#like if I have to have a long commute either way I’d rather not work in a Big City (derogatory)

[boysplanetrecaps]

Boys Planet Recap, Episode 7 part 3 - Rush Hour 

This recap will cover the Rush Hour rehearsal and performance from Ep 7! People have said they were looking forward to my thoughts on this, so I thought I’d go ahead and put this part up by itself rather than paired with another team. Here we go!

Huta introduces the next song and out comes team Rush Hour.

Left to right: Ma Jing Xiang, Hiroto, Takuto, Ricky, and Oh Sungmin

I’ll remind you that our commuters are:

Trainee name (rank)   Star Level test /Challenge 1 /age final star level

Ricky (12) Kick It - G /Back Door - G /18 ⭐⭐

Takuto (15) Instead Of... /Danger - G /15 ⭐

Hiroto (21) Conduct Zero /Very Nice - G /20 ⭐⭐

Ma Jing Xiang (32) Reveal /Very Nice - G /19 🚫

Oh Sung Min (34) Bloom Bloom /Love Me Right - K /21 ⭐⭐⭐

They introduce themselves as “Awesome Hour.” There is clearly a very loud cheer after Ricky introduces himself, but it is also very clearly cut off by the editing. Ma Jing Xiang’s intro is actually cut off a split second before he finishes saying his name, and the conspiracy theorist in me says they cut off his cheer, too. They pan the audience and we see signs for Ricky, Oh Sung Min, Ma Jing Xiang, and Hiroto -- I think I see more signs for MJX than for anyone else, but that’s just what I see.  

Huta asks Sungmin, “Did you have any difficulties leading the team?” 

There’s a long pause. In the judging room on the space station, vocal judge Onestar says “This team was all over the place.” Solji says, “They should work as a team,” and I’m already on edge. 

I’ll remind you that when we first saw this team rehearsing in episode 6, there was already some bullshit going on. Takuto was having a hard time with the choreo, which happens. But Oh Sungmin was insisting that everyone stay together while Takuto practiced the same line over and over, and the editing tried to make it seem like both Ma Jing Xiang and Ricky were both selfish jerks for wanting to work ahead a bit. I’m not convinced, but we heard from Sungmin and Hiroto talking about how they need better teamwork. 

We get a flashback to the song selection day, to something we didn’t see the first time, and find out that as Ricky approached the Rush Hour team, the sign fell down.   

This whole moment is such a multi-layered metaphor for the way this show works. MNET is trying to present this as if Ricky is a bad luck omen, or as if the sign falling off the wall is symbolic of the troubles the team would have. And yet, the truth is that the signs were poorly applied to the wall, because MNET is cheap and shitty and lazy, and the sign falling had nothing whatsoever to do with these trainees. So the metaphor here isn’t that Ricky is a bad luck omen; the metaphor is that the sign is cheap the way that MNET is cheap. The metaphor is that MNET blaming the trainees for their own sign falling down symbolizes the way they for trainees to do emotionally difficult things and then blame them for their emotional response. The metaphor is that MNET blaming a set design failure on a Chinese trainee is symbolic of how they blame  everything on Chinese trainees. The metaphor is that MNET sucks as bad as this set sucks.  

(I put the preceding in its own post because I felt so passionate about it. Anyway.)

I think the bigger news is how happy MJX is to see Ricky.

Aww! We barely know either of these trainees, so I had no idea that they were friendly. He’s so happy! It’s so cute. (Me in the future knows that this will turn out to be important later, too, though when I screen capped this I had no idea.)

So, we cut to a day or two later. The trainees are in a rehearsal room. MJX is practicing the dance while listening to headphones. Ricky has an idea for a new thing they could do with the choreo, and suggests it to Hiroto. I think Hiroto has a hard time understanding him, and Oh Sungmin isn’t there, and Takuto isn’t helpful, so Ricky tries to ask MJX to help him demonstrate his idea. 

MJX basically refuses even to take out his headphones at first, and then when pushed to it, says that they don’t have enough time, and it’s more important to practice the choreography than it is to make changes to it.

Ricky interviews that he didn’t understand MJX’s perspective, because at that point it was D-6 and in Ricky’s view, they DID have time to make changes. MJX then interviews that they didn’t have time, because in his view, they didn’t. Then Oh Sungmin interview that he finds them both inconsiderate.

Sigh. This is like one of those “Am I the asshole?” posts on reddit, and I want to vote, “NAH” -- no assholes here. 

Ricky is a strong dancer and has a lot of cool ideas, and besides, part of what the trainees are demonstrating in this battle is their choreography skills. The upcoming elimination probably isn’t that scary to him --- he knows he has a solid fan base and is likely to make it, so he’s not stressed out. He knows intellectually that MJX and Sungmin aren’t in that position, but it’s probably too much for him to stay constantly focused on. Also, he probably assumes that if their team wins the position battle, the extra votes will help save them too, so he’d better make their performance as cool as possible! He just wants to share what he’s good at with his teammates, like a gift… Why shouldn’t they utilize his skills, if he has them? 

Meanwhile, from MJX’s perspective, changing the choreography all the time is making a difficult situation even worse. He’s not a strong dancer, and I assume he’s terrified of being scolded by the psychopath dance teachers. He also, presumably, doesn’t want to put on a bad performance that gets mocked online. And of course, he doesn’t want to go home, but he’s ranked 32 and things don’t look good for him. He probably resents Ricky a little bit, subconsciously -- Ricky is a good dancer, Ricky is super popular, Ricky speaks Korean better than he does (though MJX speaks it decently), and Ricky is ALWAYS trying to change the choreo. MJX is stressed out and ready to snap, and Ricky is just piling on more stress. Yeah, the level to which he’s angry isn’t great. But it’s understandable, if you get me. He’s scared, and fear often can manifest as anger. 

Meanwhile, what Sungmin sees is bickering and time-wasting while he’s trying to lead. Chinese culture is really different from his, and even their normal interactions probably seem brash and rude to him -- not saying that he’s racist, just saying that it’s hard to NOT view people through the lens of what you’re used to in your own culture. Also, Sungmin is already so stressed out trying to get Takuto on track with the dance, and meanwhile he himself is actually the lowest ranked on the team and probably scared of going home. He’s down to his last nerve, and they’re getting on it. 

Yes, it would be great if they could say to themselves and each other, “Wow, the stress is getting to me. I’m sorry. Let’s try to find a compromise.” I think a leader like formerly blue-haired Park Hanbin or Mr. Sexy Kim Jiwoong could, each in his own way, resolve this -- Hanbin by keeping control from the first minute, and Jiwoong by using his emotional intelligence to get everyone talking honestly about how they’re feeling and encouraging compromise. (Though Jiwoong would haaaaaaaaaaate being in this situation.) 

But Oh Sungmin isn’t quite up to the challenge, and it’s a lot to ask from these stressed out teenagers that they exert that kind of control over their emotional responses. We see Sungmin trying to smooth things over by reminding them of their common goal. But things have already gone too far, and they need a bigger intervention than that. 

That night, Takuto -- who has a little set of plushie letters spelling his name in English, and has his official red and white pjs still on his bed -- is getting pretty upset. 

Remember, he’s 15 -- to him, having the hyungs all fighting probably feels like when your mom and dad fight. They’re also taller than him, and he doesn’t understand their language very well. And meanwhile, the dancing is already really really difficult for him. He’s got to be near collapse.

The next day, MJX is still really prickly and difficult to work with again. He won’t budge an inch, even when Sungmin tries to offer a compromise. There’s a bit in the choreo where Ricky is supposed to playfully push MJX out of the way, and MJX is saying that he “knows” that Ricky will push him really hard later on -- something he can’t know, because it’s in the future. In other words, he’s irrational. It’s not easy to watch.

The formerly blue-hared Park Hanbin, who has been sharing a rehearsal room with them (why can’t each team have its own room???) has noticed, and interviews, “The Rush Hour team can’t communicate with each other. To be honest, I don’t think they’re willing to do it.” 

I think Hanbin is on to something there. I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but I theorize that for MJX, it’s easier to stay angry, because while you’re angry, you have a shield up. As long as he’s blaming Ricky for making things difficult, he’s not thinking as much about how poor his own skills are. Sitting down and having a talk, a real talk, would involve admitting how scared he is and how sad he is and how envious he probably is. It’s not something he really wants to do. Angry is safe. Don’t get me wrong - he’s acting like a complete jerk. It’s just that I can understand why and empathize with him anyway, because I’ve been in his shoes. I think we all have.

Takuto starts to cry out of frustration and probably hopelessness, and Sungmin tries to comfort him (Sungmin speaks a bit of Japanese to him, which is sweet). MJX doesn’t acknowledge what’s going on -- he just wants to keep going. Oh Sungmin tries to have an actual group conversation, but MJX says, “Sungmin-hyung, You don’t have to explain, we just have to practice.” He’s quite close to Sungmin as he says it, and tensions feel high. Hiroto tries to say that if they don’t resolve the situation, it’ll keep happening, but MJX isn’t listening. He’s found an emotional level to be on that feels safe and he’s going to stay there. Finally, Sungmin has to walk away to calm down. I noticed that MJX immediately pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and begins practicing his rap the second that Sungmin is just a few steps away. You can feel the anxiety vibrating out of MJX, but that doesn’t help Sungmin, who is hiding in a stairwell and trying not to cry.

Time passes, and now it’s day D-1 -- dress rehearsal. What have the the boys been doing for three days? We’re left to assume that they’ve been in this exact same tense state the whole time, and if so, that’s awful. I guess they’ve just been running rehearsals with MJX in this emotional state the whole time.

They perform their dress rehearsal -- we don’t see much of it -- and when they’re done, the judges say, “it’s not fun because you’re not having fun.” Presumably they’d have other feedback, but we don’t hear any of it. The storyline isn’t about whether Hiroto is pronouncing Korean correctly or not, or whether Ricky wrote a fun rap or not, or whether Takuto did the dance well or not, or whether Oh Sungmin looks cute up on stage or not. It’s about how MJX is a jerk, and so the only feedback we hear is the feedback that pertains to that. 

That night, they have a meeting in the dorm room. (We can see that a few of them are wearing their official pajamas.) Oh Sungmin says, “I left my group (T01) to be here, and I feel like my life is in danger -- if I don’t make it here, I can’t be an idol.” I don’t know if that’s true, Sungmin -- you’re signed to WakeOne. But anyway.

Hiroto says, in essence, “Me too, this is my third shot, and I feel like it’s my last chance.” And MNET isn’t doing you any favors, either, Hiroto-kun. Ganbatte kudasai, Hiroto-kun! 

MJX says, “I don’t want this to prevent us from giving a good performance, either. I’ll trust everyone and keep going.”  I still feel tension radiating from him, but I can see he’s trying to take it down a notch. 

Ricky says, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

It’s interesting that we don’t see MJX apologize -- I feel like he would have? He’d have to, right? But MNET doesn’t show it. 

MJX and Ricky give each other an awkward hug, which seems to be initiated more by MJX than by Ricky, and there’s some awkward laughter. MJX interviews that they said what they needed to say to one another -- it's easier for him to forgive the others than I think it is for them to forgive him, I think. Also, I think he and Ricky really are friends, so their arguing, while uncomfortable to everyone else, probably felt "safe" to them -- they knew they'd make up sooner or later.

The meeting probably helped, but I think it was like shoving stuff into drawers and saying you've cleaned. Just like how you have to get all the junk out from under your bed if you're really, really going to clean, I think they needed to have a real knock-down drag out FIGHT, with full on yelling even, if necessary, get it all out, and then talk it out. But I think they were all kind of scared to go there, and sometimes it's easier to just make up than it is to talk it out.

Anyway.

It’s D-day, and they huddle backstage. Sungmin says, “it doesn’t matter what our process was -- we just need to have fun. I love you all.” Ricky says, “I love you all” too, and they do a “hana-dul-set, FIGHTING!”  

So, that brings us to the performance. And before we get there, I’ll just say my final thoughts on all of this squabbling. As I said above, no one here is an irredeemable asshole. This is a group of extremely stressed out young men. They’re put in a situation in which they are competing with each other constantly, and yet are expected to get along with each other perfectly. They’re supposed to put on a team performance, and yet they will be ranked afterward, with the best team member winning extra points. It must be so stressful and draining. I know I couldn't do it!

Did MNET “evil edit” MJX? Well, yes and no. I mean, he did do those things, just as Lee Da Eul really did treat his team like they were his underlings. Those are things that happened. MNET “evil edited” them by… showing that. However, MNET created a situation in which power dynamics would be all out of whack, in which constant competition leaves everyone scared and constant rehearsal leaves everyone physically exhausted, and in which constant berating from psychopath judges leave everyone traumatized. In other words, my earlier statement holds: MNET makes trainees do emotionally difficult things and then blames them for their emotional response. 

So, what’s the solution? Well, for starters, I think it would be good if MNET gave the boys a few more days to rehearse, which would lead to decreased stress AND better performances. That’s win win! I think they need to provide more access to translators -- they could start by installing google translate in those tablets the boys have. I also think that it wouldn’t hurt to have some sort of guidance available from the staff -- counselors, mediators, something like that. Even just a sort of “dorm mother” who is there to look after especially the younger members -- if there was someone watching over the 15 years olds, there would be less pressure on the 18 year olds. And the upper management really has to reconsider what is acceptable and what isn’t acceptable when it comes to the judges’ behavior. I have friends who do theater, and they tell me that being a sociopathic asshole is “normal” from dance teachers, but it shouldn’t be.  

Ultimately, though, a show like this is going to do this. Any real pressure on MNET to improve conditions will probably have to come from the Korean population, not from us Global fans. I console myself in knowing that I’ll support these trainees on their stages to come. 

The performance

If you’re curious as to what they actually say in their raps, I found these lyrics. Lyrics that were in English and didn’t need translation are in green. Note that the first line of Ricky’s rap was already in the original song.

Ricky:

Yo I’ve been walking on the street yo From UN Village to Hangangjin Station, Ladies know my name, Mr. young and rich ya, Pop champagne take a chill, feel my feel, everyone get out of the way

MJX:

People ask me to look at my reflection in the cold mirror from a few years ago, Man in the mirror, now it shines, my natural flow, You gotta get some to the top, child you’re doing well

Sungmin

Now I’m feeling like a funky boy dance like this, Everyone follow me, look carefully, even if I rap. I’ll go to a higher place than others

Takuto: 

Even if I’m not confident, the star protects me, it’s dark to me, there’s no future, I’m still very young, still I’m worried about the challenge, so I’m going to watch Toyonaga Takuto.

(much later in the song)

Hiroto:

I’m a homebody, but on stage, I show and prove, Once you see me, you can’t forget me, We living live in busy planet, Sooner or later we’ll be filling up in our name

My Take

I wish I’d thought to watch the performance on Youtube before I watched all the behind-the-scenes stuff, because I’m sure it colored my view. But really, I think it came out ok. The song and general choreo style are both so high energy that even a remotely decent performance of it will be fun to watch. I don’t think I would have picked up on their backstage tension just by watching this. 

MJX is bubbly and fun on stage, and did a surprisingly decent job at both rapping and dancing compared to what we’ve seen in the past from him. I think he may have actually been the best rapper on the team, which is a wild statement to make, but, yeah, I think so. He looked like he was having fun, too. 

Oh Sungmin’s rap was surprisingly basic for a native speaker, but I actually liked his flow despite that, and despite the fact that he is a vocalist, not a rapper. He was ranked pretty low and probably got pushed out of the song he wanted. He has a lot of charm on stage -- this might be the first time that I’ve really seen what he can do on stage this way, because he was so overshadowed in Love Me Right. 

Speaking of first times, I think this is the first time I really got it why people like Ricky so much. He looked a lot more comfortable on this stage than I’ve seen him in the past, and he owned that center position even when he was on the side of the stage. Also, he’s really a master of looking super serious and then dropping a smile that catches you by surprise. I still think he’s a bit stiff, but it’s hard to do choreography in time with others when you’re taller than them. Also, he makes that microphone disappear into the sub-ether after he uses it. I’ve watched that part like 10 times and I can’t figure out where he puts it! That’s some stage trickery right there. No matter whether he makes it to the top 9 or not, the Yuehua group that will debut out of this show will be stacked! 

Hiroto’s a cutie pie. His rapping wasn’t anything to write home about, but I think his Korean is still pretty shaky and it must be tough. His little dance solo at about 1:53 was a lot of fun and perfectly in line with the feeling of the song -- I wonder if he choreographed it? 

I know Takuto is trying his best, but his dancing is weak it looks almost half-hearted, and throws off the syncing for the group as a whole. You can see some of the adjustments the team made for him -- they gave him a microphone to hold while he rapped, to give him something to do with his hands (it was pretty funny when he held the mic out while he said the last word and it was super obvious the mic wasn’t on). They also gave him a little mini dance solo in which he did the main repeating dance move, just by himself. They also let him do his one big move, that back flip he also did in his star level test, and he landed it much better this time than he did the first time. I really hope he doesn’t pass through this next elimination round, since it is clear to me at least that there are more deserving trainees here, but I’ve come around to liking him. He’s a genuine, hard working, well-intentioned kid, and while he is obviously not ready to debut, who knows, in a few years he might be.

The editing

There’s a lot of focus on how handsome Ricky and MJX are, and how cute Takuto is. Predictably, Sungmin and Hiroto are largely neglected. We see Takuto’s flip several times, but there’s no focus on Hiroto’s dance break, for example.

Afterward, the judges talk about how the team didn’t look like they were having fun on stage, and I really think that their opinion was colored by knowing the back story. They also say that they think Hiroto has had bad luck -- which, yeah, I don’t know if it’s luck exactly that happened to Hiroto. 

The voting 

Ricky takes the win with 745 votes, and we see a real genuine smile from him, not a stage smirk, and it’s very charming. 

Oh Sungmin can’t quite bring himself to smile about it, though -- he worked so hard and is probably not going to see much reward for it. But you’re WakeOne, lovey! You’ll redebut with Kim TaeRae and Park Hanbin and Anthonny and Haruto and it’ll be ok… I hope.   

We find out that Takuto came in last with 569 votes. That’s a decent tally, though, for him. He interviews, in Korean, that he was a little bit sad, but satisfied because he did everything he could. He’s learned an insane amount in a short period of time and really defied my first impression of him. 

In an interview, Oh Sungmin responds to a question that must have been something like, “how did it feel to perform together?” 

He says, “It just felt like were performing together. A lot of things happened, but I’m glad we’re done with it.” After a brief pause he adds, “I think we did well.” 

Yeah, there’s still a lot of resentment there. Really, I feel bad for everyone on this team. This was just sort of a clusterfuck.

And that's it for this recap! I'll pick up later with my thoughts on Limousine and whatever song is after that!

#Ricky #Takuto #Hiroto #Ma Jing Xiang #Oh Sungmin #Oh Sung Min #t01 #to1 jermone #boys planet #boys planet recap #boysplanet999 #boysplanet #boys planet 999 #rush hour

[thessalian]

Thess vs the 168 Bus

Quite apart from worrying about the truly ugly state of the world at the moment, today’s commute was a fairly large slice of hell.

Something’s been going on with the 168 bus to Hampstead Heath. As in, one won’t show up for, like, half an hour no matter what the live-update system says. Two days in a row now, I’ve ended up at the very start of that bus route, waiting, while the live-update system said that the bus was due for twenty minutes before it deigned to show up. Hasn’t been great going the opposite way either, but at least then it’s not a “late for work” thing.

So anyway, today I got on the bus fairly late, but since I arrange things so I get into work early, I figured I’d be okay.

Except then there was an ambulance blocking the bus lane somewhere around Holborn. Which, y’know, shit happens, but still aggravating, especially when the traffic’s bad and none of the drivers will allow the bus to merge into the one remaining lane just long enough to get around the ambulance. Because no, that would be civil.

Then there were the roadworks around Russell Square. Again, single lane, no one letting us merge... By the time I got as far as Euston, it was 10:55am, I already knew the bus would be on diversion around Camden High Street because Thames Water has apparently decided to rip up all the streets at once, and honestly, much as I didn’t want the expenditure of the Tube, I wanted to be as close to on time as I could and avoid this traffic bullshit. So I got off at Euston to catch the Tube.

I forgot a few things about Euston. Like, how it’s a pretty big station, both on the horizontal and vertical planes. And of course, the platform I wanted was down, like, three escalators and across the station from the entrance. And then I had to get off at Belsize Park, which isn’t particularly step-free on the underground levels (at least it has elevators), and then walk the quarter-mile to work on top of all the other walking I had to do. Which was slow going because I already hurt like you wouldn’t believe.

So I got into work twenty minutes late, aching and frustrated. Thankfully, no one made an issue of it - I guess when you routinely get in 10-15 minutes early, you can be forgiven for lateness of that type. Besides, everybody knows what public transport is like.

One good thing - we’re slightly less understaffed now. The elderly lady who always tells me I’m looking well no matter how shit I actually feel came back! Apparently she was away so long because of a couple of slip-and-fall accidents immediately after a pretty bad case of Covid, so it’s not surprising she’s been away so long. No word on the lady away for maternity leave, though. And honestly, Scruffman’s starting to piss everybody off with his lack of communication. I’m used to Temp sounding off about him (and she definitely had every right to today, since he apparently threw her under the bus when someone complained about one small, easy-to-miss transposition error in a bit of typing, when she’d been basically perfect for an entire year and didn’t deserve what the complainer was saying), but Milady? I have never heard Milady go off like that before. Anyway, we’ve made a reasonable dent in the backlog to the point where we actually got to some of today’s typing today. Though I have discovered that while Temp is at least easing off the “Leave all the long shit for someone else to deal with” bullshit, Goblin has taken up that mantle with a vengeance.

Anyway. Got through the day, was looking forward to just having a nap on the long bus ride from Hampstead to Elephant and Castle, where I switch buses on the way home. And, just as we hit Euston, we get the recorded announcement of, “Destination change. Please listen for further announcements”.

Oh fuck, think I.

Then we get the ‘further announcement’, to wit: “168 ... to ... Russell Square”.

Russell Square is only like two stops from Euston. So basically we were going to be thrown off the bus sooner rather than later. Which ... well, fuck, here we go again. Given my options, I thought I’d cross the road and go over to Euston bus station, where I could get a 68 either to Elephant and Castle or just off to Tulse Hill where I could get a different connecting bus home. Except when I got there, the bus had just left the station and was on the main road, waiting at the intersection. The next one wasn’t supposed to come for another fifteen minutes, so I had a snack and considered my options.

When I was done with my snack, the bus still had not moved, nor had any of the other traffic at that intersection, which indicated an accident or other road-closing situation. I considered the rest of my options and, with a grumble and a sigh, went back to Euston for the Tube.

Euston’s bad enough to navigate as a station. Elephant and Castle is worse. There are two separate entrances for two separate lines - I mean, you can access both no matter which line you took, but if, say, you travelled there on the Northern Line but wanted to leave via the Bakerloo Line entrance because that’s closer to your bus stop (and the stop you could use that’s nearest the Northern Line entrance is shut for yet more fucking roadworks), you have to walk through the station to the Bakerloo Line platform - again, long hike plus stairs - to get to the right elevator to get out.

And by the time I’d done all that, I was tired, in serious pain, and had missed my bus. Thankfully another wasn’t too far behind, but still. This was shit I did not need.

I don’t know what I’m going to do about the 168. If it keeps being unreliable like this, how the hell am I supposed to get to work? I can’t just leave a half-hour earlier. I might as well not be part-time at all if I do that. The Tube is expensive and I hate it, and I don’t like relying on the Overground because they’re always involved in the strike action (I support the strike; I’m just not going to be a scab). They really need to get a move on with this work from home thing.

#Thess has a commute #Thess has a day job

[lolefram]

October 31th

Was thinking about you a bunch again today. I don’t know what triggers it, some days you’re just with me more than other days. I was thinking about how I miss hearing you do your stupid British accent earlier. I find myself wondering what you’re doing and how you’re doing at given moments throughout the day

That ex girlfriend of mine, Maddy, and I caught up on Saturday. She hit me up on social media and asked if I wanted to chat. She hit me up before, like maybe February, but I declined because it didn’t feel appropriate, so it’s been well over 2 years since we had a conversation. We talked for a good long while, about stuff in her life, my life, etc. It’s always nice to catch up with someone from previous chapters in life and compare notes. Sometimes it feels nice to feel connected to the past, I’m not sure how to put it. Before you think it’s some kind of romantic thing her husband was across the room and chimed in from time to time so it’s not like that. She’s still kind of an angry feminist type, I wondered if she’d ever grow out of that. However she’s not a bad friend to confide in when it comes to relationship stuff and all that. She had a few insightful things to say here and there about our breakup but ultimately there’s not all that much to say, and I didn’t really care to dive too deep into it anyways. She told me to get on the apps and start dating people again. I’m not overly enthusiastic to do so as you might imagine. Trying to get a relationship going over benign “get to know you” questions that absolutely no one finds engaging. I think I might just rather die alone. 

Honestly sometimes I wonder how much you want me to include in this damn thing. Would you prefer I leave some things out? Do you want me to leave out the parts where I talk about how I’ve been thinking about you? Well too bad, this is my blog and you’re along for the ride. That being said I would just like to say that sometimes I wish we could just start over. Sometimes I think back to the first day you told me you were planning to move and wish I’d told you not to. Why couldn’t we just start small with just a visit first? Why couldn’t we just meet each other first instead of putting all this pressure on such an important decision? Hindsight’s 20/20 I guess. Either way it still doesn’t quite feel right the way it all went down, and I hope you’d agree with me on that. I don’t know how else to put it, or if you feel similarly for that matter, other than that it just doesn’t feel right. Perhaps that feeling will fade with more time, I don’t know. 

Anyways the new job’s going good. One guy I made friends with got fired so that sucks. I don’t love my boss but she seems to respect me a little more and more as time goes by, because I’m not such a noob. Money’s okay. Just trying to stay disciplined and healthy. Talked to my mom the other day. She’s happy to hear about the new job going well and all that. Last weekend I went with amber and RJ to go on a hike and go camping in Sedona, that was the best weekend I’ve had in a good long while. We visited this old mining town up in the mountains, you should have seen it. It’s like a historical site now so all the buildings are like 150 years old or whatever but it’s still very much alive. There’s all these little shops and cafes and stuff. Hardly anybody lives there, but people commute to work at the cafes and shops and shit and it’s all very cool looking. The view is ridiculous. It’s like a postcard, I should have taken a picture and posted it. 

I really hope you’re doing alright. I think about that more than any of my other thoughts about you these days. I hope your brother’s doing okay and your new (but also old) job is going well, if you’ve started it yet, I can’t remember when you said you’d be starting. They better pay you more now that you’re all credentialed and shit. I just hope you can say that you’re happy and healthy, I think about it very often.

Okay I’ve got to get in bed. I’ll speak to you another time

[thesixthstar]

Aaaaaah the interview that got interrupted yesterday was my preferred opportunity but the company I interviewed with last week just offered me a job and said I have until tomorrow to respond!

#tag #I’m emailing the person from yesterday to update her and ask for details and if she thinks I’m a good fit #even just based off the interrupted meeting #Bc truly I do not want to work for a large corporation and I’m not Excited about being an HR coordinator #or working in San Francisco after WFH is over #like if I have to have a long commute either way I’d rather not work in a Big City (derogatory)

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer is left waiting at a bar when he gets in some trouble, and meets a woman who offers to help him out in more ways than one.

Category: SMUT (18+)

Warnings: Language, virgin!Spencer, car sex/exhibitionism, handjob, brief mention of edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, degradation kink, minor voyeurism kink, dirty talk (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Word Count: 7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, there!! Most of you have been extremely excited about this one since I shared the idea for it a few weeks ago, and so I’m glad to finally get to release it for you!! There’s a playlist here for you to check out if you’d like some ~vibes~ and over on @mercy-midnight I shared a few visual inspirations last night, so check them out if you want! Thank you for all your enthusiasm over this fic, I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🥰

***

I've always loved the rain.

And it was definitely going to rain soon. How soon, I wasn't entirely sure, but as I made my way into the bar, taking one final breath of fresh air before it would inevitably be taken over by alcohol, greasy food, and way too much cologne, I could smell it. Cool and fresh, waiting to serve as some type of fresh start, to wash away all the hard shit and give me a clean slate.

The gaudy ring on my finger was one of those hard things I wished I could wash away. At least, it had been for a long time. Patrick never asked for it back after he left, and I'd had every intention of pawning it off, but I started noticing—after a few nights out where I'd tried to get hammered and nailed—that it scared everybody off.

I guess no one wanted to fuck a married woman—and a drunk married woman at that. Even if she technically wasn't even married anymore. Which I found all particularly odd considering my experience with men in the past has proved to provide me with extremely low standards.

It'd turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though. Sure, it might have taken me longer to completely get over Patrick and the mess he left me, but rather than losing myself in the lonely company of strangers, I forced myself to reflect and move on, to take each day in stride and take time for myself. Could I have just taken the ring off and gotten laid? Absolutely. But being on my own like that was the wakeup call I didn't know I'd needed.

And now, almost a year later, the ring sat tucked away in my jewelry box until I wanted it— usually when I knew I was going to the bar with every intention of getting hammered and not nailed. There were the occasional persistent players, but they were few and far in between, and if all else failed I resorted to smiling sweetly at them and lying, saying my "husband" was a cop. That shut them up pretty quickly, and by that point I was ready to leave anyway.

Like I said, blessing in disguise.

After a long day at work being called in on a Saturday, a few drinks at Waterson's sounded like a perfect way to end the night. I'd gone home, showered, ate dinner, and got dressed before taking a walk down the block and crossing the near-packed parking lot. The air was quite muggy despite it only being around forty degrees, which was the first indicator of rain. The second was the smell, of course, which I'd always been fond of, and the cobbled pavement had some type of haze around it that served as the final confirmation of my theory.

Honestly, I was hoping to get caught in the rain on my way home. I couldn't tell you why, exactly, just that the idea of walking home in the rain gave me the most excitement I'd felt in a long time. Life was great at the moment, of course, but between work and my less than ideal commute there on the train every day, I think I was due for a little excitement.

That excitement, naturally, started once I opened the door to the bar, taking a step inside and quickly being smacked in the face with the smell of fried everything. A small smile crossed my lips as I went in further, jumbled conversations, glasses clinking, and music humming softly behind the sharp snaps of pool balls being shot forward with the cue completing the picture.

I walked up to the bar to find Carla standing behind it, and I smiled at her. "I didn't know you were working Saturday," I called to her as I approached.

The brunette looked over at me and beamed, her teeth as perfect as ever. "Y/N, I didn't know you came in on Saturdays! How've you been?"

I took a seat at one of the barstools, nodding as I set my wallet and my phone down. "Alright... Work's a bitch, of course, but when is it not?"

"Yeah, I hear that. There's only so much relentless flirting I can take." We shared a good laugh at that before she nodded. "What can I get you?"

"A beer?"

"You got it."

I turned around then, surveying tonight's crowd. Waterson's was decently sized— definitely not as big or popular as the other bars in the city, but it got enough traction on the weekends, and even on Tuesdays when they had open mics. As my eyes wandered, they passed over all kinds of people. Women in tight clothes and men all over them, large groups of friends over by the pool tables who were betting and yelling with large smiles on their faces, old men by themselves in some of the tucked away corners... Anyone you could think of, name it and they were there.

One scene in particular caught my eye, though, and I thought about leaving it alone, but my gut twisted when I noticed how obviously uncomfortable the person was and how there was no one around who seemed to care enough to say or do anything.

Sitting alone at a rather large table was a guy who... no offense to him or anything, but he didn't look like he belonged here, not alone anyway. With a formal button-down short sleeve, meek stature, and a pair of glasses sitting atop his nose, he was an easy target for the two men that were towering over him as he sat, eyes averting them while they conversed. It could have been nothing, but occasionally the man in the glasses would flinch or look around nervously like he was waiting to be rescued.

Not that I wanted to rescue anyone or anything tonight. But he reminded me of someone being stood up, and from experience I knew how embarrassing that was, especially in a space crowded with other people who could obviously see what was happening to you. I hated Patrick for standing me up time and time again, and it wasn't until this waitress once intervened and offered some advice that I started to understand just how fucked up it was. That didn't make it hurt any less, of course, when he inevitably said he was moving across the country and dropped divorce papers on my desk at work, but still... The talk gave me some clarity.

Whether or not this man was actually being stood up or not, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable, and I figured he could use some help.

And I had just the plan.

I watched the scene until Carla came back with my beer, at which point I turned to her with a smile and got money from my wallet.

"Hey, could I get another?"

***

"No, you specifically told me 8pm..."

"I'm pretty sure I told you 9..."

I sighed, glancing around briefly at everyone and everything around me before speaking again, almost yelling into the speaker over all the noise. "Maybe you meant 9, but you told me 8, so I'm here. Alone!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Kid, alright? But we're not gonna be there until 9, so... keep yourself busy until then? Let loose, have a couple drinks..."

I could hear the smirk in Derek's voice just as easily as I could picture it in my head as I sighed out a, "Fine," and hung up. The whole situation significantly raised my blood pressure, not to mention my anxiety— It wasn't hard to see that I stood out here. Bars were most definitely not my scene, and the only reason I'd agreed to go in the first place was so that I could try something new. Expand my horizons, as Penelope had told me right before I caved and agreed to accompany her and Derek on their little outing. I'd even drove my car here, a move I rarely made, as a start.

But now I was sitting alone at a booth, a glass of water in front of me and this twisting sensation in my gut that usually came to me when I didn't know what was going to happen.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed, staring down the glass of water as my cellphone tumbled around between my hands. All I had to do was wait here for an hour and remind myself over and over that eventually I'd be with people that I knew, people that I felt comfortable around. Only an hour.

One hour...

One hour, one hour, one hour... It was a chant in my head that went through different pitches and speeds until it was interrupted by a loud, "Hey, you!"

It could have been for anyone, but it was right next to me, and I knew when I wasn't wanted somewhere.

Sure enough, I turned my head to see a rather large man, a football player-type if I had to guess, wearing a grey tee shirt that hugged every muscle. There was a beer in his hands, and someone next to him, another man slightly shorter but still definitely athletic, held what looked to be a glass of hard liquor. By the looks on their faces, it was obvious that they were looking for a fight.

And it was also obvious that I was the easiest target in the whole bar.

One glance at the clock across the room and above their heads told me that I still had 54 minutes until my friends showed up, and that meat I'd either have to give these men whatever they wanted, tell them I was just about to leave, or attempt to pull the "I'm a Federal Agent" card, which I knew would probably get more laughs from them than a simple, "Sorry," and an exit.

I was about to run through every outcome of tonight's events in my head when the bigger guy spoke again, making me jump.

"Hey, m' talking to you!" He was drunk, most likely toeing the line between sobriety and a fist fight if I wasn't careful.

"I—Is there something you need?" I asked, hoping that if I could get this over with quickly, they'd leave me alone and maybe I could get out of here...

He mocked my voice in a way I'd heard more than once while growing up, and though I knew it was childish of him, saying more about him than me, the action got to me more than I cared to admit. Call it intuition, but when a nearly-drunk guy two times your size starts picking on you like a kid and you know he's just looking for a fight, the odds aren't very good when you're someone on the smaller side like me— Federal Agent or not. And he wasn't an unsub. He wasn't someone I could pick apart and just hand over to my team once I pushed back his defenses. If I picked this man apart, he'd likely throw a punch at my face.

Of course, I could get him arrested for assaulting a Federal Agent, but... Obviously I didn't want to get punched in the face.

As soon as his mumbled mockery of my words ended, he punctuated them with his own. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' I need you to find a new place to sulk. Go to the library or somethin'."

His friend laughed beside him like he'd just said the best comeback anyone's ever heard, and that alone almost made me laugh. Though, I knew that might have gotten me into more trouble.

Speaking of, I probably should have just got up to leave. That would have been the perfect time to say, "Okay," get up, and drive home. Sure, Penelope and Derek would have probably given me crap about chickening out, but I'd have avoided getting beat around or ridiculed further by these morons, so it was overall a win, right?

But my stupid mouth didn't agree with what my brain was thinking. "Oh, well, um... I'm waiting up for some friends, they should be here soon—"

"You have friends?" the other guy retorted before I could finish, and he looked proud of himself for it.

"Look, I don't care who you're waitin' on, pal, Right now you're alone, so I want y—"

I didn't see it coming. I couldn't have seen it from a mile away, never dreamed of anything like this happening in a million years. It was certainly not one of the possible outcomes to the night that I'd had in mind. And actually, even if I'd had any time to prepare for it, seeing the woman walk up to us with two beers in her hand and the biggest smile on her face, I still wouldn't have believed what was happening.

She blocked me from the men's line of sight, sitting herself promptly on my lap as she set the drinks down. "Hey, babe, I'm back with our drinks," she chirped, leaning forward and stopping just under my ear, whispering. "If you play along, I can get them to leave you alone..."

She didn't even give me any time to process, quickly pulling back, but not before kissing me firmly on the cheek, leaving my face in a warm flush as she turned back around to survey the men, who I'd quite frankly forgotten about once she pressed her soft lips to my skin and set her hands on my chest.

What the fu—

"Who're you talking with?"

Her voice was so... low and smooth, and it sent a flood of warmth throughout my whole body. If I could have bottled up her voice to drink, I would have. But instead, I settled for the beer she'd brought, grabbing it and chugging down four big gulps even though I hated it.

"You're with this... loser?" the bigger of the two men said, and truthfully it was the first time all night I'd well and truly felt inadequate in front of them. Sure, I knew I'd stood out, that physically I was weaker than them, but I also knew that deep down they were just drunks looking for a fight. I was better than that, regardless of whether or not they'd almost bullied me into leaving the bar.

I didn't have a problem with who I was, but when it came to women, I was pretty much a total wreck. I'd only ever kissed someone once, and much like back then, this woman was absolutely stunning and completely out of my league.

The man was right to be suspicious.

"Excuse me?" my savior retorted, standing up off my lap and removing herself from me completely. I exhaled, trying hard not to look like I was just as shocked as they were as she tore them a new one. "This loser happens to be my fiancée. And I'd watch what insults you're throwing around— You're the ones going around some bar picking on someone you don't know like you're middle schoolers. Now grow the fuck up and back off before I take your drinks and shove them so far up your asses you'll still be able to taste them."

Truthfully I was surprised when they didn't back down. The bigger guy scoffed, his eyes raking the woman up and down with a wicked glint in them. "Y'know, maybe if you ditched him and got fucked by a real man, you wouldn't be such a bitch."

And once again, I was stunned by her ability to quip back quicker than lightening. "Maybe if you weren't such a childish prick, you'd actually get fucked in the first place. Now back. The fuck. Off..."

While I should have been more grateful that her words got them to scoff and turn away, a small, absolutely random part of me wanted to hear her yell at them some more. The longer she did it, the warmer my body got, and the second I started to put together why that was, I chugged more of the beer that was currently resting in my shaky hand.

It was even worse when she turned around to face me again, her radiance and beauty intimidating me in an entirely different way than those men. She wore a simple black dress that complimented her figure extremely well, minimal makeup and jewelry, and her hair was pinned back, showing off her neck and collarbone.

If she hadn't just helped me out, with the way she was looking at me I probably would have wondered if she was... trying to pick me up.

The thought made me all warm again.

"Y—You didn't have to do—"

She stepped forward and sat on my lap again, and I swallowed hard, the beer almost slipping from my hand entirely. "Don't worry about it. You looked uncomfortable, and those boys were absolute meatheads. But they are still here, so we should probably keep up the act, huh?"

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Either way, I set the beer on the table, though my hand still kept it firmly in my grip as I looked down at the ring on her finger. "I—I wouldn't want to get you in trouble... with your husband..."

"Oh! Uh, funny story," she laughed, leaning in and running her hands over my shoulders, most likely to keep up the façade. "I'm not actually married. Or engaged. I um... I wear this to deter people from trying to take me home."

I actually laughed a little, though my stomach still flipped at her touch and her proximity. "And that... actually works?"

She laughed with me, bringing her hands up to cradle my face as she tilted her head and looked me over. Her pretty, pillow-y soft lips quirked into a smile before her eyes flitted up to mine. She looked like she was entranced, like she was in a dream, and honestly I felt the same way. Because there was no way in actual Hell this was a real thing that was happening to me, right?

"Not always," she answered in a whisper, her face inching closer to mine. She smelled a little like beer, but mostly some type of fruit, probably pear. I didn't eat pears, but maybe I should start...

A gentle tug at the roots of my hair pulled me out of my thoughts, a soft sigh escaping me at the sensation. The woman laughed, brushing her nose against mine for a moment before pulling away and grabbing her beer. "So, since we're engaged, I feel like I should know a little about you. At the very least, your name?"

"O—oh," I laughed nervously, swallowing as she sipped her beer. And I tried not to let it get to me, but the way her lips wrapped gently around the bottle had my mind going a mile a minute, laser focusing on one image in particular of those perfect lips wrapped around something else. I wondered if she could hear the longing in my voice when I whispered my name. "Spencer."

With the beer still in her hand, she lowered it and rested it on my knee as she smiled. "Mmm, and what's my last name going to be?"

The thought of actually marrying this woman infiltrated my thoughts as I answered, louder this time, "Reid."

See hummed again, using the hand that was currently massaging the back of my scalp to gently tug at my hair again. "Y/N Reid... I like the sound of that."

I do, too, is what I thought, and I almost said it, but she started talking again.

"So, Spencer, what do you do?"

I would have gone into my entire spiel, but she was so pretty, and so close, I didn't want to scare her off. So, I simply stated, "I work for the FBI..."

Her eyebrows raised, and I felt her hand slide down my neck and settle on my shoulder. "Really?"

"Y—Yeah, I'm a profiler. We aid law enforcement in catching serial killers."

"So, Agent Reid, huh? That's hot..."

I should have just left it alone, because it was common knowledge that if a woman has any reason to call you hot, you just let it happen, right?

Well, like I said, when it came to women I was a complete wreck.

"A—Actually it's Doctor... I, um... I have 3 PhDs."

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them, but the hunger in her eyes deepened and her free hand roamed my shoulder and the front of my chest as she scooted even closer, her mouth coming up right under my jaw. "Mmm, even hotter..."

This time I didn't hold back, my voice audibly whimpering as I sighed out a simple, "Oh..."

Y/N pressed a featherlight kiss to my neck before dragging her lips to my ear again. And I'd been so hyperaware of her proximity to my face that I hadn't even noticed she'd set her beer down and took that hand to rest firmly at my hip, her palm pressing into my lower stomach. I only felt it when that hand moved over, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the buckle of my belt.

"Tell me something, Doctor," she whispered just under my earlobe. I was nothing short of putty in her hands as my brain tried to focus on what she was saying over the more prominent desire to focus on the way she pressed her whole body into mine. She was everywhere, taking up every ounce of air that found its way into my lungs, and I'd never breathed in anything sweeter. "Are you saving yourself for marriage?"

I found the question odd at first, but remembering the circumstances of our fake situation, my body suddenly flared to life at her implications. "N—No..."

Her hips shifted against my lap, and I swear I could have fainted on the spot as she hummed in my ear, "Good."

***

I certainly didn't expect for the night to end the way it did.

I mean, I knew I was going to be wet when I got home, but damn. We hadn't even made it out of the bar before my panties were soaked through at the thought of fucking my fake fiancée. Who worked for the FBI and called himself Doctor...

Not to mention he was fucking dreamy as hell with those honey doe-eyes and pouty lips... And his hands? I had taken one look at the one tightly holding his beer bottle for dear life and instantly went white-hot with desire, visions of them disappearing inside of me swimming in my head.

And then he had to fucking whimper when I called him hot.

Yeah, I definitely didn't expect the night to go how it did, but I wasn't mad about it in the slightest.

After explaining to him that I'd walked, and that my house was only a few blocks away, we decided to just hop in his car. Though, by the time we got there, I think we were both so eager to "get to know each other a little better," as I'd said before we actually left, that we didn't even make it out of the parking space.

Spencer fumbled around with his keys for so long, and he kept dropping them, so I just said fuck it and kissed him when he came up the third time. The sound of his keys hitting the ground for a fourth time excited me almost as much as his the way his hands trembled as they rested on my forearms.

"Pull the seat back?" I mumbled against his mouth, sliding my hands down the sides of his face and over his shoulders.

He let out a strained, "Uh huh," and fumbled around with that too, his urgency and nerves all rolled into one adorable spectacle that had the pit of my stomach in desirable knots. The seat sprung backwards, and I laughed lowly as I climbed over the center console and right into his lap, my dress riding up incredibly high.

The way Spencer looked up at me then, his eyes just as pouty as his lips as they practically sparkled with adoration and need, gave me this feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time— something that filled my bloodstream with fire and made me feel... wanted.

And that's not to say I hadn't slept with people since my divorce, but every time it happened there was hardly any connection besides the obvious need to get off. Here, with Spencer, it was different. And realistically I knew it was most likely the fact that a beautiful woman came to his rescue and pretended to be engaged to him just to get some morons off his back, but... In his eyes I saw this vulnerability that I'd never gotten with another partner. He was open and willing to take advantage of our situation to the fullest extent, sure, but within that was a pure longing to be close to someone after going so long without that connection.

I knew that look so well because it was exactly how I felt. We wanted to have sex with each other, that much was obvious, but less so was the fact that we could feel each others' loneliness. It was a shared bond that ran deeper than sexual desire, and in his eyes in that moment, I knew he could see it in me.

"D—Do you know... what it's like to feel alone, even... when you know you really aren't?" he asked as though he was reading my mind. His voice was soft, so curious and hinted with a little sadness that it made me want to hold him tight and rock him to sleep more than anything.

Still, I nodded. "Mhm... After my husband left I haven't... really been the same. I act like it's okay, and I... I really am better now that he's gone, but I just... I've spent most of my life with him, and now it's like I don't know what's out there beyond... loneliness."

It wasn't the most sexy conversation in the world, but Spencer reached out, his hands less shaky, and ghosted them over my bare arms. He looked up at me with those pretty eyes and let out a relieved breath before he spoke. "I kinda know what you mean... Not to that extent, but... I get it."

Seeing that he was more comfortable with me, I leaned in closer, bringing my fingers to brush the underside of his jaw. "And that's why you make the perfect fiancée."

I felt the laugh leave his lips before I kissed him, soft and steady, and reassured that I was in this for as long as he wanted me to be. Obviously we weren't actually engaged, but the connection that came with a real engagement felt pretty damn close to what we had going on.

And he conveyed that in the way he kissed me back, stronger than he'd been before and most certainly more skilled than he'd let on. His tongue expertly caressed mine with just the right amount of pressure and precision, and it made it easy for me to fall into him. Over time we grew more hungry, but for the most part our dance of mouth and tongue was so slow and intense, it felt like we really had known each other forever.

Eventually though, I did feel him grow harder underneath me, and the feeling kickstarted this more primal urge that caused me to groan into his mouth and rock my hips forward. Spencer's hands rested firmly at my lower back the whole time, though when I moved, I could feel him tense a little, like now that it was actually starting to happen, he was suddenly nervous again. So I brought my hands around my back to grab his wrists, gently sliding them down over my ass as I pressed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip.

"Mmm, your hands are so big," I purred as I kissed my way over his jaw. "They feel so good all over me..." He relaxed a bit at my reassurance, but I wanted to give him more. So I helped him slide his hands underneath my dress, feeling him shiver under me when I assisted him in squeezing them into my skin. "You can touch me however you like," I whispered into his ear. "I'm all yours, Doctor..."

He squeezed my ass then, of his own accord, and I hummed happily before kissing my way back to his mouth, running my hands through his hair.. "Just like that, baby, whatever you want..." He swallowed my words with his tongue, taking a deep breath and inhaling me like I was his only source of air. Respectfully, I gave it all to him, happy to be of service as long as he wanted me— and in that moment, I hoped it would be forever.

Maybe that was cheesy. But he was an excellent kisser... And I was sure there'd be something equally as excellent waiting for me once I got the clearance to get my hands down to his belt.

Thankfully, that clearance came pretty soon. I would have waited as long as he wanted to, but with the way his hips jolted upwards and the needy whine that erupted from his throat at the contact it provided, I knew now was the time.

So I smiled over his lips and then kissed his jaw again, one of my hands staying threaded in his hair while the other snaked down his chest and lower, undoing each button on his shirt as I went down... "Forgive me if I'm feeding into the stereotype by asking you this, Spencer," I said, leaving small bites on his neck in between words. "But have you ever done this before?"

His hands continued kneading my ass as he let out a shaky breath. "N—No. But I've um... I've p—practiced..."

"Hmm, how so?" I wondered, sucking a big hickey into his neck. Meanwhile my hand traced along the waistband of his pants, not quite dipping underneath but teasing the skin just above the material.

"U—Um, well... I regularly t—try to edge... myself, just... I—I want to last longer, and... And I thought it would help..."

God, the images of this man lounging in bed, training himself to last longer in the event that he had sex with someone? I groaned into his neck, taking the initiative to move my hand lower and gently palm him through his pants. "Fuck, that's so hot..."

"Re—really?"

"Mhmm... You really wanna make a girl feel good, huh?"

"Of course..."

"So eager to please?" I cooed, starting to undo his belt. He gripped my ass tighter like he was holding on for dear life, like he'd some how fall out of the car if he didn't hold on to me tight enough. The way his fingers dug into my skin brought me almost the same amount of joy as the sound he made when I finally snuck my hand down the front of his pants and pulled his dick out, gently stroking it and getting a feel for him. "Obedient?"

"Y—Yes, Y/N, please, oh God..." he jumbled out, his hips bucking into my hand. I sighed into his neck, kissing him again as my hand slowly jerked him off.

"Is this how slow you go?" I asked, making sure to memorize how every ridge of him caressed my hand. "Hmm, you wanna draw it out? Feel every ounce of pleasure as you possibly can before you come?"

He didn't answer so much as he let out a loud, whiny breath that sounded very much like a broken, "A-hh."

"I'm clean... On birth control, too... So what do you say we trade this hand in for something a little more... wet..."

Spencer grabbed my underwear then, pulling at the fabric and bucking his hips again. Taking it as a good sign, I adjusted myself so that I could slide them to the side and hover above him. Meanwhile I pecked at his lips and he did the same, meeting me with urgency and anticipation.

And when the head of his dick finally came in contact with my pussy, he threw his head back and exhaled, exposing his neck and the front of his chest, which was lightly glossed over with sweat already. The only source of light in the car came from the neon bar lights and one single streetlight outside, which gave us this dark, aesthetic lighting that only made what we were doing even hotter.

I sank slowly onto him, letting out the longest sigh of my life until he bottomed out in me. "You doin' alright, Doctor?" I asked, pulling his shirt open some more to get a better view of his skin.

He sat his head up a bit and looked at me, breathlessness in his eyes. "F—Fantastic. You f—eel so good..."

I ground my hips in slow circles, nodding down at him with a wicked grin. "Feeling's mutual, babe... You stretch me out so good... It's like we're a perfect match."

The moment I started lifting myself only to sit back down, Spencer shut his eyes, his hands roaming my ass and my thighs as I rode him. It looked like he was concentrating on lasting, and I was going to tell him not to worry about it, but then he opened his eyes and started to speak.

"Will, um... Will you be m—mean to me? Please?"

I halted my movements for a moment, taking in what he just said, but then it came to me immediately. And my discovery turned me on way more than I would have liked to admit.

So I grinned and circled my hips again, leaning forward to practically crawl up the front of his body. My hands tangled in his hair as I studied his face, which was ridden with worry and maybe regret at what he'd just confessed. But I kept circling my hips all the same, clenching myself around him as I spoke against his lips.

"Ohhh, did hearing me insult those guys in the bar turn you on?" I drawled, gently pecking his lips.

"Uh huh," he breathed in response.

I smiled, rocking my hips a little faster and feeling him start to relax again— The worries he had about his desires faded into nothing as I gave into them, feeding them with an open palm and embracing them with great pleasure. "I bet you just couldn't wait for me to take you outside and fuck you after that, huh? For me to treat you like a needy little slut..."

With every word and every quick rock of my hips, Spencer started to pick up his breathing. He leaned back completely and let me take care of him, gave me every green light, every go-ahead... I never got to be like this in bed before, and the fact that it came so naturally sparked this confidence within me that was hard to quell once it got going.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked him, picking up my pace and bouncing steadily back on his dick. "You were so desperate to get fucked, too, you couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before you gave into me... And now everyone in the bar could see us out here..."

He groaned out at that, his hands digging into the flesh of my thigh, which already burned from straddling him like this, but considering everything, a little burn never hurt anyone.

"Ohh, you like that too, huh? The thought of everyone seeing us?"

"Y—Yes... Y/N, yes... o—oh, fu..."

I took his face into my hands then, grabbing him by the chin and making him look at me. "And what about your friends, huh? What would they think if they showed up and saw their precious Doctor Reid getting fucked like the dirty little slut he is, huh?"

Even though his face was in my hands, he still managed to lean his head back with a loud groan. His hands were now sliding over to my waist, where my dress was bunched up. His nimble fingers slipped just under the fabric and explored the planes of my stomach as I continued riding him, and the feeling of it all coupled with the looks on his face and his reaction—verbal or otherwise—to my words grew the fire simmering in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn't sure how mean to him I could be anymore now, though, considering we were both so close to finishing, and the closer I got the more it became harder to focus on stringing together the perfect words.

Still, I tried the best I could, because it was his first time, and it's what he deserved.

I leaned in and kissed his neck and collarbone, simultaneously riding and grinding for extra stimulation. "You're doing so well, Doctor... Taking this pussy like a good little whore..."

Okay, so it wasn't entirely mean, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

Though, it seemed to have done the trick, because Spencer drove his hips up to meet mine, panting and whining out my name as his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me with the most desperate look. I almost fell apart right there.

"That's it, baby, take it," I cooed, leaning over and kissing him. One of his hands came out from under my dress to rub tight circles into my clit with an expert thumb, and it started to break me down immediately. "Ohhh, I'm almost there, honey, just like that... Show me what a good little slut you are, baby, c'mon... Just like... that... Ohhh..."

I kissed him hard as I shook and clenched around him, holding still as he drilled his hips upwards into me. His thumb kept up at my clit until I was whimpering into his mouth, and then he just held it there, a few grunts of his own rumbling in his chest before he stilled and filled me with his warmth. I kissed him through it, gently swallowing all his whines and sighs as he gradually came down from his high.

Immediately after we both settled, with his dick still sheathed inside of me and my hands rubbing gently over the planes of his chest as we slowly and softly made out, the unmistakable sound of raindrops hitting glass covered us on all sides.

I pulled away from Spencer with a small smile, resting my head on his shoulder and looking off to the side, out the window at the sea of cars slowly getting covered up by a multitude of rain droplets. "I hope that was okay," I whispered against his skin, willing myself closer by draping an arm over his shoulder and using my hand to twirl some of his hair around my finger.

"That was more than okay," he responded contently. His chin rested on the top of my head and I snuggled closer into him. "Thank you, Y/N... For... For everything."

"It was my pleasure, Doctor."

We sat in comfortable near-silence for a while then, letting the rain tapping gently over the car be the steady sound that grounded us and washed away everything we had until there was a clean slate.

That was the one bad thing I found about the rain. I loved it, yes, for all its cleansing properties, and as I came into the bar tonight, I looked forward to them— to clearing my head with alcohol and a walk home in the rain.

But as I laid there, breathing in every ounce of Spencer Reid, I watched the rain roll down the windows and actually dreaded the moment it would stop.

"I wish it would rain forever," I sighed wistfully, playing with one of the buttons on Spencer's shirt.

He drew patterns into my leg all the same. "How come?"

"Because... I have to walk home. And the longer it rains, the longer I can stay here with you..."

He chuckled. "That's a nice sentiment, but you know I can drive you home, right?"

"Yeah, but... I really don't want this moment to end."

He was silent then, and for a while I thought maybe he was just going to leave it be. But then his soft voice broke through the rain and cut into me like a piece of glass. "You know you're gonna be okay, right?"

I broke away and looked up at him. "How do you mean?"

He sighed, thinking before continuing. "I mean... I'm guessing it's been rough since your husband left, and... being here with me has given you some companionship and comfort, but... Even after we part ways, you're going to be alright... It's still going to feel lonely, sure, but if there's anything I know for sure after tonight, it's that you're going to get through it just fine."

My heart swelled, though it still broke all the same. "How do you know?"

Spencer smiled, bringing a hand up to gently brush the side of my face. "Because you're my fiancée and I know you better than anyone."

As I laughed at the joke, he looked back at me with sparkles in his eyes. And then minutes later, I was haphazardly cleaning myself up in his passenger seat with a wet-nap that I'd kept tucked away in my wallet while he fumbled around for his keys.

Even as I stood on my porch that night, under the rain as I watched him drive away with the lingering buzz of our final goodbye kiss on my lips, I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

And I wondered if he would ever notice or do anything about the sparkly diamond ring I left behind, sitting beside him in my place— a reminder of our time together, the comfort he provided me with, and the clean slate that always inevitably came with the rain.

***

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds fanfiction

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Walk Me Home

Summary: Jared is hosting a small dinner party and introduces his new co-star to his old one where they seem to hit it off...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Square: Quote B “Tell me what I can do to help”

Word Count: 2,600ish

Warnings: language, small accident, mention of smut

A/N: Enjoy! Written for @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

“Hey, sorry I was late,” said a guy ducking in through the front door. You turned your head from where you sat at the counter with Jared, the two of you talking with Gen while they cooked dinner. He smiled when he saw you and you watched the slightly curious look spread across his face. “Hi, I’m Jensen.”

“Y/N,” you said, shaking his hand as he stepped over. 

“Oh wow,” he said, looking past you to Jared. You raised an eyebrow and he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m...frazzled right now. You’re gonna be in Walker, right? Jared’s told me a little about you.”

“Yeah. I’ll be playing Kit, Walker’s kid sister,” you said. “Have some bourbon, relax a little.”

“Bourbon? I like her. She can hang out with us,” said Jensen as he walked around the island, getting a glass from the cabinet like he knew where everything was. “Kid sister huh? How many siblings Walker got anyways?”

“Well, I can’t spoil anything but just the two. Not that I’m getting sister of the year award,” you laughed. Gen was smiling as she worked over a pot and Jared excused himself to help her with something. Jensen used some of the orange peel you’d cut up and put it in his drink and took a long sip. “You like it? I can’t cook so I figured I’d bring some booze and dessert.”

“This is good,” he said. “Really good. I want some for myself. Also, did I hear dessert?”

“I made pull apart pumpkin cinnamon bread. It’s like a cinnamon roll but bigger,” you said.

“You and me are gonna get along great,” he chuckled. He moved around the island and stood on the end just to your right, looking you over quickly. “What have you been in? I’ve not heard of you before.”

“Not much. I did one commercial when I was twenty and I was an extra in a TV show about two years after that. I haven’t had my break through yet. Well, until now. This is...this is huge. I’m kind of terrified to be honest.”

“I worked with him for a very long time,” said Jensen, nodding to the far end of the kitchen. “It’s gonna be a good set, good environment. A few people from our old crew are gonna be working on Walker. You’re gonna fit right in no problem.”

“I hope so,” you said. “Jared’s really been great. He even answered all these questions I had about moving down here and areas and stuff when he didn’t have to. He and Gen have been really amazing. I think I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be fine. He must like you,” he said.

“Oh I’m just...single and know zero people here,” you said. “I might get a dog? I think my apartment allows them.”

“Well now you know me too,” he smirked, taking a sip. “Or getting to know at the very least.”

“So what were you doing?” you asked. He cocked his head and you smiled. “Being late and all.”

“Who says I was late?” he said, smiling back. “Just frazzled. Also late but mostly frazzled.”

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“Not your fault. My ex was claiming she left something at my house. I was oh so thrilled to see her and her husband there to pick it up,” he said.

“Oh. She moved on fast, huh?”

“She started to see him before we were quite done. He’s an idiot that thinks she’s amazing and he’s richer than me so she’s happy. That’s all she wanted. Wish I’d figured that out in the first place. Glad we never married though,” he said. He shrugged but he didn’t seem too upset by it. He finished off his drink and poured another. “Where are you staying?”

“I’m renting a house just north of the city in some suburb. Jared said there’s nothing to the east and the south ain’t great and I can’t afford west so, north it was,” you said.

“North’s not bad. Your commute shouldn’t be too bad. You got a driver or you taking yourself?”

“Myself. I’m not the star or anything.”

“It doesn’t have to do with that. You work a late night, call an uber. Hell call me. Better than getting in an accident,” he said. “By second season, you’ll be making enough to afford one.”

“Assuming I get on in the second season,” you said. You quickly shut your lips, Jared chuckling to himself.

“Jensen worked for the same company for a long time. Don’t worry about your non-disclosure agreement with him,” said Jared. “Y/N might get killed off at the end of the season. We’re not sure yet.”

“This may or may not have an impact on our friendship,” you said with a laugh.

“Oh, come on, Jare. Look at that face. You really gonna kill her off?” said Jensen, turning you towards Jared. You saw Jensen pout and put on one of your own.

“I told you getting those two together would be a good thing,” said Gen. Jared rolled his eyes but bit his bottom lip.

“The powers at be haven’t made up their minds yet. I’d personally love it but storyline might get changed which I’m okay with. If fans love you, I’ll get my way,” said Jared. “You guys want to head out to the patio? We’re almost done cooking.”

“We can help,” you said, Jared shaking his head.

“We got it,” he said. You shrugged and followed Jensen out a back door to a covered patio area and took a seat at the table.

“He’s up to something,” chuckled Jensen. “Not sure what yet.”

“They’re just playing good host,” you said.

“Nah, those two are scheming. I can tell,” he teased. He took the seat beside you and leaned back in his chair.

“You check me out a lot,” you said. He quickly looked at his glass and made a small shrugging motion. “You like me?”

“I don’t know. I barely know you,” he said, still averting your gaze. 

“I didn’t mean to make you shy. I’m not opposed to you checking me out. I just wasn’t expecting it. I heard you were dating someone,” you said.

“Rumor. Put it out there so people would leave me alone,” he said. “I’m not shy around you either, you know.”

“Alright.”

“At first I am with most people. I mean, I can act like the life of the party and like the coolest guy in the room.”

“Act would be the key word there,” you said, taking a sip from your glass.

“Yeah well, most people put up some kind of front with strangers or people they don’t know that well.”

“Very true. I do it myself,” you said.

“So like I said, I ain’t shy.”

“Like I said, shy boy is attracted to me. When the confident boy that is really a shy boy is interested, laid back girl will become confident flirty girl very quickly if you understand,” you said.

“Are you saying you’re attracted to me?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Considering you’re attracted to me, I don’t see how this is a problem.”

“You are something else,” he said, some of his confidence returning.

“Yes I-” you said, Jared walking out with his phone to his ear. He looked worried and you both put your full attention on him.

“Shep just fell. He and Tom were jumping off the bunk bed and…” said Jared. “Looks like he might have broken his arm.”

“Is he okay?” you asked, Jensen echoing the sentiment. 

“Yeah. We just…”

“Tell me what I can do to help,” you said.

“Everybody relax,” said Jensen as he stood up. “You guys take Shep to get taken care of. Y/N and I will watch the other munchkins.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Dinner’s in the pot on the stove. Eat it up. No need to waste it.”

“Text us to let us know how it goes,” you said.

“Sure thing. I owe you guys one,” he said.

“No, you don’t. Go,” said Jensen. You both ducked back inside and five minutes later they were gone. Tom was feeling pretty bad about what happened but Jensen gave him a talk and put him to bed while you packed away some leftovers for Jared and Gen.

“How’s he doing?” you asked, sticking the tupperware in the fridge.

“He’ll be alright. Wasn’t his fault. They were just being kids,” he said. He helped you find the plates and you dished yourself up the rest of the food, eating at the kitchen counter quietly. “That was nice of you, to be so concerned.”

“They’ve been nothing but kind to me. Besides, it’s a kid,” you said. “I don’t mind staying.”

“You don’t have to. They’re both fast asleep. I can stay until they get back.”

“I said I’d stay. I’m gonna stay,” you said. He licked his lips and hummed, cleaning up his plate before you.

“Say you had a point earlier. I’m not saying you did but hypothetically speaking,” he said.

“Go on.”

“Say my frazzledness was because when I saw you, my head sort of short-circuited, hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically,” you said, finishing with your food.

“Say that happened and say you were good with that, happy about that...where exactly would this go seeing as I hypothetically have never been the hook up guy. Never actually done it but I’m now questioning it for the first time. Hypothetically, what’d your response to that be?”

“Well, if that were the case,” you said as you took your plate and put it in the dishwasher, “I would tell you not to hookup with me simply for the fact that sex for you is very likely part of being in a relationship and something you do when you feel comfortable with a person which I completely respect and understand. I wouldn’t want you to change how you treat sex just for me. Hypothetically.”

“But what if I said I’d never felt that kind of attraction to anyone before, at any stage in a relationship, not to that level. Not that floor you kind of overwhelming sensation.”

“I would tell you the attraction is reciprocated and while I would very much like to see what you are capable of and what we’re capable of doing together, I would tell you that you’re not the hookup guy and you’re not about to start being one. You should continue to have sex with your romantic partners and that’s all. It means more to you. A hookup will leave a sour taste in your mouth and I’d rather we don’t think of each other like that seeing as we’ll likely be spending more time together.”

“It’s not just physical you know. It’s that, it’s that logic and that kindness and compassion.”

“I get it. I would. I really, really would. But I’m breaking your record. I don’t want to be the girl that breaks that record, Jensen.”

“If we dated though, that’s different.”

“I don’t date to get sex.”

“Neither do I.”

“So you want to date?” you asked. He leaned back against the counter and smiled to himself. “It’s an easy question.”

“I wanted to date you the second I saw you but that comes off as a little strong,” he said. 

“I personally believe it’s important that people click when it comes to dating and relationships,” you said.

“So is there a click?” he asked. You walked in front of him and smiled, bringing your lips just an inch away from his. 

“There’s a click but there’s got to be something else,” you said, Jensen’s lips parting. “After my last failed relationship and it sounds like yours too, it’s important.”

“What’s that?” he asked quietly, not moving an inch.

“I want to be friends with my next boyfriend, someday when I find whoever I’m gonna be with. It’s always miserable when you’re not friends,” you said.

“Who says you didn’t just meet your best friend for the rest of your life tonight,” he said.

“Now that’s a strong statement,” you said.

“It is. I don’t like the sentiment though that there’s gonna be a somebody else after me. I’m not filling time with this,” he said.

“Neither am I,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He leaned in a hair closer and his lips tugged up into a grin. “I’m going to heat up that pumpkin roll you brought and then play video games while not kissing you. I’d be very happy if you joined in.”

“Tease,” you said. You took a step back and went to the container you brought. “Can you preheat the oven for me?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “It looks amazing.”

“It’s not the only thing,” you said, flashing him a wink.

“I see how it’s gonna go.”

“You started it,” you said.

“Yes, yes I did. Now how high do you need it?”

Four Hours Later

“Thanks again guys,” said Jared as you and Jensen stepped outside.

“It was no problem. We saved dinner and dessert for you guys in the fridge,” said Jensen. 

“I’ll make something for Shep and drop it by. He like chocolate?” you asked.

“Yeah, he loves it. You really don’t have-”

“Jared, like Jensen said, it’s all good. We’ll see you,” you said.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Tell me when you two get together.”

“Already late on that one,” said Jensen with a smirk. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“You better. Night guys. And take her home like a gentleman,” said Jared.

“Yeah, yeah. Night,” said Jensen. Jared locked up and you wandered over to your car, Jensen smiling as he stood by his truck. “So I guess this is good night.”

“It could be a good night,” you said as you started to yawn. “Maybe tomorrow though.”

“Tomorrow maybe,” he smirked. “Text me when you get home.”

“Why?”

“Cause I worry about my friends,” he said. “Please?”

“Alright. So...tomorrow…”

“Tomorrow night,” he said. “Maybe I can cook you dinner. Bring a bathing suit, we could go for a dip in the pool maybe.”

“Maybe,” you smirked back. “I’ll see you tomorrow Jensen.”

“You too. Oh and Y/N? Might want to sleep in tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“I got a feeling you’re gonna be up late tomorrow night,” he said, winking at you.

“Oh really? We’ll have to see how a good a cook you are first.”

“I guess we will. Drive safe, Y/N,” he said, voice soft and sweet.

“You too, Jensen. You too.”

_______

#spn #tell me a story bingo #supernatural #jensen x reader #jensen ackles #rpf #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #au #jensen ackles x reader #one shot

[strawwritesfic]

Loki Laufeyson x Female!Midgardian!Reader: A Bird in the Hand

Summary: …is surely not worth its asking price.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (some foul language; not Thor Ragnarok compliant)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Please, I don’t want to lose you, too.” 

A Bird in the Hand

Once upon a time in a realm known as Midgard, there lived a girl. This girl, of course, was you, and you lived as many young women at the time did during that Age of Miracles. None of these miracles ever happened to you. There were no fish oil transformations on your horizon, nor were there any divine calls to adventure. Just like all New Yorkers, you grew use to your daily commute being interrupted by superheroes, to calling insurance companies to argue over their decision to not pay for alien invasion damage to your apartment, and even to carrying an umbrella around with you even on the driest of days in case certain Asgardians decided to visit. Life went on. You had stopped looking for a real miracle years ago.

As well you should have, because there was nothing miraculous about your wedding day. Outside, a seemingly endless mass of dark gray clouds let loose bucket after bucket of rain. Thunder rolled across the sky; lightning flashed–and that, really, was all you could see through the window you had stationed yourself in front of to sulk. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have blamed the city’s resident thunder god for the disastrous timing of this storm front. As it was, all you could blame was your string of bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck, the door to your parlor snapped open and in stepped the dripping figure of your best friend. Aliyah paused only long enough to adjust her sodden pink hijab before plopping soggily onto an overstuffed loveseat.

“Well, the gazebo is flooded,” she announced, “the food is soaked through, and the caterer won’t bring more to replace it. Your flower arrangements are in pieces, and the band already ran off. I don’t think there’s anything left of your wedding ceremony.”

You did not bother to leave the window, though you did turn just far enough to throw her a sour look. “Do you have any good news to impart?” you asked.

Aliyah grinned. “Your maid of honor hasn’t walked out yet. At least there will be one person here to witness this fiasco.”

“Gonna need a groom for anything to be witnessed.”

Most close friends would offer sympathy when their friend’s fiancé of a year and a half decided to just not show up for the actual wedding. Most acquaintances would feel bad enough when the carefully planned event got rained out. Not your Aliyah. She simply let out a sharp breath and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.

You glared at her, which of course she didn’t see, having shut her eyes to listen to the water tumble from the roof to the street outside.

“Thank you. So much,” you said.

“What?” she asked, forcing her eyes open again. “I told you Jared wasn’t good enough for you. Besides, you should keep all the gifts even if he doesn’t stop by. I saw, like, nine blenders in that pile. You’re better off this way, if you ask me.”

“You’re just saying that because you want a free blender,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say no. But, really, you should count your lucky stars. Free stuff and free of your jackass boyfriend. What better start to a weekend?”

“I’d rather be married to my jackass boyfriend.”

Aliyah’s disdain for Jared was nothing new or surprising. He’d fallen from grace in her eyes when he’d got jealous over your fondness for an injured pigeon you’d rescued only a few months after you started dating Jared. Even releasing the bird hadn’t entirely put an end to his complaints about how you spent your free time. On the other hand, you knew one thing that neither Aliyah nor Jared did: Jared’s jealousy wasn’t entirely misplaced.

But that was years ago. This was now. And that bird had always been bad news.

“Are you going to cry about it?” Aliyah asked, peering over at your perch by the parlor’s bay window. “Because, if not, I’d hate to have dragged Habib all the way to America for nothing.”

At the mention of her long-distance boyfriend, you motioned for Aliyah to go on. You preferred to do your moping alone, and Aliyah knew it. She stood and crossed the room to give you a quick hug before she left without another word. Probably you did owe your maid of honor at a least a blender for all the trouble she’d been through on your behalf.

Sighing, you lifted one hand, dug your fingers into your hair, and tore out what was holding it in its elaborate design. Who cared what you looked like now? Even if stupid Jared had shown up, the storm would have ruined your appearance before you made it down the aisle. Now Aliyah had free rein to spend the rest of her afternoon cuddling with Habib, and you had no one else to bother looking pretty for.

Outside your empty room, you could hear the indistinct muttering of your remaining guests. Family, mostly, who had already given up trying to convince you to let them in. What the rest of them were waiting for before they left, you couldn’t guess. Perhaps for you to come out and make an official announcement: The wedding has been called off. Party’s over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And thanks for all the blenders.

The shame of your situation suddenly threatened to crash down upon you. It would have, if you had remained sitting where you were. Instead, you got up, white dress rustling as you stalked across the room. A quiet shriek of rage was stifled only by your gloved hand pressed to your colored lips. Of all the pathetic, idiotic, insane things you had done in your life! Now you didn’t even have the courage to face your friends and family with the truth.

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Hail began to hit the glass behind you, soft and hesitant. Since you had no plans to leave the building any time soon, you ignored this weather development.

Jared hadn’t even called to say he’d changed his mind. You should have known when he hadn’t come home after his stag party the night before. He was probably laughing it up over your stupidity with some blonde bikini babe by the beach that you were supposed to go to for your honeymoon. The thought caused you to kick out angrily at the coffee table, and you heard a quiet rip issue from your skirt in response when it caught on a corner.

You swore.

”Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Now that you thought about it, the sound wasn’t regular enough to be hail. It wasn’t very hesitant anymore either. Still, you ignored the noise as you yanked off your veil, your gloves, and your garter. You were mentally preparing to rip them all to shreds with your fingernails when you heard it again:

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

That time you did not suppress your shriek. As it faded into the overstuffed furniture surrounding you, you marched over to the window and shoved it open. The wind whistled through the empty space, sending anything in the room not tied down into the air and splattering your face with water. If ever there was a time to reasonably expect an Asgardian thunder god to step inside, it was then. No one was there, though, save for a single bedraggled pigeon.

“Oh, hello,” you said when it hopped onto the sill, and automatically you held out your cupped hands toward it.

The poor thing shivered once, then stepped onto your warm palms. Only when it looked up into your face did you see that it had bright green, very un-pigeon-ish eyes.

Before you could stuff the bird back outside, it lifted itself into the air to half-flutter, half-fly over to the loveseat Aliyah had been sitting on. A flash of light that had nothing to do with the lightning outside filled the room. When you had blinked and cleared your vision enough that you could see again, the pigeon was gone, and in its place reclined a tall, dark-haired, beautiful man, dressed to the nines in Asgardian fashion.

“Hello, darling,” said Loki Laufeyson. “Don’t you look ravishing?”

You were too shocked to contradict him. No mention of your torn dress, mussed hair, or smeared makeup escaped your lips. Instead, you said the only thing you could in that sort of situation: “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’m here to offer you my congratulations, of course,” he answered, examining one perfectly manicured nail. “Or should it be my condolences?”

“Really?” Your tone dripped with enough sarcasm that it could be heard over the protesting window as you forced it shut. “You disappear for two years, never write, never visit, and then you just happen to pop by to celebrate my wedding to another man?”

“What kind of secret lover would I be if I did not?”

“We are not secret lovers.”

“Well, no, we haven’t been for quite some time. I see no reason why that should stop us from picking up right where we left off, however.”

“We were never secret lovers.”

“Really?” he said, mocking the tone of your earlier question. “That’s not what it seemed like to me. Of course, I had the brain of a pigeon most of the time, but at night when your beau had to work and leave you so very alone–”

“You can’t just show up out of the blue and expect me to want you again,” you interrupted. “And on my wedding day to boot.”

To his credit, Loki looked genuinely confused by your behavior–like he’d expected you to jump straight into his arms, marriage or no. Obviously, they did things differently in Asgard. You were not Asgardian.

“Fine,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. I was only trying to thank you for helping me, you know.”

“All I did was take in a pigeon that got injured when Thor threw a bunch of peanuts at a flock. It didn’t really deserve that sort of thanking.”

“Ah, but you enjoyed it anyway.” That wasn’t the point. He knew it wasn’t the point just as well as you did, because once he made it, he got fluidly up to his feet to and walked over to stand in front of you. “If you are that disinclined to see me, I suppose I had better get going. If you ever grow tired of being lonely again–oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to contact me.”

You opened your mouth to remind Loki that you didn’t want to contact him, but then something about Loki’s words rang strange.

“Alone?” you echoed.

“Yes, alone. Or do you expect your Prince Charming to come riding up on a horse of white any second now? Better late than never?”

Without thinking, without warning, you slapped him straight across the face.

“Ow!” he snapped, pressing one of his hands to the mark on his face. “What was that for?”

“What did you do?” You lifted your hand for another blow. “What did you do to Jared?”

“Me? Do something to Jared? What should I have to do with that ponderous ass?”

“Did you kill him, Loki?” you asked, voice quavering. Loki could do it. Easily. He was a god, and Jared just…well, just a ponderous ass.

Loki let out a single bark of laughter. “Oh, please. I just got out of Asgardian prison. As if I’d risk going back over the murder of a petty moral such as he.”

That brought you up short. Frowning, you deigned to look at him again. “Prison?”

“Yes, prison. Did you think my absence was due to taking a pleasure cruise?”

“I thought you’d escaped prison when I found you the first time.”

“But you sent me back to Asgard when I started causing trouble,“ he reminded you. "Odin does not forget his son’s crimes easily, nor is he inclined to forgive them. Luckily my brother is far easier to manipulate.”

He had not, you noticed, made any real move to leave. Loki still stood in front of you, looking down as the pink handprint faded from his cheek.

“So…you didn’t kill my fiancé?” you asked uncertainly.

He shook his head. “If he isn’t here, it is because he is a dunce, not because I tricked him in any way.”

“Oh.” All the problems of your appearance seemed at once apparent and embarrassing. To think that this man would see you in such a state, and only because he’d wanted to see you after his release from jail. “Why did you really come, then? Since you knew he wasn’t here. To gloat?”

“The thought did occur to me,” Loki confessed. “I am not often in the position of being the more desirable choice. But,” here his voice turned oddly sincere, “I actually came to ask you to come with me.”

Your mouth fell open. Some of Loki’s usual acerbic amusement returned as he watched you flounder; you could see the faint outlines of his familiar smirk at the corners of his mouth. Finally, you managed a short, “go with you where?”

He shrugged, and started to twist the curtain in between his long, pale fingers. “I don’t know, really.”

“You want me to go somewhere with you without anywhere in mind?”

“I thought we’d figure it out as we went along,” he said. “Travel the galaxies. I cannot return to Asgard and Midgard, of course, is out of the question so long as I do not rule it.”

“You want me to follow you into outerspace?”

Only his silence could tip you off that Loki was actually nervous. He clearly had no idea how you would respond to his suggestion–which was by falling into a nearby chair to gape at him.

“You want me to leave my family?” you asked.

“They live far away and hardly talk to you.”

“And my job?”

“That you’ve never liked. We’re both aware.”

“And my best friend?”

“She spends most of her time visiting mosques in India with her boyfriend,” Loki said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Besides, there’s no rule to say we can’t come back to visit her every so often. I have no objection. She seems a sensible enough woman.”

“And you want me to leave them all,” you went on as though you couldn’t hear him, “for you, a man I haven’t seen in years because he was in prison.”

Once more, Loki said nothing. His green eyes peered into yours with unreadable depths, just as they had the unfortunate day you had returned home after to work to find your injured pigeon friend gone and a strange man eating all of the meat out of your fridge in its place. You could remember, too, the feel of that man’s skin against yours, the heat of his lips on your neck, the sound of his low voice in your ear–and Jared complaining, always complaining, about how much time you spent with that damn bird.

You buried your face in your hands. “I can’t do it, Loki. I can’t.”

You waited to hear him leave again, to hear the glass move and the rush of the storm and the flutter of wings. None came. All that did was one soft word:

“Please.”

“Huh?”

When you looked up, Loki was right above you. His hands gripped the chair arms at your sides with enough force to make them whiter than ever–but his eyes were not on yours anymore.

“Please,” he said, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Another move without thinking or warning: You gently touched his other cheek.

Loki’s eyes closed for a half second before he moved one hand to hold your wrist there. “I have already lost my father, my mother, my home. My own brother has thrust me unceremoniously from both realms I sought to rule. And then to hear that I would lose you, too, to an oaf like that Jared.”

No one could say that Loki losing all of this wasn’t entirely his fault. He had decided to lead an alien invasion into Earth, to try murdering several members of his mentioned family, and to seduce young Earth women under the guise of hurt animals. But part of Loki’s charm was that he never failed to make one doubt that he could be better, maybe, if you only let him try.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. A sincere apology didn’t mean your mind was changed, however, and this, also, Loki knew.

“Do you want me to beg?” he asked. “I am no longer a stranger to begging.”

With that, Loki slid to the wooden floor before you. Stranger or no, it was positive it wasn’t a position he relished being in, what with how stiff his hands were around yours when he made to hold them. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and began:

“I know I am asking a lot. But I, too, have lost a family, a job, and my closest friends. I would not ask you to come with me if I did not intend on paying you pack ten times in kind. If you will allow me to take you with me, I know I can make you happier than you would be here. Together we will find some place to call our own, and you shall be my queen. So please,” he said, “please let me keep one last thing that I love. Don’t make me leave you behind, too.”

It wasn’t the prettiest speech you had ever heard come out of his mouth, but it was probably the most honest. You gave him a tiny smile as you squeezed his hands in return. “A queen, huh?”

Loki smirked. “Or a comfortable, quiet living, depending on what we find, and how thorough Thor is in seeking me out. At least we could be comfortable and quiet for a little while.”

“Can’t imagine that’s going to last long with you around.”

“With you around to look after me, though…”

That got you to laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’d do a wonderful job making sure you didn’t get into any trouble. I did such a good job before.”

Some of the color returned to Loki’s features. He was starting to hope. Against your better judgement, so were you. A couple of things, however, remained to bother you:

“What if you came here and Jared and I were married?” you asked.

“Then I would have had to resort to kidnapping.”

“And how did you even know I was getting married today to begin with?”

He smiled his Cheshire smile, and that was when you knew you were truly lost. “You really ought to stop talking to the birds on your fire escape. You never know which one would be willing to pass information off in exchange for a couple of peanuts.”

“Oh, and you stalk me. What part of this deal doesn’t sound good?”

“None of it, I should hope.” Standing, Loki kept one hand firmly around one of yours. “We should go, you realize. Unless you want to say your goodbyes?”

You thought of your parents blustering about how you dared to invite both of them to your wedding. You thought of the forlorn apartment you shared with a man that had never really loved you for you. You thought of Aliyah and her instance that Jared would never be good enough for you. You thought of the awkward explanation that would be expected as soon you set foot outside that door–and you grinned.

“Not a chance.”

“Then I believe,” he said, and abruptly pulled you into his arms in an obvious parody of carrying a bride before pushing the window open with his boot, “we have a few errands to go on before we get on our way.”

“Like what?”

“Unless you plan to live the rest of our lives with nothing but multiple blenders,” he began, but was not able to finish over your sudden laughter and the return of the torrent outside.

You latched your hands behind his neck as he dove back into the rain. There were stars somewhere above those clouds, and you would be visiting them soon enough–them and endless other realms. Maybe eloping with a man that could turn into a pigeon wasn’t the best miracle there ever was on Midgard, but it pulled off the most important trick of them all: Against all odds, you lived happily ever after.

#fan fic #straw writes #loki laufeyson #loki #loki odinson #avengers #marvel #mcu #reader insert #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufesyon x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki odinson x you #loki odinson x y/n #loki odinson x reader #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x y/n #mcu x reader #mcu x you #mcu x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #marvel x y/n #thor #thor x reader #thor x you

[just-come-baek]

body rhythm

Pairing: Taeyong x reader | mentions of Seulgi x Irene | mentions of Johnny x almost everybody

Themes: smut | fluff | dance!au 

Word count: 14.8k

Summary: Taeyong and Seulgi participate in a nationwide dance competition. However, due to unfortunate scheduling, she has to drop out of it, suggesting you, out of all people, fill in. Taeyong isn't pleased with how things manage to fall out of place, but he is in no position to be whiny about it. For him, it's either learn to work with you or lose yet another time to his arch-enemy.

Warnings: a moderate amount of fluff | Johnny flirting with everybody in plain sight | Johnny stalks people out on social media | cursing | Doyoung being a huge dick | Doyoung flexing his hips | reader has inappropriate thoughts about Taeil | Taeyong being very demanding dance teacher | stressfull situations | drinking | reader is kind of bratty and Taeyong finds it really frustrating | frustrated/angry making out | as per smut | oral!female receiving | unprotected sex (never try it at home or else Imma tell your parents) | they kinda fuck in the open and kinda check our their refection in the mirror |

A/N it's my entry for song association event, I hope you like it, and also don't forget to check out other entries ^^ they must be all out by now lol

“Are you ready?” Johnny inquired as he set his fourth coffee of the day on his desk and plopped onto the swivel chair in a cubicle next to mine. It was a really long day at work, and we both had trouble sitting through the end of it. Heaving a deep sigh, I looked at the pile of documents that required my attention, groaning before I sprawled across my workspace.

“I thought it’s canceled tonight,” I spoke as I looked at my wristwatch, wincing when I realized there was still one more hour until Johnny and I could finally clock out.

A few months ago, our lovely firm, instead of giving us a well-deserved raise, had decided to provide us with a variety of extra activities. Though I’d rather get some monetary benefits, together with Johnny, we chose dance classes. Our company was paying for it, so we might’ve as well attended.

Ever since then, every Thursday, we would go to a dance class to sweat out all of the pent-up frustration. I didn’t have plenty of expectations, still bitter after the company’s decision, but the dance class turned out amazing. Seulgi was our teacher, and although she was a bit demanding, she was patient enough to teach us some sick moves. If that didn’t scream talent™, I had no idea what did.

“Well… last week, she said she might be absent today, but I got a text from school that someone will fill in,” Johnny spoke matter-of-factly. I sighed, checking my phone, reading the same text message from the studio. I really didn’t have energy for dance classes, but there was no way Johnny would let me skip.

“Do you want to grab a drink after? I think I need one, or a few,” I proposed as I sat back in my chair, trying to let my eyes rest from the computer’s screen.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Johnny asked rhetorically, smiling at me as if I just read his mind. It was almost Friday at this point, and we deserved a little treat.

Though it felt like an eternity, the clock finally struck 5 p.m., letting us leave our claustrophobic cubicles. Tomorrow we would come back for another dose of torture, but right now, we were free. Only for a few hours, though.

Quickly, I returned home to get my gym bag. Thankfully, I lived within walking distance from both – my office and the dance studio, so it wasn’t as troublesome to commute as it was for Johnny, who got stuck in traffic almost every day.

A few minutes before the dance class, I was already changed into my gym attire, waiting for Johnny. Though no one was texting me, I stared at my phone, furiously typing away. Moon Taeil, also known as my secret crush, was leaning against the wall on the other side of the corridor, and I tried every single trick my mind could come up with not to look desperate.

“At this point, he must think you hate him,” Johnny commented as he conjured in front of me out of nowhere. “You should hit on him instead of trying to bolt every time he approaches you,” he added, and I rolled my eyes at his yet another one shitty advice.

“Can you remind me why I don’t take dating advice from you?”

“Why are you attacking me? I just wanted to help. There’s no need to get so aggressive,” Johnny defended his case, not really answering my question. Johnny was a self-proclaimed love expert, but to me, he was more of a pathological playboy. Either way, he seemed to understand the secrets of flirtation to pick up girls whenever he set his mind to it.

“I am just trying not to be obvious,” I commented, stealing a glance at Taeil. It was a silly crush, and though Johnny encouraged me to go for it, I never decided to act on my feelings. Taeil probably didn’t feel this way about me, so remaining idle actually saved me embarrassment after an inevitable rejection.

“Speaking of which, I figured out why Seulgi is so resistant to my charms,” Johnny announced proudly, and I raised my eyebrow, waiting for the big reveal. Everybody in our group knew that Johnny was attracted to Seulgi, but every time he tried to approach her, she would brush him off.

“By figured out, you mean you stalked her, right?” I commented when Johnny handed me his phone, showing me Seulgi’s profile. According to what Johnny dug out in social media, Seulgi was getting married to Irene – her girlfriend of five years. “Huh,” I mused as I gave him back his phone, trying not to laugh at him. Seulgi was already madly in love with someone else, no wonder she could resist his charm.

“Call it whatever you want,” Johnny started, putting his phone away. “Just don’t hold me down when FBI finally recruits me for my impeccable detective skills,” he argued, and I laughed as I imagined him leaving our lovely company. That would be a shame; I couldn’t imagine anyone else sitting in the cubicle next to mine.

“The room should be open,” someone hollered, mentioning for us to open the doors and get inside. I had seen him a few times around the school, so I deduced he must’ve been our substitute teacher today.

Once everybody took their spot on the dance floor, the man cleared his throat. “Hello everybody, my name is Taeyong. Together with Seulgi, we run this school, and I hope we will have a lot of fun today with new choreography,” he announced politely with a practiced professionalism. Perhaps Taeyong didn’t seem as cool as Seulgi, but we had to give him a chance to prove us wrong.

Taeyong was intimidating. I wouldn’t want to be left alone with him. When he showed us a few moves, he was immensely focused on delivering one hundred percent. It was impressive and admirable, but at the same, Taeyong gave off a scary fierce aura. Though he was a great dancer and teacher, Seulgi was just better.

“I think I have a heart attack,” I panted, gasping for air. The new choreography required lots of jumping, and I didn’t expect so much cardio today. I wasn’t out of shape; however, after dancing to Taeyong’s choreography, I had some doubts.

“We should’ve skipped,” Johnny commented, bending over with his palms on his knees, supporting his huge body. Taeyong’s dance routine was too much for us, and we weren’t the only people struggling to breathe. Thankfully, next week Seulgi would be back.

***

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Johnny announced, craning his neck to look inside my cubicle. Heaving a sigh, I put my pen down, giving him my full attention.

This better be good.

“What is it? Who are you stalking this time?” I inquired, giving him the attitude. Johnny was spending too much time on his phone during working hours, but I couldn’t really frown upon it because I often caught myself doing the same thing.

“First of all, I thought we agreed to call it researching, not stalking,” Johnny clarified, and I rolled my eyes. “And second of all, it’s Seulgi. She and the other guy from the dance studio qualified for some dance competition. Check this out,” Johnny explained, handing me his phone.

Seulgi and Taeyong rocked the stage. Though I had nothing to compare their performance to, they just oozed charisma, uniqueness, nerve, and talent. Without any shred of doubt, they would make it to the grand finale.

“Wow,” I mused, not sure how to appropriately respond. I was happy for their success; after all, their performance was broadcasted during prime time on national television. At this point, Seulgi and Taeyong were celebrities.

“I can’t wait for today’s class,” Johnny added in excitement, hiding his phone away inside the pocket of his jacket. “I have to congratulate her.”

“Them. You have to congratulate them,” I corrected Johnny as he seemed to forget about Seulgi’s dance partner. It wasn’t a solo competition, so both Seulgi and Taeyong deserved praise. “And as if you’ve forgotten, Seulgi is not and will never be interested in you. You gotta let this one go, man,” I added, hoping Johnny would stop his relentless flirting with Seulgi. Though it was funny at the beginning, it was evident Seulgi would appreciate it if he stopped.

“I am all over her. Trust me,” Johnny reassured me, and I let out a shallow sigh, wanting to believe him. “Do you know Wendy from the HR department? I think I’m gonna ask her out. I am all over Seulgi,” he added, and it actually convinced me. Although Johnny didn’t seek anything serious at this point in his life, and when something didn’t go according to his plan, he would shake it off and forget all about it.

“Ok, I believe you,” I said, giving him a genuine smile. “Oh, and I was thinking… how about some beer and chicken after dance classes today? I’ve been craving them the whole day,” I offered, and Johnny enthusiastically nodded. It did sound like a solid plan.

Thankfully, this week Seulgi was back, and everybody appreciated it. Taeyong was a great teacher, but we were a group of beginners, and it was difficult for us to follow his routine. We just weren’t ready for such complex choreography.

Everybody had so much fun today. At first, we practiced some old routines, working on synchronization. Later on, Seulgi taught us a few new moves, which I recognized from her television performance. Admittedly, they weren’t as difficult as they looked. Maybe it was a little bold of me, but I was thinking I was doing a pretty good job today.

At the very end of the class, Johnny delivered a dramatic congratulatory speech, making people laugh out of utter cringe. It was a nice gesture, and Seulgi’s embarrassment was adorable. She would cover her blushed cheeks and turn around, hoping the ground could swallow her up. In all honesty, it seemed to be the only way to shut up Johnny.

Just when we were about to be dismissed, I heard someone calling my name. Surprisingly, it was Seulgi. She must’ve wanted to discuss something with me. Damn it, was she going to scold me for not improving? Or was it because I sat half of the song out? I just needed a short break; I had no idea it would get me in trouble.

“I am sorry,” I apologized even though I wasn’t sure what for yet. Seulgi would enlighten me in a second, so I cleared my throat to apologize to her once again. However, when she giggled instead of yelling at me, I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” Johnny hollered before he strolled out of the practice room.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked, and Seulgi smiled, shaking her head.

Great, it was a relief.

“Actually, I may sound crazy to you,” she started, fidgeting a little. It was strange, Seulgi was a strong and confident woman, but right now, she seemed rather bashful. “Would you like to participate in a dance competition?”

Her question took me aback.

“What?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around the topic.

“Let me explain,” she offered, and I reluctantly nodded.

By the look on her face, I could tell it wasn’t going to be a quick chit-chat. Seulgi had a lot of things to explain, so we decided to sit on the floor before she began her speech.

Patiently, I listened to everything she wanted to tell me.

Seulgi and Taeyong wanted to participate in a dance competition ever since they had decided to open up a dance school together. Last week they really thought they were going to achieve their dream. Unfortunately, as soon as they qualified and received the schedule, complications started to follow.

Maybe it was a little bit overconfident of them to think they’d make it to the finals, but it still made them anxious. Regardless of their talent, they wouldn’t be able to perform in the grand finale. Apparently, on the very same day, Seulgi was getting married.

At first, I wanted to interject that they could reschedule, but Seulgi beat me to it.

“It would be the third time we reschedule it, and I just can’t let that happen. I don’t want Irene to think I prioritize dancing over her. She means the world to me, and I’d quit a thousand times to get married to her,” Seulgi confessed, and I tried my best to contain my feels. There was something raw and pure about Seulgi’s love, and it moved me.

Seulgi’s proposition was genius in its simplicity. Together with Taeyong, she would perform, climbing up the rankings. And if by any chance, they would make it to the final round; she wanted me to fill in. Given I had been dancing at their studio for about four months I couldn’t comprehend why she chose me.

I was a rookie, for crying out loud!

Finding a substitute dancer made a lot of sense, actually. Instead of dropping out, they could find a replacement. This way, Taeyong could still make his dream come true. And next year, together with Seulgi, they could try to defend the title.

However, once again, Seulgi read my mind and answered my question before I voiced my doubts. She must’ve really thought this through before approaching me. It seemed she had rehearsed all possible inquires and came up with perfect answers.

“All of our dancer friends either compete against us or failed during qualifications,” she declared, and I hummed in response. “Unfortunately, people who already attempted joining can’t fill in for other dancers.”

“That sucks,” I commented, and Seulgi dryly chuckled.

“I think you would be a perfect fit,” she started, and I held my breath, wanting to hear what made her think I’d be able to rise to the challenge. “Everybody can memorize moves, but you have a natural passion for dancing. I can see it in class. Maybe you can’t see it yet because dancing is a hobby to you more than anything else, but I can tell you have the it™ factor.”

I was speechless. Seulgi, the dance prodigy, was praising my dancing skills. I couldn’t believe my ears. What kind of self-indulgent dream was it? Why couldn’t I dream like a normal person? I had tendency to toot my own horn sometimes, but it was just too much.

“I bet with proper training, you and Taeyong could win.”

“Let me think about it, okay?”

“Sure, of course! No pressure!” Seulgi replied enthusiastically, giving me enough space to clear my mind and think about it.

“See you next week.” I waved at her, exiting the dance room. Absentmindedly, I changed out of the gym clothes and walked out of the building, almost walking past Johnny.

“Hey, what did Seulgi want?” Johnny asked, grabbing my wrist, pulling me out of trance.

“She wants me to dance in her place if she and Taeyong ever make it to the finals.”

“What?!”

 ***

At first, I was hesitant about this whole thing. I wasn’t a professional dancer, and I really didn’t want to contribute to them losing the competition. However, Seulgi really made a point that they would have to drop out anyway, so in some twisted way, my participation gave them a slimmer of hope for victory.

Once I explained everything to Johnny, he really insisted I should help them out, spitting nonsense about fame and recognition and how I couldn’t doubt myself and just go with the flow. Opportunities like this rarely occurred, and I ought to welcome them with excitement.

So I did.

Every Saturday and Sunday, I dropped by the dance studio for practice. Taeyong still intimidated me, but I could deal with it. Seulgi was always around me to nag him whenever he demanded too much from me. They balanced each other very well, and it was fun working with them. Even though each practice left me with sore muscled, I was still excited. It was tangible proof I was improving.

Seulgi and Taeyong smoothly went through the contest, winning each battle with ease, slowly climbing in the ranking. There was still plenty of work until the grand finale, but everything looked they were to make it to the very top.

Unfortunately, the closer to the D-day, the less time Seulgi had to help us during practice. With her wedding coming up, she had a lot of preparations to deal with. As a result, Taeyong and I had to practice the dance routine on our own.

“No, you’re doing it all wrong,” Taeyong yelled in irritation when for the nth time, I turned to my right instead of my left. “Do it again; five, six, seven, eight,” he added, playing the song from the very beginning.

To say I was frustrated was an understatement of the century. I was aware that Taeyong really wanted to win the competition, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. With no Seulgi to supervise him, he was unbearable.

“I think I need a break,” I declared once I turned to the wrong side again before Taeyong managed to scold me for it. Even though he shouted something again, I ignored it. With a deep sigh, I walked over to my gym bag to get my water bottle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Taeyong asked, staring down at me with his arms folded across his chest, his demeanor dominant. His eyes were drilling holes in my head, his jaw was tightened – it was evident I was driving him up the wall. It was just a matter of seconds before Taeyong would snap, lashing out at me.

“I am taking a break,” I answered quickly, ignoring his angry stare. I was at my limit. If Taeyong didn’t back off, it would be the end of the practice for today. One more mean word and I’d storm out of the studio. I was here voluntarily. I was doing him a favor, and I didn’t deserve this type of treatment.

“Is it a joke to you?” Taeyong carried on, and I rolled my eyes. Of course, it wasn’t a joke to me. But at the same time, I was sick and tired of his shenanigans. I wanted him to win, but not when my mental health was on the line. He was pissing me off, and I wouldn’t let him walk all over me. “I thought you decided to help us out, but you’re not trying at all.”

He did not just say that.

“What?” I rhetorically asked, standing up, poking his chest with my forefinger. “I am trying my best here. You’re the one who makes it impossible to have fun dancing. You’re making it a chore, sucking all the fun out it.”

“Then tell me what I should do for you to finally make some progress? We’ve been stuck at this part for two weeks, and you still haven’t learned how to turn right!”

“Then go ahead and find someone else who can put up with your shit. I’m out,” I spoke, bending down to pick up my stuff, ready to leave the studio. Unfortunately, before I managed to exit the practice room, the doors opened, and Seulgi walked in with a confused expression on her face.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” She asked in worry, trying to put two and two together. It wouldn’t be the first time Taeyong and I argued, but it seemed to be the most intense one so far. It didn’t sit right with her. “Please don’t tell me you fought again.”

Briefly, I summarized what happened, and Seulgi looked down at Taeyong disapprovingly. I was glad Seulgi took my side; after all, she knew Taeyong could be too demanding.

“I am a dancer, but why does it feel I am a couple counselor? You two really have to learn how to work together when I’m not around,” she scolded us, making her point. If this whole arrangement was to work out, we both needed to establish some ground rules and learn how to put our differences aside. “I have an idea.”

Oh, no.

There was something mischievous in her tone, and I didn’t particularly like it.

“Let’s finish for today,” she proposed, and I smiled, thinking it was a great idea. Taeyong and I needed some time to chill, and calling it a day seemed like an appropriate way to do it. “Let’s go out clubbing instead!” Seulgi added cheerfully, clapping her hands in excitement.

“What?” Taeyong and I asked in unison, a bit surprised by Seulgi’s statement.

“That’s my prescription for the two of you,” she started, and I rolled my eyes. Taeyong and I didn’t get along as well as she wished for us to, but it wasn’t that bad. We didn’t need to bond over a few drinks in a crowded club. We would do just fine if Taeyong learned to go easy on me. “I believe we all can benefit from clubbing.”

“How come?”

“First of all, it will remind Taeyong that dancing is about fun, not overworking oneself,” Seulgi spoke, and I hummed, agreeing with her. “Second of all, it’ll give you a chance to loosen up. Your moves are still a bit stiff during intimate parts of the choreography,” she added, and Taeyong nodded in agreement. “And I really need something to drink because wedding planning is stressful as fuck.”

Not even thirty minutes later, we were inside the club.

“It’s a very sensual song. And you two really have to work hard to convey emotions through your dance,” Seulgi started as she sipped her tropical cocktail. “You must feel comfortable around each other and just ooze longing and sexual attraction,” she added, and I almost choked on my drink.

Performing with Taeyong was going to be more difficult than I had anticipated. When Seulgi and Taeyong showed me the choreography, I was amazed. Absolutely blown away. The way their bodies moved in synchronization left me speechless, but at the same time, I was a little bit nervous because I didn’t see myself living up to their level.

I wouldn’t consider myself particularly sexy. It made me feel awkward when I thought how seductive the dance routine actually was. I wasn’t sure I could pull this off, but Taeyong still had a lot of time to teach me.

“Take her to the dance floor,” Seulgi elbowed Taeyong, almost spilling his drink. Unenthusiastically, Taeyong looked at me before standing up and extending his arm.

Drunken people were jumping around us to the rhythm, and I awkwardly swayed from side to side, staring at Taeyong. With godlike precision, he moved, getting lost in the music. One could tell straight away Taeyong was a professional dancer.

Upon noticing how stiff I was, Taeyong shook his head, yanking me against his lean body. “How about you take a five-minute break to get that stick out of your ass? You look like you have no joints,” he yelled into my ear, his breath tickling my sensitive skin.

“I’ve had too little alcohol,” I replied, but Taeyong wasn’t having it.

“When we perform on the stage, will you need alcohol to let loose too?” Taeyong challenged with a playful smirk, and I rolled my eyes, too prideful to admit he was right. I couldn’t participate in that competition drunk. We wouldn’t win if I wasn’t able to come out of my shell and show everybody I had a sensual bone in my body.

“No,” I yelled into Taeyong’s ear. “How do I let loose?” I asked, hoping to hear some words of wisdom from him.

“Mirror what I’m doing,” Taeyong guided, and I nodded, focused on my new task. I could do that. I had been mirroring Seulgi’s movements during our classes, and I was pretty good at doing it. I could copy Taeyong’s moves.

At first, Taeyong danced a few classic moves we usually did during our warm-up routine. It was easy, and I think I nailed it. Later, he wiggled his upper body, feeling the rhythm. With envy, I observed how his body executed every single move, owning it. I wish I was half as good as Taeyong. Next to him, I probably looked like a crippled kid.

Upon noticing my struggle, Taeyong began jumping around, throwing his hands in the air. He looked ridiculous, but I remained focused on my task, dancing as if I was his shadow. Our bizarre moves earned some attention from other people, but our eyes were trained on each other, slowly getting lost in our own bubble.

I was sober, and I was on my way to owning the dance floor. I couldn’t believe it was happening. Maybe Taeyong’s charisma overshadowed my poor attempts of showcasing mine; however, I was sure I made a big step in the right direction. Slowly, I was improving.

“How about we spice it up a little bit?” Taeyong shouted into my ear, and I cocked up my eyebrow, thinking what he meant by that. “Don’t be shy,” he added, yanking me against his body. Taeyong was so close I could feel his legs rub against mine. “Come on, sweetheart. Touch me, tease me, feel me up,” Taeyong snickered, getting on my nerves. Not only Taeyong was smug for no reason, but he also quoted the song, which I was slowly growing to hate.

Taeyong must’ve assumed I’d back out. Surely, he didn’t expect me to follow his instructions and actually run my hands across his chest, shoulders, and back while simultaneously swaying my hips, earning approving stares from impressed men on the dance floor. At first, he was surprised he talked me into it, but a second later, he smirked, resting his palms on my sides, slowly exploring the valley of my butt.

I had no idea I had it in me, but Taeyong helped me discover it. We were basically grinding against each other, and it somehow didn’t feel awkward at all. We were just two people having fun.

“I’m sorry I was so harsh on you,” Taeyong apologized, shouting in my ear. “I’m just stressful all the time, and I think I may sometimes take it out on you,” he added, and I looked at his face, which was dangerously close to mine.

“It’s understandable,” I replied as I wrapped my arms around Taeyong’s neck, finding it much more comfortable. Now with our bodies pressed together, it was easier to have a conversation. “I know how much you want to win this competition. I’ll try harder,” I promised, and Taeyong released a relieved chuckle.

Who would’ve thought an adult conversation would work better than shouting at each other?

“Thank you,” Taeyong spoke genuinely, and I pulled away, staring at his face. His eyes were trained on mine. No matter how many hours we had spent at the dance studio, his gaze still intimidated me sometimes.

“Ekhm, I need a break,” I said in a desperate need to break eye contact with him. The dance floor was crowded, and it was making me dizzy. I was getting dangerously hot, and it seemed like heaven to get back to our booth and finish our drinks.

“Of course, you need a break,” Taeyong teased, sending me a lopsided smirk. “It’s okay, though. We still have plenty of time to work on your stamina,” he added as he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the crowd. Carefully, we zigzagged around drunken people, trying to make it safely to Seulgi.

Unfortunately, by the bar counter, someone walked into Taeyong, almost knocking him down.

“I’m very sorry,” a man shouted, but I could sense the words weren’t genuine.

“Doyoung,” Taeyong spoke, gritting his teeth, staring at the other man. Taeyong’s grip tightened around my hand. I figured he didn’t particularly like Doyoung.

“Taeyong,” Doyoung sighed, checking Taeyong out from head to toe before his gaze shifted to me. There was something spiteful about his lingering eyes, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. For sure, there was some bad blood between two men, and I suddenly felt an urge to know more. Inquisitiveness got the best of me.

Taeyong and Doyoung kept glaring at each other almost as if it was a competition. The tension was so intense one could cut it with a knife. I cleared my throat in a poor attempt to break their stare contest, but they didn’t even acknowledge my presence.

“I saw your last performance,” Doyoung finally spoke, scoffing. “You’re getting out of it, and here I expected to kick your ass in the finale. I wouldn’t be surprised if you and your partner got eliminated next week.”

I thought I had seen Taeyong furious, but right now, I was proven wrong. The way he looked at me whenever I was a handful during our practice was nothing compared to the way he glared at Doyoung. Taeyong was scary, and I decided to not get on his wrong side ever again.

“I’d gladly kick your ass here, but I’d rather wait for the finale. You know what people say about prolonged gratification,” Taeyong talked back, and I gasped, trying to comprehend what I just heard. Taeyong was getting cocky, and it made me nervous. I was already stressed about the possibility of performing, and he just added more pressure on my shoulders.

“We’ll see about that,” Doyoung replied, focusing his scrutinizing gaze on me. “But I have to say I kinda look forward to seeing you cry again. The way I beat you the last time was spectacular.”

“Let’s go, Taeyong. Don’t waste your breath on him. He’s not worth it,” I exclaimed, pulling Taeyong’s hand, reminding him I was there the whole time. I couldn’t listen to Doyoung talk trash about Taeyong. If Taeyong wasn’t going to walk away by himself, I had to intervene and pull him aside. Doyoung was provoking him.

“And who is that?” Doyoung asked in a mocking tone, displeased by the way I looked at him. Though I didn’t know the back story, I took Taeyong’s side. At least, Taeyong didn’t try to humiliate his rival, while Doyoung had already tried a few tricks to tick Taeyong off.

“You’re right,” Taeyong said, looking at me. It was evident he was holding himself back, trying his best not to take the bait. “Let’s go,” he added, pulling me away from Doyoung.

“Who was that?” I asked as we approached our booth. Unfortunately, I didn’t get my response. Upon arrival, we noticed that Seulgi was sprawled on the table, giggling to herself.

“Is she always like this?” I inquired, concerned about how drunk Seulgi got in such a short amount of time. We were gone for thirty minutes tops, and she was barely conscious after drinking her and our drinks.

“Aww… there you are… my dear friends,” she cooed cutely, trying to attack Taeyong with cuddles. She was adorable, but it was kind of irresponsible to drink by herself when we were on the dance floor. Thankfully, nothing happened. We returned just in time to collect her and escort her home.

“I can’t believe my plan worked,” Seulgi grinned, pointing her finger at Taeyong. “You no longer have a stick up your ass,” she exclaimed at Taeyong, too drunk to realize she should be talking to me. “And look at you! You were having fun!” Seulgi yelled, extending her arms to hug me. “I am so proud of you!”

“I should take her home,” Taeyong reasoned, considering it the safest option. He could call an Uber for Seulgi or just phone her fiancée to pick her up but bringing her home himself seemed to be the most rational solution. “Will you be alright by yourself?” He inquired, and I nodded right away. It was sweet of him to look after me too. Thankfully, I barely touched my cocktail; I could get home safely on my own.

“Don’t worry about me,” I replied casually, sending him a reassuring smile. “Just make sure Seulgi makes it home safe,” I added, warming up at the way Taeyong hauled up Seulgi, carefully leading her out of the club. It made me wonder if Johnny did the same to me. Probably. He wouldn’t be that gentle, though. If anything, he’d throw me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. Or just drag me out like a corpse.

“Give me a call once you get back home,” Taeyong demanded before we parted ways.

 ***

“You went clubbing without me?” Johnny dramatically asked after I told him everything that happened on the weekend. Despite my detailed narration, it seemed as if that was the only thing he caught on to. “How could you?”

“Relax, dude,” I rolled my eyes, shuffling around my desk, getting ready for work. It was Monday morning – it was about time we start our gossip routine.

“And I was wondering… would you mind helping me researching this shady dude? There’s some conflict between him and Taeyong. And I need to know what happened,” I started, wondering if Johnny would cooperate with me and put his stalking abilities to good use.

I was too embarrassed to ask Taeyong about Doyoung. Besides, I had a hunch he would either brush me off or scold me.

“Do you know anything about this dude besides his name?” Johnny pulled out his phone, no questions asked. “Please, don’t tell me that’s the only thing you know.”

“I mean… he’s probably a dancer,” I added with a sheepish smile, making Johnny heave a deep sigh. “He must be a big deal, though. Apparently, Taeyong lost a competition to him.”

“I’ll try to find some dirt, but it may be difficult given how little info you gave me,” Johnny declared as he began his thorough research.

It took Johnny five minutes to find the correct Doyoung. It was remarkable. If it wasn’t enough for the FBI to hire him, I’d gladly present them a recommendation letter. Quickly, I opened Doyoung’s profile on my phone, scrolling through his feed.

At first glance, Doyoung seemed to be a regular bratty internet star with an overgrown ego. His follower count was impressive. Studying his profile, I learned a lot about him. Unfortunately, it had no value. There was nothing specific about his conflict with Taeyong.

“How was your date with Wendy?” I asked Johnny as I gave up on my research. Whatever was the root of their bad blood would have to remain a mystery.

“It was fine,” Johnny started, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely honest. His disappointed tone betrayed him. “She left before the waiter brought the dessert. Apparently, she didn’t particularly like when I kept calling her Wanda.”

“Ouch.”

“No hard feelings, though,” Johnny shrugged it off, trying to focus on the positive aspect of their terrible date. “At least, I’ve had two slices of cheesecake. Besides, I’m kind of into Sooyoung from the creative team now. I think she is the one.”

“Every girl you’re into is the one,” I interjected, rolling my eyes, done with his antics.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve forgotten,” Johnny chimed in, staring at me in excitement. “Taeil asked me about you,” he revealed, and I almost spat out my morning coffee.

“What?”

“Are you still into him, though?” Johnny inquired, rubbing his temple in deep thought. “I haven’t heard you gush about him these days,” he pinpointed, and I wondered if my crush on Taeil was still as intense as it was a few months ago.

Taeil was insanely hot. I kept drooling whenever I saw him operate the printer. It was inappropriate to check him out whenever he bent down to change the ink, but I couldn’t help myself. Or whenever we met by the vending machine.

Good old times.

Right now, though, I rarely caught myself thinking about him. At first, I thought it was due to a hectic schedule. I was either at work or at the dance studio or getting shit-faced with Johnny on another wild adventure with him and his friends.

It was difficult to comprehend how easily my crush faded into thin air. Taeil was still sexy as fuck, but while I appreciate his looks, I wasn’t daydreaming how to get into his pants. At this point, I was just admiring his attributes in the most nonsexual way imaginable.

Apparently, the lack of response on my part was everything Johnny needed to confirm his suspicion.

“So what? Are you into Taeyong now?” Johnny asked boldly, and now, I actually choked on my coffee, thinking I heard him wrong. How did he jump to that conclusion?

“What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, but it kinda looks like you’re into him,” Johnny commented, playing with a pen. “You talk about him all the time with lots of passion. I think there’s something going on between you two. Is he single?”

“I talk about him all the time because I live to complain, and recently he’s the sole reason why I gotta vent,” I defended, but Johnny didn’t seem convinced. “And I don’t know if he’s single. I don’t really care,” quickly, I rejected all accusations, but in all honesty, his words got me wondering.

Was I attracted to Taeyong?

Surely, Taeyong was ridiculously attractive. He danced well, too. Unfortunately, we didn’t click much. There was passion between us, but it wasn’t romantically stemmed. We just kept annoying each other. I wouldn’t consider it sexual. We were just getting on each other’s nerves often, unable to properly solve our differences.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey,” Johnny teased, and I fought the urge to throw the stapler at him. “I bet fifty bucks you’ve imagined him naked, fucking you dumb.”

What the fuck, John???

I did not imagine Taeyong naked!

Not until now, at least.

“I seriously hate you right now,” I complained, deciding it’s about time I focus on work.

 ***

After Johnny had planted naughty thoughts in my mind, each dance practice was unbearable. My mind was running wild, coming up with different scenarios involving Taeyong and me in intimate situations. It was wrong on so many levels, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop.

After months of practicing the dance routine, we decided it would be best to make some changes to the choreography. Though it was still sensual as hell, with our hands roaming each other’s bodies, we found it crucial to accentuate Taeyong’s talents.

It was a strategic plan. While typically male dancers helped the female dancers shine, we put a little twist to it. Though our performance was still pretty balanced, Taeyong had a few crucial parts of choreography, in which he would snatch everybody’s hearts.

Seulgi didn’t object to our strategy. Well… she was never there, to begin with. Seulgi was a ghost, never present during our practice, always busy doing some last-minute wedding prep.

“Let’s take a five,” Taeyong hollered as he turned off the music, sending us off to a short break. It sounded weird when it came out of his mouth, but I didn’t complain. We’ve been practicing nonstop for the past hour. At this point, I was panting.

Lying down onto the floor, I rested my head on my towel, reaching for my phone. Quickly, I unlocked it to see a series of notifications from Johnny. He had sent me a link to a video, telling me in all caps to watch it.

Having left the earphones in the locker room, I played the video quietly through my phone’s speaker. It was a short film with Doyoung. It must’ve been his performance from last year’s competition. Jamming to the music, I studied his moves.

Doyoung was really good. I mean… it wasn’t professional expertise, but I could tell he had talent. His body control was impeccable, his hip thrusts must’ve impregnated plenty of women in the audience, but his shoulder rolls were just otherworldly. Along with the female dancer, they showcased quite the performance. From the beginning to the very end, I couldn’t look away, failing to notice Taeyong approach me.

“What the hell are you doing?” Taeyong shouted, tearing my phone from my hand, double-checking what I was watching. “Why are you watching this?” He angrily asked, locking the device, wishing for it to stop playing music.

It was difficult to explain.

I couldn’t exactly tell Taeyong that I asked my best friend to do research on Doyoung in hopes of finding out what was the root of their conflict. Though we had never found anything substantial, Johnny would send me more footage to check out. However, regardless of how much stuff Johnny had provided me with, I was still clueless.

“Why are you shouting at me?” I spoke, biting on my bottom lip. I was in big trouble, so it was only logical to play dumb.

Taeyong stared down at me, demanding a genuine answer. His jaw was tensed, his knuckles around my phone turned white. It was just a meaningless clip, but it got him fuming at me. Regardless of what I’d tell him, he wouldn’t like the answer. I figured this much.

“Why were you watching that?” Taeyong yelled, raising his hand, almost smashing my phone against the floor. Thankfully, he held back and gently put it on my bag.

It was incredible how much the video affected Taeyong. The movie worked on Taeyong like a red rag to a bull. One moment he seemed fine, but once he figured out what I was watching, he snapped.

“You really want to know?” I challenged as I rose to my feet, staring at him. It was my turn to raise my voice. If he kept shouting at me, I was going to give him the same treatment. “Ever since that night at the club, I was curious. You were basically throwing daggers at each other, and I really wanted to know what happened between you two. You never bothered to explain it, and I didn’t want to push you.”

“Do you have your answers now?” Taeyong exclaimed, and I rolled my eyes, agitating him even more with my fed-up behavior. He was scary right now, but I refused to let him intimidate me. “Or do you want to read my diary too?!”

I resisted the temptation of saying yes to his offering. Taeyong wasn’t the type of person to write a dairy. He was exaggerating, but I didn’t want to provoke him further. At any mention of Doyoung’s name, wrath took control over Taeyong, turning him into his destructive self.

“If it makes you feel any better, I know shit about him,” I confessed, throwing my hands in the air. “I wanted to know what he did to you, but I came up with nothing. And believe it or not, the way he treated you that night made me worry. You’re my dance partner, and I care about you a lot, and it really hurt me seeing you in distress,” I spat, not thinking about consequences. I was talking without filter, probably spilling too much information.

My verbal diarrhea confused Taeyong. His huge eyes were staring at me in astonishment. He was studying my expression, wondering if everything I said was true. Oh, no! My reckless words made him uncomfortable. He must’ve grown to hate now.

In embarrassment, I looked down at my shoes. I felt terrible, and I needed to come up with something clever to say to save my dignity and ease the tension. However, before I managed to voice my sincere apology, I felt Taeyong’s hands cup my cheeks as he surged forward and kissed my breath away. It was sudden, but I reciprocated the kiss in an instant.

Stress, anxiety, anger, sexual frustration, and probably many other factors led us to this very moment. I had been daydreaming about Taeyong’s mouth on mine for a while now. And when it finally happened, I eagerly swept my tongue across his lips, deepening the kiss. Though I had tried my best to withstand the tension between us, I wasn’t oblivious to it.

Taeyong already knew almost every inch of my body, so his hands naturally began roaming across my skin. Moaning into the kiss, he held me closer, keeping me pressed against him.

“Taeyong,” I breathed out as I pulled away, only for Taeyong to smash his lips against mine again, successfully shushing me. This time around, the kiss was even more passionate, making my knees weak. In a rush, Taeyong pushed me against the wall, pushing his thigh between my legs. “We shouldn’t,” I spoke, but my tone wasn’t convincing at all. I wasn’t even sure who I was trying to convince that it was a bad idea.

“Shut up,” Taeyong demanded as he tilted his face, sucking on my bottom lip. His hands were on my butt, kneading my flesh, trying to make me moan into his mouth. In all honesty, it worked. Maybe, I whimpered incoherent sounds, but it’s was just a poor attempt to encourage him to keep kissing me.

Regardless of how much he was to gift me, I needed more. I wasn’t going to stop until I’d take everything Taeyong was willing to give.

I craned my neck to the side, and Taeyong quickly caught on, leaving a wet trail down my neck. His lips were delicate, careful not to leave a mark, while his hips were grinding against me, letting me feel how stiff he already was.

“Legs,” Taeyong ordered, gently slapping my thigh. Obediently, I spread my legs apart, letting his hand cup my sex. It was ridiculous how horny he was making me. Once his raspy voice echoed in my ears, I fulfilled his wish, waiting for another command in excitement.

“Please,” I begged, needing more of him. Whatever he planned on doing to me, I needed it now. Whether he was to tease me with his beautiful fingers or fuck me raw with his cock, he better do it now.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he whispered against my skin, pressing feather-like kisses along my collarbone. His touch was driving me insane. His hands were everywhere but where I wanted them the most. This type of teasing should be illegal.

It was more than I could take, so I took matters into my own hands. I could play this game, too. With a mischievous smirk upon my face, I hooked my forefinger under the band of his tracksuit bottoms. Unfortunately, Taeyong quickly swept my hand away.

“You’re such a bad girl,” Taeyong commented before he captured my lips again, sliding his tongue into my mouth, knowing I’d talk back to him. “You have to do everything your way. Would it kill you if you listened to me at least once?” Taeyong muttered, staring into my eyes.

Yes, I was a brat. Taeyong wanted me to submit to him, and I would do it eventually, but not before I’d tease him first. What was fun in that?

“Don’t answer that,” he added, and I rolled my eyes. Though we barely hung out outside the dance studio, Taeyong learned a lot about me. Having an answer to everything was one of those things he had the pleasure of discovering.

“Just fuck me, please,” I said nicely, staring into his eyes, hoping it would be enough to make him cave. “I can’t take it any longer,” I added, rubbing my loins against his restrained cock, making him let out a guttural moan.

My plan was working. Slowly, Taeyong was giving in, probably taking his time to think about the consequences of letting me experience instant gratification. Orgasm would’ve been sweeter if he made me wait a bit more, but it was difficult for him to control his urges.

Without any doubt, Taeyong wanted to bury his cock inside of me as much as I wanted him to fuck me dumb. We withstood so many practices without jumping at each other – I should consider it foreplay.

“Fine, but I’m gonna eat you out first,” Taeyong spoke, and I almost lost it by just imagining his jaw going between my thighs. Swiftly, he knelt in front of me, pulling my leggings down to my ankles in one fluid motion. Having kicked off my gym shoes, I wiggled the fabric off my feet, sending it flying across the dance studio.

Taeyong ran his fingers across my panties, inspecting how soaked they already were. With a smirk upon Taeyong’s face, he pressed a chaste kiss against my skin above the waistband before he yanked the undergarment down.

“Beautiful,” he said under his breath before he surged his face, taking my clit between his gorgeous lips, making me tilt my head in pleasure. Frustration got me sensitive. Even the slightest touch got me purring in delight.

Taeyong licked and nipped at my entrance, and I run my hands through his hair, encouraging him to keep going. He flicked his tongue, and I buckled my hips, wanting more.

“I need your fingers,” I pleaded, looking down at him. Taeyong looked breathtaking, with my juices were dripping down his sharp jaw, with his lips turned into a satisfied smirk. He was proud of how he was making me feel. His glistening skin was the very evidence of his skillful moves. “Taeyong, please, I am so close.”

Though I didn’t expect him to, Taeyong listened to my humble request. His middle finger slid right it, making me purr in satisfaction. I could finally feel him inside of me, and it was heavenly. His palm moved quickly, working me up.

The first orgasm was building up. Taeyong was fucking me now with two fingers while his mouth was fiddling with my clit. If it wasn’t for Taeyong’s palm, holding me still, I’d buckle right into his face for more friction.

“I’m about to come,” I declared, shutting my eyes close. As tempting as it was to peek at the mirror on the other wall and check out the view of Taeyong eating me out, it was more than I could take. My instinct to squeeze my eyes shut and welcome the orgasm was too much.

Unfortunately, it didn’t happen.

Before tiny tingles of electricity could unite and explode, shooting through me like a lightning strike, Taeyong pulled away, denying me of my orgasm. It physically hurt when instead of a blissful peak, I felt nothing.

“What the fuck?” I barked angrily, ready to pull him by his hair against my sex and press him against me, so he could finish the job.

“We’re coming together, or we’re not coming at all,” Taeyong sternly replied, standing up. His lips were swollen from all the work he was doing, and they looked even more kissable.

“I’ve never pegged you for such a teaser,” I stated matter-of-factly, still a little bit butt-hurt over the way how smug he was about not letting me come first. Maybe I was a handful most of the time, but I didn’t do anything wrong to deserve such treatment.

“I’m not,” Taeyong chimed in, biting down on his lip. “There’s just something about you that makes me want to punish for your misbehavior,” he explained, and I got it where it came from. I wasn’t the best student he could work with. “Isn’t it the sweetest torture?” Taeyong challenged before he surged forward, smashing his lips against mine again, raising my thigh and giving it a gentle rub.

“Please, Taeyong, I need you inside of me,” I begged as I ground my sex against his rock-hard cock. I couldn’t comprehend how self-disciplined and patient he was; his budge was throbbing underneath his pants. It must’ve been painful for him, and he did all of that to teach me a lesson. “Fuck me, already.”

“Relax, sweetheart. I got you,” he softly spoke as he hoisted me up, pressing me tightly against the wall. “To be honest, I expected you to lose it sooner,” Taeyong added, and I hoped he was talking about my sanity. I endured more than enough; his teasing was too much.

“How should I fuck you?” Taeyong asked, looking around the practice room, seeking a perfect spot to stuff his cock inside of me. We didn’t have a lot of options, but I didn’t care. He could fuck me in the middle of the room, and I’d eagerly spread my legs for him. “Screw it,” he cursed, gently lowering me down onto the floor. “Do you mind?” Taeyong inquired, and I shook my head as I wrapped my legs around his hips, pressing him against me.

“Strip,” I ordered, and Taeyong smirked before he pulled his T-shirt over his head, revealing his lean physique. My eyes marveled at his beautiful shoulders and toned muscles. I had touched him more than I could count, but I never saw him bare, and when I finally did, I gawked.

“What about you, sweetheart? Come on, I am waiting,” Taeyong teased, and I took off my T-shirt. I was only in my sports bra, and Taeyong bit his lip, staring down at me, admiring my simple beauty. With no further comment, Taeyong leaned in, attacking my collarbone. It was hot how attentive he was, but right now, all I needed was his cock buried deep down my cunt.

Desperately, I reached to his sweatpants, palming his erection through the fabric. As soon as I touched him, Taeyong released a needy growl, rolling his hips into my hand, finally giving in to the pleasure. He lost his self-restraint, and now, he seriously needed to fill me up with his throbbing length.

“Take them off,” I breathed out, pulling by the hem of his pants. With a lowered head, Taeyong tsked before he yanked them down to his knees, wriggling out of them. Just as I expected, his cock urgently entailed my attention.

Though the thought of blowing him crossed my mind, I eventually decided not to entertain this idea too much. It was apparent Taeyong wanted to him inside of my pussy. I’d suck him dry on a different occasion. Hopefully, it would happen soon.

“Fuck me, Taeyong,” I moaned as I trembled when the tip of his cock brushed against my folds. I was embarrassingly sensitive after his ministrations, and he dared to tease me again. “Please,” I begged as I gave his length a few gentle strokes, aligning it with my entrance.

“Aaahh…” Taeyong growled, slowly pushing his dick inside of me. Inch by inch, he filled me up, stretching my walls. A lot of different sinful noises came out of his mouth as he began steadily thrusting his hips.

Taeyong’s stamina was no joke. It was hard to believe how long he could snap his hips without messing up his rhythm. His low voice mixed with my desperate moans echoed inside the room, creating a wicked symphony along with the sound of our sweaty bodies smashing against each other.

He was fucking me hard, and I was in seventh heaven. Taeyong was filling me up so good; I could come undone on his cock anytime.

“Taeyong,” I moaned his name as I watched him fuck me. Though it was hot to look at his cock disappear in my pussy, it was even sweeter to stare in the mirror. With my head turned to the side, I studied the whole picture how Taeyong was fucking me.

“I am coming,” I screamed as I felt the bliss approach. Taeyong was panting, struggling to maintain his tempo with the way my walls tightened around his sensitive cock. Once he hit my sweet spot, I was a goner. After a few thrusts, I came, digging my nails in his back.

“Fuck,” Taeyong cursed, shouting my name as he shot his load inside of me, collapsing on top of me. We were a breathless mess, our bodies sticking together, but neither of us minded. At this point, we were too spent to care. “You were incredible,” Taeyong whispered as he pulled out, rolling to the side.

“You weren’t that bad yourself,” I panted, giggling, still recovering from the mind-blowing orgasm. Thankfully, Taeyong didn’t pay much attention to my playful jab. “I meant it what I said,” I added, turning around to look at him.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” Taeyong started, staring into my eyes, showing me his sincerity. “I just can’t help myself but get angry when I see him or hear about him,” he continued, and I nodded my head, letting him know I was willing to listen.

I didn’t expect that Taeyong would agree to vent to me, but when he did, I patiently heard him out. After all, I was pretty sure we were at least friends now.

“It all happened about a year ago. We were competing in the same contest, and he made my dance partner quit. Doyoung seduced her, toyed with her, and once the trophy was his, he dumped her. Because of him, I was disqualified, and she quit dance altogether.”

Listen to his story made me both sad and angry. Doyoung had been a dick to interfere like that – he must’ve known he hadn’t stood a chance against them in a fair fight. My blood was boiling in my veins as I put all the pieces together.

Sadness took over next. The way Doyoung had manipulated Taeyong’s dance partner was upsetting. The wound had been cut so deep, she couldn’t have forced herself to keep going. Doyoung had wrecked two lives, and it made my blood boil, too.

“We’re gonna beat him. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure we do,” I spoke, reassuring him. It was impossible to tend the wounds, but the least I could do is help Taeyong win. For what he had done, Doyoung deserved punishment. If I were Taeyong, I’d not hesitate to beat him up.

“I hope so,” Taeyong muttered, reaching for my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It’s still fine if we don’t. I’m pretty sure karma will get to him eventually,” he added with a sigh.

“I’ll work harder,” I declared, feeling an extra wave of determination wash through me. “I’ll try my best,” I said, and Taeyong smiled fondly, content to hear me say it.

“Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

For a while, we were staring at each other. It felt nice and somehow more intimate than all the fucking we had done. If we were in bed, I could do it all night. Unfortunately, we were still lying on the uncomfortable floor.

“Let’s get washed up before we get too sappy,” I added, trying to ease the tension. I really enjoyed it, but it was getting a little too much.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing the shower with me. You know… water bills are a bitch,” Taeyong spoke, and I giggled at his bullshit excuse, finding it incredibly cute, considering what we had been doing a few minutes ago.

“Of course they are,” I deadpanned, chuckling. Though his excuse was lame, I liked Taeyong enough to go with it. “Come on. Let’s go. I don’t want anyone to catch me naked.”

 ***

After that one time at the dance studio, Taeyong and I made it a regular thing. However, we kept it civilized. We wouldn’t jump each other’s bones in the open like animals like we had done the first time. Usually, we would go on small kind-of-dates, which consisted of picking up food, going to my or his place, and then rolling in the sheets.

We were having lots of fun. It was a perfect way to de-stress. After all, the finale was this Saturday, and we were nervous as hell. In all honesty, I was still scared, but these orgasms were numbing my anxiety.

“I think that’s it,” Taeyong spoke, and I smiled brightly, unable to contain my joy. It was the first time Taeyong ever approved of our performance. Most of the time, he was nitpicking, complaining about the slightest mistake, but finally, he was satisfied with it.

I was ecstatic; I never expected to live up to Taeyong’s approval. Through hard work and persistence, I managed to earn his eulogy.

“What should we do now? How about we order some food?” I asked, feeling in a celebratory mood. Maybe it was a little bit too early to drink to this small success, but it’s still worth a shot.

“We should do it again. We should dance it flawlessly at least a couple of hundred consecutive times before celebrating,” Taeyong seriously replied, and I rolled my eyes. Despite his painstaking nature, a couple of hundred times, it was a bit too much. Even for him. “Don’t give me that look. Let’s start again; five, six, seven, eight.”

Though usually, I’d complain and try to force him into a five-minute break, right now, I was oddly energized. We were dancing for the past two hours, and I was panting out of exhaustion. Nevertheless, the thoughts of finally mastering the choreography kept me going.

“I’m pretty good at this,” I confidently commented while roaming my hands across Taeyong’s shoulders before he twirled me around to the rhythm. I could tell that Taeyong was just waiting for an excuse to pause the music and scold me for making a mistake. However, much to his dismay, I executed every move impeccably. “I had a pretty good teacher,” I added, stroking his ego. The D-day was approaching, and Taeyong obviously needed an extra boost of confidence.

“I must admit you were a piece of work. I have no idea what kind of sorcery is this,” Taeyong teased, staring into my eyes. We had practiced the routine plenty of times; we could probably perform it in blindfolds and not make a single mistake. “I must be a magician or something.”

“Don’t push it,” I warned him in a very non-threatening tone, making him smirk. “But it’s only partially your success. Seulgi told me I have the it™ factor,” I proudly said, cracking Taeyong up, messing the choreography. “Is it a student-has-become-the-master kind of moment?” I asked, laughing at Taeyong. For the dance prodigy, he was getting distracted way too easily. It was suspicious.

With a broad smile upon his face, Taeyong grabbed my wrists, making me look at him.

“How about we finish up for today? I have a surprise for you,” Taeyong said, and I cocked my eyebrows, biting my bottom lip. “Not that kind of surprise,” he added, rolling his eyes at me. “We might get it on later, though.”

“What kind of surprise then?”

“Wait a second,” Taeyong spoke, quickly jogging out of the practice room. In a minute, he was back with a garment bag in his hands. “Here, that’s for you. Seulgi came in the morning to drop it off for you,” he explained, and I pulled down the zipper. It was going to be my costume for the contest, and I was curious how it looked.

I was speechless. At first, I thought it was a joke. I wouldn’t be able to perform in that. However, the more I looked at it, the more sense it made. It was a simple white suit shirt, but when mixed with a leather body harness, high-waisted shorts, and boots, it fitted the concept beautifully.

“Do you like it? I thought it was too revealing, but Seulgi insisted you would look amazing in it. I mean… it fits the mood, but if you’re not comfortable with it, we still have some time to find something else,” Taeyong blabbered, and my heart swelled. It was very sweet of him to consider my comfort above anything else.

“It’s skimpy, but it’s fine. I like it,” I replied, having no idea where my confidence was coming from. A few months ago, I’d be anxious to even try it on in the confines of my bedroom. However, now I was planning on showing a lot of skin on national television during prime hours on the weekend. I must’ve gone insane.

“Do you want to try it on?” Taeyong challenged, pulling the hangers out of the bag.

“You mean… here?!”

“Come on, it wouldn’t be the first time you took off your clothes in the middle of the practice room,” Taeyong concluded, smiling at me mischievously.

“Pass,” I firmly rejected his dare, even though it felt tempting. “It’s not fun when I’m doing it alone,” I added, and Taeyong grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, more than ready to discard his clothes in a blink of an eye. “Don’t fool around,” I warned him, placing my hand over his before he managed to take his T-shirt off.

“You’re right. Let’s go to my place first,” Taeyong agreed, zipping the bag before he grabbed my hand, leading me out of the practice room.

 ***

 On the day of the performance, I woke up with a terrible stomach ache. No matter how much fantastic sex Taeyong and I had, I was not mentally prepared to perform in front of the whole nation. I felt sick, almost as if my body was telling me to quit before I’d embarrass myself on national television. Stress was eating me from the inside.

“What are you doing up so early? Let’s go back to bed,” Taeyong purred in his raspy morning voice as he sneaked his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. “You need to be rested before the performance. Trust me, you don’t want a camera to catch you yawning,” he added, nuzzling his nose in the crook of my neck, breathing hot air against my skin.

“Thanks for giving me one more thing to stress about,” I deadpanned, heaving a deep sigh, staring at the ceiling. It was a mistake. I should have never agreed to Seulgi’s proposition in the first place. What the hell was I thinking? “I think it’s a bad idea. We should quit.”

Taeyong wasn’t in the mood for my nagging so early in the morning; he was having none of it. “You’re being ridiculous. We’ve practiced so much. We’re gonna win it with ease,” he declared, pressing a featherlike kiss against my jaw. “But for real,” he added, climbing on top of me, trapping me between his thighs, “we’re going to win. And even if we don’t, it’s fine. Really, if somehow we lose to Doyoung and his partner, I’ll just punch him backstage.”

“How can you say that?” I said with a sigh, running my hands across his thighs, finding it rather calming. “I know you said we should rest, but how about…” I trailed, and Taeyong smiled before eagerly capturing my lips, reading me like an open book.

“Say no more,” Taeyong whispered before his hands traveled under my shirt.

Unfortunately, Taeyong’s phone started buzzing on the nightstand before he managed to pull my panties down. With a groan, he extended his arm, staring at the screen.

“It’s Seulgi.”

“What are you waiting for? It’s her wedding day. Pick it up,” I yelled at him as I fell on the pillow, admiring his handsome face when he was talking to Seulgi.

“Please, not you, too,” he barked, rubbing his face in annoyance. Though I barely could make out what she was saying, I figured this much Seulgi and I were suffering from the same stress-fuelled illness. It was her wedding day, after all. Even if it was obvious she loved Irene with a burning passion, she wasn’t immune to pre-wedding anxiety.

Seulgi was talking her stress away, and Taeyong just hummed and nodded his head, registering her words. For some reason, the pressure didn’t seem to bother Taeyong at all. It was weird, but at least he was the voice of reason, which could help me and Seulgi cope.

“Breath in, breath out,” Taeyong spoke when Seulgi made a pause long enough for him to interject. “I know it’s a big deal, but there’s nothing to worry about. You’re getting married to Irene. You love her so much,” Taeyong reminded her, winking at me, expecting Seulgi to end the call soon. “Everybody’s a little nervous; it’s completely normal.”

It was beautiful how close Taeyong and Seulgi were. They had each other’s backs in all types of situations.

About ten minutes later, Seulgi finally calmed down. Taeyong’s reassuring words swept the anxiety away, and she was more than ready to get married to the love of her life.

Once Seulgi hung up, Taeyong threw his phone on the bed and secured my legs around his hips before he leaned forward, giving me a quick kiss. “Seulgi says hi, by the way,” he added, sneaking his hand under the hem of my panties.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” Taeyong looked down at me, creasing his eyebrows in confusion.

“She knows?” I yelled, unable to comprehend how, on Earth, Seulgi figured out I was in Taeyong’s bed. She couldn’t know. She wasn’t even there when our romance bloomed. “How?”

“Yeah, is it a bad thing, though? You didn’t want to fuck me in secret, did you?” Taeyong challenged, not really answering my inquiry. Did Seulgi figure it out on her own? Or did Taeyong told her about us? And, the biggest question mark was: what were we to begin with? “Seulgi must have some sort of sixth sense. She was bothering me about the sexual tension between us since day one of your training.”

“I wouldn’t call it sexual tension per se, but there was something going on,” I replied, reminiscing how rocky our beginning was. “But I think we were interrupted…” I reminded him, and Taeyong with a playful smirk on his face dived right between my thighs.

 ***

 The streaming should begin at 8 p.m., but we had to arrive before 5 p.m., so the make-up artists and stylists could prepare us for the performance. Sitting in that chair and waiting for all pampering to be over with was stressful as fuck. I tried to preoccupy myself with an idea of Taeyong, but whenever someone threw a question in my direction, I was being pulled out of my train of happy thoughts.

I wanted to get on the stage and be done with it. Unfortunately, whoever funded that contest didn’t think of the mental health of its participants when making today’s schedule.

Punctually, the show began its transmission at 8 o’clock. However, at the very beginning, the MC had to introduce all sponsors. Going through them took him about twenty minutes. Then, they interviewed some of the eliminated dancers, asking them questions either about their experience in the competition or simply who they thought would win.

Later, they decided to rewind the contestants’ moments in the show. At first, they showed Doyoung and his partner, and a few experts analyzed their performance, wondering what the odds of them winning were.

When the host announced the rewind of Taeyong’s and Seulgi’s stages, the jury only talked about the sudden switch up, confirming it was the first time it ever happened in the grand finale. It startled a lot of people why would Seulgi drop out, but Taeyong explained it in a brief interview.

“It was a crazy coincidence, but Seulgi couldn’t participate today because she is getting married today,” Taeyong revealed, and the audience cooed loudly, obviously supporting her choice. “I was stressed at first, but Seulgi found an amazing dancer to take her spot. She really chose well,” he added, and I looked at him, trying not to cry in front of everyone.

It was almost impossible to fish out a compliment from Taeyong during practice, but right now, he did it on his own accord, melting my heart with his words.

“Everybody is dying to know more about your partner,” the MC started, shifting his attention to me. I didn’t particularly like to be put in the spotlight, but before I managed to spit some nonsense, Taeyong butt in, rescuing the day.

“Although she doesn’t have much experience in dance competitions, I think she’s a great dancer. To think of it, she is my secret weapon,” Taeyong added, and I almost ran into his arms, feeling too overwhelmed by his speech.

“Alright then, let’s see what you got after a short commercial break,” the MC cheerfully announced before I bolted out of the stage as I felt the stress crept into my head.

“Calm down,” Taeyong softly spoke as he approached me, holding my hand, drawing circles with his thumb. “You’ve got this. Just focus on me,” he added, flashing me a reassuring smile before kissing my knuckles.

“Awww… isn’t it adorable?” Someone snickered, and I didn’t need to turn my head around to know it was Doyoung. He was like a venomous snake, trying to sneak into our subconscious and make us even more anxious. It couldn’t be fair play.

“Buzz off,” I barked as I didn’t want to let him tick Taeyong off. Taeyong was my safety pin, and I didn’t want him to go full rage on Doyoung. Their backstage battle would make it to the news, but I’d rather prevent it from happening.

“With Seulgi on your arm, I was giving you a five percent chance of winning,” Doyoung started, ignoring my warning. “Now, when she’s gone, I won’t even have fun beating you on the stage,” he added, and I almost surged forward to punch him. If it wasn’t for Taeyong, who held me in my place, I’d definitely rearranged Doyoung’s face.

“Don’t let him get into your head,” Taeyong whispered into my ear, and I nodded my head, sighing. Then, it struck me. Doyoung’s motive wasn’t to mess with Taeyong but with me. He knew I was the weakest link, and he wanted to guarantee his victory by making me doubt myself. His words rung in my head, but one look at Taeyong helped me relax. We had practiced it a thousand times; there was not a chance I would make a mistake.

“Come on. Let’s go. They’re calling us out,” Taeyong mused, pulling me towards the stage.

The silence filled the auditorium when we got on the stage, taking our respective places. I stole a glance at Taeyong – he was mouthing words of encouragement seconds before the MC announced our performance.

I can hear it callin'

Loving the way you wanna talk

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

Callin', something in the way you wanna talk

On two sides of the stage, we moved to the rhythm, telling the story of two strangers lusting over each other from afar. With hunger in our eyes, we tried to seduce each other with sharp movements, showcasing our attributes.

You got me sayin', you got me sayin'

How you doing? Tell me what's your name (Ey, tell me what's your name?)

What's your sign? Feeling like you are into me

Taeyong ran up to me like a man enchanted by the siren’s voice, rolling his body against mine. It was his moment to shine; everybody’s eyes were on him as he owned the stage with his overflowing charisma.

Baby, we're two distant strangers

I know you don't speak my language

But I love the way she's talking to me (Talking to me)

I can hear it callin' from where you are

Loving the way you wanna talk

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

It was a classic game of cat and mouse. Though our bodies were so close to each other, we moved in perfect synchronization, careful not to brush against each other. The chemistry between us was undeniable, and the feeling of yearning was visible from the very last row.

Max, max, max, we can have it all (To the max)

If you back, back, back, back, back it up (Back it, back it)I'll take you where you wanna, got the gas in the tank (Wow)

If you really wanna make it last (Git, git, git)

Finally, as the song slowly progressed to the end, we were showing intense frustration. We were portraying two individuals, yearning for intimate contact, who were hastily losing their minds over uncontrollable passion.

I can hear it callin' from where you are (Callin', woo)

Loving the way you wanna talk (Love the way you talk)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up (Yeah, yeah)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

The song was to end soon. The last chorus rolled in – it was our cue. After all teasing, we finally made the connection, ready to combust out of raw craze. After three minutes of painful longing, we were to reach completion.

I can hear it callin' from where you are (Callin', woo)

Loving the way you wanna talk (Love the way you talk)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up (Yeah, yeah)

Touch me, tease me, feel me up

It was all or nothing. We were finally together, touching each other with fervor.  The audience was eating our performance up – particularly when Taeyong showcased his flexibility and body control.

Tell me how you like it babe (How you)

I don't even know your name (How you, ey)

I love the way you're talking to me

It was finally time to finish our performance with a bang; we needed to show something spectacular, something Doyoung wouldn’t ever think about. As the singer began the last verse, it was my cue to run into Taeyong’s embrace. The second the last syllable rolled of the singer’s tongue, Taeyong caught me in his arms, and the lights went out to add a dramatic twist to our performance.

For a while, the audience was silent. However, a few seconds later, they roared in excitement, clapping loudly, showing how much they enjoyed our stage.

The MC was congratulating us, but I was too thrilled to register his words. I still couldn’t believe I performed on national television and didn’t trip and smash my face.

I had no idea how I found myself backstage, but there was a high chance Taeyong led me off the stage. I was too overwhelmed to do it on my own.

I even forgot that Johnny, together with Yeri – the love of his week, had backstage passes. I only remembered that when he wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug, congratulating me.

“You gotta quit that office job and start dancing professionally,” Johnny ordered, and I smiled, glad that he enjoyed my performance. “We both gotta quit. You’ll be dancing, and I’ll be a badass FBI agent.”

“You two were great,” Yeri politely said when Johnny let me go. “Thank you so much for letting me backstage.”

“No problem,” Taeyong replied as he grabbed my shaking hands. “Are you okay?” He asked, cupping my face, making me look at him. “You rocked the stage,” he added before he leaned forward to peck my lips.

Ignoring Johnny’s perplexed expression, I wrapped my arms around Taeyong in a comfortable hug. I hadn’t suitably introduced Johnny to the concept of me dating Taeyong, but hopefully, our interaction got the message across.

Emotions were slowly fading away, but I still needed Taeyong’s support. I was a rookie, and I had no experience with this type of stress. Something was calming about Taeyong’s aura; I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, but I wasn’t going to question it.

“Anticipation is killing me,” I muttered against his skin. “Can he already go on that fucking stage?” I yelled, wondering why Doyoung’s performance didn’t start yet. I knew the MC was building up tension, but it was too much for me to handle.

“We could always skip,” Taeyong casually spoke, and I pulled away to look at him. What the hell was he talking about? I hadn’t agreed to help him out, so we didn’t wait until the end. “If we lose, we lose. If we win, your friend can accept the prize, can’t he?”

“Are you insane?”

“Maybe a little bit,” he answered with a bright smile, brushing stray hair off my forehead. “I just want to know the result already so we can go to Seulgi’s wedding and congratulate them,” he added, and I nodded my head. Though we couldn’t participate during the ceremony, the least we could do was to show up ridiculously late to the reception.

“Can they hurry the fuck up now?” I craned my neck, trying to find Doyoung and his partner. They were arguing about something right behind the curtain. Everything seemed they weren’t in the right headspace.

“I don’t think I want to see their performance,” Taeyong whispered, tightening his grasp on my waist. “How about a quickie in the dressing room? What do you say?” He proposed, and I smacked him, telling him to behave. It was tempting, but we really shouldn’t. I wouldn’t walk up that stage with messed-up post-sex hair.

“Get a grip,” I added, gently elbowing him. “Let’s just hit the snack table. I am hungry,” I spoke, pulling him away when the MC invited Doyoung and his dance partner onto the stage.

While munching on snacks, we stared at each other fondly. In some weird way, we were helping each other cope with anticipation and stress. Though it was tempting to check out their performance, we decided it was for the better if we didn’t.

They performed to “Hips Don’t Lie,” and it was almost impossible to turn my head around to check out Doyoung’s sick moves. Having considered all the videos I had seen of him, I was sure he looked gorgeous.

“What about a little peek?” Taeyong questioned, unable to control his urge to see his rival’s performance. “I thought I could endure it, but I can’t,” he added, and I nodded, giving in. Instantly, we ran to the nearest screen to watch their stage.

It was everything I imagined. Their moves were executed with precision and grace, but entertainment-wise, I was bored. They had the skills, but something about the general concept didn’t fulfill my expectations.

No matter how great of a dancer Doyoung was, he just could not pull this song off as the original artist did. Regardless of how hard he swayed his hips, it just didn’t live up to its potential. Though I wasn’t educated enough to give an honest review, it felt meh.

The audience in the studio whistled and shouted once they finished their performance, giving them a round of applause. With genuine smiles, Doyoung and his partner bowed before they ran off the stage.

Now, only thirty minutes of aggressive advertising, and we would know the winner.

“Is it too late to agree to that quickie?”

“You should’ve said so earlier,” Taeyong answered with an innocent smile as he reached to hold my hand. “The best I can do is cuddles,” he added, leading me to the couch, letting me rest my head on his shoulder. “It feels nice.”

“It does, but it doesn’t take my mind off things like a quickie would.”

“Don’t even try. I am not going on that stage with a boner in my pants,” Taeyong warned, peeling my hand off his thigh, pressing a delicate kiss against my knuckles.

Though it wasn’t as preoccupying as sex, it was still nice. And most importantly, it took our minds off the unbearable anticipation. A staff member actually needed to gently shake Taeyong’s shoulder to remind us that the MC was calling us to the stage.

Taeyong’s hand didn’t leave mine once we were waiting for the big reveal. It was fine if we lost. Next year, Seulgi and Taeyong would definitely make it to the top.

When the MC announced the winner, a few confetti bombs exploded. The audience roared in excitement, but I had no clue what was going on. Uncertainty was over – one of us won.

Stress, anticipation, and anxiety slowed down my reactions. However, I figured it would be weird if Taeyong picked me up and spun me around in his arms if we lost. It could only mean one thing – we did it.

We won.

Taeyong’s acceptance speech was short and simple. He thanked everyone who succored him discover his passion for dancing, who supported him throughout his dream, who directly helped him get this far, and me.

When I was handed the microphone for the first time that evening, I basically rephrased Taeyong words. Maybe it wasn’t my dream, but it felt damn good to assist Taeyong in achieving his. It was a bumpy road, but overall, it was all worth it.

The MC handed me a statue after shaking my hand, congratulating me once more. Taeyong, on the other hand, was gifted a huge check for 20 thousand dollars.

“Let’s go,” Taeyong whispered to me, running off the stage with me.

 ***

It was shortly before midnight when the Uber parked in front of the hotel where Seulgi’s and Irene’s reception took place. It was beautifully decorated with lights and flowers, making it look like a magical castle.

Though the security didn’t want to grant entrance, one of Seulgi’s aunts recognized Taeyong and told the man to let us in. She was nice enough to help us out, but she still found some time to glance disapprovingly at my stage costume. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gossiped to her entire family I was a prostitute.

As soon as we walked into the ballroom, Seulgi noticed us. She was sitting by the table, eating the wedding cake with Irene. In an instant, she rose from her chair and ran up to us, throwing herself on Taeyong’s neck.

“You won! I knew it!” She shouted as she gave Taeyong a bone-crushing hug. “Irene and I sneaked out for a while to watch your performance. You smashed them,” Seulgi added before she turned to me, congratulating me too.

“You were amazing,” Irene approached us, sending a polite smile. Unlike Seulgi, Irene was much calmer and collected.

“You are finally married,” Taeyong spoke, beaming. “You better have everything recorded. I gotta know every embarrassing thing that I missed,” he added in a teasing manner, earning a playful jab from Seulgi. “I bet you cried during your vows.”

“Congratulations,” I chimed in, breaking their friendly banter before it properly started. It was Seulgi’s wedding day, after all.

After we caught up, Seulgi and Irene walked off to the dance floor, leaving us by the table alone. For a while, we admired them. They looked absolutely stunning in their white suits, dancing, basking in happiness.

“Do you know where the gifts are held?” I inquired suddenly, looking around.

“Why? Did you have time to get them anything?” Taeyong asked before he stuffed his mouth with a chocolate glazed strawberry. “Or are you thinking of stealing some?”

“I just want to give them my part of the prize,” I started, making Taeyong choke on the fruit. “Seulgi’s the rightful winner, and I think it’s only right.”

“Are you sure? It’s a lot of money.”

“Yeah, I know, but I really want to do that,” I replied, fiddling with my fingers. “I don’t need this money, so I want to give it to her.”

“You’re so hot right now,” Taeyong said, making me turn my head in embarrassment. “If that’s what you really want to do, do it. But remember, you earned it.”

“I am sure.”

“Then let me spoil you with my prize,” Taeyong offered, staring into my eyes. At first, I thought he was joking, but when his gaze didn’t even falter, I understood how serious he was. “Well… look at that. What are the odds?” Taeyong spoke as a familiar melody echoed within the walls of the grand ballroom. “It’s our song. Shall we dance?”

Having glanced at Seulgi, who whispered something to the DJ, I smiled at Taeyong. Though I was sick and tired of Love Talk already, it was kind of our song. We had been listening to this song too much, and regardless of how good it was, the prospect of it being our anthem terrified me.

“One last time,” I gave in, accepting Taeyong’s invitation, letting him lead me to the dance floor. Despite having mastered the choreography to it, I just wrapped my arms around his neck, slowly waltzing to it.

“That’s nothing like we practiced,” Taeyong pinpointed, and I chuckled, shaking my head. “I don’t mind, though. It’s comfy,” he added as his hands found purchase on my hips.

“Seulgi doesn’t look pleased. She didn’t expect us to perform, did she?” I whispered into Taeyong’s ear, hugging him closer. “Also, it can’t be our song. We have to change it; the sooner, the better,” I complained, but Taeyong just chuckled into my ear, humming softly.

Instead of giving me an actual answer, Taeyong decided to sing it.

“I love the way you're talking to me.”

#taeyong smut #neosmutsongs #neosmutcollective #nct smut #taeyong #lee taeyong #nct u smut #nct 127 smut #nct fluff #taeyong fluff #dance au

[abarbaricyalp]

hi. you still taking prompts? sambucky meet cute: the lobby of some kind of really tall building and they both have to get to the to top floors. bucky gets to the elevator first, pushes the "door close" button cause he's in a hurry even though he sees sam rushing towards it, but sam gets there just in time. he saw what bucky did so in retaliation he just pushes every single button to make bucky late. now they're stuck in the longest elevator ride, having to stop at every floor

Friend, this is not a meet cute. This is full on meet ugly 😅

AO3 link in the reblog

Push All My Buttons

Bucky was being haunted. That was the only logical explanation for how someone followed him from Brooklyn to Manhattan, mostly on foot. He’d seen the same guy on two trains, across approximately a thousand city blocks, and in the dumb cafe that Bucky squeezed into five seconds after it opened.

And now, the same handsome young black man was standing in the middle of the Stark Tower lobby, looking lost. Bucky quickly hit the close door button of the elevator that he blessedly had to himself. Apparently, he hit it too loud because the guy’s gaze snapped over to him and recognition lit on his face.

Bucky hit Close Door again.

“Hey! Could you hold that!” the guy called, jogging across the lobby floor and avoiding milling people. The fucking tourists on the ground level were killer.

Bucky was not letting a stalker into the elevator with him when he had 91 floors to get up. He hit Close Door for a third time.

Finally, the guy seemed to realize what Bucky was doing and he scowled before tossing his army bag towards the closing doors. They hit the bag and opened up just in time for the guy to jog over, grab his bag, and step inside.

“You’re kind of an asshole,” he said as he slung the duffle over his shoulder again.

“I’m late to a meeting,” Bucky said, which was true. Mostly what he wanted to say was ‘don’t kill me and wear my face as a mask’ or whatever someone who’d followed him over three boroughs would want to do.

The man looked over at him from the corner of his eyes, looked at the highlighted 91 and then reached over to smooth his hand up every single button on the machine. 2-93 lit up.

Bucky stared.

The man crossed his arms. “Now we’re both late.”

92 and 93 unlit themselves. Those were Stark’s personal suites. 2-91 remained lit.

“You fucking asshole,” Bucky groaned and dragged his hands over his face. “Why would you do that? I’m meeting with Stark. I’ve got his-his-his fucking coffee. Jesus.”

“Because I’d rather be late and piss you off than be on time and let you get away with trying to close the door in my face.”

“What was the point of following me all the way around the city? Are you trying to make my life difficult?”

Now the man fully turned to look over at him. The elevator stopped on the second floor and no one was waiting. “I’m not following you. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky asked. “You’ve been on my ass since Lloyd’s, in Brooklyn.”

The man frowned. The elevator eased up to the next floor. “Why would you stop at Lloyd’s if you were coming all the way in here?”

“I like to eat on my commute, that’s not the point! You followed me!”

“Pal, I dunno how to tell you that anyone coming from Brooklyn to Stark Tower’s gotta take a pretty similar route.”

“It’s Bucky, pal.”

“Sam,” the guy said and then honest to God offered his hand out like he wasn’t actively ruining Bucky’s life.

On the fifth floor, someone stepped into the elevator, looked at the buttons and stepped back out. Bucky shook Sam’s hand with a resigned sigh.

“Where’d you get that piece of machinery on your arm?” Sam asked around floor eight.

“It’s not on my arm,” Bucky answered. “It is my arm.”

Sam rolled his eyes and punched the door close button. “Fine, where’d you get that piece of machinery on your torso?”

“It’s not Stark tech,” he answered because he knew that was actually what Sam was asking about. He let his eyes slide over Sam’s body quickly, trying to discern if Sam was here for a prosthetic. The bag on his shoulder and the silver ball-chain around his neck gave away that he was military. Stark Industries had a veterans program, so there was a good population of soldiers walking around the building at any given time. Sam was wearing pants, so Bucky couldn’t be totally sure he didn’t have a bad leg, but he hadn’t clocked any limp or awkward gait since Brooklyn. “You here for a prosthetic?” he asked anyway.

Sam snorted and shook his head. The door opened again and someone got on before reaching to press the ground level button.

“Shit,” the woman said, upon seeing everything else lit up. She quickly hit the door open button and jumped back out. “You know, if you two wanted extra time together, having the doors open on every floor was probably a bad idea.”

“That’s not what we--” Bucky started to argue, but the doors slid shut in front of him.

“Anyway,” Sam started again. “I’m not here for a prosthetic. I’m here with Colonel Rhodes.”

“Wow, big man on campus,” Bucky said drily.

“Oh, right, you’re so unimportant, going up to the 91st floor,” Sam shot back.

“I work here,” Bucky said. He held up the quickly cooling coffee in his hands. “Glorified secretary most days, but I’m supposed to be an engineer.”

“What kind of machines do you work with?”

“Not the planes or the suits. Military tech, mostly. I try to stay away from weapons when I can.”

“Did you serve?” Sam asked.

Wish I hadn’t, Bucky wanted to say. “Nah, actually I lost my arm when Stark flew into an uncaffeinated rage and threw a saw at me.”

“Whatever, man. There’s a thousand ways to lose an arm. It ain’t gotta be out in the desert.” His cheeks didn’t quite color, but he crossed his arms and stared ahead.

“Mountains,” Bucky corrected. “Special OPs.”

“Oh, right, but I’m the big man on campus,” Sam said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Rhodes is a big deal around here. You think Stark’s letting him out of his sight for just anyone?”

“The Air Force is testing a new gadget. Rhodes is involved ‘cause Air Force. Maybe you worked on it.”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s a big program. Stark’s got a lot of things going on all at once. Lots of engineers and designers.”

The elevator stopped on the 25th floor and Sam and Bucky both said, “We’re going up,” at the same time to keep the group of suits from crowding into the elevator with them.

Sam kicked his bag into the corner and sat down heavily in front of it, leaning back and closing his eyes. “So you’re a soldier who works for Stark Industries but didn’t get your prosthetic from him, even though he’s the cutting edge of prosthetics and has a full-paid program for those injured in duty.”

Bucky gave up and sat down too. He cradled the coffee cup between his legs, which was probably a bad idea, but this whole morning had been bad. “My story’s a little more complicated than that,” he said. “A lot more twists and turns. My arm is still high tech, though. I asked for a flamethrower, or at least a saw hand but I didn’t get it.”

Sam laughed and, for the first time all morning, Bucky thought maybe he wasn’t so angry at him anymore. Sam laughed like nothing had ever hurt him before, which made it feel like maybe nothing had hurt Bucky either. “Well, there’s your problem. Stark would’ve definitely given you that, from what I hear about the man.”

Bucky grinned over at him and dropped his head back against the wall. It was uncomfortable and the jostling of the car every few seconds rattled his brain, but it beat standing up, or keeping his eyes on Sam for too long. “You’re still in the service?”

“Well, not all of us are so lucky to get a medical discharge on our first tour.”

“Oh, yeah, real luck of the Irish, me. And it was my second. I wasn’t SpecOps until I finished my first stint in the army.”

“Right, right,” Sam said. Then, “You joined up young.”

“So did you. I mean, I assume you’re on your second or third tour too, if you’re being asked to work with Rhodes.”

“Second. I took a long leave to do some school stuff.”

“Oh, so working with Rhodes and you’re smart. You really are the whole package.”

“I’m working with Colonel Rhodes because I’m smart,” Sam corrected. “I could probably take your job. I’m real techy.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t. I’m fond of my apartment and I definitely can’t afford it without being here.”

“Right, I assume you make buck working for Stark.”

“Eh, he’s still a multi-billionaire, he could pay us more.”

“What’s that say about the military then?”

“I’ll drink to that, bro.”

Sam chuckled again and opened his eyes to glance over at Bucky. “How does someone go from losing their arm in a SpecOps mission to working for Stark Industries.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s at least a three course discussion.”

The elevator dinged on level 39 and paused, though there was no one there.

“Almost halfway up,” Sam pointed out.

“You are good at math,” Bucky joked just to see Sam roll his eyes again, which he did. “Why Air Force?” he asked when the doors decided to shut again.

“It’s gonna sound so stupid, but I’ve been dreaming about flying since I was a little kid. I wanted to be an astronaut and a lot of astronauts were in the military. So, air force. Figured if I never got to space, at least I spent years in the air anyway.”

Bucky didn’t think that was stupid at all. “You’re right, that’s pretty dumb.” Sam flipped him off with a laugh. “Are you a good pilot?”

“Pal, I’m one of the best out there.”

“God, you chair force guys are all the same,” Bucky said. He squawked as Sam leaned over to tackle him down. “Coffee, coffee! Sam, if you spill Stark’s coffee I’ll make you explain it to him!” he threatened as Sam pulled him away from the cup that had managed to remain upright by an unlikely bout of luck and physics.

Sam was fucking strong, wrangling Bucky down and holding him still. Sure, he was on his knees and Bucky’s legs were mostly trapped under him, but still. Bucky wasn’t a small guy and the prosthetic wasn’t light either but Sam had tugged him out of the corner anyway.

“Oh my God, seriously?” a guy asked on the next floor.

Bucky took the moment of distraction to dig his knee into Sam’s ribs and flip them over as the doors shut again. He locked his fingers around Sam’s wrist and held it to the floor. Sam tugged at the hold futilely.

“Shit, what’s that made out of?”

“That’s another three course answer.”

“At this rate? No chance,” Sam said and got his foot braced against Bucky’s shoulder before shoving him off. Bucky sat back and made sure the coffee was still standing. Sam leaned up against the wall by the doors. They both took in heavy breaths.

“What are you doing with Rhodes?” Bucky asked at floor fifty, when he was pretty positive they weren’t about to leap at each other again.

“Maybe that’s a three course answer,” Sam responded with a small smirk.

“I didn’t know Stark was working on planes with the Air Force.”

“Did I say plane?”

“Helicopters, whatever,” Bucky amended with a wave of his hand. “What do you fly?”

“I’m pararescue.”

Bucky let out a low whistle. “Shit, that’s more impressive than working with Rhodes, maybe. You a doctor?”

“I’ve got triage training, but I’m not, like, ready to walk into an E.R. as soon as I get home or anything.” Sam ran his hand over his buzzed hair and Bucky suddenly wanted to know what it looked like grown out, or if he’d ever kept it long. How he styled it and if he had facial hair and what he was hiding under his shirt and Jesus Christ, he needed to think about anything else.

“Well, from what I’ve seen, your beside manner probably sucks.”

Sam kicked out his foot lamely, missing Bucky’s by a mile. “You ain’t hurt. I don’t gotta give you no bedside manner.”

“What floor do you want off on?” Bucky asked after a glance at the rapidly dimming lights on on the button panel.

“85.”

“Right, yeah, Rhodes works there. We’re at 70 now.”

“What’s it like? Just offices?”

“Nah, he’s got a whole training floor. There’re a few offices, a reception area, but there’s also a gym and some space for simulated battle, sparring rooms. It’s pretty cool. You’ll have a lot of room for whatever he’s doing.”

Sam nodded and looked over at the gaping doors with the first look of unease he’d had all morning.

“You nervous?”

“You would be too,” Sam answered. “If you knew what I was doing. But, hey,” he looked away as the doors shut, “my partner’s already up there, so I can’t make any more of a fool of myself than he probably already has.”

Bucky grinned and shrugged. “I dunno about that. You seem pretty incapable,” he said sarcastically.

Sam kicked out his leg again and then stood up and grabbed his bag from next to Bucky. “You work here every day?”

Bucky nodded and took Sam’s hand when he offered it down to him to haul himself up. “9 to too late.”

“Well, I’m around for a few weeks. Maybe we could walk together instead of around each other next time,” he suggested.

Bucky ignored the swooping of his stomach. “Yeah, if you can keep up.”

Sam jostled his ribs with an elbow. “I can keep up. You’re the one with the machine on your arm.”

“Yeah, and what about it? I could hand-walk faster than you could run.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Sam snorted. The door opened on floor 80 and Sam’s mouth screwed to one side briefly before he looked at Bucky. “Maybe you’ll get my number out of all of this eventually.”

“Maybe I don’t want it after this stunt.”

Sam placed his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder solemnly. “You want it.”

With a grin, Bucky shrugged Sam off and shoved him forward. “Get outta here, Wilson.”

“How’d you know--?” Sam asked, taking half a step back to the doors.

Bucky reached over to trace his fingers over the name patch on the other side of the bag. “I’m just a good guesser.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. What’s your--”

The door shut between them and Bucky sagged back against the wall with a sigh. His heart was racing like he was a teenager again and his head felt cloudy. This meeting was not going to go well at this point. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to focus on anything but Sam’s smile or the way he looked in boots or the weight of him above Bucky’s body.

When the elevator dinged on 91, he grabbed Stark’s coffee and let himself off and then almost immediately ran into Rhodes.

“Oh, hey, sorry. Hey, I was just on the elevator with your meeting,” he said. “Sorry he’s late. I hit a bunch of buttons on accident when I got in,” Bucky lied as he passed the coffee to Stark.

“No harm, no foul,” Rhodey said easily. “Clearly I wasn’t even down there. I was actually waiting on you.”

“Me? What for? I’m not working on anything military.”

“You’re not?” Stark asked around a mouthful of coffee. “You assigning yourself projects now?”

“You didn’t say anything about the wings being military. I mean, how would that even work? It’d put a soldier in the air bare.”

“Yeah,” Stark agreed sarcastically and clapped a hand down on Bucky’s metal arm. “What kind of soldier runs around without full body protection.”

“What are you calling the project?” Rhodey asked, guiding the discussion back to where it was supposed to be.

“EXO-Falcon,” Bucky said. “I was modeling it after some of Stark’s EXO-skeleton suits, but it’s much more compact, situated on the back with all support sitting around the chest and ribs.”

Rhodey nodded. “Can I see them?”

Bucky quickly dashed to his work bench and came back with the wings in their case. “They’re carbon fiber, which makes them a little more flexible and keeps them a little lighter weight. I had thought about doing interlocking plates like my arm, but it wasn’t working. I took some of the more basic structures of my arm and modeled a folding mechanism out of it instead. The wings retract into and out of the case.”

He pulled the jetpack on and stepped away from the other work spaces before clicking the wings open. They snapped out behind him, grand and proud. Not unlike how Bucky was feeling at that moment.

“And the jetpack? Is that ready to go?” Rhodey asked.

Bucky shifted from foot to foot. “Well, in theory. I haven’t tested it out yet ‘cause I’m not trained to do things like that, but I’ve put DUM-E into the air and nothing blew up.”

“Well, the Air National Guard guys here today will be thrilled to hear that,” Stark said. “Shall we?”

“You don’t wanna test the jets before you put it on someone?” Bucky asked, a little strangled. He trusted his design. But he really, really hadn’t put as much time into the whole human safety element as he did the ‘up and running’ element.

“We’ll strap a crash test dummy to them in over the mats. It’ll be fine. The fire suppression system on 85 is better than up here.”

“No it isn’t. It’s just further from your suites,” Rhodey said.

Stark shrugged and tossed a piece of pastry in his mouth. “It’s my building. I say we go down to 85.”

“Well, that’s where I left your trainee or whatever too,” Bucky said as he shrugged off the pack and packed it all back up. “Do you want me to grab the other pack?”

“No worries, I’ve already moved it,” Stark said. “I knew Rhodes was coming by. You’re welcome, those things are heavy.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t have DUM-E move it,” Rhodey teased. He made his way over to the elevator and Bucky followed with Stark on his heels. The ride down to 85 was much faster than the ride up to 91. It was a miracle what not hitting every button could do. They stepped out onto the floor and made their way to the training mats, where two other people were already standing.

“Barnes, I’d like to keep you on the Falcon project,” Rhodey said. “No one knows the wings like you do. That being said, you’ll be working with live test subjects now, so it’s a little more critical.”

“Hey, you don’t have to say it that way!” the blond man in the middle of the room said. “Call us, like, Top Guns or something.”

“You don’t get to choose your nickname around here,” Stark called over, propping himself up on a stack of sparring mats to watch from afar. “Ask Manchurian Candidate. He definitely didn’t choose his.”

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Barnes, this Sergeant Wiatrek and Sergeant Wilson.”

Fuck.

“It’s Barnes, huh?” Sam asked, smugly crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh, Sammy, you didn’t hook up with this guy already did you?” the blond asked in teasing horror.

“Screw you, no. I met him this morning.”

“Ah,” Rhodey said with a grin. “This was the meeting you made late,” he said to Bucky.

“Yeah, we met this morning,” Bucky confirmed with a raging blush. How was this his life?

“Well, good, you can get right to work on the wings,” Rhodey said. “Let me go find a crash dummy.”

“DUM-E,” Stark called as Rhodey started away.

“I’ll find that doll first,” Rhodey challenged.

Bucky turned from their bickering and looked at Sam, then the blond next to him.

“It’s Riley,” the other man said and offered out his hand. “I’m better conversation than this one.”

Bucky doubted it. He shook the guy’s hand and then held out the briefcase like a shield between him and Sam’s teasing gaze. “Do you wanna see the wings?”

Riley nodded eagerly and Bucky moved to another stack of mats to open the case. Riley and Sam stood on either side of him. As Riley pulled the jetpack free, Sam pulled out his phone. Bucky thought he was going to film his friend inevitably crashing, but instead he turned on the auto-help.

“Hey, where’s the nearest three-course restaurant?” he asked without looking away from Bucky, without his grin faltering.

Bucky dragged his hands down his face as he looked at Sam. Riley yelped behind them after the tell-tell whoosh of the jet pack, but Sam still didn’t look away. Bucky couldn’t either.

#sambucky #sambucky fanfic #sambucky fanfiction #sam wilson #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon #the winter soldier #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #i answer things

[luvnami]

𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 | 𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 (here) | 𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 - Second part to ‘Ocean’! Hope you enjoy it :> Reblogs, comments, shares and likes are really appreciated!!

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @getousuguruwife​ @amjustagirl​ @aliteama​

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - Amnesia, Memory loss, Blood, Mild gore, Death, Blood loss, Corpses, Food, Manga spoilers, Pre-canon and canon compliant to a certain extent, Nightmares, Relationship Issues (lack of communication), Overthinking/Anxious Thoughts, I criticise Nanami’s choice of clothing

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 -  Nanami Kento's life has been... Good, bad, and everything in between. He  (and many others) thinks he's mature, independent, the definition of  what a proper adult should be like. But really, the only way he's made  it this far is because you've been holding his hand the entire time. 

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5k

Nanami decides to enter university and get a degree. He casts a life of sorcery behind and turns a blind eye to curses that peer at him curiously on the street. When you text him and ask about how life is in the city of Tokyo, he replies that it would be much better if you were here with him. You choose to ignore the meaning between the lines and tell him that he’ll do great in university; you’re sure of it!

Truth be told, his parents are more than glad to fund Nanami’s ventures and encourage him to do so. As a result, he finds himself engulfed by the world of rigorous studying. Lectures and tutorials drain his time from morning to evening, not to forget project meetings and whatever the hell ‘socialising’ means.

But campus life is invigorating. He wakes up to the smell of coffee and his roommate singing a foreign song with a catchy tune and has time to enjoy a lovely breakfast before he heads off for morning classes. Everything is done in his own time. No one rushes him to save the lives of innocent civilians, nor does the weariness of a day’s fight linger in his bones.

Quietly, gently. That is how Nanami’s time in university goes by. Writing essays on analysing market trends or a project on that sociology elective module he chose is nothing too tricky, especially when one compares it to sorcery. 

He learns to relax, unwinding in the golden hours of the evening with a Murakami paperback and a steaming cup of coffee by his side. Nanami meets new people — people who have never heard what a curse is (though he does find his witchy neighbour intriguing), people who have families at the furthest ends of the earth. Their companionship is refreshing.

You, meanwhile, earn a nice sum from working at Jujutsu Tech. You don’t work directly with curses (something which Nanami is thankful for) and enjoy your time surrounded by nature, treating the younger students with a smile and warm cup of tea. 

You and Nanami decide to move into an apartment where the commute is halfway between both schools. It’s a nice change of pace, really. You wake up next to each other in the blinding morning light, still entangled in the cheap (and slightly scratchy) duvet you got on sale. Nanami presses a kiss between your brows. You smile, your hand warm on his skin. 

“Good morning, Ken,” you croak as the sunlight frames your face.

You lean forward and place your head against his chest. Nanami’s hand strokes your shoulder lovingly as the both of you make small talk on the day’s events, then laughing when he makes a cheesy (and slightly indecent) joke about what he enjoys eating for breakfast. Your heart soars in your chest, catching the upwind and slicing through the clouds. It feels like heaven.

But the sea does not always remain calm and peaceful. Its tides rise and fall with the waxing and waning of the moon, and waves can come crashing down on boats that dare sail through its treacherous waters. 

Nanami buries the constant nightmares of Haibara under his pillow, waking up in the middle of the night with your arms around his waist. He pretends he does not see the curses that linger in the corner of his lecture theatre, nor the ones that stare back in the bathrooms. Nanami slips a pair of spectacles onto the bridge of his nose. His fellow classmates call him intelligent, quiet, but kind. 

He wants to believe that, too.

☆*: .｡.

Nanami joins a hedge fund company after graduation. 

“Are you sure that’s what you want to do, Ken?” you ask over the table.

The restaurant you had booked for dinner boasts of its month-long waitlists and seasonal menus. You poke at the raw fish that sits on your plate, Nanami holding a glass of amber liquid. He watches its colour swirl under the dim light.

“The pay is good. We’ll be comfortable.”

“I don’t care about money, Ken. I’d rather you do something less stressful and be happier.”

“Let me try it out for a year or so. That can’t hurt, right?”

He smiles, you smile. 

Your hand slips into his comfortably over the table, and your eyes meet in silent understanding. You squeeze his hand.

The company changes Nanami. Some things are obvious — the way he now parts and combs his hair back with wax, the pressed suits that line your shared wardrobe, the work phone that buzzes with notifications every minute of the day. Others are more… subtle. He comes home later and later each night, occasionally staying over in the office. His alcohol consumption increases. You spend the weekends alone. 

It’s gotten to the point where you’re lucky if you eat dinner with him once a week. You’re busy with your own work, too, but you assume that Nanami would be able to come home on at least the weekends. Your mind begins to drift.

Is there a colleague who wears a skirt too short, a manager who touches his shoulder a second too long? It’s been at least four years since you and Nanami had gotten together, and you still don’t know his stance on marriage or children yet. Does he love you, or does he love his job more? 

You fall into a pit of doubt and despair. Perhaps you should have been a lesser burden on Nanami. He spent so many hours taking care of you back then, wearing himself thin between missions, that the idea of him getting tired of being a caregiver to someone who didn’t remember him at all was… possible; reality, even?

There’s nothing original about you, either. Your handwriting is the same as a girl you’ll never remember from middle school, the way you text influenced by the students you work with. Maybe you laugh too loud. Or you’re too fat, too skinny, too quiet, too noisy, too blunt, too shy, too clumsy. So what made him love you? Or was he just in love with a previous version of you that you weren’t now?

It feels like you’re staring into a mirror when you try to remember who you used to be with childhood journals and photographs. The same face, the same body, memories that don’t make sense and a head that has become a blank canvas. A parent’s child, a teacher’s student. Unable to reach past the glass.

You don’t know who you are anymore with how you’ve changed to please Nanami — a person of personalities that switches in the blink of an eye. So why does he still keep you in his rented heart that’s full of other tenants, and under the contact name ‘Dear ♡’? You place the button in a drawer amongst a mess of spare keys, bits of tissue paper and promotional pamphlets. 

It’s tiring. Nanami’s head is in the clouds as you share a parfait, and you ask him, “Kento, do you really love me?”.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “Of course I do.”

The eyebags that are on his face have been there since two weeks ago. Nanami can’t remember when the last time was when he got a proper night of sleep, and currently, he’s thinking about the new client that-

“Kento,” you interrupt. “You’re exhausted.”

You point your spoon at him for extra emphasis, the tip of it having a dollop of whipped cream. 

“Pointing your utensils around is bad manners.”

“Never knew you cared about table manners.”

“Well, now I do.”

You lick the spoon clean and eye Nanami. He returns a tired stare before his gaze falls to the side and he lets out a sigh. He almost wishes that you would stop bothering him about this and let him go back home. There are so many emails he needs to send, and he can’t sit still without checking the stock market every hour or so. 

“Do you want to break up?”

The words come easier than expected.

“Huh?! What makes you say that?”

“You seem like you want to.”

“You can’t just assume things like-”

The girls sitting by the next table fall quiet. Nanami thinks that they’re eavesdropping on your conversation; you think so too. You glance quickly at them and they pretend nothing had ever happened, hiding their looks of surprise as they shove spoonfuls of dessert into their mouths.

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

You sound irritated. Nanami pays with his card, grabbing his things as you step outside of the cafe first. 

“Slow down,” he mumbles and pockets his wallet. 

You whip around.

“You can’t just assume things like that, Kento.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.”

Staring at him, your eyes seem glazed over. Tired, maybe. Tearing up, maybe. Maybe, maybe. Many maybes. Nanami doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what’s been going on with you, actually. You seem distant, out of reach when you’re lying in the same bed as him. Is it the money; is he making enough to make you happy?

Nanami reaches out and tries to hold your hand (when was the last time he had done that?) when his phone buzzes. He retracts his hand and reaches for his back pocket, but you grab his wrist. He looks at you.

“What are you doing? Let go.”

Irritation laces his voice. 

“Don’t answer that.”

“Are you crazy? It’s from work. I have to.”

“Work this, work that! You spent the last year basically married to your office and the one time we get to go out together, you want to work?”

Your voice is sharp, slicing Nanami’s hazy conscience. He watches as it pools at his feet, a gust of fresh air tickling his skin. He relaxes his wrist and you pull your hand away. Passersby glance at you briefly before continuing their daily commute, not bothering to give you a second glance.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“It’s okay,” Nanami replies. 

The both of you stand in the street, suddenly feeling as if you’ve drifted away from one other unknowingly. Like a boat in the ocean, Nanami rocks with the waves that splash gently on his hull. Everything is blue and vast around him. He can’t see the land. 

Nanami thinks about that girl at the bakery. The way she always cried out ‘Come back soon!’ every time he left as if he wouldn’t return a second time. And then he thinks about the clients he serves, all outfits and jewellery that easily cost half his salary. They shove money into his hands, expecting even more in return without a word of thanks. 

“Hey,” Nanami says. 

He reaches out across the waters and grasps your hand in his. You look up, eyes brimming with tears. He swipes at the corner of your eye with his thumb. Understanding washes over him and he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” Nanami whispers sincerely.

That night, he calls Gojo when you’re safely tucked into bed. Nanami tries to ignore how the older sorcerer cackles at him and hangs up once the call is presumably over on his end. He slips under the covers as you turn over in your sleep, resting against his chest. Nanami kisses your brow. 

He gets his first night of good sleep in a long, long time. 

☆*: .｡.

Nanami falls back into the rhythm of sorcery. He trains for a good month until he gets his stamina and strength back, obtaining a new weapon from the school for his missions. Gojo seems oddly delighted to see him return, laughing when Nanami’s out of breath from a workout.

“Ken,” you say, wrinkling your nose when he steps out of your shared bedroom. “You’re going to work in that?” 

Nanami adjusts the cuffs of his sleeves, staring at you. 

“Is this not appropriate?”

You observe him from head to toe. The leopard print tie, blue shirt and tan suit — you resist the urge to tell him he’s so close to looking like a pimp. Out of all the lovely suits that Nanami has, he chooses to wear this one?

“It’s a bit bright, that’s all,” you laugh. 

“I thought I would go with something eccentric. You don’t get to wear this at the office,” he remarks, striding over to the kitchen to grab your packed lunches. 

You remain quiet and fiddle with a loose thread on your own suit jacket. 

“Something the matter?”

“Oh! Nothing at all. Let’s go.”

It’s more convenient now since the both of you work at the same place. Nanami drives to Jujutsu Tech every morning and picks you up in the evenings as well. He detests how Gojo makes fun of him for it, calling him a ‘lovely husband’. It makes your cheeks warm, and you duck your head before Nanami can ask you anything about it.

Peace reigns true for a few months. The morning routine is a nice change of pace compared to Nanami’s previous job. You’re able to spend more time together, even to the point of going grocery shopping or watching a movie with takeout on Friday nights.

Nanami relaxes only a little. Compared to office work, this is probably just as bad. First of all, he has to see Gojo almost every day and have him talk his ear off. Secondly, he returns to being the balance between life and death for civilians once more. It’s not a task he enjoys. However, he harbours that the thanks he receives and the lives he saves are a good enough exchange. 

Years come and go, as do students of Jujutsu Tech. Nanami sees more dead sorcerers and exorcises more curses. You quietly type away at a laptop, filing their deaths and completing any tasks you’re given from the higher-ups. It seems that life has slowed down once more and you return to a monotonous pace. 

You wonder if your relationship with Nanami will progress any further. It’s been close to nine years and yet… nothing has developed beyond living together or the odd weekend date. That’s not to say that you don’t love Nanami. You do, honestly. He treats you well and listens to your occasional nagging to put his stacks of books away, but you want something more. You crave the thought of getting married, to be lawfully his and maybe start a family. But, contrary to belief, Nanami isn’t opposed to it when you bring the topic up over dinner one night.

“Marriage?” 

His chopsticks pick off a portion of grilled salmon and he brings it to his mouth with some rice. He chews, swallowing.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been together for so long, you know? So it kind of seems natural for us to do so.”

Your gut twists nervously. The steam from your miso soup rises silently in the air, wisps of white smeared out at the edges. 

“Sure.”

“Huh?”

“Sure, let’s get married.” Nanami says.

You have to physically close your mouth and your eyes are widened in shock. Your heartbeat accelerates that much faster.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, were you serious when you asked me that question?”

Heat rises to your face. 

“As you said, we’ve been together and living under the same roof for quite some time. Marriage seems like a plausible idea.”

“Then let’s-!”

“But I have one condition.”

Momentarily, your heart wavers. Nanami finishes the last drop of miso soup in his bowl and balances his chopsticks on top of the porcelain. As usual, his plate and bowls are scraped clean. 

“I’ll only get married after I stop being a sorcerer.”

Your face twists in confusion as you try to understand where Nanami is coming from. You don’t get it — didn’t being a sorcerer mean that Nanami faced death everyday and that he should be taking advantage of what time he has left? But, of course, you don’t mean to curse him into an early grave like that. Except… Except that your face visibly falls and Nanami takes notice of it.

“I’d rather not have my life entangled with curses more than it should be. Once we both earn enough money and have a nice savings account, we can retire and go do whatever we want. Besides, I’ll invest. It’ll be more than enough.”

You remain silent and stare at your half-finished dinner. Nanami reaches over the table and takes your hand in his. 

“Can you give me some more time, please?”

You don’t reply. 

☆*: .｡.

“Did you hear about the new first years?”

“Mm. The one who died, right?”

“Gojo wants me to mentor him for a while.”

Nanami’s hands are positioned on the steering perfectly. His palms guide the car carefully through the steep roads that climb up to Jujutsu Tech. You flip through a checklist of things you need to do for the day.

“Will you be heading out of school?”

“Probably. There’s a scene I need to check out.”

“Stay safe, alright?”

“Of course. You too, don’t forget to have your lunch again.”

Nanami pulls into the parking lot of the school. Leaning over the clutch, he presses a kiss to your hairline. You gently peck his jaw.

“See you tonight. I might not be able to pick you up, so get Nitta to drive you.”

“See you, Ken.”

Nanami watches as you open the car door and step out. You turn back, giving him a wave and smile through the window. He returns the gesture. Once you’re out of sight, Nanami pulls out his phone as he sits in the car. He thumbs through his emails and his Adam’s apple bobs as soon as he sees the confirmation sent to him. A loose sigh worms its way out of his chest. He pushes the door open and steps out. 

The rest of the day is spent teaching Itadori Yuuji about the sanctity of being young and simpleminded. Sorcery isn’t child’s play — especially when there are lives involved. He watches as Itadori’s face crumbles at the mention of the transfigured humans. He wants to comfort him, place a hand on his shoulder and tell him that it isn’t his fault.  

They have a quick debrief of the situation with Ijichi before parting ways. Nanami shoulders his burden once more, watching as the car pulls away in the direction of Yoshino’s home. 

As night falls, Nitta drives you home. She’s chatty, serious about her job and does it well. You smile when she gushes about how lovely Nanami must be at home, and, oh! Do tell him to lighten up at work. 

You thank her when she drops you off. As you walk through the lobby of your apartment complex, you make a routine stop by the mailboxes. Junk, bills and… a box? You flip it over to see who it’s addressed to; perhaps Nanami had ordered something online. However, your name is printed neatly across the label.

The first thing you do when you get home is to open the box. It’s small, probably not more than a hand’s breadth in length. Your pen knife slices through the tape cleanly and when you push aside the flaps, you spot two velvet boxes sitting in a mess of paper filler. Your fingers tremble when you pull one of them out and open it. 

A silver ring sits in the furrow of a cushion with Nanami’s name on the inside. Your heart skips a beat and you reach into the cardboard to pull out the second ring box. This one is a little larger, with your name engraved on the interior side of the band. It must be Nanami’s, then.

It’s already well past 6p.m. as you dial his number with your lower lip between your teeth. You pace around the house, bouncing on the balls of your feet. What were these meant to be? Promise rings? Engagement rings? You hadn’t dared to slip the one with Nanami’s name engraved onto your finger just yet.

“Hello?” 

Nanami’s breathing is laboured. Your heart falls and you stop in the middle of your living room, staring ahead at nothing.

“Ken? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just… just a little hurt. It’s nothing serious.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve called Ijichi to pick me up, don’t-”

“So it is serious, then!” you cry out in horror. 

“No, no. I said I’m fine. Look, did you receive the rings yet?”

“I did, but that’s not the point now. Are you safe?”

“I-”

You hear Nanami’s phone clatter to the ground and the thump of his body on the floor. 

“Kento?” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply. 

☆*: .｡.

You’re seated on the floor of your shared home, an oversized pajama shirt stolen from Nanami’s closet swallowing you. Sunlight pours in through an open window at two in the afternoon and the quiet hum of vehicles outside can be vaguely heard.

Clip, clip, clip.

One hand holds a nail clipper, while the other cradles Nanami’s fingers gently. The blond watches you absentmindedly while you trim his nails. He had insisted he was perfectly capable of doing them on his own, but the glare you gave him made Nanami sink back into the sofa. 

He was hurt after a fight with Mahito — the wound on his side made him grimace whenever he stood up, and Nanami found himself relying on you more than he wished to. Thankfully, he had passed out from blood loss and pain but nothing too devastating had happened. That didn’t change how concerned you were about him, though. You try to forget how you had hailed a taxi just to rush back to Jujutsu Tech to see Nanami lying in the sickbay with a blood drenched shirt. 

Nanami thinks it’s childish. When was the last time someone had clipped his nails for him? Was it his mother? A warm breeze wrings itself through the window. You run the pad of your finger over the cut edge, feeling for any sharp portions. 

Nanami stares at the top of your head. Your fingers feel uncharacteristically soft against his own calloused ones — wielding a weapon in battle wore his palms down at the end of the day. He doesn’t particularly want to admit he likes it.

Nanami is a man of truth. He hates lying, and definitely doesn’t tolerate beating around the bush. But if he spoke as he thought, told you everything he felt about you as often as it came like the wind, how would you react? He clutches his heart in the aching hand of a budding teenager, the fears of facing a cruel world fresh in his mind. 

Being a sorcerer means facing death on a daily basis, especially with the increase in curses with modern times. It doesn’t help that with both of you on the field, it means double the chances. Sorcerers never die without regrets.

Nanami wishes he could love you more, let you explore each crevice of his heart without fear of leaving you; being left behind one day. He doesn’t want to curse you if he dies. He doesn’t want to become a burden to you any more than he should be. 

Clip, clip, clip.

“Is it too short?” 

You glance up briefly at Nanami and brush the hair out of your eyes. He stares down at his fingers and feels them over with his thumb. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine.”

You nod and move on to his next hand. You’re systematical about it — trimming off most of the grown parts in three portions, then a couple tinier clips to finish the job off. A nail file sits on the ground beside you, the tiles of the floor cool against your bare legs.

“Hey, Ken?”

“Hmm?”

“I heard that there’s a new bakery opposite that popular department store. I was thinking of going to take a look later. Do you want me to get anything for you?”

“Nothing too sweet would be nice.”

“Okay.”

The living room falls back into a comfortable silence.

Clip, clip, clip.

☆*: .｡.

It takes a few more weeks before Nanami is cleared by Ieri to return to regular sorcery work. He tries to rest in the downtime he has, he really does — but the itch to get up and finish Mahito off has him restless. 

At this, Gojo sends Nanami and you off to Hamamatsu on another curse investigation for a change of scenery. Gojo doesn’t want to admit it, but he had mumbled to you something about taking care of Nanami’s mental health. Maybe the beach would help? You told him he sounded like a doctor from the 20th century. You’re not one to refuse a free trip outside of Tokyo, though, so you and Nanami pack your luggage and troop off to Hamamatsu on the Shinkansen. 

“Thank you.”

Nanami’s fingers curl around the ice cream cone handed to him, the sun scorching his back. It’s too hot for this; for anything, really. He makes a mental note to give Gojo a good stare of disapproval once he returns to school. 

Why did the mission have to be on the warmest day of the year? With how the heatwave makes perspiration trickle down your back, though, the dangers of facing a possible special grade curse is the least of your worries right now.

“It’s so hot!” 

You eagerly lap at the soft serve, savouring the cold, sweet treat. Nanami wanted to take a photo of the ice cream, but- oh well, you’ve begun eating, and the horrendous heat would have probably melted it before he found a good angle, anyways. 

Protected by the shade of a shopping district, Nanami and you had agreed to find refuge for a few hours — the curse could wait till the sun began to set. Besides, it would be more likely to turn up after dark. 

“How does yours taste, Ken?” you ask and peer over at his cone.

He had gotten a cookies and cream flavoured one, despite how you egged him on to try out the local eel flavour. Nanami was not going to ruin his taste buds just like that, thank you very much.

“It’s alright,” he says, licking traces of ice cream off of his lips. “Could do with a little more cookie.”

“Wanna try mine?” 

You stick your cone into Nanami’s face. He’s greeted with your half-eaten soft serve, where your tongue has made a path of its own against the original swirl. He eyes you carefully and you offer the cone to him once more.

“That’s unhygienic.”

“Oh, come on, Ken! We’ve kissed before, sharing saliva on ice cream is nothing compared to that.”

Heat rushes to his face, though Nanami assumes a composed facade. He blames it on the weather without hesitation. Not wanting you to tease him anymore, he leans forward and nips a tiny portion of your ice cream off of the tip. 

“Yummy, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

“Want to try mine too?” 

The words leave his lips on reflex. Nanami wonders when he’s begun letting you try his food — when he used to be so adamant that no one could even touch its container or look in its direction (thanks to Gojo’s greedy fingers). You nod excitedly and lick off of a portion. 

“It’s good!” 

What was the first time he had said it to you? Over oden in the winter; over those disgustingly sweet slurpees you insisted on from 7 11? All those small moments that had built up culminated in Nanami’s affection and understanding towards you. The way in which you offer him a bite of your food without expecting anything in return; is that what love is like? 

“You’ve got some ice cream on your face,” Nanami says.

You instinctively use your tongue and try to clean it off. “Did I get it?”

Nanami shakes his head. “It’s on this side,” he replies, pointing a spot on his own face.

You try again, to no avail. Nanami sighs.

“What would you do without me?” he asks monotonously, using the pad of his thumb to wipe it off.

You stand there, frozen for a second when he leans in. His promise ring is cold against your cheek.

“Kento?” you whisper. 

Under the light of the shining sun, he presses his lips to yours, shielding you from warm rays and the glances of passersby with his back. You let out a muffled sound of surprise as you taste cookies and cream, your eyes fluttering shut instinctively. 

Nanami isn’t a fan of public affection. God forbid Gojo see him kissing you, really. But as he leans back and watches your half-lidded eyes stare up at him, he asks himself if you’ve ever received his own sort of love in return. 

A relationship’s all about give and take; but has he given as much as he should have? Has Nanami loved you in a way that matters? Life is a fleeting concept to all sorcerers. Should he die and leave you behind, Nanami wonders if he would pass without any regrets. Did he do enough when he tugged the covers over your shoulders when you fell asleep on the sofa, was there more he could have done even after buying you that watch you had eyeballed for the past few months?

There’s that sort of incompetence that curls up in his chest on sleepless nights, even with you tucked into his side. It makes his head spin and his heart fall into a bottomless pit. With all the eyes of juniors and students that look up to him, Nanami can’t help but wonder if he’s truly as good as everyone thinks he is. Being a sorcerer holds little problem. But what about a lover, a husband?

He couldn’t save Haibara, so how dare he think about…

“Kento,” you swallow. “Ken?”

Nanami snaps out of his daze. “Huh?”

“I dropped my ice cream,” you whisper. 

He swivels his head and spots your cone face down on the sidewalk. His own cone drips down his hand, the melting liquid staining the sleeve of his suit. For once, Nanami’s mind runs blank. 

“Kento? Are you okay?��� you ask gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs. 

“Mm?”

Nanami’s careful to avoid the pool of melting ice cream as he steps closer to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. Your breath hitches as his cologne invade your senses.

“I love you. Let’s get married.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk fic #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento angst #nanami kento fic #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami angst #nanami fic #jjk nanami #jjkmagsummer

[sluttyten]

“I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.” and maybe “I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please.” with Jaehyun? 🤔 If you can't figure out how to work both then just the first one, please and thank you! ☺️

If you were dreaming, you hoped you never woke up. 

This man was the most handsome customer you’d ever helped. He was a frequent customer; not quite a regular but not someone who you didn’t recognize when he walked through the door of the cafe where you worked, but tragically you didn’t know his name. You wished so many times that he had a loyalty card because then you’d at least get to know his name. Every day he came in, he gave you a different name.

The first time he was Jay, but when he came in the second time and gave you a different name, your heart sank. The third time was another name, and so on and so forth. 

He was very handsome and polite, and you thought it was adorable when his ears blushed while he was ordering from you. You had his order down, so the moment you saw him walking through the door, you knew what to get started, though sometimes he would catch you by surprise with adding on a pastry or another drink. 

And finally one day you ask, “You know, you’re in here all the time. Why don’t you sign up for our loyalty card? All we need is your name and phone number.”

And this guy, the handsomest and cutest man you’ve ever had the fortune to be faced with, he smiles and says, “If you wanted my number, all you had to do was ask.” You’re floored. Positively stunned at the confidence and courage he had to say that to you, and you don’t know what to say, so you laugh nervously and your face feels hot as you try to move on.

But several minutes later as you call his fictionalized name for the day, he approaches the counter to take his drink, and with a smile and blushing ears, his fingers brush yours and he says, “Jaehyun. My name’s Jaehyun.” 

Truly, you’re devastated when he doesn’t come in the next day or the next or the next. You wonder if he came in for the fun of the game of flirting with you without you knowing his name. If he’ll ever come back now.

A week passes and then another, and you can’t believe the misfortune.

And then one night months later, you’re on a dating app, looking for someone to help you feel less lonely, and there he is. Jaehyun, right there in bold letters beneath a series of photos of him.

You message him as soon as he matches with you. “You stopped coming in :( did you find another cafe?”

As it would happen, he did find another cafe, but only because his job forced him to relocate to the other side of the city, and he could no longer validate going so far out of his way just for coffee and your pretty face. Previously your cafe was right in the line of his commute from his apartment to his job, but now he had to head the opposite direction every morning. But as fate would have it, your apartment buildings are right beside each other, and it feels like moments after you invite him over, he’s there at your door.

He’s smooth and perfect and charming, and afterwards as you lay in his arms, you tell him, “I may not have a whole cafe in my kitchen, but I can promise I make a great coffee if you want to stay.”

Somehow he doesn’t entirely seem like the type to stay after a hook up, but you can hope and dream as you have every moment of the way that led you here. 

And in the morning, when you wake, Jaehyun’s still there with you. One arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sun, the other tucked beneath your head. You take a few moments to admire him, and then you get out of bed to go make coffee. Before you’ve even finished, Jaehyun emerges from your room with sleep-mussed hair, wearing his boxers and you laugh at the sight of him wearing an oversized sweater of yours. 

“Looks good, right?” Jaehyun smiles and leans his hip against the countertop beside where you stand. The coffee finishes and your fill a mug for him and yourself, and even as you sip at it, you can’t help looking at him over the lip of the glass. He’s ridiculously handsome, even like this with his hair a mess, with sleep crusted in the corner of his eyes, with a bright hickey peeking out from under the collar of your sweater.

You smile into your coffee.

“What? Why are you smiling like that?” Jaehyun asks, his voice warm and full and happy.

You can’t fight down your smile as you say, “I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.”

“I can’t believe a few months ago I thought I’d probably never see you again, and now I’m having coffee with you in your kitchen while wearing your sweater.” Jaehyun sits down his mug and then steps closer, his hands sliding over your hips, his head lowering, lips coming ever nearer to yours. 

You’re not sure how long you stand there in your kitchen and kiss Jaehyun for, just that by the time you finally break apart your coffee’s gone rather cool and his phone is chiming from your bedroom. You stay in the kitchen to clean up the coffee, and when Jaehyun reemerges wearing his own clothes and smoothing his hair down, you feel your heart sink.

“That was work.” He tells you. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

You come closer as he moves around your living room, picking up his wallet, his jacket, his shoes and his keys. “Do you really have to go?”

Jaehyun straightens up, tucking his wallet into his back pocket. “I don’t think you realize just how much I would really rather stay here, but I have to go. It’s an emergency kind of thing.”

You hope that’s not just an excuse, but as Jaehyun reaches the door, he turns to you one last time, looking you over, then glancing down at his watch for a few long seconds. He sighs and looks up at you again before asking, “I know I’ve kissed you like, ten times, but just like another ten, please. To hold me over until the next time I see you?”

You don’t fly across the room into his arms, but it’s damn close. 

Kissing Jaehyun is possibly one of your new favorite things, like you’re a teenager just experiencing her first kiss or new love. You don’t want to pull away from him this time either, but his phone once more disrupts what you’ve got going.

“I’ll text you,” Jaehyun murmurs. “Or you can text me. I want to see you again. Sooner rather than later, probably. See you.” He kisses you one last time, and then steps out the door, leaving you with a ridiculously fluttery feeling in your chest and the fuzzy sensation in your head that makes you hope beyond anything you’ve ever hoped before that this is not a dream.

thank you to everyone who sent these in! prompts/requests are now closed, but I’ll be working on the ones I got before this! to see more drabbles you can click here

#asks #jaehyun drabbles #nct drabbles #nct 127 drabbles

[libsterslobsters]

What Is and What Should Never Be: Part 3

Summary: As the Reader and Bucky adjust to the latest change in their lives, the age old question surfaces: when is the right time to tell your friends that you're having a baby? Or in this case, how long can you keep it a secret from the Avengers?

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! super-soldier! reader

(Reader can see pieces of the future in visions and understand every language)

Warnings: Language, fluff, maybe a tiny bit of angst, mentions of body image issues, pregnant.

Author's note: Fun factoid: I'm a mom in real life. I experienced pregnancy and childbirth. As such, I pulled from my personal experiences (and my wonderful husband's support) to write this. That's in no way me saying that my experiences are standard for every pregnant person. As always, the reader is unnamed for those of you who prefer to read this as a self-insert, but for some reason, I've named her Violet in my own mind.

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

“I want to keep this between us for as long as possible.”

He’s been away on a mission for the past week and a half, living on little to no sleep, so she feels bad for bringing this up now, while he’s trying to rest, but if she doesn’t get it out of the way, she’s afraid she’ll chicken out.

“Hm?” He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move a muscle from where his body is casually draped around hers, both of them in bed even though it’s one o’clock in the afternoon.

“You know.” She places her hand on top of his. These days, if there’s any way at all he can manage it, he’s got his palm resting on her middle, even though there’s nothing there to feel except a slight bloating.

“Thought we were safe.” It’s said with a yawn, the words more slurred than spoken.

“We are.” Relatively. They’re at thirteen weeks now, outside the treacherous first trimester. Still… “I know we’ll have to tell the team eventually, but I’d rather that wait until it’s an absolute must.” She’s in the reserves, a last-resort Avenger, and thankfully she hasn’t been called up yet and had to lie about why she’s rejecting a mission. That luck will run out one day, but until it does…

“We’re always gonna be on guard, from here on out. The child of two super soldiers, one of them with…” She still doesn’t know quite what to call it. “…strange abilities…”

His eyes open, a look of immediate understanding forming on his face.

“We could retire.”

She’s thought about it, but she shakes her head.

“No. One of us has to stay in. We’ve got a better chance of keeping her safe from the bad guys if one of us is on a team with the good guys, and if the choices are you staying in or me-”

“I’m the better option.”

He is, as much as she hates it.

“Okay.” He nods. “But we’re on borrowed time here. It’s not as if we can hide the fact that one day, we’re gonna have a kid living with us. And even before then-” Time to lighten the mood.

“Buck, you’d better not be about to insinuate that I’m going to get fat.”

He snorts.

“God, no. Do I look stupid to you?” She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t answer that.”

“You know, your hair does stick up in the mornings-”

“Don’t answer it, Doll.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

“Sgt. Barnes!” Bucky stops in his tracks. He’s running a little late, yeah, but surely that’s not enough for Rhodes to come running after him, literally chase him down through the Avengers compound. “Hold up, Soldier. I need to have a word with you.” He thinks he knows what this is about, but still, he’s not going to say anything until he absolutely has to.

Rhodey stops in front of him, arms crossed, scowling.

“Barnes, would you happen to know why I got an email this morning from your wife, handing in her resignation?” It’s exactly what he thought.

“Yes.” It’s clear from Rhodes’ expression that he’s expecting Bucky to say more, but he’s not going to give in. She resigned. They talked about it, and not only is it her right to quit this job, it’s also a damn good decision all things considered.

“That’s it? ‘Yes’?”

“That’s right.”

Rhodey sighs.

“Barnes, I need a little more information here. Why in the hell would she suddenly quit, straight out of the blue?”

“It’s not my place to say. You’d have to ask her.”

He could say. Of course he could. But, she made some good points about keeping the baby a secret, and he’s in total agreement (in theory; in practice, he doesn’t think they’ll be able to pull it off for more than another month or so, considering who they work with).

“I’m not gonna get anything out of you, am I?” Rhodey’s doing his very best to stare him down, but it’s a lost cause.

“No, sir.”

“Alright.” Finally, he’s waved off. “You’re dismissed, Sergeant, but there’d better be a good explanation for all this.”

He thinks that’ll be the end of it. Unfortunately, when he meets up with Sam for a debrief, the questions start all over again.

“What’s up with you lately? You and the Mrs. on the rocks or something?” Or something. The opposite, really, but it’s definitely something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on.” Sam narrows his eyes at him. “You never let your phone go past the first ring, even if it’s not a saved number. You can’t wait to get out of here at night and you’re late in the mornings. It’s clear your mind’s somewhere else.”

“I’ve had your back, same as always.”

“Sure.” Sam nods. “You’ve had my back, but your heart’s not in it. So what gives?”

This is one where he’s not sure he can just go with, “I’m not telling you” and get away with it. They’re partners, after all. Sam deserves some reassurances.

“I swear I’ll tell you eventually, but not right now. It’s nothing bad, though. Nothing that’ll affect the team.” He’s not sure of that last part, but at least it seems to reassure Sam somewhat.

“You’d better, or else I’ll kick your serum-ed up ass, metal arm or not.” Uh-huh. Sure. That seems likely.

The rest of the day is pretty quiet (well, except for his phone dinging with a text alert: “Just dipped a carrot in melted chocolate ice cream for some reason and ate it. I’m disgusted with myself. Also, it was really good.” which made him have to bite his tongue so hard he tasted blood so he wouldn’t laugh during a meeting). He thinks he’s survived it, gotten away with having a gigantic secret (that’s actually the size of a lemon currently according to one of the books he’s reading). That is, until he’s unlocking his car, and a hand comes down on his shoulder. Without thinking, he goes on the defensive, pinning the other person to the car opposite him, only realizing once he’s got one hand around her throat that it’s not an attack. It’s Wanda.

“Sorry.” He lets her go, briefly checking her over for injuries. None, although she looks a little ruffled.

“My fault. I should know by now not to sneak up on you.”

He nods and pulls his car door open.

“Congratulations, by the way.” And, he’s frozen to the spot. “About the baby.” How does she… she touched him. That means she probably got a good read on him.

When he turns to look at Wanda, she’s wearing a knowing smile.

“I knew it had to be something. Either your marriage is in trouble, or she’s pregnant.” She chuckles. “Well, if you two were having a fight, you would be walking around like a kicked puppy, so that leaves the other. It only took a touch to find out. They’re both at the forefront of your mind.”

What the hell does he say to that? It’s not like he can tell Wanda she’s wrong. She literally looked inside his mind. There’s no coming back from that.

“How many weeks is she?” He keeps his mouth shut, which apparently amuses the Scarlet Witch. “You know I’ll just find out for myself if you don’t tell me.” Fine. He knows when he’s beaten.

“Fourteen.” Or will be in another two days.

She frowns. “Why the big secret? You’re safe, aren’t you?”

“As safe as anyone can be in this line of work.” That seems to satisfy Wanda.

“Tell your better looking half that I’m sending my best wishes. Oh, and that if anyone tries to touch her or the malysh, I’ll kill them myself.” She’ll have to get in line.

“You’ll keep this to yourself, right?” She smirks.

“Of course I will. The perfect picture of discretion.” The funny thing is, he can’t tell if she’s joking or not.

___________________________________________________________________________________

The familiar chorus of Johnny Cash’s “Man In Black” sounds from her phone just as she’s about to head towards the fitting room. Normally, it’d make her smile for two reasons: one, it’s him calling her, and two, she always pictures the scowl on his face whenever he hears the song because he hates it and, “I’m not seeing why that song reminds you of me, Doll. There’s no similarities whatsoever.” (never mind that every single one of their friends has heard it once, and cracked up because it’s so damn on the nose, it’s hilarious), but right now… well, she wishes he could’ve held off another fifteen minutes.

“Hello-”

“Hey. Where are you?” She holds the phone away from her ear long enough to check the time. Five forty-five. Well, at least he waited a solid five minutes after he arrived home (yes, she knows the length of his commute down to the minute) to call and make sure she’s not dead in a ditch.

“I’m…” She’s not ready to tell him exactly what she’s up to. It’s too embarassing. “Running errands. Shopping.” It’s the truth; she’s just choosing to omit for what.

“Oh.” There’s a brief pause, then- “I got into a debate with Sam today, and I was wondering if you’d be the deciding vote. Who’s the better singer: Frank Sinatra or Bing Crosby?”

It’s their designated question, a signal for, “Are you being held against your will/is someone listening?” For a moment, she’s so frustrated (normal people don’t need a signal for “have you been kidnapped”) she considers shooting back, “Well, Sinatra was a wife beater and Crosby was a philanderer. That’s not even to mention the mob ties, so no matter what, they were both dicks. ” but swallows it down. No need to snap at him, or worse, scare him.

“Sinatra, but in my opinion, he’s overrated.” There’s an audible sigh of relief, and that melts some of her irritation. Some, not all. “I’m sorry. I should’ve texted, but I thought I’d be home before you noticed.”

The whole ‘overprotective’ thing has always existed (how could it not in their line of work, and in the past, it’s as often her sending a “you okay?” text as him), but in the past two months, it’s gone into overdrive. This is the fourth time this week she’s received a worried call, and it’s only Tuesday! It’s sweet how much he cares, but she’s starting to suspect that by the time nine months are up, she’ll be under constant surveilance.

“It’s okay. I’m being a little…” He trails off (well, at least he’s self-aware). “I could’ve stopped by the store and picked up whatever you needed on my way home, Doll. Saved you a trip.”

“Not this, you couldn’t have.” It slips out before she can think better of it. Dammit. Now she’s going to have to answer-

“What is it?” -that. Fuck.

“Can we talk about this later?”

“I guess, but I’m still confused. Are you sure you’re okay?” Ugh. Fine. It’s not like she needed that last shred of pride anyway.

“This is humiliating, but-” She takes a deep breath and spits it out all in one go, “-mystupidpantsdon’tfit.”

“What?” He has enhanced hearing. Not to mention he speaks several languages, and he couldn’t decipher that? She pinches the bridge of her nose to keep from losing her cool completely. None of this is his fault. Well, except the obvious.

“My pants. They’re too tight in the waist. I can’t breathe in them, so I decided to go and get something-” She examines one of the ugly pairs of nondescript yoga pants in her cart. “-more forgiving.”

There’s no real bump yet, but she’s at the awkward point where she’s too big for her normal clothes, and too small for maternity. Hence, workout wear. Workout wear and loose shirts that, despite their design, don’t fool anyone into thinking she’s still the same size.

“Okay, but why is that humiliating?” In that moment, she hates him almost as much as she loves him.

“It just is. I’ll see you at home in another forty-five, tops.”

She’s about to just hang up, when-

“Take your time. Just text me when you’re on your way so I know you’re safe.” Dammit. And, now she’s tearing up in the middle of a department store because no one has ever cared this much about her before, my god she’s lucky to have him, and he’ll be a great father.

“Will do. Love you.”

A trip to the dressing room confirms what she thought: there’s absolutely nothing flattering about anything that’ll fit her. She looks oddly reminiscent of Thor when they contacted him to try, once again, to defeat Thanos; too many days skipped at the gym, an over-indulgence in beer and pizza. Not pregnant. Just letting herself go. Still, she can breathe, sit, and as she finds out once she’s loading bags into the back of her car, bend over in her new clothes, so she bites the bullet and buys the items that, once this is over, she’ll never wear again.

She’s still in a bad mood when she gets home, and it’s not improved when she remembers how many papers she has to grade before tomorrow morning. The scent of a frozen lasagna (she had enhanced senses before, but now her nose is going bonkers) wafts from the kitchen, letting her know where he is, and since it’s a guarantee he will have heard the door open and close, she doesn’t bother to call out an “I’m home.” before heading up the stairs to see if her purchases look better in different lighting.

Short answer: no, they don’t. Long answer: “I look like an overgrown toddler.” As she mutters it to herself, she pulls on the hem of her oversized shirt. Nope, still not a great look.

“Where’s the glow?” She asks the woman in the mirror, who’s peering at her in mild disgust. “I was told there’s supposed to be a glow.” Of course there’s no answer. Completely discouraged, she peels off her clothes and replaces them with a pair of his sweatpants and a tshirt, then, finally feeling the effects of her long day, climbs into bed for a quick nap.

She has no idea how long she’s been out when she feels the mattress shift, signaling that she’s no longer alone. For all she knows, she could be dreaming it. But, as a cool metal hand brushes back a few tendrils from her cheek, she knows she’s having no such luck. He’s here. Time to play “I’m just fine”.

“Hey. Sorry to wake you up. Especially when you look so damn cute, curled up fast asleep wearing my clothes.”

Her eyes are still closed, but she rolls them.

“There must be-” A yawn cuts her off half-way through. “-something wrong with your vision, Barnes, because I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘cute’.”

“You’re right.” She blinks up at him, confused. “More like beautiful. My mistake.”

She knows better than to do it, but she scoffs.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She attempts to sit up, but it’s no good. He catches her shoulder and gently pushes her back down.

“It’s not nothing. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

She studies his expression, analyzing the slightly confused pout, the furrowed brow. No way he’s gonna let this one go. She’ll have to explain.

“I just….” What’s the best way to put she hates everything about herself physically? “...don’t really like how I look right now.” And now, he looks even more confused.

“Why not?” Honestly, how dense can he be?

“Let’s see: I’m bloated, I’ve gone up a cup size but instead of it being fun and sexy, it hurts, all of my clothes either don’t fit or they highlight that I’ve gained weight, and no matter how much I shave, it looks like a damn thicket!” Her frustration gets the better of her, and she’s nearly shouting by the last word. Feeling guilty, she rolls over so that she won’t have to see his face.

“Oh.” Oh? That’s it? What does it matter? It’s not like this is something you can kiss and make better. She’s grateful to have made it out of the first trimester, truly she is. And this baby that she never thought would exist, this little piece of both of them? She loves it with her whole heart. But right now, she really feels shitty.

“I hate to break it to you doll, but I think you might be the one with the vision problem, because that’s not at all what I see.” She opens her mouth to tell him she’s really not in the mood for platitudes, but then his fingers are in her hair, pulling it back from her face, and she decides to shut up.

“I haven’t noticed if it looks like a damn thicket anywhere on your body.” She rolls her eyes.

“Not noticed, my ass.”

“No, I always notice your ass-” She left herself open for that one. “-but if there’s any stray hairs, I haven’t noticed, and I don’t care. Not at all.” But she does. This is supposed to be a beautiful time in her life where she’s getting more in touch with her feminine side. Well, right now she doesn’t feel like a delicate fucking flower. She feels like a walrus, and it’s only going to get worse.

“This, though-” he tugs lightly at her hair. “-it’s gotten thicker. Whenever I wake up and you’re still out, I kinda have to resist the urge to just run my fingers through it, ‘cause it’s just begging to be touched.” He places a gentle kiss on her hairline, trailing down her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck, and finally her collar bone. “It may not be fun, but it’s definitely still sexy that you’ve gone up a cup size. Even more than that, it’s incredible. You’re body’s going through so many changes to make sure that she gets whatever she needs. I can’t wait to see what else happens.” It is pretty incredible, when she thinks about it. But she still can’t help feeling… off.

They’re side by side now, his body curled around hers, and as per usual, his hand has found it’s way to her middle. “She’s growing, getting stronger every day. That’s thanks to you, Doll. You’re already taking care of her, and she’s not even here.” Her eyes close again as the soft words are spoken against the back of her head. “She’s lucky to have you as her mom. I’m lucky to have you. And it’s okay if you don’t like how you look right now. I’ll keep reminding you how amazing you are until you can see it on your own.” As she drifts off again, she can’t help that think how she’s pretty damn lucky too.

___________________________________________________________________________________

He can’t really explain it, not even to himself. When Bucky was a young man, fatherhood, or rather the months leading up to it weren’t talked about. Pregnancy in general wasn’t. A woman started getting bigger around the middle and after a few months, there was a baby. Of course he knew it was a little more complicated than that, but he never heard his dad or uncles talk about what they experienced as they waited for the day they’d become someone’s father.

Maybe that’s why he has such a hard time connecting to this whole experience in any other way. His wife is pregnant. They’re having a baby. He’s got that. Hell, they’ve even heard the heartbeat, and there’s a picture stashed in the back of his wallet from that first ultrasound. He loves this kid, who at this point, could fit into the palm of his hand, but since it’s not happening to him, he’s not the one physically going through this, in some ways it’s still distant.

However, the one thing he can do, the one thing that has made it feel more real, like he knows this someone he’s never seen before, is having his hand over where she’s currently residing. He doesn’t know where the exact location is (sure, he’s done googling, and there’s just common sense, but he’s not a doctor), but for a reason he can’t quite work out, it somehow feels like, in that way, he’s in tune with her. She’s tucked away safe already, but he can give her that extra barrier of warmth, and maybe in some untangible way that science can’t explain, love. It’s as close as he can get until she’s here in his arms, and for now, it’ll do.

That’s why, when he becomes half-way conscious, the early morning sun peeking in through the blinds, he doesn’t have to wonder what he’s touching. He already knows. However, this time, there is something different. Moving slowly, trying not to wake his sleeping wife (goodness knows she need the rest; she’s making an entire other person), he readjusts his palm. That’s when it hits him. There’s a certain roundness, a slight firmness, that wasn’t there yesterday. If he had to venture a guess, he’d say-

“Morning, sunshine.” As she says it, she yawns, stretching so that her shirt rides up and he gets a good look. He’s right. That’s exactly what’s going on.

“Not that I don’t enjoy you ogling me, but what’s got your attention?”

Taking a deep breath to try and keep his excitement down, he pulls her just a little bit closer and murmurs. “Doll, I think you’re showing.”

“What?” She’s still sleepy, he can tell from the way her eyelids flutter. “No, I’m just bloated.

“I’m serious. Go take a look in the mirror when you get up.”

“Which will be right now, because…” Feigning an over-dramatic sigh, she extracts herself from the tangle of limbs they’ve formed in their sleep. “… I have to pee for the first of at least thirty times today.”

He thinks about joking that at least it’s not morning sickness (for a few weeks there, she informed him she was going to start just sleeping in the bathroom since that’s where she spent most of her time), but decides that’d probably be a stupid decision. His research had forewarned him that heightened emotions would be a part of this, and so far it hasn’t been too extreme, but there was the one time he came home and found her crying over an ASPCA commercial (it took a solid half-hour for her to completely recover, and when their dog licked her hand later that night, she started tearing up again), so it’s probably best not to risk it.

The toilet flushes, quickly followed by the door reopening, and she appears. He studies her face for any sign of what she might be feeling right now, but comes up empty. Finally, he has to ask.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

She climbs back into bed, rearranging the blankets over her bare legs.

“The verdict is that it’s too damn early to be awake on a Saturday.” Okay, drop the subject. That’s okay. He’ll just work harder on convincing her that she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen until she believes it too.

“And, I think you’re right.” Her hand travels down to the small swell of her middle. “I think I’m showing.”

“Are you…” he’s not sure how to put it. “...do you feel okay about that, Doll?”

She nods, smiling.

“Yeah, I do. In all honesty, it’s kind of a relief.” He frowns, confused. “Well, now I feel a little less awkward. I look less like I ate something funky and now I have bad gas, and more like I’m pregnant.”

Despite his best efforts, he snickers at her description.

“Barnes, it’s rude to laugh at the mother of your child.”

“Really?” He does his best to feign confusion. “Well, is it okay if I kiss her?”

“Nice save.” She leans towards him, pushing a few tray hairs back from his forehead. “And yeah, I think that’s acceptable.” He doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s a practiced routine at this point. Their lips meet, his arm circling her back, pulling her closer. Her hand travels up his back, tracing lazy patterns, as her heart begins to beat faster against his chest. Someone (he’s never quite sure who) lets out the first telling moan, and then he’s pressing her back against the pillows, hovering over her, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. Normally this would lead to her shedding it altogether and him following suit, but just as he rucks up the material past her waist, his phone goes off. From the ringtone, he knows it’s Sam. Can’t be ignored, then.

“I swear, he has radar.” She murmurs it against his lips as, with one final peck, he rolls over and sits up.

“That or he’s sitting outside with his binoculars waiting for the worst possible moment to call.” As he says it, he presses the phone to his ear. “What?”

“Good morning to you too.” He almost shoots back that it was gonna be, but swallows it down. “Meet me at the compound in thirty. We’ve got to go. Briefing once we’re in the air.”

“For how long-”

“I don’t know, man. A few days, at least.” It’s silent for a moment then- “If the missus wanted to join us on this one, we could use her.” He glances at the woman in question, now out of bed and going through their shared closet, packing his bag.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. See you soon.” Not waiting for a reply, he hangs up.

“You’re going someplace warm.” As she speaks, she adds a few short sleeved t-shirts to the black duffle bag he always carries when he has to go away. “And from what I saw, you’ll end up using knives as opposed to guns at least once.” Seems like this time around, her visions have decided to be helpful instead of random and vaguely annoying.

She glances back at him over her shoulder, offering him a small smile. “Get a move on, Buck. Sounded like Sam’s not in a mood to wait.” That he can agree with.

By the time he finishes brushing his teeth and making sure his hair won’t fool people into thinking he received an electric shock in his sleep, she’s already got his bag packed, weapons case by the front door, and a breakfast burrito heated up. It’s not the first time they’ve done this; said a hasty goodbye when one or the other of them had to answer the call, but this time as he holds her close and promises, once again, to come back in one piece, he can’t help but feel like he’s doing the exact opposite as what he should. It’s never a matter of wanting to go, wanting to fight. That’s never something anyone wants. But usually, he has a sense of peace about it, like in some small way, he’s making up for all the things he’s done in his past that he wishes he could forget. This time, as he drives himself to the compound, he can’t shake the feeling that the greatest good he’ll ever do in his life is in that townhouse, promising to wait for his return.

The briefing is short. It’s a dangerous situation, one that’ll require their presence for several days, if not a full week, but it’s nothing he hasn’t done before. After all he’s seen, he’ll never take it for granted again that a mission will be routine, run smoothly, but over all, he’s not unduly worried. Sam, however? The man hasn’t stopped frowning since they set foot on the quinjet, and there’s no sign that it’ll let up anytime soon.

Finally, he doesn’t have any other choice. If he doesn’t address the elephant in the room now, it’ll hang over the mission, and that won’t be good news for anyone.

“Say it.”

For a second, he thinks Sam is going to keep mum, but then, with a sigh, he asks,

“Man, what the hell is going on with you lately?” Oh. This again. “I know you said it wouldn’t affect the team, but we’re partners. If there’s something going on in your life that’ll impact how you handle this mission-” He starts to interrupt, but Sam is quicker. “-and don’t give me that bullshit that it won’t, I know a big fucking deal when I see it. I need to know.”

This is it. They’ve had a good run, but this is one secret he won’t be able to keep anymore.

“I get it. Couples split up. Divorces happen.” Wait- “But keeping it to yourself won’t help anything. Plus, since we all know her and work with her-”

“We’re not splitting up.” Never will, if he has anything to do with it.

“Okay, well, marriage troubles are part of things. Maybe you two could try therapy-”

“She’s pregnant, Sam.” So that’s how you make Sam Wilson go dead silent. He’ll have to remember that for future reference (although this seems like something you can only use one time).

“She’s-”

“Yeah.”

“You’re-”

“Not doing much. She’s the one with the hard job.”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to get out, “You’re gonna have a baby.”

“Actually, she’s the one-”

“You know what I mean.”

He nods.

“Yeah. We are.”

“Damn.” Sam sinks into the seat next to him. “You’re gonna be a dad. That’s not something I was expecting to hear when I got up this morning.”

He chuckles.

“Wasn’t exactly something we were expecting to hear either, but there it is.” In another four and a half months or so, they’ll be parents.

“So, um-” Sam clears his throat. “-are you guys good? Happy about it and all that?”

“We’re good.” He nods. “Still getting used to it, but we’re good.”

“What about you? Are you happy about it?”

This is one he can answer without any hesitation or second guessing. It’s a simple fact, one he’ll admit every time.

“Yeah. I’m happy.”

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #fanfiction #fluff #pregnancy

[personuhh]

I want your input on how you guys think the P4 cast’s futures would shake out! I have a general idea of where I want things to go, but I think having input from everyone is important too. Any characters that I’ve left off (Kanji, the Dojimas, Yukiko, etc) already have pretty solid arcs planned, so don’t worry, I didn’t forget them.

There are a bunch of numbered questions to make it easier to respond to, I’d be happy even if you guys took the time just answering one or two! Thanks for your interest, and hopefully you guys find this an interesting read at the very least lol.

(I’ve grouped all of the questions at the end in case you want to see them all together.)

General Info:

The game is planned to take place in 2015, so everything will take place 3 years after Arena/P4DAN/Golden Epilogue.

Because it’s centered around Inaba, it will only focus on characters still in the town (so Rise, Chie and Naoto will not be playing large roles in the game).

Yosuke:

I’ve mentioned already where I see Yosuke in 2015 (directionless, just finishing college but still working at Junes) but I’ve also been tossing around a few ideas for future careers that I think would work for him. I think him being a mechanic or just generally handy with fixing things would be a good avenue to explore, not just because of his interest in motorcycles, but also because I think it would compliment his arc nicely; for someone who’s so afraid of screwing everything up, I think it would be good for Yosuke to realize that he’s really good at fixing things. it’s not too out of nowhere (he’s a broke college student, I’m sure he’s had to fix a leaky faucet in his apartment or something, and he must have tuned up and fixed his bike after he crashed it), and could be a thing he realizes (with Yu’s help ofc) over the course of his route that he just... never thought of as a legitimate skill before.

I’ve also thought about him joining the Shadow Operatives (Mitsuru’s team of shadow fighting elites, comprised mostly of former SEES members), which is usually my go-to when thinking about what his potential career could be, but in a lot of ways it feels like somewhat of a copout. On top of it glazing over Yosuke’s critical lack of personal identity, it also feeds into the idea that he isn’t anything special without his persona, which doesn’t exactly do much for character growth. I think it’s the most obvious and canon-compliant choice, and one that he would both enjoy and be good at, I worry about what it would mean for his character. Of course, Mitsuru recognizes his skills and would likely take him on no problem, and while I love the idea of Yosuke joining them and living a life full of excitement and badassery, I don’t think he needs to do much soul-searching to arrive at this decision.

So...

#1: What jobs and/or hobbies do you see Yosuke doing that utilizes his skills (either preexisting or ones you believe he could easily develop)? Thoughts on what I’ve said regarding his potential career?

Yu:

Yu has been giving me some pretty big headaches when trying to plot this game. Obviously, as the protagonist, giving him something interesting to do that also ties into the plot is important; which is why I’m leaning so heavily toward him working for the Inaba PD. It would fit with why he chooses to return to Inaba permanently, and would be plausible within the time period, along with obvious connections (Dojima) that could secure him a position within the force. My concern is that the game then becomes either too serious, or too heavily based around Yu as opposed to the rest of the cast. I definitely don’t want it to turn into yet another Inaba mystery, and choosing another profession for Yu would likely keep things a lot more lighthearted (if Yu’s working as an elementary teacher for example, the biggest problems he’s going to face are like, the stubborn kid in his class that won’t stop shoving pencils up his nose, maybe an angry parent, nothing TOO serious that requires a complex solution) and leave more time to focus on whichever route you choose.

HOWEVER, this job also would allow for easy cameos from outside characters (Naoto, Chie, Akihiko and the other Shadow Operatives) all of whom work closely with, or directly for the police. I just worry about it taking over and pulling the focus away from other characters. I don’t want it to be Detective Simulator: Persona 4 Edition, which is why I’ve also been throwing around other alternatives for Yu’s career (the obvious ones being teacher/daycare, and veterinarian) but it needs to be a job easily securable within the 3 year timeframe and a reason for him to move back to Inaba. If he’s still enrolled in college with the promise of a job at the end of it, there would be no reason for him to move and have to commute.

#2: Would you prefer Yu’s job be something more in the background rather than one of the major driving forces of the plot?

#3: Would you prefer Yu’s role be more of a player insert protagonist?

#4: Arena-style internal narration (first person, hearing Yu’s thoughts), or stick to P4′s approach (second person, slightly more objective)?

#5: Any suggestions for what you think would suit Yu as a career?

Naoki:

I’m completely fine having Naoki’s job staying as him just working at (and eventually inheriting) Konishi Liquors, but I think there’s still plenty to explore for his character outside of that. Because his SL focuses on Naoki grieving and Yu leaning not to treat him any differently, it doesn’t account for the rest of Inaba and how they treat Naoki. Small town reputations stick, and even if he’s managed to move past Saki’s death to an extent, everyone still knows him as the other Konishi kid, and I think he would really struggle to deal with that reputation. Even if he’s learned to open up to Yu, Yosuke, and a few of his school friends by the end of his SL, I can see him becoming incredibly jaded and growing tired of Inaba because he can’t manage to escape the public’s pity. I’ve thought about him turning to dangerous, risk-taking behavior and escapism as a result of this, but it’s pretty hard to change an entire town’s opinion of you and your family, and I don’t see where it could go from here other than him essentially running away from it all and giving up.

#6: Any ideas for Naoki’s route or character in general?

#7: Would you be interested in dating him, or would you prefer it either be platonic, or for him to be kept as a supporting cast member?

#8: Are you okay with heavy topics like (underage) alcoholism, or do you believe it would be better to avoid a plot like this?

Daisuke & Kou:

I’m honestly hesitant to include these two in the game at all, as I find it a little hard to believe that they’d stay in Inaba for that long.

#9: Any ideas for potential jobs that would keep them in Inaba?

#10: Would you prefer each of them to have separate routes, or have them grouped together?

#11: Would you be interested in dating them together, separately, or for them to have their route(s) kept platonic and for them be in a relationship with each other?

#12: Any general ideas for their route(s)?

Dates:

Since I have no set time frame for the game, I’m open to including all kinds of seasonal dates, festivals, and events (like Valentines or New Years, for example) and I’ll decide on a time of year based on that.

Aside from shared events between all routes, though, I’d love suggestions for some cute character-specific dates (eg. Yu takes Yosuke to a concert, Kanji and Yu go shopping for yarn, something like that). Please go ahead and be as random and specific as you want, it doesn’t have to be a massive event.

#13: Any general date ideas?

#14: Any character-specific date ideas?

Full question list under the cut:

Question list:

#1: What jobs and/or hobbies do you see Yosuke doing that utilizes his skills (either preexisting or ones you believe he could easily develop)? Thoughts on what I’ve said regarding his potential career?

#2: Would you prefer Yu’s job be something more in the background rather than one of the major driving forces of the plot?

#3: Would you prefer Yu’s role be more of a player insert protagonist?

#4: Arena-style internal narration (first person, hearing Yu’s thoughts), or stick to P4′s approach (second person, slightly more objective)?

#5: Any suggestions for what you think would suit Yu as a career?

#6: Any ideas for Naoki’s route or character in general?

#7: Would you be interested in dating Naoki, or would you prefer it either stay platonic, or for him to be kept as a supporting cast member?

#8: Are you okay with heavy topics like (underage) alcoholism, or do you believe it would be better to avoid a plot like this?

#9: Any ideas for potential jobs that would keep Kou & Daisuke in Inaba?

#10: Would you prefer Kou & Daisuke to have separate routes, or have them grouped together?

#11: Would you be interested in dating Kou & Daisuke together, separately, or for them to have their route(s) kept platonic and for them be in a relationship with each other?

#12: Any general ideas for Kou & Daisuke’s route(s)?

#13: Any general date ideas?

#14: Any character-specific date ideas?

#ada's writing #i need a tag for this game.... #persona 4 #ada speaks

[shintorikhazumi]

English!AU (2): Has To Be.

A/N: Yey. I don’t know smack about what I’m writing. So warning. Badly written. Rip. Might suck. 

Hannah solo chap. Next chap two idiots and their chaperones are coming along.

Enjoy?

~ShintoriKhazumi

She wanted to cross her arms and show just how irritated she was by all of this.

But she couldn’t.

The tea was getting cold from her ignoring it, hands folded on her lap, unwilling to take up the cup and allow it to serve its purpose of providing her refreshment.

Like anything could refresh her for what was about to go down.

“After all that effort to create as much distance as possible... and here you are.” Hannah hated that condescending chuckle. “Sorry and without freedom. Simply under father's mercy."

She grit her teeth, fingers twitching. She needed to keep it all in. Control. Control. She could do it. She had long since been trained on ways to hold her composure, not that she'd ever found the need to use this skill back in Luna Nova.

Ah, Luna Nova. How she missed it. She had the freedom of expression, she could voice out her every opinion. Well, yes, she could be a little bitchy at times. She was working on that bit. ‘Sorry Akko.’

Here, however, she could not allow herself to lash out. She had to be composed, elegant, dignified. Bottled up and choking on all the expectations she had been trying to escape.

And yet, here she was. Back in their clutches.

“What a sad, sad girl.”

The voice was incredibly irritating. Hannah would love to shove a sock in it.

"Pathetic really."

'Shut it.'

“I bet you’re planning something. Conniving as you always were.”

Hannah released a sigh, shutting her eyes to avoid looking at the sore sight of her current companion.

"I'm not here because I want to fight you... Jared."

'I'd rather murder you right now without needing to. Annoying little prick.'

"Right. No fighting. And yet you came back." Jared sneered. "That in itself is already a declaration of war, my dear, dear sister.

“Listen.” Hannah growled, finally looking him in those similar-colored eyes that reminded her that she really shared the same blood as this terror of a family. “I’m not here because I want to be.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Well that’s because-”

“The Prince of Wales, Harold Windsor, enters.”

Hannah whipped her head about, eyes wide, unable to mask her emotions this time around. And it seemed like her the new arrival was unable to as well.

"Why... Are you here." It was a question that didn’t really sound like one. It felt more like a statement whose true meaning actually translated to, ‘I don’t want you here.’.

Hannah agreed with that sentiment. 'Does it look like I want to be?' She sighed internally, preparing her mind for the onslaught of either words or actions about to befall her.

Calmly, she responded. "Grandfather called for me."

"What?!" Harold marched forward, brows furrowed deeply, gaze burning hot. “He did not! I heard nothing of the sort!”

Hannah barely flinched. She needed to keep up her facade, afraid as she was. She could not show weakness nor fear. No. Not in front of this man.

Not in front of the man she once called Father.

“I suppose he did not feel the obligation to inform you, sire.” She replied, voice level.

“And why would he not? I am rightfully the next in line! I must know these things!”

‘Do you now?’

“How should I know? If you don’t know, your majesty, what makes you think a lowly servant such as I would?”

A flash of indignance crossed the man’s face as his hand quickly raised, ready to come down on Hannah, swift and solid.

She cursed her body, frozen with a familiar fear, cultivated since long ago. It was coming.

It was coming.

Her eyes were the only ones to react, shut tight just as she was about to receive the hit.

The strike never came.

Opening her eyes, Hannah was surprised to see Jared. His arm stretched out in front of her, as if to shield her from that man.

In front of them both was her bodyguard who had caught Harold’s hand in a tight grip.

“How dare you interrupt me-”

“I am simply carrying out the work assigned to me. To protect the first princess, Hannah Windsor, until the end of the selection.” The bespectacled man stated firmly, releasing Harold’s hand.

Turning to his charge, he directed her to the door, remaining close to the current heir apparent should he plan something else.

“It’s time for your audience with His Majesty, the King, Miss Hannah.” He said, far more gently than his cold voice from earlier.

“...y-yes. Yes, thank you. Sir Mark. I... I shall go.”

She left the room quickly, unable to bear the atmosphere any longer. Once out the door, she had found herself accompanied by two guardians, leading her to the room she knew was her grandfather’s.

She could only hope things would not get worse.

//

“Why am I here.”

“Why must everyone ask the same boring questions.” The old man replied, stroking his chin. “Isn’t the answer obvious?”

“Your Majesty-”

“Hannah.”

“G-Grandfather.” She heard a pleased hum. “I thought we had an agreement.”

“Well, I thought so too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!” Hannah slammed her fist into the bedpost, feeling her held back fury escaping. “I told you I wanted to be a witch!”

“And I’ve told you that witches are not to be part of the royal family.” He replied calmly.

“Exactly! So why?!” Hannah interrogated, clearly exasperated at these events. “You told me I could not be. But if I truly wanted you to let me go, I would manage Cielton for three years, raise their industry economic value, earn it publicity and recognition on the map, and I did all of that!” Her voice raised higher.

She should be frightened, screaming at the monarch of their country; but when it was just the two of them, no guards, no other people around, there was only Hannah and her grandfather. Two members of a family.

“We had a deal.” She said, voice breaking.

“I’m sorry.”

“I wanted no part in this.” She angrily wiped the tears away on her sleeve, huffing away her crying. “Didn’t you already announce that I’ve stepped down from the selection years ago?”

“...”

“Grandfather!”

The man remained silent. This only fueled Hannah’s pain and feelings of betrayal. Her grandfather was the only family she had left that she believed she could actually trust, yet he wasn’t even listening!

“The moment the time limit you gave was up, I would leave for my life as a witch. I would turn my back to the family. Just like you and father told me to. That was the deal. You would take care of the announcements, the excuses. All of it. You said so because if it was found out that I was leaving to be a witch, the backlash would be too strong.”

Hannah sighed, sitting on one of the lounge chairs, burying her face in her hands.

“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain!”

“Neither did you.”

“What!?”

“I know of you commuting to Luna Nova during those three years. You didn’t enter two years ago. You’ve been there for five.” He revealed. “I also know the Young Cavendish head is your friend.”

Hannah suddenly stood up, realizing she’d been found out. “Grandfather, I-”

“Thus, you didn’t hold up your end completely either. You went behind my back.”

“That was!”

“And so, our deal is invalid. I did not announce your backing off from succession either. So consider things fair.”

All her statements died in her mouth as Hannah slumped back into the chair.

“...Why does it have to be me?”

“Why not?”

“I’m serious.”

“I am too.” The old King chuckled mirthlessly. “Hannah, dear. You were thirteen. And your father was sneaking out in town creating one too many scandals for me to keep up with.”

“I have two older brothers.”

“And none of them did as well as you did. One doesn’t want the throne-”

“I don’t either!”

“-for good reasons.”

“...”

“I do not trust Devon with this land, Hannah. The way he looks at the crown, drinking in the sight of its power as though it were intoxicating wine... He will destroy this country, Hannah.”

“Jared-”

“Is incompetent. We both know this.”

Hannah couldn’t reply to that.

Time ticked by in uncomfortable silence. Only emotional breaths, and the rustles of sheets were heard.

Hannah felt the stinging of restrained tears at the back of her throat. Her eyes burned, her head throbbed. Her nails dug deep into her palms as she considered all of this.

It wasn’t fair. It truly wasn’t.

“...does it have to be me?”

“There’s no one else.” The King said sadly. “It has to be.”

#english! au #lwa #Little Witch Academia #hannah england #fanfic #lookit all them OCs holy- #rip

[not-close-to-straight]

100% Professional (Final)

MASTERLIST

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

A few weeks later 

"Hey hey, I'm not ready to say good night to you yet." Wade wound his arm around Peter's waist and tugged him closer. "Where are you going?" 

"I've still got a  piece to write for work tomorrow." Peter said reluctantly, and tossed his taco trash away. "And you've got that thing with Sam at like six am, don't you?" 

"I could definitely reschedule a fun run with Sam if you wanted to stay." Wade countered. "Especially since there's nothing fun about running at all. Whoever coined that phrase should be given a swift roundhouse kick to the face." 

"It's important that you keep appointments with people who are a positive influence in your life." Peter recited, clearly quoting the self help book Wade kept on the living room coffee table. "And I know I'm delightful? But Sam is a much better positive influence in your life." 

"Pete--" 

"Last night we ate Cheez Whiz until you coughed it out your nose." Peter pointed out. "And the day before that we watched six straight hours of reality TV because neither one of us could find the remote. Could have just turned the TV off, but nope. We watched six solid hours of reality dating." 

"Okay, yeah that was pretty bad." 

"We sucked helium and sang Christmas songs until we gave ourselves migraines." 

"Also bad." 

"Face it." Peter smoothed his hands down Wade's arms, lingering over the bulge of the former soldiers biceps. "We make the worst decisions together so you should definitely spend the morning with Sam, who consistently is encouraging you to get better and is always glad to see you at group." 

"I sort of hate that you're all supportive and encouraging me to better my self." Wade grumbled half heartedly. "You were much more fun when you were just rubbing me with oil and trying to catch a peek at my dick." 

"I resent the implication that I still don't try to look at your dick." Peter retorted and Wade only laughed. "Definitely fun run with Sam and then call me after wards. I'll work on your calves since I'm sure you're gonna be sore." 

"...really?" Wade hesitated. "You'd work on me?" 

"Why not?" If Peter noticed he was all but glommed onto Wade's chest, he didn't comment. If anything the pretty brunette only scooted closer, tangling their feet and hooking his fingers into Wade's belt. "If you're hurting, I'm gonna help you. I'm a trained professional, remember?" 

"I vaguely remember you being something like a massage therapist." Wade agreed. "Even though our marshmallow eating contest last week gave me a few doubts." 

"That's fair." Peter said immediately. "I wouldn't trust a professional who shouted chubby bunny with eleven marshmallows in their mouth either. That's perfectly valid. In fact, if you hadn't doubted my professional status after that I'd worry about you. And also--" 

"I fired my massage therapist last week." Wade interrupted, and Peter went very still. 

"What? Why?" 

"Because she's not you?" Wade asked slowly. "Is that an okay reason?" 

"It's not a real reason." Peter pointed out, but he didn't pull away. "Obviously she's not me, lots of people aren't me. But why would that matter? We pretty much decided that we could have a working relationship or a friendship but not both, right? So you got another therapist and we-- we are friends." 

"Is that what this is?" Wade took a chance and drew his fingers through Peter's hair, down to fit his palm to the back of Peter's neck and rub circles over his pulse. "Friendship?" 

"Well yeah." Peter shivered, leaning his head back into Wade's palm. "Right? Friendship. We hang out and we laugh and we do stupid things together when we're drunk. We've sort of moved on into holding hands and sure this hug is about eight minutes too long but--" 

"Can I kiss you?" 

"Please God, kiss me." Peter stood up on his toes and met Wade halfway, their mouths crashing together in the sort of kiss that was months and months and months over due, the sort of kiss that belonged in movies with dramatic storms and soaring musical scores, the kind that left two people gasping and melting, torn between undressing each other right there and maybe just wanting to linger in the innocence of this particular first. 

"Wade." Peter whispered when they finally parted. "Oh my god." 

"Yeah." Wade leaned back into dot a kiss to Peter's cheek, to brush his lips over the line of Peter's jaw. "Yeah, I know. It's about time, right?" 

"I think um--" Peter was blushing, biting at his lip and trying to inch closer so Wade would keep kissing him. "I think it was right about perfect timing for us, right? Seems like a long time coming, but we did it the right way?" 

"If you say so." Wade cleared his throat. "Kinda wish our first kiss wasn't in front of the taco stand though. Seems like I could have been more romantic than that."

Peter tried and failed to stifle a chuckle. "Tacos are super romantic, what are you talking about?" 

"Tacos are romantic, you're absolutely right." Wade dug in his pocket so he could actually pay the very patient taco guy. "We should eat and--" 

He shut up when Peter kissed him again. "Pete?" 

"I'm not ready to say goodnight to you." Peter said slowly, clearly. "But it's important that you do this run with Sam, and it's important that I get to work, so I'm going to go. You'll call me tomorrow so I can work on you when you're sore?" 

"I'll call you tomorrow." Wade nodded, leaning in to press their foreheads together. "For a purely professional massage. Definitely. Definitely will not try and grope my massage therapist." 

"You grope me and I'll charge you double." Peter threatened and Wade retorted, "What if it's just a little grope? I'll call it a tip." 

"I feel like your version of giving me a tip and my version of you giving me a tip are pretty different."  

"I dunno Pete, you've been horny for me forever. Pretty sure we're talking about the same tip." 

"Wade-" 

"SOMEONE TAKE YOUR CHANGE!" The taco guy shouted, obviously having overheard way more than he wanted, obviously fed up with Wade and Peter's weekly taco stop/flirty episode. 

"Keep the change." Wade waved the guy off. "Call it a tip. "

Peter choked on his food as he tried not to laugh and Wade stole just one more kiss. 

"I'll call you tomorrow?" 

"Please call me tomorrow." Peter's smile was hopeful, his eyes sparkling. "I can't wait." 

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

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

"How was the fun run?" Soleus. Peroneal Muscle Group. Gastrocnemius. Peter mentally recited the names of calf muscles as he worked at Wade's legs, desperately trying to distract himself from the fact that his friend-- boyfriend?-- was almost naked under the sheets. "Feel like a champ for finishing?" 

"I feel like hog tying Sam and beating him with a broom for making me do it." Wade grunted as Peter felt over a particularly tight spot. "He gave me this grand speech about how exercise is just as crucial to healing as therapy and mental exercises are, then he dragged my ass out there in the rain and forced me to watch him run in booty shorts. How is that healing?" 

"I feel like you probably didn't have to stare at him in booty shorts." Peter countered. Peroneal longus. Extensor digitorum longus. Achilles. "There had to be a thousand other places for you to look besides Sam's ass, right?" 

"The man's got a nice ass." Wade admitted and Peter grinned. "It was nice to finish, I guess. I've hit all these milestones in therapy but those are just check marks on paper. It felt good to check something off my list that not even healthy people do, you know? Most people will never run a marathon, and I did that today." 

"Yeah, I'm one of those people that will never run a marathon." Peter hesitated for a split second before sliding his hands up past Wade's knee to the back of his thigh. "I'd much rather watch from the sidelines and critique people's forms." 

"That seems hilariously judgmental of you." Wade tensed under Peter's fingers, then blew out a deep breath and forced himself to relax. This is a professional massage. "And you better start running because I signed us up for the city run this summer." 

"The one in July?" Semimembranosus muscle. Semitendinosus muscle. "That seems... I mean, that's like seven months out. Little far in advance to make plans, don't you think?" 

"It's not that far in advance." Wade hedged. "You uh-- you planning on going anywhere, Pete?" 

"I'm planning on being exactly here." Peter said softly, almost too softly, and to lighten the moment he added, "Charging you ridiculous amounts of money for hour long massages. I want to buy a car this summer, so this is as good a time as any to mention my rates doubled." 

"Doubled, huh?" Wade's laugh was pained as Peter dug his thumbs into a particularly bad knot. "Why do you need a car?" 

"I can’t take another month in Ye Olde Drug Makers Den, so I’m finally moving apartments." Biceps femoris muscle. "Unfortunately all the reasonably priced safer neighborhoods will require a sort of crazy commute and it'd be faster to have a car so I don't have to deal with the subway. Plus, Jameson is talking about having me travel, so I could write off the car as a business expense. It'd just be nice to have a choice in my transportation, I guess." 

"I got a car you can have." Wade forced out another one of those slow breaths when Peter moved even higher up his leg. "I couldn't drive after my injury but selling it always felt like I was admitting I was too fucked up to function. It's been sitting in storage for a couple years now." 

"Yeah? How much you wanna sell it for?" Peter paused again, reminded himself that he was definitely a professional and he could definitely handle seeing Wade mostly naked while kneading at his --gulp-- finely toned ass. They had kissed yesterday and it was fine, it wouldn't have any bearing on the massage today. It was fine. It was fine it was fine it was fine. 

Abductor magnus muscle. Gluteus maximus muscle. 

Holy shit, that thing was fine.

"How much do you want to sell the car for?" Peter tried so hard to sound casual just then, hoping the conversation would distract from-- from everything. 

"You can just have it." Wade shifted on the massage table, digging his fingers into the mat. "Doesn't um-- doesn't make sense for me to-- for me-- whew. Pete, uh maybe we should--" 

"You okay?" Peter paused, gave in to an entirely wicked impulse and spread his hands out over Wade's rear. "Is this-- this is weird right? After we kissed? It's weird for me to work on you. Should I stop?" 

"No, it feels good." Wade sounded positively strangled. "Feels good after my run and uh-- it's just nice that it's you but we can't-- I definitely can't roll over this time, ya feel me?" 

"Shit." Peter leaned over and rested his forehead between Wade's shoulder blades. "Wade, I promise I am actually a professional. I dunno what it is about you that makes it impossible to get through a session without skewing innuendo-ish--" Wade snorted a laugh and Peter smiled a little, leaving a feather soft kiss on Wade's back. "--but let me finish working on you and then maybe we can--"

"Come here." Faster than Peter was ready for, Wade rolled to his side and yanked Peter down for a kiss, crushing their mouths together and grabbing at Peter's side to keep him close. 

"Oh my god." Peter abandoned all pretenses of professional and shoved Wade onto his back, clambering up onto the table to straddle Wade's waist and to leave bruising kiss after wonderfully bruising kiss on the soldier's lips. "Wade, please." 

"Yeah baby boy, I've got you." Wade's hands were everywhere, dragging down Peter's back and grasping at his rear, digging into Peter's thighs and holding him still so Wade could grind up  into him. "I've got you, I've got you, I've got you." 

Peter's shirt probably tore as it was yanked off and tossed aside but nobody cared, and Peter cried when Wade surged up to seal his lips over a pink nipple, blunt teeth on sensitive skin making him nearly scream.  He got sweet sweet sweet revenge by worrying a bruise onto the curve of Wade's neck, not letting up until Wade was panting and swearing and tearing at his pants.

When Wade groaned in frustration over Peter's skinny jeans, the brunette laughed breathlessly and tried to climb off the table, promising, "Two seconds. Let me get these off and I'll be right back, two seconds and then you can have me." 

But alas, the massage table was not meant to hold the combined weight of two grown men, much less too grown men rocking the table back and forth and trying to get nekkid and just as Peter was climbing off to get rid of his jeans--

--the table wobbled--

--and cracked--

--and all four legs shattered--

--and an oiled up and mostly naked Wade dropped right onto the floor, toppling a half in-half out of jeans screeching Peter on top of him. 

Peter and Wade stared at each other, at the mess, at the broken table and the splotch of lotion all over the expensive carpet, and just when Peter was gearing up to apologize, Wade collapsed into laughter, full blown side splitting guffaws and after a stunned few seconds, Peter joined him. 

It felt good to laugh, good to release all the pent up sexual tension with some giggles, good to put a halt to the out of control moment with some hilarity. 

Wade was still wiping tears from his eyes a few moments later as he managed, "Alright, so all those smutty videos where the massage therapist gives a client a royal dicking down on the table? False, eh?" 

Peter wheezed for breath, inching across the ruined table to curl into Wade's side, holding onto him as he shook through a few more laughs. "That was terrible, oh my god. I didn't think it would actually break." 

"It's alright anyway." Wade hooked an arm around Peter's shoulders and pulled him tight, dropping a quick kiss onto his forehead. "Means we actually have to do this first time right instead of mid massage and in my living room, huh?" 

"I dunno." Peter kissed Wade back, wrinkling his nose teasingly. "We did everything else about this funky, might as well have funky first time sex too." 

"Funky first time sex." Wade deadpanned. "Be still my romantic heart. At least let me take you out to dinner, baby." 

"Tacos." Peter said promptly. "Go get tacos and I'll get this cleaned up and we can do funky first time sex properly." 

"Yeah alright." It took all of Wade's self control to peel away from Peter. Months and months they'd waited to get to this point and now they had to clean up broken massage table and try for dinner and-- 

"Why don't you move in with me?" he blurted before he could stop himself, and Peter's jaw dropped open. "You need a new place, I have a car you can drive and we're halfway in love so it's inevitable anyway. Move in with me." 

"...I think it's bold of you to invite me to move in before you know how I am in bed." Peter said slowly. "Um-- what if I'm terrible in the sack? Use teeth when there should be no teeth? What if I’m a total pillow princess and then you have to share your apartment and car with a highly unprofessional massage therapist who gives shitty blow jobs?" 

Wade tried to hide a smile. "You give shitty blow jobs, Pete?" 

"Well I mean--" Peter shrugged, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I guess you'll have to find out, right? No backsies though, whether you like the blowjobs or not, I'll be living here." 

"No backsies." Wade rubbed a hand over his bare scalp and nodded as if he wasn't ready to explode with excitement. "You wanna move in with me?" 

"I definitely do." Peter's eyes were shining. "But I'm about two seconds from jumping you again because I'm so happy, so go get tacos and get back so we can do this the right way." 

"I'll be right back." Wade promised, and ducked down the hallway to find his clothes. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" 

"I'll be right here." Peter kicked out of the last leg of his jeans so he was just in his shorts. "Right here. Hurry." 

Wade was dressed and out the door, nearly running for the elevator when Peter stuck his head out from the apartment and yelled, "And what do you mean, we're half in love? You better tell me you love me like a real man or the deal's off!" 

"No backsies!" Wade yelled back, grinning when he heard Peter laughing. "You're stuck with me now!"

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

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#ncts fics #spideypool