fully reflect on it.

“At yours? Unless you have some secret place I don’t know about, just a quick reminder - I live there too.”

“Since this was our first date, I thought it was a gentlemanly thing to ask.”

“In that case… I am afraid I have the ‘after the 3rd date’ sleepover rule, Dr Ramsey.”

* * * * * * * *

The morning came all too soon and the hot, ruthless rays of the rising sun announced that Ethan is now way past his regular wake up and get up time. He barely slept, tossing and turning, replaying every second of the evening in his head.

His hand mindlessly reached for what he hoped to be the familiar curves and softness of the body he adored so much. 

But his palm hit the mattress with a loud thud. The bed was empty. 

The all-too-well known feeling of hopelessness slipped into the doctor's mind with ease. What did he expect? He was acting weird the previous day. First date, what a stupid idea. She must have realised something is wrong with him and finally left.

But before he was able to fully wallow in the mud of pity, the feeling was soon replaced by an old friend Ethan haven’t heard from for a long time.

Panic. 

Where was she? Is she ok? What if something happened to her and he was just sleeping like a log instead of being there to protect her. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her… again. Something grabbed his chest in a tight grip and wouldn’t let go. 

Scenes flashed before his eyes, vivid and bright. Their hands touching through the glass wall. Her hand cupping his cheek through the layer of hazmat suit.

He got out of bed at the speed of sound and started running around the apartment, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

Suddenly, he noticed.

The balcony door was opened wide. 

Shit.

Heart in his mouth, Ethan crossed the distance between his kitchen island and the balcony door in the blink of an eye. 

Elle was just serving pancakes outside. The goddamn pancakes. The only thing he couldn’t cook. The one thing she kept teasing him about and he rolled his eyes every time she did.

God, he promised himself he will never learn how to make them, if it meant she would just tease him forever.

She was smiling as widely as ever, putting the sun and everything else in the world to shame. Ethan was still a bit shaken and his uneven breathing gave him away. Elle finally noticed his presence.

“Good morning, I was just about to—“

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They both froze. 

The tension in the silence that had just set in was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

But the silence didn’t last long. As one man, with eyes full of disbelief, they both murmured simultaneously:

“What did you just say?”

This time, he felt obliged to break the silence.

"I...I...I mean, I…" 

Damn it, get it together, idiot.

"I didn't mean to…”

Great, Ramsey, keep digging an even deeper hole for yourself, then crawl in and stay there forever.

"You didn't mean to say it?”

"Yes. No. I mean, damn it, I am making things worse, aren't I?”

She didn’t set him straight.

"The thing is, I wanted to say it yesterday. I had it all planned, I took you for a first date and I wanted to say it for the first time yesterday.”

"Why did it have to be yesterday?”

“Give me a minute.”

She just rolled her eyes, but Ethan didn’t have a chance to notice before disappearing inside. A few moments later he re-emerged, his face and torso covered by a neatly wrapped, rectangle-shaped object.

"What's this?"

"Something you should have unpacked yesterday, but then... life happened."

Elle sat down on cold tiles, her hands trembling with a mix of fear and excitement. And just like he did months ago, he took her hand in his, only this time he cupped his own cheek with her palm and placed the most tender kiss on the inside of her hand.

It was her favourite medicine, a remedy for all things wrong. 

He sat beside her and nodded at the mysterious package. With impatience growing inside of her, Elle has torn the paper up.

Inside was a dark blue, framed print - the colour of it an instant reminder of her favourite set of irises.

She studied everything with intent. A circle must have been representing the earth and the irregular dots and lines must have been the stars and constellations. 

"A map of the sky? That's beautiful, Ethan."

He knew immediately that although her delight was sincere, she had absolutely no clue what she was looking at and why she was looking at it.

“It's not just any map of the sky.” Ethan explained gently, hints of pride colouring his voice. “It's a map of the Boston sky from exactly a year ago. Well, a year and a day.” He smiled faintly, now a shade of sorrow in his enchanting voice.

Silence. Was she supposed to know what that meant?

“Aren’t you full of mysteries today? Ok, you need to throw me a lifebelt here. What's so special about the sky from a year and a day ago?”

“For the world? Probably not too much. For me? Everything.”

At this stage of their relationship, she knew a lot about Ethan’s behaviours, triggers, his body language. And not just a relationship as a couple, but also everything that came before Ethan became someone she was running through life with (the life of two doctors in one of the busiest and most prestigious hospitals was certainly not a walk in the park).

But it still fascinated her how his demeanour changed whenever the subject was serious, whenever he was talking about something that truly mattered to him. It was as if he’d stripped down of all the layers and let her look into his bare soul. These rare moments of vulnerable intimacy meant more to her than any night of passion they ever shared.

Her eyes turned to him in pledge, because as much as she wanted to, Dr Valentine still couldn’t fully comprehend the scene unraveling in front of her.

“Read the description below the map.”

Dear God, did she actually hear shyness in his voice?

She skimmed through the image again, and there it was, right at the bottom. Elle was so focused on trying to decipher the meaning of the image that she didn’t notice the words below. 

The words which explained everything.

I WILL NEVER FORGET THE DAY 

THAT MADE ME REALISE

YOU ARE THE SKY

EVERYTHING ELSE IS JUST THE WEATHER

Her emerald eyes brimmed with hot tears as the meaning dawned upon her. Words were very unnecessary, but now that he summoned the courage to speak, there was still a lot he wanted to put into words. He gently took the frame from her hands and leaned it securely against the wall.

Taking her palms into his, he placed delicate kisses on her knuckles, his lips tracing the shape of these two tiny hands, which held all of him. Everything he had, everything he was and was going to be, he placed in those two fragile palms, with an unspoken hope that they will hold him and catch him if he falls. 

“Look at me.” The words were pulsing with care and affection, even though his voice coloured them in serious and desperate shades.

“One year ago… and a day from today…” He smiled and she felt the warmth spilling inside of her. The power he had over her was beyond the limits of understanding. 

Little did she know that the object of her affection was lost in the same thought.

“I was standing exactly where we stand right now. It was dark and the view wasn’t that spectacular.” He freed one of his hands, but only to make contact with her cheek to caress it slowly. In this moment, he had to touch her any way that he could. With his hands. With his eyes. With his soul.

“But I always found comfort in staring at the sky. When I was at med school, I had countless moments of doubt, I wanted to quit more times than I can count. So I used to go to a secluded place at night and stare at the sky. It made me realise how, in one respect, I am just a grain of sand in the universe and how little my problems are. Funnily enough, this thought actually brought me a sense of comfort. If I am as little as I think I am, then what is the harm in being brave and taking chances? A wise man once said… There are some things that are worth any risk.” 

She giggled through the tears, the sweet sound soothing his shattered nerves.

“I was standing right here and I never felt more miserable in my life. And I couldn’t understand why, for God’s sake. I was thriving at work. I had everything figured out and planned. I was pushing you to be the best you could be and I watched you turn into someone who would one day be far greater than me. But you looked so sad, so… broken. You already know I can’t just gloss over you feeling down. The sadder you were, the more miserable I felt. One evening, I was having a glass of scotch and I remembered some tiny exchange we’ve had earlier in the day, literally a chit chat. No idea what it was about. But I remembered your smile and your laugh. Every tiniest move of your muscles, your eyes, how your hair set around your face. It made me happy. Even if it was just for 5 minutes, knowing that you are happy in that very moment filled my chest with lightness. That’s when I realised I want to be the person who makes you feel this way.”   

She blinked the first time in a while, as if she was afraid to make the tiniest movement, afraid it will all disappear and turn out to be a dream. Giant teardrops rolled down her angelic face, trailing the path of joy.

“Noelle Sky Valentine, I love you. I have loved you for a long time but I was too stubborn to let myself give in. And that, as you already know, will always be one of my biggest regrets.” 

“Ethan, I don’t… I’m so sorry, I just don’t know what to say.” Her voice was saturated with emotions.

“I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.“ 

“I love you too, Ethan Jonah Ramsey. You are by far the most complicated and stubborn person I have ever met. You are… everything I never knew I looked for in another human being.”

Once he heard her say it back, he couldn't get enough of it and a lifetime didn't feel like enough to tell her he loves her, as many times as he wished to.

“But I do have to mention this, Dr Ramsey… from the first date to a love confession in less than 24 hours? I’m sorry, I think this is moving too fast.”

“I’ll show you too fast…but I’m afraid we need to get inside, I don’t want the whole world and its wife to see how I teach you a thing or two.”

Ethan scooped her in his arms and carried her inside, despite her mock protests. He smiled and corrected himself. 

He wanted for the whole world to see.

Because the whole world was right there. 

In his arms.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you’ve gotten this far, I need you to know you are absolutely amazing 💗

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[barnesandco]

Blame it on the Heartache

A broken woman finds a lost man, and they try to put each other back together.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo​​ 2020. Word count: approximately 2219. Square filled: “Morning Sex”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, warzones, and one brief mention of persecution of LGBT people in Chechnya. Oh and also smut. Lots of smut (18+ only). It was supposed to be just smut, but then angst happened, and here we are. 

A/N: There’s some talk about blame in this fic, and honestly, I blame (and thank) @heli0s-writes​, this post, and this one. Also, there will be a part 2 some time next week.

You find him by accident. Kiev bar just after dawn, with wooden bar tops and table tops all rotting with the steady decay of time and too little money, disguises his head of dark hair and grimy outline in a corner booth perfectly but your eyes lock onto the side profile, the slope of his nose and the bow of his lips arching against the light of the snow outside. The Winter Soldier, or the shell he has left behind, sits with a shot glass clutched loosely in a gloved hand, the other one’s fingers decorated with rings.

They’re intriguing things, that you watch closely from the bar, pounding head distracted by the scent of hot chocolate and the jewellery that is both the manifestation of wishes for a prettier life, and the mark of a roughened man at the same time. The light catches on a round ruby set on a silver band on his forefinger. It reminds you of the red star painted on gleaming gray you first saw smuggling political refugees from one warzone into another. The time you were a spy, before you were an activist, before you gave up all hope of NGO pretenses and took things into your own hands, helping people with only the wind to guide you.

Not that you succeeded much. Now, days after desperate depression and harrowing hopelessness thanks to only having managed to rescue half as many queer Chechen teens from their torture cells as intended, you are aching with the weight of your uselessness. The air around you, the tonnes of the morning sky are pressing down on your shoulders, and the whiskey in your hot chocolate is doing little to relieve the tension.

The sorrow is what you will blame, later. Or perhaps, the alcohol, although there is barely a syringe’s worth of it in your system with less than half your mug still empty and going cold quick. You’ll fault the loneliness of decades helping a world that does not want to become better for how you rise from your stool and sit down across from the man who thinks he is a stranger to you.

You’ve read the stories. Seen the videos of the helicarrier falling apart above the Potomac, the camera footage captured by a daring chopper, and the Smithsonian’s exhibit on Bucky Barnes. The eyes staring back at you, calculating, clever, above cutting cheekbones, are the same as the ones on the wall in the museum. He’s had a century of pain and you only tenths of one, but the hurt rings out and resonates clearly, a sonic bell of a distress signal, captured by wandering eyes and inexplicable want.

You wonder what he will blame for his response to you unbuttoning the top of your shirt, and your hand over his. Possibly, the fact that he’s been on the run for a year. A year out of the cryostasis detailed by the files the Black Widow leaked in D.C. A year of running, of being alone and sometimes worse -- only the haunting nightmares for company. Your sympathy, the same one that pushes you to keep at your job when it is forever hopeless, is what pulls your heartstrings closer to him.

His fingers tighten around yours, and you blame desolation. You blame the flaming burn of want that shines from his eyes when he sees a face that is not just friendly, but maybe familiar, too. Something tells you you ought to be scared, as he rises and drops a hryvnia bill on the table, and leaves, still holding your hand, but the strength of his grip deters you. The hold is gentle, calloused, the rings grazing your palm as he adjusts to intertwine your hands, so each metal band comes to rest against the sensitive skin between your fingers. Tight enough to feel coarse skin and trembling desire, but loose enough that you can easily leave. Run. You are not being forced anywhere.

The streets of Kiev become a shimmering, white backdrop to his face that looks even more stunning in the light. How much of your last encounter does he recall, if any? New Mexico, 2001, protection detail for war scarred children who needed to evacuate, one of which was an heir to a throne. A brawl in a market, sweat-sticky sundress flaring furiously, the heat of the American sun no match for that of his arms around you. A dance, a twirling battle, and the gasping from breath in the aftermath was one hell of a challenge. Something that restored your faith in your job.

But you’re far from Albuquerque, now, and are reminded of that fact as he leads you to the polar opposite of a southern tavern. It’s an inn. A quaint, small place, more wood, this one gleaming brown on the walls and the hardwood floors and the mahogany counter, all well kept. He strides past the burning fireplace in the lobby and climbs the stairs two at a time, as you struggle to keep up. Part of your lust-addled brain thinks to joke about how he has you panting before he’s even gotten you in bed.

All thought of laughter evaporates when he shuts the door and presses you against it with his human forearm pressing on your neck. Tight enough to threaten but loose enough to let you breath. Your heart beats faster, the pulse of your veins thrumming a little closer to the surface. 

Who are you? he growls in Ukrainian, eyes shifting between threatening and offering little hints of fear. When you do not answer, he asks, who sent you? 

The material of his jacket is rough where it pushes into you. You have to fight to speak. “Nobody.” The English makes his eyes widen, and you barely have time to question whether this move killed you or saved you, when he takes his arm off your neck and replaces it with his mouth.

Heavenly heat, hellish white light, blinding ecstasy erupts like a volcano where he begins to devour you like he hasn’t for centuries, for millennia of loneliness, and there, in the innocent hotel room, your head fills with images of everything but. Hands find his hair, knock the woollen hat off his head while his teeth trace a pleasure-trail down your neck and to your collarbone, his fingers clenching on your hips. 

You push back, off the door and into the room, standing now, supporting your own weight on weak knees and shaking breath. He steals the last of it you have left when he leaves your collarbone -- a bruise blooming ripely in the color of a plum -- to find your lips, and this, this is what salvation tastes like. Vodka and whiskey and chocolate, on lips chapped but lush and soft beyond the rough exterior. A gasping sound of want released in a hurried exhale between kisses makes him growl from somewhere in his chest. 

The vibrations reach your heart, heavy and loud and beating a march of deathly desire on your rib cage. You hold onto him with tight fists, like he will float away, because this is the only way to let go. There is a reassurance, in his hands clutching your jeans tighter, that he isn’t leaving. His fingers slip under your sweater, and then under your shirt, and you break away with a gasp as cold metal -- full hand on one side, and slim rings on the other -- meets your skin.

Then you press his hands to you tighter, let him tear your upper layers away, tug his jacket and sweater off his shoulders as he becomes well acquainted with the tops of your breasts, the parts visible above your bra. Head bowed in sacred confession, he finds rescue in your body, skin shining in the light of the beginning day behind you. A new start.

A new hiding place, he goes down on both knees, laving at your belly button, leaving you spit-shiny and cooling in the chilly air. He takes your jeans off slowly, a contrast to every other step made so far, and mouths at your mound, soaking your underwear further with slow, maddening movements of his tongue. You’ve had enough. This buzzing heat has turned to forest fire in your pulse, and you take your bra off and pull him up and towards you. 

His chest is warm against you when you fall back against the bed, his weight recognizable. The Soldier -- James, you think, for now -- buries himself in your neck with a renewed vigor. Begins to move down your body to the apex of your thighs, where you are wet. Dripping, soaking wet, just for him. The first touch of his tongue to your honey-sweet slick is an electric spark, and he lights you up like the fourth of July with every touch after. Fireworks in your irises mirror the flames licking up your spine, and his eyes meet yours when he opens them in moments of reprieve from enjoying the taste of you.

Purgatory, this limbo between right and wrong, is the closest you have been to joy in as long as you can remember. It aches in your limbs as you inch closer to the cliff’s edge of delectable joy. 

“Enough,” you say, when you ache for more, when you are empty and wanting only him inside of you, all of him, and he moves away. Trepidation in his eyes at the thought of being pushed away evaporates when you pull him back, the flow of your pushes and pulls echoing with the power of the moon, and how it brings the waves to lap at the land a reflection of how James’ chest meets yours when you have opened the buttons of his shirt.

It hangs open, a curtain around you, and you dexterously strip him of his jeans as well, toes pushing at the waistband and belt falling off the bed with a clink that sounds like the final nail in the coffin. You’ll gladly die a little death here, if he’s the executioner. 

His cock is leaking with arousal, hard against the lines of his abdomen begin to smear a shiny trail against you as well, and you take him in hand and he groans. Throbbing hot in your hand, velvet heat over solid steel hardness, and you spit in your hand before slicking him up a little more, his moans louder and unreserved in your clavicle, teeth grazing the spots he has made tender. 

Desperate man. Lonely, sweet, sad man. Your heart aches for him, and you want to give him more than his cruel lifetimes have so far. You want to give him warmth, starting with the warmth of your silk body, as he slips inside of you, slumping, his forehead pressing into your shoulders and murmuring what you think is a prayer into you. 

His hands are moving with feverish intensity over you, metal warmer now, as he throbs and pulses and then adjusts to your heat. All that while, you hold him. Hands first over his shoulder blades, then moving your right hand to his left, slipping under his hold on the sheets to entwine his fingers with yours the way he did in the street that feels miles below wherever you’re flying.

He’s so big, and you are so full, nerves prickling with electrostatic lust, that you have to focus on the swell of him above you, the hand holding yours and the shape of the rings on his fingers not to lose it right there. Then he starts moving.

And you’ll swear you’ve never felt true bliss before this moment, because James moving inside you, with slow thrusts, stretching your walls in delightful pain, is a luxury you’ve never lived before. Stealing your breath, his pace picks up, and you feel every ridge along his length on the inside of your body. Fire pools in your belly, and his hand is drawn to it. He supports himself on his metal arm, and trails the other down your torso. Obsidian shimmers on his ring finger and there is the unmistakable wink of vibranium on his little finger, as his hand dips lower to your clit, and you watch the spot where he moves in and out.

Lascivious eyes watch you watch his fingers circle your nub, tracing the path to your gratification, and they shine when you mewl, arching up, circling your hips. Climbing higher and higher, he moves faster, hits a spot in you that burns brighter than the Sun rising in the sky, and everything explodes in a supernova of heat, color behind your eyelids and warmth flooding your insides as he spills deep, growls against your throat, hand clutching your wrist when he falls forward. 

You are marked up in his artistry, a painting of pleasure in the mouth-made bruises on your neck and the fingerprints on your hips, and the circular indentations from his rings on your neck. He softens inside you, as you overflow with your combined pleasures, and you hum against the crown of his head, as you run your fingers through his scalp. Sated man, grateful man, miracle pleasure, purring in your arms, too dangerous to keep, but too comfortable a weight to let go of so soon.

#ayesha writes #SSB2020 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction

[shoutaaizawas]

For the au prompt event can I requst a fantasy!au Shinsou with the prompt "Is there a reason you're blushing like that?" please!

thank you for the request!! 💖

↳ shinsou hitoshi x reader → remember

event: au prompt event summary: shinsou hitoshi was an assassin sent to kill you but he didn’t and your trying to figure out why. word count: 2,479 tags/warnings: fantasy!au, light angst, happy ending a/n: this was a fun idea and it was kind of hard to fit it in to a one-shot

Was Shinsou an assassin sent to kill you? Yes. Were you sort of friends at the moment? Maybe. Friends was probably too strong of word to use for him but he wasn’t trying to kill you at the moment so that was good.

You were a princess, next in line to rule. You had been traveling to another kingdom to meet your betrothed when you were attacked. It had happened so quickly. The strange purple-haired man had a blade to your neck but he hesitated. You weren’t quite sure why he stopped but you weren’t complaining.

Somehow this all lead to you traveling home with this assassin. With his change of heart, he decided to escort you back to your kingdom. Unfortunately, you were a very long way from home so this would be a long journey.

Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. You weren’t looking forward to seeing your home. The pressures of being royalty were simply not for you. You would prefer to live a peaceful and simple life. But you were stuck in a world where you would be a leader and not only that but you’d be wed to a man you didn’t even know. All of it was terrible.

At first, your travels were stale with this assassin. He barely talked to you and would hardly look at you. This left you with the sound of your footsteps and whatever sounds the forest made.

Sometimes you would take in his features, his pale skin and the scars that marred it.

“So, been an assassin for a long time?” You asked trying to break the silence. You were tired of being stuck in your thoughts of what awaited you at home.

“None of your business.” He said simply.

“Just trying to make small talk.” You huffed.

“I don’t do small talk.” He replied.

“No small talk, just murder.” You retorted.

“I didn’t murder you.” He said shooting you a glare.

Okay, so small talk wasn’t going to work. You ended up counting the trees to keep yourself busy but there were too many trees so you gave up on that.

“I spy, something green.” You said after another hour of silence.

“I’m not playing a child’s game.” He said.

“Oh come on all this walking is so boring.” You said.

“I’m sorry that I don’t have a pretty carriage for you or a white pony, princess.” He said.

“It’s not the walking it’s just the silence.” You said. "I used to have a white pony, her name was Snowflake. She was such a good girl." You reminisced about your childhood horse.

Shinsou just looked at you with an odd stare.

“It was that tree, by the way.” You said answering the game you had tried to start earlier.

There was a lot of walking through forests, it all started to blend in together. Some days you sang until he told you to shut up. Others you attempted asking him questions to be shot down. Sometimes you would just start telling a story since that required no response. He would eventually get annoyed with that.

One night you sat around the campfire he created, keeping yourself warm in the harsh cold. Watching the flames dance you imagined a life where you could live in a small cabin far from others, tend to your own crops and animals, and simply enjoy life. Maybe even share it with someone else.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” You asked breaking the silence.

“It’s none of your business.” He replied not sparing a glance.

“It feels like it’s a little bit of my business. You know if you hadn’t spared me I’d be a dead body floating down a river right now.” You said.

“That’s not how you dispose of a body.” He scoffed.

“I’m not sure that’s what I wanted to hear but I’ll take it since it’s the first thing you’ve said that’s not ‘it’s none of your business’ or ‘shut up’.” You said.

Slowly but surely he slowly opened up. Maybe opening up wasn't the most accurate phrase for it but he would let you sing a song as you walked. Sometimes he would answer one of your dumb questions.

One day you were walking along the dirt path leading you to the next town when you started talking about your kingdom. You hadn’t been thinking much about what you were saying but you got on the topic of your role as princess.

“You know, I don’t even want to be queen.” You rambled on. “I don’t want to marry some random guy I’ve never met, I don’t want the responsibility of leading people. Sometimes I just want to run off and never look back.” You sighed.

“What?” You were shocked at the sudden interest that Shinsou showed.

“Hmm?” You hadn’t expected that he was listening. “I was just saying I don’t want to be queen.”

“But you have to.” He said seriously. You hadn’t expected that either.

“I mean who’s gonna stop me if I don’t go back?” You shrugged. “What’s the difference between that and me being dead?”

Shinsou was silent but despite the fact, he was hard to read, you could tell he was deep in thought.

It was yet another day traveling home, you were close maybe a few days out now. You felt nauseous. You didn’t want to go home to a life you hated. You wanted choices, you wanted freedom.

You weren’t expecting the sudden attack. You were tackled to the ground and fear seized you as you looked at your attacker. He wasn’t on you for long, Shinsou ripping him off you. You watched helplessly as he fought off the attacker along with three others that had been apart of the group.

You hated that you couldn’t help, you hated being so helpless. You let out a gasp of horror as a blade sliced against Shinsou’s side. Even with the wound, he fought them off with a lot less trouble than you expected someone to fight four people by themself.

“You’re hurt.” You said going to his side.

“I’m fine, let’s get out of here.” He said, waving away your concern before grabbing you by the shoulder as he gripped at his side.

After insisting he finally gave in and stopped at a local tavern that doubled as an inn. You wanted to help bandage him up and let him get rest. Once you were in the room you sat him down, you reached for the pack you had with first aid. Worry filled you at the sight of the blood that had soaked through his clothes.

“You don’t have to, I can do it myself.” He said.

“You got hurt defending me, I’m not going to sit here.” You huffed. “I already didn’t help in the first place.”

The last thing you were expecting was for him you grab your chin tilting your gaze from his wound to his eyes.

“I’ll always protect you.” He said in a soft tone that had your heart skipping a beat.

Not a moment after Shinsou’s eyes fluttered shut and he fell back onto the bed unconscious. Okay, maybe that was the last thing you expected in retrospect.  

You panicked for a moment before you reached for his side pulling aside cloth to look at his wound. It didn’t look right, it was foaming. It hit you, you had read it in a book once, the blade had poison on it.

You recalled a night a few weeks ago where you had been poking through his bag, he had vials of poison himself as well as antidotes. Thanking yourself for your curiosity you dug into his bag looking for the vile.

Shinsou was now shaking and convulsing on the bed and fear gripped you even stronger now. You couldn't lose him.

Pressing it to his lips you tilted his head so he could drink the antidote. Once it was all gone you pulled him onto the bed fully before starting to tend to his wound.

The antidote was working, his body stilled and his breathing evened out. His body was burning up but you assumed that that was part of the poison leaving his body. You hoped that you had done everything right.

After you cleaned and dressed the wound you pulled off the outer layers of his clothing so he would be more comfortable. He was sweating, touching his forehead you could feel he had a fever. You went down to the tavern to retrieve water.

You sat at his bedside, dabbing his forehead with water and doing whatever you could to help him be more comfortable. Watching his unconscious form you appreciated how handsome he was even looking sickly as he did right now. You had stared at him before but he would usually catch you and it almost felt like he didn’t sleep considering you only ever saw him awake and on guard when you set up camp. But now you could take in his peaceful features.

His long purple hair that rested against his shoulders, his sharp cheekbones, and the darkness under his eyes that was oddly attractive.

It was a hard thing to admit to yourself but you had slowly grown close to this man along your travels. It may have taken a while to get him to talk but once you did you weren’t expecting his dry sense of humor or the soft tone he took with you when you did something that could get you hurt.

Shinsou stirred in his sleep, tossing and turning. You cleaned the cloth off in the cool water and dabbed it on his forehead.

“Princess.” He mumbled out and you quirked an eyebrow.

“Shinsou, how are you feeling?” You asked leaning foreword to hear his quiet words.

“Princess, I can’t go I have to clean out the stables.” He said. Your eyebrows furrowed. What was he talking about?

“What are you talking about?” You questioned.

“I’m sorry princess, next time.” He said softly.

Suddenly you were pulled into a memory. You were young, maybe around ten years old. The boy in the stables with the purple hair and the soft eyes that matched. Oh, how you loved how gentle he was with horses, how he talked to you in that soft voice of his. He was so kind-hearted.

You spent so much time with him, talking to him, telling him stories, singing. You always wanted him to go with you to the forest and explore and run around. But he always had to work, even when you asked your father to let him have the day he refused and said you shouldn’t be hanging out with such a lowly servant. It didn’t stop you, you spent every day there with him for years.

Oh, how you fell in love with the sweet boy, Hitoshi. As you got older you both planned to run away far away from it all and get married. You could live a life free from your family and the things that kept you apart.

But one day he was gone, you went to your father only to find out that he had him sent away. You cried and cried for weeks, heartbroken at the loss. You looked for him but there was no trace of him anywhere. You missed him so dearly.

How had you not realized sooner? How did it take this to make you realize your lost love was in front of your eyes the whole time.

“Hitoshi?” You said, tears welling in your eyes.

This pulled him from his feverish dream. His eyes snapped opened and focused on you.

“You remember?” He asked cautiously.

“I don’t know how I could forget you, ‘Toshi.” Your tears broke and rolled down your cheeks. You moved forward, perching on the side of the bed so you could pull him into your arms as carefully as possible.

You tucked your face into his shoulder and his arms pulled you in.

“It’s okay princess, I’m here now.” He said, stroking your back.

After a few moments of resting in his arms, you pulled back looking into his purple gaze.

“Let’s run away together, I don’t want to return. Let’s run away from it all like we talked about when we were kids.” You said.

“We’re not kids anymore, we’re adults and we have responsibilities now.” He replied in a stern tone.

“Oh yeah, like murdering people?” You bit back, pulling away from him.

How could he say that after finding each other after all this time? You could finally be together.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

“How am I supposed to know you just disappeared!” You shouted back. “You were gone and I was so alone, I couldn’t find you no matter where I looked!”

“Your father sent me away, he sent me to an assassin’s guild. They trained me to be some kind of monster. I realized what real life was like, not like the little fantasies we dreamed of. How am I supposed to be worthy of someone like you with all the blood on my hands? How could you ever love me?”

You stared at him in disbelief. How could he think that?

“You’ll always be that boy in the stables that I loved nothing could change that.” You said softly. It didn’t matter what he had done you could work past it. “You don’t have to kill people anymore, we can both leave our lives behind and start fresh.”

Shinsou started deep into your eyes, his own eyes filling up with tears.

“That sounds nice.” He said.

Shinsou leaned up, minding his wounds, pulling you in before pressing a kiss against your lips. You were shocked for a moment before melting into it and wrapping your arms around him.

"Is there a reason you're blushing like that?" He said as he pulled back taking in your red cheeks.

“No, no reason at all.” You teased. He gave you that smirk that you loved so much and it was easy to imagine the boy you fell in love with even with the scars he had now.

“Let’s get some rest.” He said pulling you down to the bed with him, holding you firmly in your arms.

“Tomorrow is the start of the rest of our lives.” You whispered into his ear unable to hold back the smile on your face.

As you laid there wrapped up in his arms listening to the soft music that drifted from the tavern below it was easy to imagine the rest of your life with Hitoshi.

A small house secluded away from the harsh realities of your past. A warm fireplace to sit next to in his arms with a warm drink. A life free from what you were both born into. A life made on your own terms.

#shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x reader #hitoshi x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha #mha x reader #my writing #au prompt event #starri-night

[suoyou]

[wip] 一日三秋; one day, three autumns

1633 words, rated t.

a complete chapter 2 in an incomplete series of oneshots titled 一日三秋; one day, three autumns, in which wwx is the autumn king and lwj is the winter prince.

ch 1.

they say that missing someone is the most powerful force of pain a person will know. a pain that can wilt the heart. a pain to carry. a pain that can turn one day into three autumns.

In the middle of Lan Wangji’s left thigh is a scar, round and hollow in the center, like a coin. It had been a burn once, angry blisters deadening into a purple keloid into, now, a little white moon on his skin. 

Of the five floors of the castle, Lan Wangji is only allowed in three. Evidently, little does it matter that he is the only other heir to the Winter Throne should his brother ever be incapable of holding it; he’s often pictured how woefully unprepared he would be should the Kingdom of Summer ever revolt again, or, as the Defectress Luo Qingyang had promised, if the Autumn King showed up seeking revenge. 

For what, Lan Wangji doesn’t know. 

“You don’t need to know,” has always been his uncle’s reply. 

“You won’t need to know if I have any say in it,” is what his brother says, kind, still double-edged.

“You should know,” said the Defectress Luo Qingyang, over her teacup, and jade has never looked so threatening, “that your kingdom is still carrying out the crimes of war right under your nose, and if your family does not wake up, the Autumn Kingdom will leave the decade-long peace treaty in the dust the same way you have.” She said it all like she was simply commenting on the races. The Jin Imperial Family was winning. 

“How do you know? What kind of war crimes?” asked Lan Wangji. He’d spoken too brusquely, but Luo Qingyang hadn’t been fazed. All around them, the Dragon Boat Festival surged on, air humid and painted green-red-blue, an overfull tea kettle of a day. “Why is it your concern?”

“That you think it shouldn’t be my concern is the same line of thinking that got your Kingdom into this mess,” she said, and her words have been ringing in Lan Wangji’s ears ever since, an unwelcome jabber of sparrow song and raven squawks that won’t leave him hours later. The telltale signs of spring. She holds her position well. 

“What kind of war crimes?” he repeated.

She’d taken her time sipping the rest of her tea before placing her empty cup on the table to be taken away. “Do you recall, when the Wen Imperial Family went rogue and the Snowfire Wars tore the lands apart,” she said, “there was a division of mages known as the Core Reapers?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t really believe, do you, that they simply vanished after those wars?”

Lan Wangji had stared at her. 

The Core Reapers had vanished after the Snowfire Wars. They’d ridden through the war-torn battlegrounds after blood had been spilled like red ghosts, gathering the dying bodies of civilians and mages alike to, as Lan Wangji had heard, harvest their cores. Word was that the Wen Imperial Family was creating elixirs, weapons, medicines out of them. Hearsay had it that they were creating monsters. 

He stares at his scar now, where his jade pendant had burned him through three layers of clothing thirteen years ago, and had never lit up again. In the dusk of the evening, it’s almost invisible, as if it had  never existed—vanished, like the Reapers, after the war. 

Lan Wangji stands up and shrugs his outer robe back on. Unthinkingly, he opens the drawer where he keeps that pendant, like it’ll have answers for him. It doesn’t. Jade does not dull with age, but in the red velvet of the drawer it could be leached bone. A small one—a skull bone. 

Lying beside it is its bonded match. Once they had been identical, though Lan Wangji’s pendant was wrapped in blue ribbon. The other is broken on one side and missing a segment, red knotting and tassels unraveled, the jade circle incomplete like a horseshoe. When the Snowfire Wars raged around him, Lan Wangji wore his half of the pair with more attention and care than when he carried his sword.

“Wangye,” his attendant inclines her head when he opens his pavilion doors. 

“I have some personal work to attend to. Can you see to it that, if any of my family seeks me, to let them know I will greet them accordingly when I return?”

“Yes, Wangye.”

So he goes. 

Three of the Kingdom’s floors are aboveground. Two are below. He’s been to three in the middle—never the topmost, never the bottomost, and he’s not sure what he’s looking for. He has to look, to be sure, or else it will be another evening of Luo Qingyang’s voice in his head, jerking him awake long before dawn.

Strange dreams have been plaguing him since the Dragon Boat festival, the sorts of dreams that someone would tell themselves didn’t mean anything. The night of the festival Lan Wangji had gone to bed and found himself in a place where the sun never set, simply bobbing up and down in the sky, turning from green to gold and back again as the days and nights passed. Then, the next night, the scar on his thigh had opened up and begun bleeding afresh, and no matter what magic he used, it would not stop. The more magic he used, the more blood poured down his leg. 

Last night, he dreamed of Wei Ying. Not in the way he’d been in life, so bright that Lan Wangji couldn’t bear to look at him sometimes. 

The Kingdom of Winter had been blanketed in snow for their cycle, and Lan Wangji was in the woods outside the royal walls alone. A dark sweep of Core Reapers had passed by. Their hoods had been drawn over their heads. It looked as if the entire forest was bleeding. 

One of them in the center of their tight pool of red had paused and turned their heads, and under the scarlet, mink-lined hood had been Wei Ying’s face. 

Lan Wangji shakes himself as he greets the guards that stand outside the gates into the Kingdom’s undergrounds. A question floats through their expressions but they open the gates for him without question, bowing again as he passes. 

He picks his way through the first underground level without wasting his time. Here they keep their forbidden texts, their spoils of war, here they hold sensitive political meetings. A damp, sweet smell of soil clutches fat little hands at his robes, happy for visitors, and he raises his hand to upright some of the overgrown vines and planters that line the walls. His hand glows a dim blue, and the drooping foliage picks its flower heads up again. Blooms are coming. 

Even if he’s never made the descent into the lowest floor of the Kingdom, Lan Wangji knows there are two ways to get there—the prisoners’ entrance in the Pavilion of Discord, and the one he faces now. The jailers’ entrance, through the Hall of Justice. 

He doesn’t feel particularly just, facing the round door that he knows will take him down the staircase into the Kingdom’s dungeons.  

Blue fires light his way. 

In times of peace, there aren’t many prisoners to speak of. The few that the Kingdom of Winter persecutes are petty thieves, suspected spies, and the occasional revolutionist, all of which are bent into fearful submission before they ever even make it to the dungeons. Lan Wangji knows it. He’s seen it. 

And he’s right, almost, for at least part of the dungeon. It’s bright and clean, with mainly empty cells, but the blue fires end abruptly in the middle of the long walkway between the rows. There are scuffles, noises of things living, hushed in the gloom. He pauses and strains his eyes. Then he lifts his hand, summoning some of the fires in the torches to his palm to light his way. 

He doesn’t know what he expects to see. Prisoners, perhaps, curled up like hungry mice. 

The icy sheen of his fire falls over the bodies in the cells, and Lan Wangji frowns before he steps back, breath stuttering in his chest. 

They are prisoners. It’s the most human thing left about them. Some of them have lost all their hair, ragged clumps gathering in rolls thick as dead cats beside them. Others have clawed their own backs bloody, as if they’d been trying to dig their own spines out of their bodies, and still others were covered in a thick, tarry ooze, as if blood and lymph had leaked out of them and gained its own sentience. One of them lay in silence with a stained white strip of cloth over his eyes, a line at his neck like his head had been stitched back on. 

Lan Wangji’s stomach writhes, hot and sick, in his belly. 

The end of the walkway widens into a larger chamber where no one is kept, but as he passes his fire over the space he can make out the outlines of odd contraptions—long rods with fluted holes, boards with three holes in them—one larger, two smaller, for a neck and hands. A splintered wooden gurney like a rotting log. Old blades sprout off of it like oyster mushrooms. They blink sleepily back at him, eyes in the night. A bizarre device like a chair, outfitted with two horns on both sides. Anyone sitting in it would have their head position between the mouths of both. 

He frowns. A long skein of red fabric has been tossed carelessly over the back of the chair, wrinkles rounded and warm. A cloak. Someone’s just taken it off. 

“Wangji,” a voice comes from behind him, “what are you doing down here?”

#fic wip #wx #incomplete

[vanchlo]

Green Eyes

*Thanks so much for reading! c: There are now several parts you can read here:   2    3    4 

I’m so happy to share that I won a fiction writing award for this short story through my college’s art journal! c: 

Blurb Synopsis: You had been subbing for Mr. Styles for the last couple of months, but you’ve yet to meet him. The notes you leave for each other have sparked a friendship, leading you to want more, and you wonder if he does too.

Genre: Teacher Harry, lots of fluff, friendship, and maybe even some romance? ;) 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5.5k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Green Eyes by Coldplay (click to listen)

*

His shelves were full of F. Scott Fitzgerald, Rumi, and Charles Bukowski. His desk was covered in scribbled Post-It notes, Bit-O-Honey wrappers, and empty mugs of tea. 

This is what you noticed the first few times you subbed in his classroom. 

These were the only details you knew about the man whose face you’ve never seen. As you gradually began to substitute for his high school English classes more and more, you learned about him more. This was due to his students, and his personal belongings. 

What he didn’t and didn’t like: all the way from no fringes on a notebook paper, no red pen ever because that was his grading color, no using the word ‘can’t’ in his class, and students can eat all the snacks they want as long as the trash goes in the bin where it belongs. 

The CDs in a stack on the shelf told you which ones he actually listened to because they were the ones that were on top and without dust. 

You learned that the pristine book on his desk was never the one he was reading. No, it was the weathered and used copy beside his mug with dog-eared pages and penciled notes. 

His drawers told you another story with their contents: boxes of teas ranging from peach to vanilla macaron, journals filled to the brim with words, adult coloring books with tv show themes, and books on Van Gogh and Monet hinting at his artsy background. His students slowly warmed up to you, and through them, so did he. 

At this point, you’d only been subbing for Mr. Styles the last five months, racking up around two and a half weeks worth of subbed days. He always left precise and concise lesson plans for you. The books were where he said they’d be. The webpages he mentioned were bookmarked on his desktop. The teacher copy of the textbook and current group book were on his desk. At the beginning, his desk looked like a professional organizer had gotten their hands on it. Slowly, as you came to sub more for him, it grew messier, albeit you kept it tidy during your appearances. As the first few months passed and you became one of the few subs in his room, you started to find notes. They weren’t just any notes. They were more than the straight forward sub notes for the day’s agenda. No, they weren’t that simple. You can still remember the first one you found on a Post-It note - it went like this: 

Y/N, peanut butter on your waffles or syrup? 

It took you by surprise, but nonetheless, you answered his call. Each time, you’d find a contrasting pen color and scrawl your answer underneath his. Then leaving it somewhere he would find it the next day. They were one-liners at the beginning, and always interesting. Walking to his classroom from your car on those mornings, you’d fill with excitement at the anticipation of finding the next one. Sometimes it took you the entire day to find where he had hidden them. 

In the closet. 

In a nook in a drawer. 

Under the chair. 

On the backside of one of his books. 

Hidden in plain sight amongst his current choice of notes and lists. 

They never failed to spark a smile on your lips, whether it was quirky, confused, astounded or humored. 

Guitar or piano?

FRIENDS or The Simpsons?

Vanilla or Chocolate?

Would you rather become a superhero or a wizard?

The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Slowly, the questions became more personal, and more than just ‘this or that.’ His questions became longer, and so did your answers.  

What was the moment that made you decide to become a teacher?

Is Donny a good student for you, or is he lying to me about that?

What color are your eyes?

What book/film do you believe had the largest impact on you while growing up?

What is the one meal you always order at a restaurant?

Do you have a family?

Should I splurge and buy a new desk chair?

What book should I buy for my classroom you think I need to have? Why?

Why don’t you have a classroom of your own?

When is your birthday?

Star Wars or Lord of the Rings?

They were never a chore for you, or tedious. No, they were fun and you felt as if you saw a little sliver of who he really was with each note. After a while, you started to write and leave your own notes for him to answer. At first, many of them were similar to ones he had left you, because you wanted to hear his responses, too. 

*

The newest one stares back at you, his half-cursive registering in your eyes.

What’s your favorite part about subbing in my classroom? Don’t say the students, that’s what everybody says. 

Giggling to yourself, you reach over to his Pink Floyd mug to pull out a green pen. You take a moment to think of your answer. This time you found the note peeking out from behind the smart whiteboard. The sounds of the end of a school day tickle at your ears as you scribble down your answer. Pressing it to an open square of wood on his desk, you turn back to the royal blue pad of Post-Its. Peeling one off, the green pen hovers over the paper, but you can’t get yourself to write the question you’ve been wanting to know all along. 

He didn’t have a Facebook, or an Instagram. 

The high school doesn’t have a wall of staff pictures like others you’ve subbed at do. 

It’s late winter, so yearbooks are still a ways off. 

For all you know, you could have seen him here before in the halls when you subbed in another classroom. 

Exhaling, you press the pen to the paper before you can convince yourself to stop. Unlike the many times before when your fears got the best of you. 

What do you look like?

With a proud but nervous smile you stick it to the desk, layering the first note on top. It sticks to your lips as you bend down to reach your hand into your bag. The glossy bag greets your hand, and you pull it out to set down beside the note. 

A small bag of Bit-O-Honeys. 

Looking up, your eyes scan the empty classroom. Few footsteps, voices, and lockers slamming trickle in from the halls. You suddenly realize that this is the same view he sees, these are the same sounds he hears, and the same place he sits in every day. Well, when he’s not away on personal days, sick days, on holiday, and at workshops, hence your appearances. The thought knits something together inside of you, making you feel just that bit more closer to him. Something that’s been slowly happening over time since you first stepped foot in his classroom. 

One of the first things that did this was the posters scattered across his walls. A poster from the 2013 remake of The Great Gatsby, The Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover, a cartoon of William Shakespeare, a unifying print of Keith Haring’s art, and several posters of quotes from famous books - To Kill A Mockingbird, the Kite Runner, Of Mice and Men, The Life of Pi, and even The Hunger Games. It delighted you watching him add some of them to the walls since your time here, and you’ve been itching to purchase him one as a gift. You’re unsure of what he would like though, and the fear of failure has held you back from doing so. 

A bleep! catches your attention. Casting your eyes to the dormant desktop screen, you wiggle the mouse. A red circle has appeared on the title of a tab opened to your professional email. Clicking over to it from a YouTube video he had you show the class, you find you have a new message. At the sight of who sent it, your heart skips a beat: harry.styles@isd . . . . . . . 

Hi. I reckon you’re still sitting at my desk this moment, now that’s a funny thought. I wanted to ask you a question while I remembered. I have to go out of town on Friday for a funeral. Believe me, I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, but these things are a must. I apologize for it being short notice, but I thought I’d ask you if you would like to take it before I posted it to the sub database. Please let me know either way by tonight, so it has a few days to sit on the website to be claimed. Also, I wanted to say thanks for everything you do. My students really love you, and it makes me wonder what I’m missing. Enjoy your night! 

Sincerely,

Harry Styles

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you. - WW”

A smile warms your cheeks as you finish reading his words, and the familiar poem that ends every email of his. You quickly type up a response to him, agreeing to take the job on Friday, thanking him for thinking of you. A new email appears in your inbox shortly after from another colleague, which occupies you before you lose yourself in your thoughts again. 

Perhaps your favorite addition in his classroom is the Fender acoustic sitting on a stand in the corner. Of course, you’ve yet to see it move in the last five months. The stories his students have told you in a way have given it legs of its own in your mind. Much like the little notes you’ve been leaving for each other, something you dread ever ending. 

*

It was a Wednesday. You’re convinced that Mrs. Watson’s Pre-Calc class is surely the bane of your existence. You keep cursing yourself for taking sub assignments for math classes. Seeing that you’re terrible at the subject, you vowed you’d never take one of her assignments again, but you have to pay the bills somehow. You found your respite in the cozy staff lounge. Couches lined two of the walls, along with an arrangement of tables on the other side of the room. 

As you walk in, you see that one of the ancient history teachers has nodded off again on the plaid couch. Otherwise, the room is empty, and all to yourself. If that didn’t make you happy before, the assortment of food on the counter definitely does. 

Voices float in through the open door as the plastic lid to the cupcakes opens with a pop! 

“Ah, looks like ya got tha last chocolate one. I was savin’ that one fer me,” a voice comments from behind you. Turning, you find a tall man in his late 20’s walking towards you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, you can have it,” you volunteer, holding the blue-iced cupcake out for his taking. 

His blush lips curl up with an amused smile. Dimples fall neatly into his cheeks covered with thick stubble. Its deep brown color matches that of the short quiffed curls atop his head. Misty green eyes stare back at you in the middle of his round, but sharp face. “‘m only joking. Go ahead and have it. I already had one earlier. They’re quite good actually, but I dunno ‘bout tha vanilla. Never really cared fer tha flavoir when it comes t’ cake and ice cream,” he comments, passing you to stop at the nearby sink. 

“Yeah, I like to forget vanilla exists half of the time,” you remark, peeling away the paper liner of the cupcake. 

Leaning against the counter, you watch as his ringed hand grabs a red coffee mug from the cabinet. “So do I. ‘s ratha boring, if I do say so meself.”

Nodding to yourself, a silence follows your words. The sweetness of the cupcake is shocking when you take a bite. It makes you wonder how you devoured these sugar bombs as a child. A few beeps and a hum from the microwave echo throughout the room as you check your phone. 

“Y’know, I haven’t seen ya here at tha school befo’. Are ya new dis year or a sub?” he asks, bringing your eyes back to his lean figure. He pulls a yellow square packet from his tight-fitting black slats, a blush button-down tucked into its waist. 

“I started subbing here this year,” you answer before taking another bite of the cupcake. Half of it consists of the sickeningly sweet frosting that makes your teeth ache. 

“Mmmm I see. How d’ya like it so far? Are ya a new teacher, ‘s that why yer subbin’?” 

“Yeah, I went back to school kinda late in the game after doing something else. I figure I’d sub for a little bit for some experience, because what’s another year of waiting by this time?” you comment, observing how he fiddles with his black tie while searching in the refrigerator. 

“Well, congratulations. ‘s a big step t’ go back t’ school fer sumthin’ ya love. ‘s a good profession, I reckon. I’ve been teaching fer 7 years, and here at dis school fer 5. Sumtimes schools even hire subs they’ve had when a position opens, so keep yer eyes open,” he tells you, turning to you with a smile, a yogurt in his hand. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, returning the smile. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

“Sure thing. I know it helped loads when I was a newbie. ‘ll see ya around, I gotta get back t’ class befo’ me students do first. Have a good one!” 

Walking towards you with the steaming cup of tea in his hands, he pats your arm with his other hand on the way out. Nodding at your ‘thank you’, a small ‘you’re welcome’ falls from his lips before the door closes behind him. Eating the last bite you can muster of the cupcake, you toss its remains in the bin. A thought worms its way into your mind as you sit down at the table. 

Wow, I wonder who that guy was? And is he married, because shit, he was handsome. 

*

The smell of orange essential oil greets you when you stepped foot into his classroom the next time. The state of his desk made you frown, and made you want to scratch the itch to clean it. You resisted it and didn’t, and that thought was taken away when his students began to find their desks. 

Another day of 7 classes came and went. 2 classes of Introduction to Creative Writing. 3 classes of American Literature. 2 classes of World Literature. Amusing YouTube videos broke up the monotony of your day, and those of his students. The lesson notes he left for you had become more concise as the months have passed, and as you learned from each other. The same couldn’t be said for the dish of Bit-O-Honeys on his desk that he’s kept stocked for your appearances. You’re just glad he’s put the bag you left for him to good use. All throughout your day you had been looking for his newest note, but this time it wasn’t in any of his usual spots. After correcting some quizzes from today, you finally found it in the bottom left-hand drawer of his mahogany desk. Stuck to a tall can of Coke, your favorite drink of choice. 

I’m sorry it’s warm, although I’m not sure how you like to drink it. I just find warm soda to be rather nasty. The answer to your question is I have green eyes, brown hair, I’m rather tall, and I like to dress up. Is that good enough for you? Now, what do you look like, love?

Your insides melt at the sight of his answer, but then you groan at the vagueness of it. Off the top of your head, you know there are at least 10 male teachers here at this school with brown hair, maybe more. Maybe even with green eyes, too, and you know that because you’ve seen them in the staff lounge or in the halls. The thought only grows worse when you lose count of  how many teachers there are here at this school. Let’s just say, there’s a lot. Yeah, that sure helps a whole lot. Annoyed, you pluck a pen from the green mug and answer his question with as little detail as possible. Two can play at this game, you think to yourself as you sigh. 

If you could have a jam session with any musician, dead or alive, who would it be?

Sticking the new note where its corner peeks out from under his tabletop calendar, your eyes return to the Coke. It’s undeniable, you feel a little less perturbed at him just at the sight of it. Only a little bit, that is. Sure, you’ve subbed for a countless number of teachers at this school, and more so in this school district. A few of them are even friends or relatives of yours, but you’d never connected with one before like you have with Harry. You just wish more than anything you could find out what he looks like and what he’s really like. Continuing to take his sub jobs doesn’t really help with that. It only drives you crazier wanting to know the other side of this fascinating human being. 

*

There he was, snoring on the couch again, tv remote in hand. The weather channel is playing, surprising you very little. Snickering, you yank open the door to the black refrigerator. After retrieving your striped black and blue lunchbox, you place the container of leftovers in the microwave. A laugh is heard over your shoulder, and when you turn, you find Green Eyes from the other day. 

Tittering as the door closes behind him, he says, “No fail, John ‘s always passed out on dat couch, I swear.”

“I know, it’s every time I’m here. Maybe he should just retire already so he can take his naps at home. Then maybe we could watch something on the tv for once,” you comment, shaking your head. Unpacking your lunch box, you take out a clementine, vanilla yogurt, and silverware. 

“Nah, he loves it too much. I don’t see him leavin’ anytime soon,” he remarks, walking past you to search the shelves of the fridge. “What’re we having’ t’day? Couldn’t find any cupcakes dis time?”

“No, those ones were too sweet anyways. They gave me a stomachache,” you complain with a grimace. The beeeeep! of the microwave interrupts your thoughts. 

“Mmmm, I dunno, I thought they were pretty good.” Rubbing his tummy, he pulls a breathy laugh from your lips. 

Your steaming container of leftovers almost burns your hands, and you dread trying to eat it within the next 10 minutes. Setting up for a lesson in Mr. Harrison’s classroom was a pain, making you wonder why you take any sub jobs besides Harry’s anymore. 

“No free food fer us t’day,” he pouts beside you, closing the fridge door before venturing to the vending machine in the corner. Your eyes drift to his outfit choice today - a white button-down topped with a buttoned vest the shade of ochre, all tucked into brown slacks.

“That’s why you pack a lunch. I thought you’d know the drill by now, since you said you’ve been teaching for a while.”

“I do, but sumtimes I forget. Yer already ahead o’ me with dat part, love,” he who doesn’t have a name answers with a short laugh. Sliding a leather wallet from his pocket, you see him type in a number before you sit down at the table. “Who are ya subbin’ fer t’day then?”

“I’m on the west side in the Science wing for Harrison. Bloody Bio.”

“Ugh, I neva cared fer science. Where were ya a few weeks ago when I last saw ya?” he questions, sliding out a chair across from you. An assortment of vending machine food hits the table with a slap - peanut M&M’s, a nutrigrain bar, and a bag of Sun Chips. 

“Upstairs in Watson’s Maths class. Remind me to never sub for her again, because I can’t understand Pre-Calc for the life of me. I never could in high school so I don’t know why I thought I could know,” you chuckle. A warmth fills your cheeks at the sight of his lips spreading into an amused smile. 

“Yeah, I neva cared fer Maths meself eitha. Numbas neva made a bit o’ sense t’ me, words were always betta,” he explains. You nod along with his words, your mouth occupied with a bite of spaghetti and meatballs. “What subject would ya like t’ teach once tha year’s ova an’ ya go searchin’ fer a job o’ yer own?”

“Um, probably something in English since that’s my focus area. Dabbling in History has been fun, though. I enjoy learning about it myself, and I always have a better time subbing in either of those classes,” you reveal. 

“I see,” he replies, his head going up and down. The crinkling of the granola bar wrapper fills the silence between you before he takes a bite. Crumbs pepper his chin, but he wipes them away from his thin beard. “How often d’ya sub here then?”

“I’d say probably 3 days a week typically, but some weeks are 4. Otherwise, I sometimes sub for a friend or somebody I know over at the middle school.”

“Ah, so yer license is sumthin’ like 8 - 12, ‘s it?” he inquires, picking up the black mug you hadn’t noticed he had. 

“Yeah, I thought that would give me a good range for those grades. With my experience now, I think I’d like to stay at the high school level though,” you continue, twirling you fork around in the noodles covered in tomato sauce. Crossing your legs, the satiny fabric of your black dress pants moves with you. 

“We could always use anotha good teacher here. Ya neva know what’ll happen,” he smiles, standing to his feet with his snacks held in his large hand. Returning his smile, he adds his mug to that hand, patting your back once on his way out. “See ya next time, love. Keep yer head up, it’ll get betta.” 

“Thanks,” you automatically respond with. When you go to say his name, you’re lost for words, because you suddenly remember you’ve never gotten it. Now, he’s already too far away to ask for it. 

Shrugging your shoulders, you stab a meatball with your fork, wondering when the next time will be that you’ll see him again. Because, he sure is nice to look at, and he’s nicer to you than anybody else here. 

*

Stevie Nicks or John Lennon, it’s a tough call. Okay, I’m doing two questions from now on, because you ask such good ones :( Who would you jam with then? Question #2: What was the last concert you went to?

This time, you found the Post-It before the school day even started. It was on the seat of his chair, making you think he wanted you to find it right away. You’re thinking maybe he remembered one of the last times you complained about how hard he had made it. Sometimes you worry about how excited you get to look for these each time you sub in his classroom, but then you remember it’s only once every few weeks. 

That can’t hurt, can it? 

That day the hallways were louder than they usually were after school. You attributed that to the boys’ semifinals basketball game set to be played tonight in the gymnasium. The school’s home team against a nearby rival school. Students couldn’t stop talking about it all day, and many of them shared they’d be sticking around after school to attend. Checking your watch, you note that you should have enough time to stop at home to eat dinner before coming back for it. Even though you hadn’t even known about it before today. 

The Sufjan Stevens song floating from his desktop fills the room as you get out books for tomorrow. Your hands are full with copies of The Kite Runner, making you feel grateful again to Harry- Mr. Styles for picking a decent classic for the class to read. Although you’d only read it a few years ago yourself, and it broke your heart, you’re excited to sub next time to help his World Lit class with it. 

“Oh hey, be careful there, yer gonna slip and fall with all o’ those,” somebody says from behind you, distracting you from your mission of bringing the pile of books from the closet to a desk. 

Don’t I know that voice? Turning your eyes to the doorway, you find Green Eyes walk in with a coat slung over his arm. Wait a second. 

“I-I’m fine,” you stutter, but your actions that follow negate your words. Your eyes run over his familiar features, and slowly the puzzle pieces start to click in your head. Harry? A thought bomb explodes in your head, and the books tumble from your arms. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Yer okay,” he murmurs, stopping in front of you. Kneeling down, you both begin to pick up the books, stacking them on top of each other. “Thanks for gettin’ me set up fer t’morrow though. I appreciate it.” 

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can say, because any words that want to come out can’t get past the lump in your throat. One that’s there because of the realization you just had.

Green Eyes and Harry are the same person. 

How did I not figure this out sooner? 

“So, ya must be Y/N, huh?” he giggles, his head bent down as he helps you pick up the books. 

“Y-Yeah, surprise,” you admit, and your laugh soon joins his. Before you know it, the both of you can’t stop laughing. 

“Here,” you hear him say. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you holding his hand out for you to take. A cozy looking maroon sweater covers his upper half, and blue jeans don the rest. “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he jokes in between laughs. 

“You’re right about that,” you answer, taking his hand. He helps you to your feet where you smooth down the violet skirt of your dress. “I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots.”

“Yer not tha only one, love,” Harry comments, bending over to grab a stack of books. He begins to set one on each desk as he walks down the aisles of them. “But I s’pose there wasn’t any way t’ know.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find you on Facebook,” you confess, cursing yourself for the slip up a few seconds later. Lifting your head from the book you just set on a desk, you find his amused eyes on you across the room. 

“Ah, so ya were stalkin’ me, were ya?” he smirks, his delightful laugh following his words. 

“No, I wasn’t! You’re just one of the only colleagues I’ve subbed for who I’ve never met, or like don’t know what they look like.”

Your small stack soon disappears and when you return to the pile at the back of the room, he does too. 

“So, what d’ya think? Are ya disappointed then?”

“No,” you say automatically, lifting your eyes to his green ones that land on you. His cheeks lined with a thick, neat beard crease with dimples as he smiles at you. 

“Neither am I . . . .  Ms. Vance Joy fan,” he returns, holding your gaze. The sincerity in his words gets under your skin, going straight to your heart. The sarcastic joke inside of them makes you giggle. 

Clearing your throat, you look away with what you’re sure are blushing cheeks. Most likely, an entire blushing face. “What are you doing here, anyways, if you were gone for the day?”

“I can’t miss me boys’ big game, a few o’ me students are on tha team. I thought I’d catch up on sum emails and grading befo’hand, but didn’t know ya’d still be here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just leaving, anyways,” you mutter, your movements stilling. 

“I didn’t mean it dat way, love. ‘m glad we finally met, it was about time, anyways,” Harry insists, and you nod before continuing to place a book at each desk. “Hey wait, you said you were short and all plain in yer note. No, yer not, ya fibber.”

“Oh like your description was any more accurate,” you scoff lightheartedly, setting down a book before grabbing another from your dwindling stack. 

His rich laugh meets your ears, and you can’t resist looking over to him. “Ya didn’t give yerself enough credit, ya know,” he almost coos, and you swear your heart melted into a puddle right then and there. That’s if it hadn’t done so already when you realized he’s Green Eyes. Swoon. 

It’s hard to hold back the excitement curling at the edge of your lips. Soon, you run out of books again and when you take a peek at him, so has he. 

“Were ya gonna go?” he questions, and you deal him one when you look at him confused. “T’ tha game, I mean.”

Your body feels like jello, and that any move you make would be sloppy. Embarrassing. That’s the last thing you want to look like in front of him. With his dazzling smile, adorably dimpled cheeks, and the cozy vibes he’s giving off. Not to mention, the clean citrus scent wafting off of him. A smell you certainly would be okay with smelling for hours on end. If only. 

“Well bloody Rob around tha corner bailed on me, so I have an extra ticket now. Would ya like t’ join me? I was thinkin’ o’ grabbin’ a sub from ‘round tha corner befo’. Concession food ‘s always too expensive, and never worth tha lines at halftime,” Harry suggests, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One corner of his mouth climbs up his cheek, making you feel like maybe you’re not alone in these jumbled feelings. Or in the fun you’ve had carrying on this blind relationship with him. 

“Yeah, that sounds like fun. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better than the few words Post-It notes can hold.”

Slowly, the other corner of his lips curls upwards, making the dimple fall into his cheek once again. Nodding, his lips split into a full-fledged smile, singing with a chuckle. “I’d really like that,” he reveals before venturing to the door and shutting off the light. Extending an arm, he waves a hand towards himself.

“Hold on, let me get my things.”

“No rush. ’s not like ‘ve waited seven months fer dis or anythin’,” he quips. By now, you’re certain your face resembles a tomato. You hope that in the muted light, perhaps he won’t notice. 

Hurriedly, you slip on your light coat and drape your bag over your shoulder. Your eyes catch something as you’re tucking your phone in your pocket. Grabbing one last thing, you turn to find him watching you from the lit doorway. 

“What?” he wonders aloud, still with that smile etched onto his face. One you’re fairly sure you could get used to seeing. 

“Here,” you tell him, placing the Post-It note in his palm. His fingers dotted with dark hairs brush against you, just for a second longer than need be. 

“Ah, can’t forget dis now. Important stuff here.”

“Indeed,” you note, stifling a laugh as the sarcasm floats in the air. 

You observe his eyes flit across the paper holding your cursive as your steps echo down the empty hallway. 

“Hmmm, funny. It says ‘would you like to meet up sometime’ on here,” Harry reads, casting his twinkling eyes to you. Green eyes. “I was jus’ ‘bout t’ ask ya tha same thing on me next note. But I had sumthin’ that woulda took tha cake fer sure.”

“What’s that?” you remark, wondering how that could be. Those thoughts fly out the window when you feel his arm come around your shoulder. A squeal sounds inside of your head, but hey, at least that’s far less embarrassing than doing it out loud. 

“I was gonna tell ya dat Tracy across tha hall from me ‘s leavin’ afta dis year, and I may have recommended a certain sumbody t’ tha principal t’ replace her,” Harry hums, a knowing glint dancing in his eyes as they hover over you. “What d’ya say t’ bein’ colleagues instead o’ bein’ me sub?”

“I think I could get used to that,” you answer, letting your smile take over your entire face.

“So could I, love. So could I.” 

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #writing #your name #blurb #oneshot #harry styles #one direction #one direction x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles concept #wattpad #narrymccartney #narrymccartney writes

[snifflyjoonie]

A Rose by Any Other Name

In which Min Yoongi finally takes Park Jimin out on a real, proper date.

(a little) snz-centric featuring a slightly allergic Yoongi and an incredibly endeared Jimin. 

Word Count: 3855

FlowerShop!AU Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n: I...have no excuses. I’m in a mood. Bear with me again, lol. There will be a break from the boys I swear. That being said though, I still hope you guys find some enjoyment out of this silly little thing! 💕 side note if you happen to read this: for the next chapter are we wanting a yoongi focus or a jimin focus? I’m not going to give away whaaaat will be happening exactly, (you can maybe get a hint via the moodboard on my masterpost page lol) but -- If you have a preference please let me know! 

-

It took two full weeks for Yoongi’s cold to fully make its way through Jimin’s system. To Jimin, it really hadn’t been that bad. Once his fever had broken by day three, the remaining symptoms were simply a mild nuisance more than anything else. 

As he recovered, he made sure to thank Namjoon profusely for stepping in to help with his deliveries. The day off to rest had really been his saving grace, and there just weren’t enough gift baskets in the world that could truly express the proper amount of gratitude Jimin wanted to convey to his long-time friend. 

Just as Namjoon had promised, the deliveries went off without a hitch, and the man had ended up genuinely enjoying the work. So much so in fact, that he offered to keep it up during the day in order to ease Jimin’s workload. Touched that Namjoon even wanted to do so, the florist had happily agreed, and the two men hurried to work out the necessary details one-on-one. Not long after, Namjoon officially became the shop’s first real employee: a much-needed delivery driver who always seemed to have a smile on his face no matter the occasion. They were an unstoppable duo.

And then, there was Yoongi. 

As the two men took the time they needed to recover from each of their respected colds, they rarely missed a day of messaging. Once Yoongi had broken the ice about wanting to take Jimin on a date, there really was no stopping the mutual pining that only seemed to increase the more time they spent apart. To help combat this, Yoongi made sure not to shy away from showing up on Jimin’s doorstep once or twice to drop off things like Nyquil or ibuprofen. It was his own silly nod to the florist’s previous impromptu visit, and Jimin was always grateful whenever he’d choose to swing by, no matter how brief.

However now that it was two weeks later and both men were healthy, Jimin was in the process of getting ready for their first official date. 

He had been on dates before, of course — At twenty-five he had in fact been on a lot of dates — but something about this one had felt different right from the get go. Yoongi was unique. There was just something about him that had drawn Jimin in from the moment the man had set foot into his flower shop nearly a month prior. He held himself with a mysterious air of nonchalance that reminded Jimin of strolling through an art museum or laying down in the street while it rained. He was special, and Jimin had picked up on that right away. The florist was eager to learn more about what kind of a person he was underneath the cryptic layers he guarded himself with. In fact, he almost felt privileged that Yoongi seemed to want to share a new vulnerable side of himself with him, and open up more fully.

They had planned for dinner at some fancy restaurant that Jimin wasn’t familiar with but Yoongi swore up and down by. The man’s excitement of the choice in turn amped up Jimin’s own, and it left the florist feeling like a perfect fifty-fifty mix of anticipation and uneasiness.

Not wanting to overdress, Jimin ended up deciding on an outfit that felt both comfortable yet put together. It hugged his body in all the right places and made him feel confident and secure. His figure was one of his strongest personal assets, and he enjoyed showing it off when he could. Today was definitely not an exception. 

Jimin ended up ready for the date nearly a full hour before Yoongi was supposed to pick him up, and it left him spending most of his time pacing his apartment out of pure nervousness. He really liked Yoongi, and because of that, really didn’t want to mess anything up. He may’ve been a risk taker, but he was also prone to letting his anxieties get the better of him. This was especially true when it came to dates, and even more so when it came to Yoongi. 

In an attempt to distract himself, Jimin spent the rest of his time flipping through channels on his television. He tried to pay attention to a handful of shows, but his mind was elsewhere — too full of what was to come to keep up with any of the bad sitcom plots. 

By the time Yoongi texted him to let him know he was on his way, Jimin had flipped through at least thirty of the channels. The butterflies that swirled in his gut as he read the message caused his stomach to bubble with sour nausea. He let out a stuttering sigh and tried to calm himself down, running shaky hands through his hair before dragging them roughly down his face. He needed to snap himself out of it and he knew it. If he didn’t, he feared he might make himself sick. 

Taking another unsteady breath in through his nose, Jimin allowed his mind to wander to Namjoon and the way his friend had described his ex-coworker. He had said Yoongi was quiet, but had a heart of gold; was funny, but not someone you’d want to piss off. To Namjoon, Yoongi was actually a bit of an enigma, and he didn’t shy away from letting Jimin know this. The sensitive florist had been thankful for the forewarning as he’d had his heart broken one too many times to warrant it happening again. However, instead of being scared off by the prospect, he was left feeling only intrigued —  who really was Min Yoongi if even his co-workers hadn’t truly known him?

Jimin was abruptly pulled back to reality by a knock that echoed through his apartment. He swallowed thickly when he felt his heart leap into his throat and allowed himself one final deep breath to calm his nerves before rushing to the door. It was now or never.

As he pulled it open, there stood Min Yoongi. 

The man was dressed in a form fitting button up that he paired with a stylish black blazer and matching slacks. It was the most put together Jimin had ever seen him, and the sight made his heart race. He took it all in, eyeing the man up and down. He honed in on the little things like the specific way his bangs rested against his eyebrows, and the way his colourful tattoos poked out from beneath his tailored sleeves. He was breathtaking, but even so, what stunned Jimin the most was the single red rose that he held delicately in his left hand.

“Hey, Jimin.” Yoongi finally spoke, smiling softly at the florist.

“Yoongi,” Jimin breathed, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. “hey.”

Yoongi’s smile extended wider still, his gums poking out from beneath his lips as his eyes crinkled at the very corners. He extended the rose out to the other, and Jimin accepted it graciously.

“Before you ask, a friend of mine grows them.” He laughed at his own explanation and ran a knuckle against the underside of his nose. “I called in a favour. His are not quite as nice as yours, but I figured it would do.” He winked and Jimin instantly felt his cheeks warm as he averted his eyes, instead choosing to focus his attention on the gorgeous rose. If Yoongi kept up the sweet talking he fully expected to turn just as red as the flower in his hands.

“Anyway,” Yoongi continued as he stole a quick glance over his shoulder towards his still-running car. “Ready to get out of here?”

*

The city’s bustling nightlife sped by in gorgeous streaks of blues and reds as Yoongi drove the two towards their destination. Jimin was near mesmerized by the sights outside of his window as he typically didn’t spend much time on this end of the city, let alone spend said time out during the evening. He wasn’t really much of an extrovert by nature and ended up spending most of his evenings either scurrying around his shop or simply at home with a good book. He had initially pegged Yoongi as being the opposite — someone who used to bartend with Namjoon had to be as outgoing and boisterous as he. However, as he spent more time with the other, the confidence he originally had in this assumption began to falter. Now, he really didn’t know what to make of him. Getting to know Yoongi was like trying to read text in a language he wasn’t fluent in.

The pair spent the beginning of their drive in silence, the quietness of the car only being broken by Yoongi’s occasional sniffling as Jimin’s gaze stayed firmly locked onto the unexpected rose that he held in his hands. The man knew Jimin was aware of his allergy, and yet he had arrived on his doorstep with the beautiful flower anyway. Jimin was grateful, but he did find it a bit peculiar — why put yourself through the nuisance of an allergy for a simple gift? Because he was a florist? Because flowers were something he was passionate about? Maybe that was just the kind of person Yoongi was: someone who valued others’ joy over their own suffering. Jimin really didn’t know what to make of him or the gesture. 

Getting fed up with the silence and his own over-analytical thoughts, Jimin forced himself to pull his attention from the rose and instead to Yoongi, and mustered up as much courage as he could to try and start up a conversation.

“So…” He managed to huff as he crossed his legs, warranting a curious side eye from the other. “Do you take all of your first dates to this place?”

The question made Yoongi snort and he shook his head a bit at Jimin’s bluntness.

“Only the special ones.” He retaliated, stealing another glance at Jimin from behind the wheel as he swiped his thumb against his nose.

“And...how many of those were there?”

There was a pause as Yoongi allowed himself a moment to search for the right answer.

“Well, just you.”

Jimin felt his face flush instantly as he let his gaze fall back down to the rose held softly in his hands. He heard Yoongi chuckle fondly at his lack-of response and felt his blush deepen still. He seemed to know just what to say to make the blood rush to Jimin’s cheeks within seconds. He’d been able to do so since the day he walked into Jimin’s flower shop, and Jimin knew he was in trouble the very moment Yoongi had opened his mouth. It had been a long time since anyone had had this type of affect on him, and the prospect of what that meant made his stomach flip. Unsure of how to respond, Jimin simply continued to let Yoongi chuckle to himself and carefully fiddled with the petals of his flower. 

Just then, Yoongi’s laughter died on his tongue as a sudden wavering breath shuddered its way out of him. Acting fast, the man clamped his free hand down hard around his nose and ducked into himself, clearly trying to turn out of Jimin’s view as he forcefully stifled a sneeze into his palm. 

“huh—NGx’ttschhiuew!— shit, sorry.”

“Oh, bless you.” Jimin offered sympathetically as Yoongi straightened himself back up and sniffled into his hand. “It’s the rose, isn’t it? I should’ve left it at home.”

Yoongi waved off the other’s suggestion and fished a tissue out from the pocket of his blazer, bringing it up to dab at his nose.

“No, no, you’re fine. I expected you to bring it.” He scoffed, visibly annoyed by his own allergy. “It’s really my own fault. I didn’t think only one would get to me like this. Must just be the closed space of the car.”

Jimin hummed in agreeance as Yoongi sniffled sharply against his tissue. He couldn’t help but feel bad even though the other had really dug his own grave by bringing the flower as a gift in the first place.

“I mean,” Jimin started. “if it’ll help I can just get rid of it when we get to the—”

Yoongi’s free hand snapped to his chest and he gripped his shirt as if he’d be shot.

“Jimin.” He cut off the other with an over dramatic grimace plastered on his face. “Get rid of it? You wound me.”

Jimin shook his head, unable to suppress a laugh as it bubbled its way to the surface. He had only ever gotten small glimpses of Yoongi’s sense of humour in the short time they’d known each other, so he had found himself mostly unsure of what to expect. The man had always seemed so serious and stoic whereas Jimin considered himself to be a bit of a goofball. Laughter was important to him, and the fact that Yoongi was coaxing out waves of it only solidified Jimin’s infatuation.

“Hey,” Jimin managed through another laugh. “you know I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just...I remember how you got the last time, that’s all.”

“You mean how we got last time?” Yoongi retorted as he raked his fingers through his hair. There was a playful grin stuck on his face that made Jimin feel slightly self-cautious as he recalled their first encounter. Yoongi wasn’t lying — they were both a mess.

“That’s not fair.” Jimin groaned with a shake of his head. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, technically, neither can I.”

The florist let his rose fall delicately into his lap before folding his arms across his chest and sighing. Yoongi had a point, though their circumstances were vastly different. 

“Anyway, it doesn’t really matter,” Yoongi chuckled as he expertly brought his car around a tight bend. “We’re here.”

Jimin blinked in surprise and turned his attention back out of the passenger window as the pair turned into the restaurant's parking lot. 

Just from the outside alone Jimin could tell the restaurant was on the higher-end, and he couldn’t stop a small noise of surprise from slipping past his lips.

“It’s really good.” Yoongi assured him with a small sniff. Jimin wondered if the man misinterpreted his noise as apprehension. “Think...Asian-fusion. I figured since you liked sushi...” He trailed off, directing a small ticklish cough into his fist.

Jimin hummed and nodded, feeling his stomach flip as Yoongi shimmied his way out of the vehicle. After weeks of build up, the florist could scarcely believe they were finally here together going on a legitimate date. The whole situation almost felt surreal and it made his head swim as he exited the vehicle and stepped out into the cool evening air.

Jimin could smell Yoongi’s sweet cologne as the pair walked side-by-side towards the restaurant. It reminded him of fresh rain in the summertime and sweet, ripe tangerines. The smell contrasted slightly with his more intimidating outward appearance and it made Jimin smile to himself as Yoongi pulled open the heavy doors and gestured for him to go through.

Once inside, Yoongi was quick to take the reins. He led them towards the host stand and let the employee know that ‘Min’s reservation for two’ had arrived. Jimin wasn’t aware Yoongi had even made reservations. He felt himself blush as the host smiled wide, greeting Yoongi with an almost teasing-sounding ‘Mr. Min’ before grabbing two menus and instructing the pair to follow him ‘right this way’.

The table the host led them to was set off to the side in a slightly more secluded, private area. A candle burned brightly in the center of the table, illuminating the place settings and creating a romantic ambiance that made Jimin thickly swallow a lump that had lovingly decided to form in his throat. 

As the host motioned for the pair to sit, Yoongi suddenly snapped at the waist with a vicious sneeze he directed into a tissue that made both Jimin and their host flinch.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry.” The blonde managed, snuffling against his tissue as both men offered taken aback ‘bless yous’.

“Catching a cold, Yoongi?” The host asked. Jimin found it a little odd he chose to call him by his first name, but Yoongi didn’t seem at all phased and instead just shook his head.

“No, it’s…” he sighed, clearly fed up with himself, and simply gestured to Jimin’s rose. 

The same rose that Jimin hadn’t even realized was still clutched in his hand.

“Oh my god,” He exclaimed, taking a slight side step away from Yoongi. “I swear I didn’t even realize I was still holding onto this, I—” He swiveled in the direction of the host and extended the flower out to him with pleading eyes. “I’m so sorry, would you be able to keep this in the back until we’re finished? I don’t want to make him—”

Yoongi sneezed again.

“—don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

The host happily obliged without hesitation, and Jimin was just able to make out the look of appreciation Yoongi shot him as they both took their seats.

As soon as the pair was settled, the host wasted no time listing off the restaurant’s specials as he held the rose behind his back. Jimin’s mind was buzzing too loudly to register much of what the man said, and when he ended by asking if he could grab any drinks, all Jimin could think to say was “water, please.”

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked as he shoved his tissue back into his pocket. “Tonight’s on me, Jimin. Get whatever you like.”

Jimin flushed but insisted he was fine. Yoongi just shrugged and ordered himself some sort of cocktail that Jimin had vaguely registered as being both the restaurant's signature as well as on special that evening. 

The host smiled and Jimin thought he saw him waggle his eyebrows at Yoongi before walking off to enter in their drink orders. Yoongi rolled his eyes.

“Do you...know him?” Jimin questioned curiously.

“Who, Jungkook?” Yoongi asked, jutting his thumb in the direction that the host had gone. Jimin recognized the name from the host’s name tag and nodded in confirmation.

“Sort of.” Yoongi affirmed. “I’ve tattooed him a couple of times. Good kid, just goofy.”

Jimin hummed in response. He was aware that Yoongi was a tattoo artist but beyond that the man had never gone into much detail. For one reason or another, Jimin found it intriguing to get to see Yoongi’s clientele out in the wild.

Before long, Jungkook returned with their drinks, causing Jimin’s eyes to widen as he set down not only a glass of water but a second cocktail as well. He opened his mouth to object, but snapped it shut again when Jungkook winked and assured them it was on the house. Yoongi merely rolled his eyes for a second time and mumbled something about how he would make sure to sneak the kid a tip on their way out.

Now alone for a moment as they waited for their server to arrive, Yoongi wasted no time letting Jimin know what he thought was good, what the place was famous for, and what he recommended the other to try. Jimin couldn’t help but feel endeared by his uncharacteristic enthusiasm and insisted Yoongi order him whatever he thought was best. Once their server arrived — a cheerful man whose name tag read ‘Hoseok’ — Yoongi did just that.

“If you don’t like it, just let me know.” Yoongi instructed, swiping his forefinger against his nose. “I have no problem ordering you something else.”

“I’ll like it.” Jimin giggled, feeling his cheeks grow warm from a combination of giddiness and the few sips he had taken of his cocktail. “I’m not picky, so please don’t worry. I’ll try anything once.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows at the statement and softly chuckled. It wasn’t until he responded that Jimin fully registered what had come out of his own mouth.

“I mean, it’s only our first date but...I guess that’s good to know.”

Jimin choked on another sip of his cocktail and made a grab for his cloth napkin, bringing it up to mouth to try and suppress a series of sputtering coughs. The whole display only seemed to make Yoongi laugh harder and he winked at the other as Hoseok swung by to drop off their appetizers. 

Jimin let out a sigh as he wiped his mouth with his napkin, murmuring an apology to Yoongi to which the blonde simply waved off. As Jimin readjusted, Yoongi was quick to explain which appetizer was which, and Jimin was more than happy to listen to him. There was something about Yoongi’s voice that he found naturally mesmerizing, and Jimin truly believed he could listen to him talk about absolutely anything for hours on end. Yoongi could easily make a story about watching paint dry sound like a New York Times bestseller.

The blonde was in the process of passing over a pair of chopsticks when the florist noticed his eyes start to unfocus mid-sentence. He raised an eyebrow curiously and opened his mouth to ask if everything was alright when Yoongi suddenly cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath.

“hHA’ISSHHhh’iuh!”

He fell into himself with a harsh sneeze he couldn’t contain; leaving delicate wet spots splayed haphazardly across the middle of his white button up shirt. He swore immediately and made a grab for his cloth napkin as a rosy red colour started to creep across his cheeks. 

“Bless you.” Jimin managed, desperately trying to ignore the way his own sinuses had started to prickle. He sniffled sharply and prayed it would be enough to alleviate the oncoming sensation. “You alright?”

“Yeah, just…” Yoongi blew out a breath, clearly embarrassed as he straightened himself back upwards. “Look, I’m really sorry about...all of this.” he gestured to himself with a self deprecating chuckle before continuing. “I’m starting to think the rose wasn’t my smartest idea. I just thought only one might not…” He trailed off with a shake of his head.

“You have no reason to be sorry.” Jimin reassured with a soft smile. “But for next time...I like chocolates, too.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at this.

“Next time, huh?” he echoed, his dark eyes glowing intensely. 

Jimin swallowed. Yoongi’s eyes were like the deepest part of the ocean and nearly twice as mysterious. He could hardly read the expression that sat just beyond them, and it made him fidget in his seat. Had he possibly overstepped his bounds? Had he been too cocky? Did Yoongi think he was —

All of Jimin’s intrusive thoughts were abruptly squashed as Yoongi reached across the table and interlocked his index finger gently with Jimin’s own. His hand was warm, aside from the cool metal of his rings, and he ran his thumb tenderly across Jimin’s knuckle with the smallest hint of a smile on his face.  

“I think I’d like that,” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Jimin breathed. “Me too.”

#remember when i said i like to keep my writings platonic #lol oops #clearly these two mfs are my acception #sorry about my flowershop!au spam pls don't hate me #mine #bts sickfic #allergic!yoongi #bts au #yoonmin #and u know who u are but thank u for the proofread i would die for you #bts snzfic #bts snz