#one of the characters reminded me so much of little chip it wasn’t even funny

[foxymoxynoona]

++ also I saw you're doing dribbles for your anniversary! I didn't look at the list yet, but can you do something with wisdom tooth removal (feeling inspired by my current situation lol).. Perhaps with amended couple👉🏼👈🏼 I love me some JK and Bella. If not, that's okay ofc. I enjoy anything you write!

I know this is sooooo far after your wisdom tooth removal but hopefully it's a funny little reminder that you did it and you're done and you don't have to do that again 😅

Story: Amended Characters: Jungkook x Isabella CW: references to surgery risk, language

Isabella couldn’t help the nerves in her stomach as she walked through the front doors of the oral surgeon’s office. She’d been told over the phone that everything had gone well, and wisdom teeth removal was hardly the riskiest surgery, but it was still surgery and Jungkook had still been put partially under for it, and she’d spent the whole time trying not to think about that time he’d been fucking shot in the head. He wasn’t going to die during wisdom tooth surgery. The odds of that were super super low. She’d already been the unlucky statistic too many times to lose her husband this way! The universe owed her. This better be the cleanest fucking wisdom tooth removal surgery ever.

The call from reception telling her all was well and to come take him home had been a the first wave of relief. Isabella hadn’t gone far, just down the road so she could pace out her nerves in a bookstore instead of in the waiting room. She’d nearly chewed through the straw of her iced coffee. She was back within minutes to hang onto every word from the receptionist on his status and care. To Jungkook, she would be easy and cool and confident so he could feel comfortable trusting her with his care, but to the nurse she was openly nervous.

“He’ll be fine,” the nurse assured her. “The surgery went well and you can call us with any questions if his recovery doesn’t seem to align with what I’ve said.”

Isabella nodded. She’d cared for her wounded husband before. She could do this. It was just the location –stitches in his gum sounded so much harder to care for than the stitches on his torso and head where she could keep them well bandaged and see recovery with her own eyes. Plus they’d heard every range of recovery story from their friends; it turned out wisdom teeth removal was one of those things just about everyone had an experience they were eager to horrify you with. Dry socket, infection, chipped shards that accidentally got left behind. She shuddered and thanked the stars she had zero wisdom teeth, even if Jungkook had a field day teasing her about her lack of wisdom. She suspected it had been his way of handling his own nerves anyway. His eyes had been very big and his mouth very quiet back during the consultation when all the risks and care had initially been laid out.

“You can come on back, he should be awake enough to get him out to the car with the wheelchair.”

Isabella nodded but wondered, if he needed a wheelchair, how was she going to get him from the car to the house with all their stairs? She hadn’t thought of that. She might have to make him comfortable on the futon in his gaming room until he was able to shuffle up on his own legs. That was something they ought to think about. Maybe they should install a ramp…

The nurse wheeled the chair into the room ahead of her but stopped short. Isabella had to lean around her, half out the door, to see what the obstacle was. 

No obstacle, but the empty chair seemed unexpected.

“He’s gone,” the nurse answered before Isabella could ask the question on her tongue: where is he? “Is this the right room?” Isabella backed up so the nurse could check on the door, her confusion obvious. A paper slipped into a plastic shield read ‘Jeon.’ “Um.” 

Isabella’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean ‘um’. Where is my husband?”

“One moment please… Mr. Jeon?” The nurse stepped quickly around Isabella and for a brief moment of hope, Isabella thought that meant she had remembered something important. She’d left Isabella’s unconscious husband somewhere else, somehow, that was all. 

But when the nurse hoofed it up and down the hall, calling again, “Mr. Jeon?” and speaking quickly with a nurse at the other end of it, Isabella understood: Jungkook was missing.

“What the fuck?” she hissed. “Jungkook!” she called, joining the search. She wasn’t as worried about not disturbing other patients as the nurses were, she wanted to know where her husband was! She called into empty exam rooms and stuck her head into the bathrooms. “Jungkook, where are you?”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Jeon. I don’t understand, he was just waking up, he shouldn’t already be mobile–”

“Please just find him,” Isabella said, voice terse but she tried not to be unkind. “I’ll check this way.”

“That’s the staff rooms.”

Isabella didn’t give a shit what the rooms were. She knocked on the staff bathroom and opened the door, no one in it. She checked the coat closet and a supply closet.

She shoved open the door to the staff kitchen/lunch space, just the regular sort of set up like Isabella had at her own work: a sink and some cabinets, a dishwasher, a microwave, an old fridge. And standing in front of that open fridge, as if trying to decide what to eat for lunch, was her dear husband.

“Jungkook, what the hell are you doing?”

He turned slowly, like he was moving through water. His speech was garbled and difficult to understand with his mouth numb and full of gauze. Isabella couldn’t believe she could understand him at all. “It’s about lunch time I guess.”

“Babe, it’s not– it’s going home time. You just had oral surgery.”

She could see immediately in the unfocused haze of his gaze that he was not fully awake yet, the nurse was right about that at least. Apparently that didn’t mean he wasn’t mobile. She took his arms and shuffled him away from the fridge so she could close it. His cheeks were adorably puffed out, lips dry and cracked, the skin around them a little irritated. His eyes narrowed into that smug grin but his mouth itself barely moved as he spoke; she could see the gauze tucked into his cheeks like a sleepy hamster. A trail of drool leaked out and he didn’t notice.

“Heeeeey.”

“Hi, baby–”

“You’re good looking. What’s your name?” he slurred.

Isabella’s shoulders sagged with her sigh of amusement as she wiped the drool away with her sleeve. Of course Jungkook would be that kind of anesthesia patient.

“Isabella Jeon,” she answered, nudging him towards the door. “I’m your wife.”

“Whaaaaa? Damn…”

“Koo,” she laughed. She pressed her hand to her forehead. “God you scared me, wandering off.”

“Think it’s lunchtime– wanna date with you–”

“You can’t eat anything right now. You just had your wisdom teeth out. Let’s get you home, ok?”

“I’m going with you?”

“Yeah, you’re going with me.”

A nurse let out a gasp as they left the lunch room, “Oh! Thank god, you found him.”

“Heeey,” he said to the nurse.

“Oh my god,” Isabella rolled her eyes. 

But Jungkook just asked, “Didju know I have a wife?”

“Yes, Mr. Jeon. A very worried wife. Let’s get you into a wheelchair now and out to your car so your lovely wife can take you home.”

“Raaaad, man.” He said something else Isabella couldn’t hope to understand. She wished she was recording this to tease him later but couldn’t be bothered, she was too shaken by his disappearing act and just wanted him home. He would just have to believe her. She and the nurse helped him ease down into the wheelchair, no fuss.

“He took the ice packs off, does he still have the gauze in? Ok, let me get him wrapped up with the ice packs again and I’ll wheel him out for you.”

Isabella took Jungkook’s hand as they waited through this. He seemed unbothered with anything, his hand warm but largely limp in hers. She thought he dozed off again as the nurse tied the ice packs back in place. He looked like a pitiful cartoon character. His head sank forward on the ride out to the car. She darted ahead to unlock and open his door.

When she turned to help him from chair to seat, she saw his eyes were cracked open again.

“Hey Bella,” he said, apparently remembering her now. “You got a nice ass.”

“I… what?”

“Ass… it’s nice…” 

“Ok Romeo, let’s get you home.”

She shared a look with the nurse, who just smiled, “Everyone comes out of the anesthesia differently. Trust me, I’ve heard much more explicit things than that! The wandering is a new one though… he about gave me a heart attack!”

“Me too.”

She thanked the nurse, bit back any report about maybe not leaving patients alone like that, and slid into the driver’s seat. It looked like Jungkook had dozed off again and she worried about him swallowing or choking on the gauze still packed in but it seemed unbudging. Overall he was rather pitiful looking, swollen and chapped like that, drooly. She was glad the surgery was behind them but eager for him to get to feeling better soon too. Watching someone she loved go through pain or discomfort did not get easier with time.

“All right, baby,” she sighed, stroking back some of the hair sticking out from the icepack wrap. “Let’s get you somewhere you can sleep off the rest of this shit and I’ve got medicine and smoothies and tv shows ready to go.” His hand slid forward over hers resting on his thigh,

She could see the smile in his eyes, even through the haze. Despite the lack of consonants, she could understand him basically on intonation alone. What a funny thing to learn. She hoped she never had to do it again.

“Hey pretty girl.” He blinked at her and cleared his throat and squeezed her hand. “Where we going? It’s a date?”

“Home.”

“Niiigh,” he said. Nice. And then closed his eyes and dozed off again. She patted his leg one more time, felt her stomach settle to have him back in her care, and put the car in reverse. “Hey Bell?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry,” he said, then promptly began to snore.

#jungkook x oc #jungkook ff #jeon jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook established relationship

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 3

Here is act 3!!! Thank you so much for all of your enthusiasm so far! Hope you enjoy :)

8.6k - masterlist - ao3

--

Aelin has never really thought of herself as someone with a lot of friends. She’s always had Elide, Aedion and Lysandra, but they almost fall into a separate category. Like what they’ve been through surpasses friendship, and she thinks at this point Elide and Lysandra are as much her family as Aedion.

Throughout her years in the industry she hasn’t made many friends, Chaol and Dorian are probably the only two, but she's learned how things work. It didn't take her long to realise that all the girls she met at auditions, and bonded with over all of the things they had in common, would have stabbed her right in the back at the earliest opportunity.

It's cutthroat, but she can't say she's never succumbed to the temptations.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never pretended she was there to audition for another character just to get the other actress to spill her analysis of the character. She can’t say it was unintentional when she’d leave the audition room and then pretend to take a phone call where she’d discuss how pleased the casting director had been with her take and had promised to call, watching the faces fall of the other hopefuls she waltzed past.

She can’t say she’d never do it again.

That said, she feels like she has a good thing going with Fenrys, Manon and Rowan. They've hung out a couple of times and she likes them admittedly more than she thought she would at first. The dynamic is fast and snappy, funny and sarcastic, and she can feel herself getting back into the old motions.

Aelin knows they’re friends now, and it feels really fucking good, but she has one concern. She’s not entirely sure that what she feels for Rowan can be described as friendship and she’s kicking herself for letting it happen. The physical attraction she can excuse, he looks how he looks and she’s defenseless against that, but the rest? The rest is where she’s really let herself go.

He’s opened up to them a lot more now, and they spend a lot more time together than they did at the start. Just last week she had thrown herself into her seat at the end of a long day of shooting and plunked her feet in his lap. She had expected him to throw them off and growl something at her, but he had simply rested his left hand on her ankle and continued to scroll through his phone with his right.

It had felt far too easy to settle into his touch, and far too enjoyable to have the heat of his skin against her own.

Even so, there’s a level of detachment to his interaction with them. He falls somewhere between bemused dad and despairing lecturer tasked with herding a group of unruly children through a life or death venture. He curses actors all day long but he’s just as dramatic. There are moments when she catches him beginning to smile at a comment from Fenrys or the bickering she and Manon do before he halts himself and seems to rein it back in.

She wants to see him grin.

It’s kind of weird to think back to the first week of shooting and how unsure she felt around them, how insecure she was of her own ability compared to theirs, but by now she’s pretty sure she’s past the worst of that and she doesn’t want to waste any more time doubting herself, at least in comparison to them. It helps when Rowan makes little comments like nice job, Aelin or when she catches the nod he does after she nails a scene, especially when he tries to hide it.

She posted a picture on Instagram of the four of them from set last week, her and Manon crouched at the front wrapped up again in the massive coats they give them on set, their faces almost completely covered by the puffed up collars, and Rowan and Fenrys stood behind them, their arms crossed across their chests and faces twisted into overly dramatic imitations of anger. It had taken some pleading and possible bribery from Fenrys to get Rowan to agree to the pose, but they had succeeded in the end.

She had captioned it so we stole their coats… and tagged each of them, watching as the likes came flooding in. Only seconds later the comments had begun to run a bit wild.

This is going to be so good I can already tell.

fenrys looks so hot fuck me up

ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!

Are they dating?

She stopped reading the comments pretty quickly after that.

They’re about a third of the way into shooting, and Aelin knows what she’s accomplished so far is some of her best work. It hasn’t been easy, but she’s put hours and hours of her time into understanding her character and she feels like she truly knows Feyre, and almost sees some of herself in her. There are differences of course, Aelin isn’t quite as naive as Feyre or as forgiving, but they’ve both been dealt a shitty hand, and Aelin likes to think she’s working just as hard as Feyre to pick herself back up.

She finishes the take, and slaps her usual high-five against Fenrys’ palm and sends her regular nod over to Rowan. Good? Her nod asks. Good, his own gesture returns. She tucks her smile away as she begins to wander over to where he’s stood chatting with a producer.

She’s built a habit of going over to him once they finish shooting, she wants to seek him out constantly, and she feels drawn to him in a way that she’s beginning to lose the fight against. She’s about halfway towards him when she spots a tall head of brown hair making its way towards her.

She barely has time to process before there are a pair of strong arms around her waist and she’s being lifted up and swung around, her feet dangling inches above the ground.

“Hello, superstar.” His voice is deep in her ear and she can feel the vibrations where she buries her face into his neck.

“Gods! I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.”

She gasps as he places her back down on the ground and she can finally smile up at Chaol. Taking in the chestnut-brown of his hair and the faint creases beginning at the corners of his rich brown eyes. Gods, she’s missed him.

She’s known he’d be visiting the set at some point. The Crescent City is his baby, a script he’s been working on for years, and she knows he couldn’t stomach leaving it all to Rowan without any supervision.

He had first mentioned it to her a few years ago, but back then it was nothing more than an idea. Aelin knew he had been chipping away at it in the background for a while and it wasn’t a surprise when he first sent it to her. It’s different now though, now that there’s a budget and a set and actual progress made in getting it on screen.

It feels like a big deal to her; she can’t imagine how Chaol feels.

She had never dreamed though, through all of their midnight conversations about it and their half-dreaming out loud discussions, that she would be the one to star in it.

Chaol just grins at her, a twinkle in his eyes that she knows means he’s happy, and says “thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.” She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck for a second time. She squeezes him tight and breathes him in, his smell is comforting and it makes her feel young again. “How long are you here for?”

He gives her waist a short squeeze, reminding her that his hands are still resting there with hers still up on his shoulders. It’s not the closest she’s ever been to him, and it doesn’t cross her mind for her touching him so freely to be an issue.

“A couple of days.” He smiles down at her again. “Lunch?”

“Of course, let me change first?” She asks, releasing his shoulders and turning to walk back to her trailer. He holds a hand out, as if to say lead the way.

She sets off as he follows, and she can feel the lightness of the wide smile across her face. It’s a kind of comfort now that Chaol is here, he’s taken care of her for so many years and his presence grounds her in a way she hasn’t really found with many other people.

Rowan still stands with the producer behind where some of the team are tinkering with the filming equipment. His brow is drawn into a frown and the producer standing with him has begun to look profoundly uncomfortable.

The take was good, she knows that, and when he runs a jagged hand over his face a jolt of concern strikes her. He looks anguished, or frustrated, and she wonders how he’s soured so quickly after the silent exchange they shared mere moments ago.

His gaze snaps to hers and it’s a powerful thing. His stare weighs heavily into her, so much so she wants to look away and her steps falter. The stumble is barely perceptible, but she sees it and thinks maybe he does too. There’s something thorny in the pull of his brows and the twist of his mouth and she wants to go over, ease his troubles, but that’s not her place. And Chaol is inches behind her following her lead.

Rowan’s eyes flick to Chaol and his mouth twists further. And not to get ahead of herself yet again, but surely not, right? His gaze switches back to rest on her, only for a second longer before he mouths something short and sharp to the producer and disappears.

Aelin shakes it off. She might think they’re friends, but as has become her mantra, he’s her boss. What she needs is something gentle and simple and uncomplicated. In the real world, everything she wants from Rowan is decidedly complicated.

Sitting opposite Chaol is a place she’s been many times before. More often than not, Dorian would have taken up the mantle at Chaol’s side, the pair of them closer than brothers. They have the kind of relationship she thinks truly cannot exist for people other than the two of them.

The level of understanding they share, the lengths they would go to for each other, it’s unparalleled and she longs to find a bond like that one day.

When she was younger being sat in a position like this, opposite Chaol, so close they could whisper to converse, would have been a dream. She had a bit of an infatuation with him when she first met him; he was a few years older than her, charming, handsome and calming. He had been her entrance to the world she lives in now and he had kept her safe and taken care of her.

She had thought he was everything she wanted.

She had realised pretty quickly, after going in for an ill advised kiss that he had swerved, that that would never be an option for them. He had let her down kindly and gently, which she appreciates now, even if it felt like a blow at the time.

He hadn’t let her pull back from him though, he had kept her close until she eventually got over the embarrassment and was able to look at him without blushing. It’s not something she dwells on now, she was young and naive and she could have done a lot worse than Chaol.

He was who she had gone to when she had met Sam. She had waxed poetic to him about the boy with the curly brown hair and the shy smile. She smiles lightly to herself at the thought of him, what he would make of where she’s at now.

He’d kiss her cheek with his arms around her waist, boasting how his girl, his baby, was a star in the making. She swallows the thought, struck by both the image and the lingering pain it brings, but also by the knowledge that she’s gone a couple of days without thinking of him.

She hasn’t thought of the boy with the brown eyes in a few days, hasn’t woken up screaming in even more. She breathes past the panic that threatens in her throat, both at the idea that she hasn’t thought of Sam for a while and the reasons there could be for that.

“How is the love of my life?” She focuses back on Chaol and watches him try very hard not to choke on his mouthful of his drink.

He had picked the cafe, even though she’s been in Rifthold for a while it is still far more his space than hers, and he knows the hidden gems like this that she isn’t privy to yet. It’s rustic and cosy, the brick walls have colourful bunting draped between them and none of the chairs inside match. She’ll have to come back if the food is good, the atmosphere inside is relaxed and busy enough that she can feel completely anonymous. She doesn’t want to leave, maybe next time she can bring a book.

“My beautiful wife is well,” he manages once he swallows, and she smirks at how he knows exactly what she’s asking. “Almost past the second trimester now, and still refusing to slow down.”

That sounds exactly like Yrene. She says as much and Chaol nods wearing the expression of a man who, if he didn’t love his wife so much, would be tired of chasing after her.

Yrene is a whirlwind of energy and efficiency and it’s why she’s one of Aelin’s favourite people. She’s full of exciting tales and inspiration, that is, when she can get Yrene to slow for a second enough to catch up. She probably doesn’t need her high paced job as a doctor in Rifthold General Hospital, like, Chaol’s scripts are successful, he’s won a number of awards that sit in a special cabinet in their house, but that’s just how Yrene is.

Caring and kind and so, so smart. If Aelin didn’t do what she does, she’d love to be like Yrene.

“Second trimester?” She cries. “He’s almost here!”

Chaol is again at risk of choking. “Aelin, please. I still have a few months left to get ready.”

He looks almost panicked and she scoffs. “Chaol, please.” She mocks his tone perfectly and ignores the eye roll he gives her. “You were born ready. You’ve basically raised me for the past few years and look how well I’m doing.”

He laughs, and she smiles, it’s exactly the reaction she wanted.

“I’m not sure that’s the glowing compliment you think it is,” He says dryly and she just pokes her tongue out at him.

“Chaol,” she begins, seriously this time. “You are already the best dad I know, you’ll be fine. And if not, the baby has Yrene, so he’ll definitely be fine.”

He doesn’t bite on any of it, just looks bashfully to the table cloth and nods. She can’t resist one last comment.

“And even then, he’ll have me and Dorian.”

“Gods, Aelin. The thought will send me to an early grave.”

She tilts her head to the side and sketches a flip of her hair over her shoulder. The combination of her and Dorian and a baby probably would give Chaol a heart attack but she’ll embody her role as the cool aunt, and Dorian can more than handle the cool uncle.

“Do you not want your child to be cool?” She knows he’s barely finding her funny at this point but she’s missed him and she loves winding him up.

He’s saved from having to respond by the arrival of their food. She stares longingly at his burger and greasy side of fries and forces herself to take a mouthful of her wilted salad.

After a few bites she notices his expression, something pinched around the corners of his mouth, and she knows there's something he wants to say.

To say that Chaol is less invested in her sobriety than Aedion and Lysandra would be a lie, but he doesn’t question it as openly as they do, so she doubts what he wants to say is anything to do with that. She’s ordered an orange juice to spice it up, and he has a tap water that he ordered without question so she thinks he mustn’t be concerned.

“What?” She says slowly, whatever it is she wants to know, and the pain of waiting for him to spit it out was almost too much.

He shakes his head and pops another fry into his mouth. She can’t resist stealing one and a swipe of ketchup off his plate.

He begins carefully, after using his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. “How is it going? You read the script pretty early on, do you think…”

He trails off, and seems to pause while he considers his words, but she doesn’t need him to finish.

“Chaol, I think it’s going really well,” she says and it’s sincere. “And it’s not just because I’m in it.”

It’s far easier to crack jokes and reassure others than it is to be the one being reassured.

He shoots her an unimpressed look, but she knows her words have done their job. Even through her faults she knows he trusts her judgement.

“I feel like you asked that in a way that meant you thought it wasn’t going well.”

She’s fishing a little, but Chaol is a gossip at heart, even worse than Dorian despite how he’d deny it.

He sees right through her, but relents as he takes another bite of his burger. She stabs another bundle of lettuce, dipping it in a pool of dressing resting in the bottom of her bowl as he swallows and speaks.

“I didn’t think it would go badly, but Fenrys Moonbeam has a bit of a reputation, and I just hope he’s taking it seriously. I put a lot of work into it.” He pauses and Aelin just waits. It doesn’t seem like he’s quite done. “Rowan Whitethorn too. But I think his reputation is a bit different.”

It puts her in a bit of a weird position with a sharp taste in her mouth, wanting to defend her new friends to one of her oldest, but Chaol has to understand that how he sees them isn’t right.

“I don’t think either of them is quite how you think.” She says it gently because she doesn’t want to risk irritating Chaol with this. “Fenrys works really hard, you know. He’s putting a lot of work into understanding Rhys, Rowan too. He puts a lot of thought into what he does, he’s really smart.”

He’s watching her silently, his eyes shining with a question she doesn’t want to answer.

“You’ve written an incredible story Chaol, we all want to do it justice.”

The quirk of his eyebrow is somewhat impressed as he takes her in, but maybe there’s something more in there. Something that catches the difference between the way she talks about Fenrys compared to the way she talks about Rowan.

“I’m glad,” is all he says.

“It’s going well,” she says and truly believes it. “I’ve said it before, but it really is a work of art, Chaol.”

She pauses, her next words thick in her throat. “Thank you… for writing it, I mean. It means a lot to me, and I am honoured to play this part.”

He nods thankfully, and she knows he appreciates the compliment but his response is typical Chaol. Quiet and understated but shining with sincerity.

There’s a moment before the corner of his mouth pulls upwards and she knows he’s just about to turn the game around and tease her now.

“A part of me wishes I hadn’t written so many intimate scenes between them, the thought of you and Fenrys Moonbeam…” He trails off.

She tugs her lips inwards between her teeth, pleading with the blush on her neck not to rise. They haven’t got to those scenes yet, and she’s been avoiding the idea of them. She doesn’t want to think about what she’ll have to do with Fenrys in a couple of weeks.

Fenrys isn’t the problem though, she knows he’ll be professional and respectful. The problem is that Rowan will be there, watching them, watching her, and the idea plays with her in a dangerous way. Everything about Rowan feels dangerous to her, and gods if that isn’t half the draw.

“I know we joked before, but you do know you’re not my father? You’re worse than Aedion,” she laughs.

Chaol just shakes his head, “I’m allowed to look out for you.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but you’re only, what? Five years older than me?”

“Six. And Rowan Whitethorn is older than me.” The way he says it is noticeable, like he has a point to make.

“He is?”

So she didn’t know that, but it worries her how it doesn’t change things even a little bit. It doesn’t change how attractive he is, or the fact that she should be going nowhere near the idea of the two of them. She needs to call Elide, or her actual therapist.

“Yes, I think he was in the year above me at the Royal.”

She really doesn’t know all that much about him, hadn’t even known he went to the stage school in Adarlan.

What she knows is the fleeting moments she sees of him behind the camera, the expressions he makes when he’s impressed and when he’s not. She knows things like his coffee order, his hatred for the little pastries the catering department provide and how he doesn’t seem to drink alcohol. She knows about Lyria, but it’s from the internet, not him.

She doesn’t know him.

“Oh,” is all she manages.

Chaol eats another fry, watching her the whole time, and she wants him to look away. She has nothing to feel guilty about; they haven’t done anything. She has one, probably inadvisable, crush on her boss that she’ll speak to Elide about and get over. Then the movie will be done and she won’t ever have to see him again.

The dropping sensation in her stomach at the thought is less than desirable.

Chaol stays for a few days. He hangs around on set and sits in her chair while she films. It’s a pleasant kind of relief, tinged with an element of nostalgia, to have him around. He makes her feel like a kid again, and she feels herself looking towards him for approval when she desperately avoids how she wants to do the same to Rowan.

He relents on the second day, after having met Fenrys and Rowan properly, and admits to her that he thinks his baby is probably in good hands. She just says “I told you so,” because she’s a child and annoying Chaol is fun.

She’s sitting in Manon’s chair next to him, and they’re talking about Aedion. He and Chaol have a friendship she likes to pretend doesn’t stem from a mutual concern for her. Chaol is saying something about how he doesn’t envy Aedion’s schedule, but she’s barely listening.

Aelin’s watching where Rowan stands a few feet away. He’s wearing a soft-looking black sweatshirt and jeans, and she can’t help but imagine how it would feel to slip the sweatshirt on herself. How it would still be warm from his body, how the sleeves would trail way past her fingertips, how the smell of him would surround her.

He’s directing Manon, gesturing jaggedly with his hands and she’s nodding along. The shades of their hair almost match, Aelin notices absently, but she prefers the silver shine to Rowan’s compared to the clean-white of Manon’s. Rowan makes a gesture with his right hand and his fingers flex in a rhythmic movement, the elegant lengths of his fingers flowing freely in motion.

She wants to take that hand and put it on herself, she wants to run it down her side and between her thighs. She wants to take his fingers into her mouth and suck.

And like, what the fuck Aelin?

Texting Rowan is, objectively, a bad idea. Not that it’s a bad idea to text a colleague and ask to hang out, it’s just that that isn’t exactly what she wants to get from texting him. So yes; it’s a bad idea, and Aelin knows this, but she’s been thinking of doing it for a couple of days and the desire to do so hasn’t faded. She’s thought about it for long enough that she’s rationalised it, it’s not rash.

Aelin wants to know Rowan.

She taps away at her screen, hi rowan… No. That's not right. Aelin deletes it.

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to… Nope. Not right either. She bites her lip while she backspaces the string of letters.

She wants to seem casual, so if he’s not into it it’s not awkward. Aelin’s a feminist, but she still doesn’t want to outright ask him out until she’s tested the waters a little more, got a bit of a better read on him and whether he could be into it or not.

She thinks he is, at least a little bit. She knows his eyes linger on her sometimes, sometimes her face, sometimes her arse. She likes it, but whether all he feels is attraction, or whether he feels the same as her is a mystery.

She still hasn’t spoken to Elide about it, but there’s a devil on her shoulder whispering that she’s probably past the point of no return already.

i’m sick of takeout, she types. want to go and grab a bite somewhere???

Aelin taps send before she can overthink it. She can always invite Fenrys to come along too if Rowan doesn’t seem keen on doing something just the two of us.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes with a response. You’re sick of takeout, so you want to go and eat out?

She chews the inside of her cheek, his response doesn’t really give her much. And while it’s not a rejection, it’s not a yes. Maybe her text was stupid, gods, why didn’t she think-

Her phone buzzes again. How about I cook something instead?

Much better. She smiles as she writes her response.

i don’t really want food poisoning :/// my boss might be a bit pissed if i can’t work

The bubble with the three dots pops up immediately, and her thumbs hover over the screen as she waits.

Ha. Ha. He sends, and she can’t fight the little laugh that escapes her as she imagines him rolling his eyes at her. His next text comes through pretty quickly. I’m on board with going out if you want, just thought something more private could be better.

And shit. There are a number of ways she could interpret that. Aelin’s trying not to read into things, things like Rowan saying he wants to go somewhere private with her, he could just be talking about paparazzi. Damn, he probably is just talking about paparazzi.

oh yeah sounds good actually but pls don’t poison me

He just sends a straight faced emoji.

Aelin leans back into her couch as he sends another follow up text.

Do you want to come here?

She could, but he hosted last time. And while she liked the atmosphere at Rowan’s house, she can’t deny that she likes the idea of him here. She likes the idea of seeing Rowan making his way around her kitchen, likes the idea of Rowan sitting opposite her at the end of this couch.

or you could come here????

She bites the corner of her nail as she stares at her screen, waiting for his response to come through.

Sure. I’ll swing by the store to grab some ingredients. How many people am I cooking for?

Aelin pauses, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

was thinking 2 but i can invite others if you want

She thinks that’s pretty clear, but it also puts the ball in his court. She’s the most nervous she’s been so far as she waits for his reply, and the three dots pop up before disappearing again. They pop up again, before finally his message comes through.

Don’t. His text reads. I’ll pick up enough for two.

His response is pretty clear too, and she smiles as she sends three thumbs up emojis.

Her apartment isn’t dirty, or even messy, but once she’s locked her phone she’s up and full of nervous energy. It’s probably presumptuous to make sure her bed is made, but she does it anyway. She leaves the leggings and oversized sweater she wears on, it’s casual, she’s chilled out. Or she can at least pretend to be.

She’s doing her last round of the apartment, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray socks or underwear that she could have left anywhere. A blush threatens her cheeks at the thought of Rowan and her underwear, but she forces it down when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

She swings the door open and there he is.

He looks good, as always, but today it’s highlighted by the deep green military-style jacket he has thrown on over his plain white t-shirt. The tan of his skin always looks good against bright white, and the green of his jacket draws out the depths of his green eyes.

“Hey,” she breathes as their eyes meet.

He smiles, a slightly crooked thing, and he just looks even more attractive. “Hey.”

He’s carrying a brown paper bag pressed against his side in his left hand, and she reaches out to take it from him as she steps aside to let him in. He steps in, but resists her grab for the bag, instead wrapping his right arm around her waist to pull her into a brief hug. “Thanks for having me.”

His words take her back to the first time she visited his house. The time with Fenrys and Manon and the football game. The visit with her and Rowan in his kitchen.

She’s nowhere near as stiff with him as she was then and she lets herself relax into the hug.

“I only let you in on the promise of food,” she says into his chest and feels more than hears his reluctant snort of laughter.

Every time they touch she’s struck by how much she likes it. How much she wants more. But then he pulls back, twisting to push her door shut.

“I feel like I should let you know now before we go any further that I can’t cook.”

Rowan only raises a brow.

“Seriously, when I was in college I set off the fire alarm in my residence at least three times.”

“Three times?” His eyes widen in playful disbelief. “What were you making?”

“Well,” she laughs. “The first time I was trying to make Lysandra a birthday cake but then I got distracted and left it in the oven for three hours. The fire department got called but it was not that big of a deal, there wasn’t a fire.”

There’s laughter dancing in his clear green eyes as she regales her tale of youth. She practically beams at the knowledge that she has put it there.

“But our kitchen did smell like smoke for the rest of the year.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re bad at cooking.” Rowan tilts his head down at her and she realises they’re still standing in her entryway. “That sounds like you don’t pay attention.”

Aelin shrugs at his teasing. “The third time was the worst. I was trying to do that thing where you put vodka in pasta sauce.”

“Gods,” Rowan’s laughing now and she loves the low rumble of the sounds. It pricks the hairs on her arm as the sound washes over her skin.

“There were some flames,” she confesses and he winces.

She didn’t have a completely normal college experience, she was acting part time in very minor roles during her time there but she managed to make some memories in her short time there. After Sam she dropped out and the memories always leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Talking about this with Rowan and laughing at her silly little anecdotes is one of the first times it hasn’t hurt.

“Sucks to be an actor,” he says mockingly with a nod into her apartment as she finally leads him into the kitchen. The apartment she’s staying in is fine, more than fine, it’s actually a really great apartment and she tries to fake a frown through her smile.

Aelin shrugs. “We can’t all be big, household-name directors, living in glamorous mansions, too famous to go out to eat.”

She shoots him an amused look, and Rowan just smirks, tilting his head to the side in a way that exposes the length of his throat.

So maybe this was a fucking dangerous idea.

Inviting Rowan to her apartment had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s here, now he’s in her space, looking all… damn him, he looks so fucking good she feels flushed.

She used to think brunettes were her type, Chaol and Sam were both brunette, with tanned skin and brown eyes. Recently though, as much as she wants to resist it, her type has pretty much become Rowan.

Rowan with his silver hair, and green eyes. His low voice with it’s lilting accent from across the sea. His skin is tanned too, but she knows it comes from spending hours outside rather than genetics.

She hasn’t thought seriously about another man since they started filming, or more likely since the moment they met in the hallway.

And if she allows herself to admit it, probably a lot earlier than that.

She shakes herself as he watches her.

Rowan smirks at her as he places the bag on the counter. “We’ll have to try not to set this kitchen on fire.”

She’s perched atop her counter, with one knee crossed over the other, as she watches Rowan unpack the items from the bag. He’s shucked off the jacket by now, and the t-shirt he wears gives her uninterrupted access to the image of his toned arms and the tattoo that swirls down his left side.

She realises a moment too late that he’s asked her a question.

“What?”

She can tell Rowan knows why she didn’t respond, she just hopes it’s not too much for him. From the smirk he wears she thinks maybe not.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable skill, it may help to pay attention.” She flips him off and revels in the dark flash of a smile he offers. “I asked if you have a frying pan.”

Aelin pulls a face, she hasn’t done a lot of cooking here past the basics like pasta and soup. Her microwave has been a trusty companion.

“I don’t know.” She waves a hand to the cupboards that line the side of the room. “Have a look in there.”

He gives her a look that tells her he’s deciding whether or not he likes her giving him orders, but then he turns to rummage through her cupboards before returning triumphant and waving the silver frying pan in her face.

“So, what are you making for me?” she asks as he finds a chopping board and unloads the hoard of vegetables he brought with himself.

“Veggie burgers,” he states simply, and she knows she pulls a face because he laughs. “Before you complain, they’re good for you. And they’re tasty.”

She still wrinkles her nose at him, unconvinced.

He cocks his head as he pauses his rhythmic chopping of the leafy green vegetable he has on the board. She’s trying desperately hard to make eye contact and not just stare at the motion of his hands, and his arms, and the ink swirling down his skin.

“Didn’t I promise not to poison you? Do you not trust me to take care of you?” Aelin doesn’t think she’s reading into things to hear the flirty tone to his voice.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve tried the burger.”

Rowan shakes his head at her, the ghost of a smile floating across his face as he resumes his chopping. “Ye of little faith.”

Aelin just shrugs, making a show of being sceptical by turning her nose.

“You could always help,” Rowan comments. “Or do you regularly invite guests around expecting them to make you a meal?”

“Tell me what to do, chef.” Aelin holds her hands out, ready for instruction. “I am yours to instruct.”

Rowan nods and reaches back into the bag and pulls out a can, he turns to find a bowl and a fork and places them in front of her. She’s impressed that in under half an hour he knows his way around her kitchen far better than she does.

“Mash these,” he says.

Her disgust isn’t pretend this time and her lip curls. “Mash these beans?”

Rowan nods.

“Mash them?”

“Yes, you do know what that means don’t you?”

Aelin hits him with the fork on the bicep and he laughs again, the sound smooth and rich in her stomach. “Shut up. You’re not convincing me this is going to taste good.”

Even so, she opens the can and is about to tip them into the bowl when Rowan grabs her hand. His fingers are warm and solid where they wrap around her own, and she snaps her eyes to his face at the contact.

“Rinse them first. You warned me and yet I still overestimated your ability in the kitchen.”

He’s smiling slightly, exposing the whites of his teeth, and he’s so close to her face. They’re almost level where she sits on the counter and Aelin swallows. His eyes are bright as he looks at her and she feels her smile grow involuntarily. Something flickers across his face before he clears his throat and steps back letting go of her hand. She misses his touch immediately after it’s gone.

Aelin slides off the bench and turns towards the sink to compose herself, she rinses the beans under the tap and Rowan stays silent while she does.

She turns back and tips them into the bowl and begins to mash as Rowan grates a carrot. Aelin really didn’t know her flat even came with these things.

“This is actually fucking disgusting.”

She’s managed to turn the bean mixture into a grey-ish mush. There’s no way this can taste good, she’s going to struggle even putting it in her mouth without retching.

Rowan snorts. “It’s good for you.”

Aelin wrinkles her nose again, but keeps going. It speaks volumes that she’s willing to trust Rowan on this.

It feels weirdly domestic to be here with him in her kitchen, and they move with an easy kind of synchrony. He adds his chopped vegetables to the bowl and she mixes them together as he readies the pan.

“Up for getting your hands dirty?” Rowan asks her once he’s done, and hell if Aelin doesn’t read far too much into that. The answer is yes.

“Always.” Sue her if she makes sure to look up at him through her lashes, and to bend forwards towards him as she rests her forearms on the kitchen counter.

“Grab a handful of the mixture,” He points to the contents of the bowl. “And shape it into a round patty.”

Aelin goes to put her hand tentatively into the bowl, it’s now a grey-ish mush with flecks of orange and green and she’s dreading it getting under her nails.

“Wait,” Rowan says, and he reaches out to roll the sleeves of her sweater up. It’s such a sweet gesture that it kind of takes her by surprise. The gentleness with which he holds her wrist as he rolls the fabric is nice, and she finds herself watching his face as he does it.

His brows pull together, in an expression she assumes is concentration, as he makes the careful motions. He looks good, she notes, not for the first time.

His thumbs and index fingers move down to squeeze the junction where her wrists meet her hands as he finishes and says, “there you go.”

“Thanks,” she breathes.

Aelin turns back to the bowl, attempting to somehow calm her heart. Rowan really needs to stop touching her if she wants to get over whatever this is. But now that he’s here, and he’s looking at her the way he is, and specifying that he wants to spend time with her, just the two of them…

It’s the first time she allows herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t something that’s only dangerous. She finally allows herself to consider the idea that this could be fun, this could be something she could really enjoy. And here, in her apartment just the two of them, he doesn’t have to be her boss. He’s just Rowan and she’s just Aelin.

She really likes that thought.

Rowan clicks the pan on, and the sound startles her out of her head. Aelin hesitates before finally plunging her fingers into the mush and gods, she has some faith in Rowan if she’s going to even consider eating this.

It’s gross, but she manages to shape it into two round patties, and she places them into the pan when Rowan instructs.

Aelin washes her hands as Rowan pays attention to the burgers, and she retakes her seat on the counter after sorting out their plates and condiments. She might not be a great cook, but she can be a good host.

She watches him flip them a couple of times, taking the opportunity to ogle without risk of being caught staring. He has strong arms, and the tattoo snaking down his left makes her mouth water with every flex of his muscles. He has wide hands with long, almost elegant fingers that she wants to link through her own. Aelin is reminded, as he lifts the pan, of the thought she had the other day when he was directing Manon.

It wasn’t the first time she had considered Rowan in a sexual way, but it was the most direct, and she’s not complaining, but sometimes it makes it a little difficult to concentrate in his presence.

Finally, he switches the heat off and turns to place the patties in their buns. Aelin has to admit they look a little better now that they’re cooked, but she’s still not convinced.

He presents her with the plate, wearing a bashful little smile, and she’s taken by how adorable she finds it. He’s actually nervous to hear what she thinks.

She slathers it in ketchup, hoping to make it somewhat palatable and lifts it to her lips, about to take a bite when he speaks.

“We’re eating here?”

Aelin pauses, putting the burger back on her plate. “Where else would we eat?”

Rowan shrugs, still holding his own plate. He doesn’t put any ketchup on his and she’s trying not to be disgusted. She taps the bench next to herself, and Rowan seems to deliberate for a moment before finally hopping up at her side. He towers over her again now that they’re on an even playing field and she likes it. She likes how much bigger he is than her, and likes it even more how she still feels safe with him.

“Okay, now go,” he says, still apprehensive of her reaction, and Aelin makes a big deal of taking a deep breath before her first bite.

She chews it all silently before swallowing, working to keep her expression neutral, and Rowan doesn’t look away from her face the whole time. She purses her lips afterwards, and waits for him to speak.

“So?”

“It’s not terrible,” she admits with a small smile creeping up the sides of her mouth.

Rowan quickly takes his own bite, and she watches the way his fingers dwarf the same bun that fills her hands. He hums his own pleasure.

“Not terrible,” he repeats. “Admit it, it’s good.”

She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder before she takes another bite. She was sceptical -- more than -- when it was still a mush, but she has to admit it’s tasty, and very Rowan. She doesn’t know for sure he’s a health nut, but based on the parts of his body that she’s seen and his distaste for all things sweet, she can guess.

“Maybe,” is all she says before taking another bite. He watches her with a smug smile, one she desperately wants to get rid of. It isn’t helpful that the way she wants to do so is by kissing him.

“Oh!” She jumps down from the counter, throwing her plate to the side, suddenly reminded. “You know what I have that would go perfectly with this?”

She grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sets them down on the bench in between where she’s been sitting and Rowan. Aelin turns to the fridge before pulling out the small bottle.

Rowan groans, and she tucks the sound to the back of her mind. “Aelin,” he starts. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Come on,” she cries. “A milkshake is an essential with a burger and this is the best I have to offer. If I’d thought ahead I could have at least found a bottle of wine to go with the dinner you cooked for me.”

She’s not entirely sure why she said it, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s deduced that he doesn’t drink, and the reason for it, but it feels like an automatic apology that just slips off her tongue whenever she’s in a setting where alcohol could be a presumption.

Rowan’s expression locks down at her comment and she immediately regrets it.

“Um-” she starts but Rowan clears his throat.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, avoiding her gaze, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” Aelin all but whispers, and it surprises her when Rowan lets out a dark huff of laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you know why.”

His voice has a somewhat bitter edge to it that she hates.

“I wasn’t-”

She stops when he finally looks up at her and she sees his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says again quickly and he only shakes his head and pats the counter at his side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes her retake her seat at his side and pick her burger back up, taking a bite as he takes a breath.

“It’s not something that usually falls into casual dinner conversation.”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

It’s something she isn’t sure she realised the importance of at first. The offer of whether to share or not. She fights a desperate war inside of herself every time conversations head down a lane like this. The desire to scream her story from the rooftops squaring off against the desperation to remain closed up where no one will ever know what bubbles just below the surface.

Usually privacy wins. Usually she swallows those words down and stays quiet, keeping this reel of pain and loss and tragedy buried deep within, but here with Rowan, tucked away in the kitchen of her temporary home, the words don’t feel so daunting.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s often something that makes other people feel uncomfortable. They pity the guy with the dead fiancée”—Aelin blinks past the way his voice wavers—“but they don’t want to actually hear about it. I’ll spare you the gorey details but after that I couldn’t bring a drink to my lips again. I’ve never so much as considered it — never wanted to.”

There’s an ache beginning in her chest, and she puts her burger back down on her plate. Rowan hasn’t touched his since his first few bites. She desperately wants to comfort him, wants to place a hand on his shoulder and take the pain away any way she can, but she knows from experience that it can’t be done.

This kind of pain, this grief, is something that can’t be taken away. She lives with her grief and her guilt after Sam every day of her life, and she thinks she will forever. No matter how many therapy sessions she goes to, no matter how many days and weeks and months pass, Sam will always be a part of her. Scrawled across her heart in his messy penmanship.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “More than you’d think.”

This is the moment where she could probably finish, where she could twist the conversation back to Rowan and pat his shoulder sympathetically, or where she could tug it to somewhere new and safe.

But she doesn’t often get opportunities like this, in the dim light and the quiet of her flat where the only other sound is the noise coming from the hood above her cooker. She doesn’t often get to talk about this with someone who truly understands.

All of her friends tried in the months after Sam, and gods bless them they still do, but none of them were as close to Sam as she was. They were upset for Aelin and her loss, not at the loss of Sam. And Rowan, who sits next to her staring at the floor, she thinks he could understand.

His gaze lifts from the floor to meet hers as she begins to speak.

“His name was Sam,” she says and Rowan nods.

“I know.”

Aelin feels her breath leave her chest in a whoosh.

“I saw some of the headlines at the time, Aelin I’m so sorry.”

Her jaw works as she tries to find the words, any words, to respond to that. But she’s shaken. She didn’t think anyone knew, or even noticed, outside of her immediate circle. But then she thinks back to the dinner they shared, the way his gaze had burned into her when the conversation had turned to her break. He knows — he has known — and he gets it.

She shakes her head, composing herself enough to speak. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His lips twist as she repeats his words back to him.

She doesn’t mean to say, “I knew about Lyria too,” but Rowan just nods, breaking their gaze to stare down at where their hands lie beside each other with an expression she can’t read.

Aelin knows she shouldn’t, for any number of reasons, but she reaches out to twine their fingers together atop the marble of her countertop. His fingers are rough and calloused between her own but the thumb he rubs against the back of her hand is gentle and reassuring.

He doesn’t speak, but there isn’t anything Aelin feels the need to say. It’s a kindred kind of silence, one borne of more pain than either of them could bear to speak aloud, and there’s an awful feeling of comfort in it. She knows he’s thinking of Lyria the way she’s thinking of Sam. But there is a part of her mind, a part that’s like a rising sun creeping above the horizon to break the shadow of night, that’s thinking of Rowan too.

Eventually she picks her burger back up again, it’s cold now but she can reluctantly admit it doesn’t taste horrendous. Their fingers stay linked as they each eat single-handedly, building themselves back up to sharing short stories and playful quips.

She’s glad she invited him, her boss or not.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #rowaelin fic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin au #ndilyd #nobody does it like you do

[ahundredtimesover]

Friday Nights and Take-Out (1)

Would I be someone you’d hypothetically hook up with?

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre/Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, popstar/idol!jk, fluff, angst, future smut; this is a dialogue-heavy series so read if you’re into that! Also Jk is a sweet friend

Warnings: foul language, these characters talk alot bc I talk alot, heavy drinking, eventual smut

Word count: 4,300

Series summary: You meet pop star/idol Jeon Jungkook at the cafe, you get close, and as Hyejin says, you’re like friends with benefits without the sex. But you’re bad at feelings and so is he.

series masterlist 

A/N: My recent dive into fanfics compelled me to unearth this thing I wrote 5 years ago for a certain curly-haired brit (luvu harry) but I never finished it so it never saw the light of day but now it will bc i love jungkook so much and idk what this is but let’s see!

#

There’s a light and unsure knock at the door. As you open it to see who’s visiting you this Friday night, you immediately wish you stayed at least a half hour later at your family-run café so you didn't have to be having this conversation right now. 

But you are having it right now. At your apartment. With your ex-boyfriend who finally decided to give you an explanation as to why he broke up with you five months ago. 

The next thing you know, he’s saying he’s decided to move back to Australia after graduation, he’s saying sorry for the nth time, you’re watching him walk out the door, you’re heading to your room for your blanket, you’re going back to your couch, and then you’re crying as it dawns on you exactly what just happened. 

The break up had caught you off-guard because things were going so well. Your dejected and grieving self wasn’t enough to scare him away and his shy, non-expressive self didn’t sow any doubts on your relationship. You two barely fought, too, too alike in disposition for any disagreements or grudges to fester and hurt you. Things just worked. 

But like many good things, this one ended too. It’s like he just woke up one day and decided it wasn’t going to work out anymore, for what reason, you never knew until now. It hurt you, of course - it was still a memorable 2-year run - but true to form, you were able to dust yourself off quickly and get back on your feet shortly after. 

You tried to reach out though; you were good friends before anything anyway, but he avoided you like the plague and you thought you’d not only lost a boyfriend but a friend too. Tonight felt like the closure you didn’t know you needed. He’s gone, for good. And then after graduation, he will be gone for good, for good. 

You stay lying on your couch until you get a text from Jungkook, your new famous friend and current favorite person.

JK: Ran into Jieun at work, says drinks on her at The Third tonight. You up for it?

Nope, you say to yourself. 

You: I don't wanna go out tonight. 

You immediately reply. On a normal night you’d think about it, or even pretend you’re considering it, but not tonight.

It isn’t one of those nights when you’re sad and you want to be around people and get wasted so you can convince yourself you will be okay. It’s one of those nights when you’re sad and you know you will be okay the next day but right now you’re not and you’ll deal with it until the morning comes. You’ll just have to wait because it is only 7:30 in the evening. 

You try to think of a series you’ll binge-watch, but then your phone rings and it’s Jungkook’s meme face, the one he took last week and saved as his contact photo, lighting up the screen.

“Hey, you alright?” He asks, as you groggily pick up and say “hi.” You think he probably thought something was up when you didn't have a follow up message after you turned him down for something.

“Yup,” you manage to respond after an ugly sniffle. “Except I’ve been ugly crying for the past 10 minutes,” you continue.

“What happened?” 

He seems to have stepped out of wherever he was because you hear the mumbles in the background soften quite a bit and you figure you probably disturbed his dinner.

“Jinyoung came over and said the shit I needed to hear five months ago,” you start. “He copped out cause he got scared, Jungkook. Not of getting hurt, okay, which I always said was a bullshit reason for anything but he got scared of me and my dreams. I mean, come on, how much of a fucking coward can you get?” you blurt, sniffles in between phrases, fingers pressing the bridge of your nose to try and keep yourself from crying even more. 

“But I don't know, I’m pissed but he looked so sad and sorry and now he’s moving back to Australia and I just…” you try to continue, frustration rising up again. You’re a mess of emotions right now, that’s for sure.

“Ah, boys,” Jungkook breathes out, knowing this conversation is too important for it to be had just over the phone. “I could come over with food if you like. I know you probably don't need me but you need the food so…” he trails. 

You smile to yourself. “As long as I’m not disturbing your Friday night plans.” 

“You aren’t. I’ve had enough of the hyungs, if I’m being completely honest,” he replies, voice a little louder.

You hear a mix of scolding and laughter in the background, knowing for sure that the rest of the guys are giving Jungkook shit for bailing out on them for you. Again.

“Sounds good,” you say. “Thanks.”

#

You hear a knock on the door under the fleece blanket you have over your fetus-laid body on the couch. 

“It’s open!” You shout, as you tuck the soft white material under your chin and move to your side for a more comfortable position. You look at the built, chocolate-eyed, knife-for-a-jawline pop star walk into your place with what looks like take-out Japanese food. 

“What happened to locking doors?” He asks with a concerned and almost terrified tone, brows scrunching under his stray locks, the rest of his hair hiding underneath his black bucket hat. 

“I didn't wanna escort Jinyoung to the door because it felt poetic to watch him leave from a distance…” You dramatically say.

“And you were too lazy to walk 10 steps to lock the door, but were energized enough to find your blanket from your mess of a closet in the far corner of your room?” He continues, blinking continuously at you.

“Exactly,” you say, as you point to him as if giving him props for reading your mind. 

He rolls his eyes but grins as he does, revealing his dimple that you believe is the first line of offense of his charm. You may not be one of those people who get hysterical when they see him — although you did end up embarrassing yourself when you bumped into him at the café a few months ago when you’d met — but you know charisma when you see it, and you can’t deny that it basically oozes out of him even when he’s not trying. 

He sits on the couch, in the area where your feet lie, and he starts unwrapping the food and lays them out on your coffee table. You sit up ready to pounce on the sushi rolls in front of you when he stands up and gets two glasses of water. “Anything else you need from the kitchen?” He asks.

You respond with a no and watch him open the cupboards, and you can’t help but be touched at the effort. Here is a guy whom you’ve only known for a few short months, blowing off his Friday night plans to be with you because your ex-boyfriend decided to show up… and because you needed food and Jungkook knew you wouldn't make your own when you’re upset. You’ll probably just end up with a bowl of ice cream topped with cookie dough and chocolate chips or something.

“Thanks for being here even if I don't really need you to be,” you say after chowing down a salmon roll, legs crossed underneath you as you both sit on the floor and eat from the coffee table.

“You’re overstating that, Y/N,” he laughs, looking at you, as you’re about to have a mouthful of the tuna roll this time. “I’m 200% sure that you would’ve stayed underneath the covers and probably just ate ice cream or gummy worms until morning if I hadn’t come.”

“Fine,” you start, putting the food down, straightening yourself. “Thank you for my happy food and for being here on a Friday night, watching me carbo load on rolls and tempura rice in my jammies under my blanket. It really means a lot.” You flash him a smile. 

He laughs at this. “May I remind you that this is nothing compared to last week? Keeping me hostage here wasn’t the most fun. Except for your comfortable couch that I had the pleasure of sleeping in,” he grins, tapping the empty space on the sofa next to him.

Right, last week. How could you forget? 

Your days-late New Year celebration ended with you being a goner at the bar, Jungkook being the only one available and strong enough to take you home, what with your friends' adventures and misadventures that night. 

By the time you were home, you were completely passed out. Long story short, he had stayed - which you didn’t know he did - you walked out of your room half naked, heard a sound and someone approaching, screamed and grabbed a knife, ready to attack your supposed intruder, who only turned out to be him.  

So yes, skipping out on drinks tonight didn't come close to him having to take care of you the week before and almost being stabbed by someone he was only trying to help. 

“Please don't remind me,” you say, feeling your cheeks turn red. 

“It’s a funny story to tell,” he chuckles and proceeds to get a mouthful of his own tempura rice bowl.  You look at him surprised - didn’t he just have dinner at the dorm? You shrug it off, almost forgetting this is Jungkook you’re talking about and his bottomless pit of a stomach. 

“I could’ve killed you!” 

He laughs. “But you didn’t.”

“And I didn't have an ex-boyfriend knocking on my door to apologize for being a dick,” you say, sounding serious all of a sudden. 

You know that even if you don’t really intend on having Jungkook here, it still means a great deal to you that you have someone you can talk to. You didn’t want to disturb your friends who were busy with their own work and social lives and having him here is really more than you could ask for, especially considering what he does for a living.

“What did he say?” He asks, eyes soft. You’d only mentioned the breakup in passing a few times before because really, what more can you say? Sometimes relationships just run their course; it happens. At least that’s what you thought it all was.

You sigh, readying yourself. “He said that he just started to think about that talk we had about the things we wanted, and he pointed out the fact that I wanted to do so many things and it just scared him—my goals and the fact that I could reach them scared him,” you share, dragging the words and almost shouting at the stupidity of it. 

“I know I always say we shouldn't invalidate anyone’s fears but that’s being selfish and just ridiculous.” You put the chopsticks down, as if to prepare yourself for the flurry of emotions you were about to release. 

“This guy stood by my side when I got injured and when Grandma died and I was a literal mess. But I got myself together and I got better for myself and for him and then suddenly me wanting more out of life, more for myself, suddenly scared him?” You pause for a bit, catching your breath. 

“It’s like, when he realized what I - what we - could become once real life happens, he bolted out the door, out of this country, back to everything he knew before me, before us.” 

You’re emotional again, air catching in your throat as you feel the tears pool around your eyes once more. By this time, Jungkook had paused eating his meal to focus all his attention on you. 

You continue on about that 15-minute conversation you had - if you could even call it that, given that it was all Jinyoung talking, with you staring at the man you once considered you could have a future with. 

Once you’d calmed down, you and Jungkook exchange thoughts about relationships, back and forth with nuggets of wisdom that you don’t really expect from someone you thought didn't have the time of day to maintain a relationship. 

He’d be constantly linked with models and fellow pop stars, which he’d noted weren’t anything serious or factual for that matter, at least those that weren’t part of some PR stunt, yet here he is right now, agreeing with what you’re saying and adding a different perspective to things. 

He is a hopeless romantic after all, that much he’d admitted during one wine-filled night after crying over Titanic while you were both on the phone (“they literally knew each other for just 3 days, Jungkook, they couldn’t possibly be in love,” you’d shouted. “Ah, 1900s romance,” was all he said. “So beautiful, isn’t it?” Another gulp of wine and then he’d fallen asleep.) 

You two find yourselves grabbing the pitcher of Sangria from your fridge and settle on other topics, like what could be acceptable reasons for breaking up with someone, to the ideas of fate and destiny - which you constantly bicker about because you don’t believe in it while he does, oh so passionately - to the afterlife.

“Relationships are so draining,” you say, tipping your head back on the couch, a groan escaping you. “Even after it’s over, it still takes so much out of you.” 

“I can only imagine,” he laughs bitterly. 

“Words of advice from Friday Night Me - don’t get into one. It’s tiring to pick up the pieces once it’s over.”

“Friday Night You?”

“Yeah, the one who’s upset. Monday Night Me will probably say something different.”

This amuses him, but he nods in agreement nonetheless. “Relationships tend to get messy and I’ve already got enough crazy to deal with,” he continues. “That much I’ve seen watching the hyungs get into these things from the sidelines. I’m sure it’s great and all and I can’t wait to be in one too, don’t get me wrong.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“I mean hello, Jack and Rose?” You roll your eyes. “Allie and Noah?” 

You laugh. Seriously, this guy needs to watch more romantic films. 

“But I don’t know, too much going on with me right now, I guess,” he continues, shoulders slumped, eyes suddenly finding your fur rug interesting.

You dwell on this thought a little longer than you had wanted. 

You get what he’s saying, though. It’s draining enough for a commoner like you, what more for a worldwide superstar like him? You try to decipher if it’s sadness in his voice, maybe frustration? Resignation? Acceptance?

“But I’m sorry you had to go through that, Y/N.” He says, subject of the conversation now back to you, causing you to break out of your reverie. “I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better,” he says, hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Hey, no need to be sorry! I’ll be fully functional again by tomorrow. I just didn’t realize there was more to the breakup so I was just thrown off a little bit.” You flash him a smile. “But I’m good, really. And the food was enough,” you add. “And your presence, of course.” A smile again. You realize you seem to do that a lot when he’s around.

But you do feel better. You hadn’t thought much about Jinyoung since the breakup until tonight, seeing all the other things going on in your life. But seeing and listening to him made you feel all sorts of emotions that you really just wanted to let out. 

You’d kept a lot of these thoughts to yourself the last few months because you didn’t feel like there was more to say after that first goodbye, and it was nice to have Jungkook there to just listen, which is what you said you wanted him to do (“what kind of friend do you want me to be tonight?” He’d asked. “The listening one,” you’d replied.) But you’ve said what you needed to say, felt all that you needed to feel, and now you’re shutting close, under lock and key this time, that chapter of your life once and for all. 

After a fairly long silence, when he was sure you’d already expressed all your frustrations, he let out a breath. 

“Well, this was a much better option than drinking your sadness away at some club, yeah?” he asks, moving his body to his left side with his back on the armrest so he’s now facing you who’s also back on the couch now, sushi rolls and tempura rice all gone, sangria but a sip left. 

“Well, that wasn't an option in the first place, Jeon,” you call out. “I’m not really one who would take advantage of my misery and use it to justify a night of drinking and awkward hook-ups,” you anticipate, recalling the countless times your friends had encouraged you to go out and find someone good enough for a one night stand these past months.

“Ah, so you’re not a fan of hook-ups, no?” He smirks, looking intently at you, clearly curious about your thoughts on the idea. It’s amusing how quickly you could change topics but it was a good try to move on from the somber conversation you just had.

“I don't really wanna have sex with someone I’ll only be sharing fluids with,” you say, blankly. This intrigues him because now, he’s moving closer to you like a kid waiting for his next adventure story. 

You laugh at his movement. He tips his head, signaling you to continue.

“It’s just not my thing, that’s all,” you start, trying to find a way to explain yourself. 

“I want someone to talk and laugh with when it gets sloppy,” you say, “and someone to make me breakfast when I oversleep. A guy for pure pleasure probably wouldn’t be that person for me. He’d probably just focus on getting both of us off and then up and leave,” you shrug.

This amuses him, even if he chuckles and says “I knew it probably had something to do with food,” and being the Jungkook you’ve come to know these past months, he asks you something that catches you off-guard but at the same time doesn't really surprise you.

“Would I be someone you’d hypothetically hook up with?” He smirks again, excited for your answer.

“No, you’re too good-looking for that,” you say almost instantly and you curse yourself in your head.

“So you mean hypothetically if you were to hook up with someone, he’d have to be unattractive?” He asks, seemingly confused.

“Uh, if it would just be for pure pleasure, yeah… I mean I wouldn’t mind but of course he’d have to be like, hot or something,” like that was common sense. “I’d probably be too drunk to focus on his face and it’d probably be too dark for it to matter anyway,” you shrug. You’re hoping this makes sense to him because your friends never did quite get it. 

You just really don’t do hook ups, especially drunk ones, not that you put sex on a pedestal, but you just have a thing for the before and after of it - the gentle fore play, the removing (and not ripping) of clothes, the cuddle and the aftercare that stretches to breakfast or lunch, and the lazy morning sex. Call you hopeless romantic or something, at least this is your version of it, but those were the things you like about sex, the full package. 

“Hmm, I feel honored to be too attractive to hypothetically hook up with Y/N Y/L/N,” he says, feeling proud of himself, smiling like a kid who just got a blue ribbon for something superficial. God, the duality and contradictions of this guy, you think.

“Let’s just say… you have a face and a touch I’d hypothetically want to get used to, so I wouldn't settle for just one night with you, and then it wouldn't be a hook-up!” You say trying to sound nonchalant, thinking about the tinylittle crush your friends claim you’ve developed on the guy in front you but really, anyone with a pair of eyes would agree that the man is beautiful (you’d always deflected though - “have you seen King Namjoon? Now that is the man, you’d say). 

You settle for honesty though, and it’s true. You just don’t delve on the full package thing, because you know Jungkook is exactly the kind of guy to do all that, but you stop your mind from going there, much so with him sitting in front of you. 

“Ah,” he says, pleased with himself. “So you could get used to this, huh?” He teases, lunging on you, his knees just barely resting on your thighs. He’s planting his hands on your face and squishing every surface he possibly could, laughing as he’s doing so while you shout out every cuss word you know and trying your best to hit him with your hands even if he’s just going to block your hits anyway. 

You kick him on the thigh when he finishes his rampage but it is you who squeals of pain because you used your right foot, the one you re-injured after playing a tune-up game of volleyball the other day. 

Naturally he grabs your foot and starts massaging it, as if he’d always been doing that since you’ve met, which he hasn't. And you haven’t even known each other that long. 

“You’re annoying,” is the only thing you could mutter after finally catching your breath. You can’t lie though, his massage is pretty good. You lay your head on your stretched out right leg and can’t help but close your eyes. 

He sees the satisfaction on your face and not long after, he quips, “I bet this is also something you could get used to after a good night of fucking, yeah?” he starts laughing. 

Since last week’s incident, you’d noticed Jungkook being more comfortable and definitely a little cheekier, flirty, even. Perhaps seeing you in your underwear could do that to a person, you think. 

You feel your cheeks heat up, and all you could do is hit his arm continuously so that he had started to flex after a few slaps. You literally were just talking about hook ups, why did you feel so scandalized? (You’re in denial; you know exactly why.) 

“Good? That confident with your abilities, I see.” You tease, as both of you have now settled down and kept your body parts to yourselves. 

A grin starts creeping from the side of his lips and you immediately regret making such a comment. “Nevermind!” You shout, holding out your hand to cover his mouth before he could say anything again. 

“I’m teasing. I wouldn't know, actually. It’s not like I do it often to know, anyway.”

At this you’re pleasantly surprised, not that you expect him to be the kind of pop star who casually and constantly hooks up with women just because he can, but still you know the parties he attends and all the beautiful women in his circle who no doubt wouldn’t mind making a move, or probably already do on a regular basis. 

Maybe you’re just startled that he would be open about this particular facet of his life to someone he hasn't known long. But then again, you two have been open to each other about many things since you’ve met, but that’s still something you’re only starting to get used to. 

“It doesn't matter,” you say, flashing him the same sincere and thoughtful smile that you put on when he started fixing up your dinner for you earlier. He returns your smile, eyes soft, as if grateful for you not asking any more.

“Well, I mean you’re good at a lot of things anyway so if you suck at that, you could always just sing or dance or impersonate someone and that would overshadow whatever it is you suck at,” you say, winking at him. 

He hits you with a pillow. 

“I’m not sure if that’s supposed to make me feel better,” he says, “but thank you for complimenting my impersonating skills because I think that’s being undermined by the media.” 

You both laugh at the humor.

#

“Tonight made me feel better, though. Thanks for being here,” you say as you finish your glass of wine. 

It’s been hours since he arrived, sleepiness no doubt creeping on the both of you, especially on him who’d spent his day practicing and filming. It’s moments like this that make you happy you met him, that you didn’t freak out or think much when he asked for your number those months ago. 

It’s also moments like this that you remind yourself of what you’d lose if you nurture that tinylittle seed of affection that’s growing in your heart, one unwittingly planted there a week ago. 

He looks at you softly again, as if there’s more he wants to say but instead he replaces his bunny smile with a gentle one, wrinkles forming at the outer corner of his eyes, cheeks just slightly pushing up to reveal the bags underneath those orbs of his. They glisten under the lighting in your living room.

He lets the silence linger a little longer. 

“Anything for you, Y/N.” 

You let yourself bask in this thought, in his presence, just for tonight. Saturday You will get over this. 

As you lay on your bed that night, you decide it isn’t just your past with your ex that you’ll bury under lock and key. It’s also this.

##

>> part 1 drabble

series masterlist

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts fic #bts jungkook #idol jungkook

[taones]

If You Can Hold On Part 3

Part one and two

Pairing: Poly!AsaDaiSuga x gender neutral!reader Or is it?

Notes: PAIN

Warnings: Swearing, arguments, stranger hitting on the reader but they’re chill w/ it

You sniffed as you stirred, pulling the soft fabric underneath your cheek further into you. It smelt like sandalwood with a hint of coffee and it reminded you of how Daichi’s hugs smelt. In fact it was almost exactly the same. The pillow was strangely firm too, almost too firm. Regardless, you snuggled further. 

“Still sleepy huh?” 

Shit.

You shot up, pulling the covers off with you. Daichi shivered in the cold air as his now naked upper torso was exposed to the morning. Looking over, you saw Suga tucked in next to where you had been and Asahi on the other side of Daichi, said man tucked under his arm. It wasn’t odd for Daichi to sleep shirtless, the man ran hot at night, but you couldn’t help the hot flush that took over your face. Asahi smiled softly at you, looking over his reading glasses at your ruffled form. 

“We were gonna get up and grab some breakfast from the diner we passed” he hummed, morning voice sending shivers up your figure. 

“Once we wake sleeping beauty up that is” 

You smiled at Daichi’s comment. At least you could stop thinking about this situation for a second and just get food with them. It was something you had done before most of your big exams. All three of you used to go to the small cafe near the school and get waffles. You could still remember how they had them: Suga had two waffles with caramel and hazelnuts, Asahi had 3 with whipped cream and strawberries and Daichi had 5 with chocolate syrup and chocolate chips. You always got fed some of theirs no matter what you decided to have. Koushi thought it especially funny to boop your nose so whipped cream would stick to your warm skin. 

“Yeah sure,” you smiled “lets go get some waffles”

-

When you got to the diner, it was relatively busy but there were still booths big enough to fit you guys. As always, it was you and Asahi on one side and Suga and Daichi on the other, Asahi trapping you against the wall with his large shoulders. For the first time this trip, you were content. It was the way it used to be. Asahi even stole some of Daichi’s chocolate chips like he used to. 

Snorting was heard from your table as Daichi accidentally laughed so hard that milkshake came out of his nose. The four of you had been telling stories of your highschool days, before everything was confusing and complicated with feeling. The joy was pierced by a vibration that drew all three to their phone. Obviously, it was a groupchat. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was that person they were talking about.

“Ooh, I’m gonna order another drink” you said, asking the boys if they wanted anything.

After you ordered your drink at the counter, you walked up to the counter next to your table that had the sugar and stirrers for the drinks. As you emptied a packet into the steaming coffee that was intended for Suga. A hand settled next to you on the counter.

“Anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?” a voice mused from next to you.

Turning, you came face to face with a man a little taller than you with dark hair and a nice smile. He was attractive but you couldn’t help thinking he was so plain compared to the current objects of your affection. The glares you could see said men sending towards the man spurred you on. Why would they be mad about this? They had no reason to be. 

Giggling, you looked up at him through your eyelashes. Screw it, if you couldn’t have them then you were at least gonna have fun. 

“Not really” you mused, “why? Are you here to do that?”

The man's smirk returned. He reached behind you, trapping your body slight against the counter, but when he leaned back he had a hand full of napkins. He winked at your flustered form and you couldn’t help but flicker your eyes towards the table which was now...empty?

The hand that was now on your chin pulled your thoughts back to the handsome stranger. The rough pad of his thumb swiped over your cheek bone and he whispered about the chocolate that had been there. Heat flushed to your face as he sucked the sauce off of his thumb. His other hand slipped a piece of paper into your pocket and your mouth opened to say something when you were interrupted. 

A throat cleared behind you and the guy. The looming figure of Daichi, accompanied by his two boyfriends, stood behind you both. You had rarely seen them angry but the glares that were being sent his way even made you shiver. Suga had his fists clenched and even sweet, soft Asahi was looking severely unimpressed with the attempt at flirting with you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Suga hissed at the poor man, who was now looking about ready to run.

“Sorry” the man stuttered, “I didn’t realise they were taken, I’ll leave i guess”

“Wait, no i’m not-” you started, but he was gone.

You stood, leaning on the counter, absolutely baffled their behaviour. Scoffing, you pulled out your wallet and turned to the lady at the counter, apologising for the small scene that had just occurred. The three men kept trying to catch your attention but you made a point to not spare them a glance while storming towards the car. As they paid you phoned Kiyoko. You were angry to the point of shaking and you knew if anyone could calm you down it was her. 

“Kiyoko, I need you to come get me” 

“Sure, give me 10 minutes, i’m pretty close” she sounded apologetic but you didn’t care.

You just didn’t want to feel alone.

-

After the three men had paid, they walked up to you. Your figure was hunched over and you were sat on the rain soaked curb.  The clear phone case that once had a photo of you four in it was now blank. Said photo had been flipped over because you couldn’t bear to look at what you used to be right now.

“What the fuck was that?” you growled

The men looked shocked. 

“He was flirting with you y/n what do you mean?”

The confusion in Asahi’s voice made a feeling curl inside you like the waffles had suddenly turned rancid. Eyebrows knitted together, you began to yell.

“And just what does that have to do with you three?” you began

“Why do you care who flirts with me and who doesn’t? You have 2 boyfriends each and I know you’re talking to another person who why the fuck does it matter to you if I don’t want to be lonely anymore huh?”

They all looked stunned at your revelation. Their shock didn’t phase you however, you had been sitting on this for too long. Too long had you been suffering in silence while they get to live this happy story that you were only a side character in. 

“God, it hurts so bad. You won’t ever understand how much pain I am in being around you and seeing how happy you’re gonna be with another person. It hurts!” you yelled, tears welling up.

The pain had now unfurled completely in your stomach. It was paralysing, like it was stopping you from running like you so desperately wanted to. It winded you, stealing your ability to keep yelling. Instead, it turned into a resigned whisper. 

“I get that you don’t want me, but why can’t other people? I don’t want to be alone anymore” 

Kiyoko’s tiny blue car pulled up next to you as you broke down crying. A tiny blonde ran out of the car to grab you as you fell, Yachi’s soft cooing distracting you from the three men across from you. Looking up at her, you saw her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy at your curled up figure. This was humiliating. Kiyoko motioned for her to guide you to the car, stepping out of the drivers side and towards Asahi, Daichi and Sugawara. 

Yachi pulled you into the backseat of the car, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. You saw her eyes flicker to her girlfriend and the guys but you didn’t want to think about that much right now. Instead, you stared blankly at the photo of Yachi and Kiyoko cuddling that was stuck under the mirror. If only you had that. 

The now fuming Kiyoko sat in the driver's seat. Her face was contorted in an anger that was uncommon for the raven haired woman but it flooded into sympathy at the sight of you. Obviously, you looked a mess. In the mirror, you could see tear tracks down your face and your hair was messed up from where you had gripped at the sides of your head in frustration. Yachi stroked your hair one final time before climbing into the passengers' side. 

You stared out the window as she drove off, you could see the figures of the men you had left behind. Asahi was bent over, hands on his knees and Suga rubbing his back. Daichi has his head buried in his arms on top of the car. They had no right to be upset, you thought. You let them escape your mind as their figures turned into tiny dots in the distance. 

The silence was comforting.

AS I SAID, PAIN.

#asahi azumane x reader #asahi x reader #asahi angst #asahi imagine #asahi azumane imagine #sugawara koshi x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara imagine #sugawara angst #sugawara koushi imagine #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi imagine #daichi sawamura headcanons #daichi angst #daichi sawamura imagine #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader

[katzkinder]

Strawberry Madeleine

Tsurugi used to use Mikuni’s old uniform as pajamas. 

He’s aware of how pathetic it is. How it sounds. How it probably would have been more subtle to shout that he missed him through a megaphone, for all of Tokyo to hear.

Of course, it doesn’t smell like his old roommate anymore. It hasn’t for a long time, especially not after having been washed and given to Mahiru to run around in for a whole week, over a year ago now. Especially not after it needed to be bleached, and deep cleaned, because of all the blood and dirt and dust that had been practically ground into the white fibers. 

Frankly, it’s a miracle that old thing is still around.

He never expected to get it back, but he did, and he’s only a little ashamed to admit that he held it the same way someone would hold a cherished stuffed toy, inhaling the smell of fabric softener chosen with Kuro’s delicate skin in mind. He had called himself creepy, and Yumikage… Had flicked his forehead. Called him an idiot.

The way he had explained it, it made such perfect sense. 

Mikuni... Was a familiar pain, like a bruise that never quite faded and you press your fingers to it just to remind yourself you’ve been hurt.

Yumikage, Junichiro, Freya, Mahiru, and Kuro are a comfort he never thought he deserved, and that old uniform, one of the only few possessions of his that had survived, the new softness of it and the new smell, are proof that whether he deserves them or not… They are his.

Anyone would cherish that, wouldn’t they?

***

One day his phone lights up in the evening twilight.

“I made too much. That offer to join us for dinner is still valid ☀︎”

Attached is a picture of a simmering pot of curry that makes his mouth water so much he nearly drools all down his front. There’s something familiar about it he can’t quite place, but it’s easily ignored and Tsurugi wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, thumbs flying eagerly over the screen.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes ☆” he replies, then, after adjusting his course accordingly, practically skips off down the sidewalk.

Two minutes from his destination, his phone buzzes again.

“I left the door unlocked for you. Come right in!”

Tsurugi... Tries really hard not to cry in the middle of the street as words half remembered while his soul was tangled with Mahiru’s filter back to him.

If the window is shut, we'll just go through the door.

***

Sometimes Tsurugi goes to Mahiru’s house to play.

It’s a childish way to put it, like they’re both in elementary school and he’s showing up at the front door to ask his friend’s uncle if Mahiru is home, but it’s also the only proper way to describe it, because he is playing.

He’s free now, or about as free as he can be with those debts looming over his head, and he wants to play. Kuro, meanwhile, wants to show him lots of different games, so if he has a day off, and the both of them are available… To the Shirota apartment he goes.

It’s always a mess.

Not the apartment, no, never the apartment. He doesn’t think even C3, with its white walls and white floors and white sheets and everything, everything, white, was even half so clean as that little apartment where three people lived.

What’s always a mess is himself.

This time, though… It’s Mahiru.

***

Tsurugi knows he’s a messy person. Tsurugi knows he’s not very good at cleaning up, though he often tries. It’s overwhelming though, sometimes, looking at it all, all the trash and garbage that had accumulated, all the things he didn’t need anymore, didn’t want, and maybe part of the problem was that his mind hardly ever stayed “adult” long enough to make any real headway.

It’s not like anyone went into his room to begin with, anyway, so why bother?

Mahiru, though, is different from him. Mahiru likes to clean up as he goes, so he supposes it shouldn’t be a shock that he gets frustrated with him and with Kuro, who have their little area in front of the TV set up with snacks, and drinks, and piles and piles of games to try out, and a third controller for Mahiru because sometimes instead of watching, Mahiru will join them, tempted by their cajoling and whining and Tsurugi’s bright, high pitched yelps.

This is not one of those times.

This is a time when Mahiru got frustrated and stormed off, and… Well, Tsurugi isn’t quite sure what to do.

A single look at Kuro shows he doesn’t either, wide eyes watching the hall his Eve disappeared down and slowly the umaibo he had been munching on disappears into his mouth.

“Should we… Clean up?” Tsurugi asks, hesitant. Their characters on screen continue to idle, the timer ticking down. Kuro hits pause. Stands, stretches, cracks his back and Tsurugi can’t help but wince because that can’t be healthy…

“...Yeah,” the Servamp finally says, and bends down with a muffled groan to start gathering chip bags and drink containers. “It’ll give him time to cool down.”

“Does this happen often?” Tsurugi stands, too, and casts his eyes about for something to pick up, but there really wasn’t much. Kuro’s already got it handled. 

It makes him feel just a little useless.

He was a grown up, wasn’t he? … Wasn’t he?

***

Giving Mahiru space to calm down seems to have been the right choice, because when they find him, curled up on his bed and looking just the slightest bit ashamed of his outburst, he looks ready to apologize at any moment.

But Tsurugi doesn’t want an apology.

He wants Mahiru to come play with them.

So he speaks first, apologizes, sincerely, and promises that he and Kuro will clean up after themselves properly, but when they are done.

“You don’t need to keep everything nice and neat all the time, y’know. Part of being a grown up is knowing when it’s time to play and when it’s time to put your toys up.”

Mahiru makes a face at him, buries his chin deeper into his knees. “Tsurugi-san, no offense, but I don’t wanna hear that from you of all people.”

“Ouch, haha.” He sits, plopping down gracelessly next to the still pouting teen, making him bounce and emit a startled noise, and Kuro shuffles forward, slides down on Mahiru’s other side. “...You’re right, though. I never really learned how to clean up and put my things away all nice and neat like you do. No one ever taught me.”

Mahiru shifts, glances at him curiously. Having seen Tsurugi’s room at C3, he definitely believes it. 

“...I guess,” he starts, slow and picking his words carefully. Kuro makes an encouraging noise beside him. “Because I never really felt like the apartment was ‘mine,’ I always ended up cleaning after every little activity. Because having it be messy... Made it feel more lived in than it was.”

“... Mm. That’s exactly it. The illusion of company...” A self deprecating little chuckle. “Guess we both learned to handle that feeling in different ways. If Kuro-chan and I make a mess, we... Might need your help to clean it up properly. But... Can you trust us to clean up when we’re done?”

“... I can try.”

“Good!”

Kuro finally speaks up, because this was a conversation for them, not him. But the moment has passed, and it feels safe to say something a little stupid, a little funny. “We’re serious about the needing your help on how it’s done, thing.” 

“Ugh, I believe you. Tsurugi-san, one time I put this guy in charge of loading up the washing machine and you know what happened?”

“Wait, Mahi, no—“

“Ohh, do tell~!”

“Bubbles. Bubbles, everywhere. My downstairs neighbor had no idea where all the suds dripping onto her balcony were coming from!”

“Pfffhahaha! Kuro-chan, seriously?! There are directions on the box!”

“And I followed them. Our washer is small, though, so it was too much...”

Kamiya Tsurugi was an adult.

Shirota Mahiru was a kid.

But, if they could teach each other the things they had missed out on…

Perhaps it was all for that reason, huh...

Tsurugi wonders if Mahiru will be able to make good on that promise for a cake this year.

***

The end of August comes again, and, just like he had hoped, Mahiru bakes him a cake. Covered in glistening, sweet strawberries, with loads of white, sweet cream, it’s almost too much, especially when paired with how Freya and Iduna had come by, are each sitting in Yumikage’s living room while Freya’s subclass play some noisy game with Takuto.

Some part of him didn’t think Mahiru would really do it. But not only did he keep his promise, he’s pressing a wrapped gift into his hand, a small one that rattles when it moves, this grin on his face as Tsurugi turns it over in his hands, this perfectly wrapped gift with yellow paper and citrus themed washi tape keeping it together. Mahiru’s Servamp lingers back, a noisemaker hanging unenthusiastically from between his lips. And yet, despite his carefully practiced indifference, there’s no denying that Kuro is also eager, just as eager as his Eve.

“Go on. Open it.”

So he does. It’s... A cellphone charm. “...Cinnamoroll...?”

Mahiru beams at him and shows off his own phone. Tsurugi snorts, a smile cracking at the sight of the Pompompurin character charm that dangles merrily from it.

“How’d you know my favorite~?”

“I asked around~”

“Thank you, Mahiru-kun,” Tsurugi answers him, feeling his throat close up, just the slightest bit. His eyes sting, and he holds that little charm close to his chest. “I love it.”

It's such a small gift. A tiny one, one perfectly suited to a high schooler’s budget, but it means so much. 

Because it didn't have to be given.

Mahiru takes his wrist and leads him back to the core of the party, where they are all immediately mobbed by Tsurugi’s own homegrown family.

Vampires, magicians, humans. Adults, children, immortals.

People his own age. People who aren’t.

Tsurugi is loved.

He’s happy he was born.

#kat's katerwauling #servamp #pawprints #tsurugi kamiya #mahiru shirota #happy birthday tsurugi!!! #ao3 version will be up tomorrow

[out-of-jams]

Across the Board || i || kth

(banner done by the great @kimtaehyunq )

↠ Across the Board ↞ You’d hit a low point in life. With bills piling up and your bank account empty, you were starting to get desperate. So when you got the invite to your oldest friend’s birthday party being hosted at the most popular underground casino in town, what did you possibly have to lose? You took what little you had left in your savings, put your card skills to use, and entered a private blackjack game.

And you’d won. And went back for more, and more, and more.

Until you lost.

And now you’re indebted to the city’s most dangerous mob boss, forced to pay your dues in blood one way or another. With a gun pushed into your hands and your life at stake; once you’re in, you’re in. You’ll never get out.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings/Genre: Set in the Roaring 20s! Gambling. Mature themes. Mafia!au. Mafia Don!Taehyung. Violence. Law breaking. Alcohol use. Death of minor characters. Explicit language. Enemies to lovers. Short series. 18+

                              || Next | Masterlist | |

Danger.

It was a word right up there alongside the definition for the term “stupidity.” While not next to each other in the dictionary, they were close enough that your brain was unable to pick out the subtle differences. Perhaps you’d just always had a habit for screwing your life up, or maybe it was just genetics. Who knew?

You should have listened to the warnings, should have stopped yourself before you got in too deep. Hell, you should have done a lot of things. But you had no one to blame for your current situation except for yourself. However, if you’d learned anything throughout your twenty-two short years of life, it was that life lessons didn’t mean jack if you didn’t get yourself into messes into the first place.

Though staring down the barrel of a revolver sure was a funny way of going about it.

The air in the dimly lit back corner room was tense enough to hear the sound of a casino chip fall to the ground somewhere beyond the shut door. None of the six men sitting around the round, green felted table spoke a word. Their attention — and yours, consequently — was fixed on the single man in the room who barely even batted an eye at the clear panic evident on your face.

He sat on the opposite side of you; the scowl pulling down his bow shaped lips and the narrowing of his fierce gaze had fear chilling your veins. That man was much like an exotic animal; beautiful beyond belief, but dangerous right beneath the surface. A carnivore staring down his prey. The single light above the table threw his shadow against the wall as he casually aimed his pistol right between your eyes.

“You were saying, dollface?”

His neatly parted, straight black hair fell across his face when he leaned forward as if the next words out of your mouth would seal your fate. Not that the thought of having to have your blood cleaned from the expensive carpet beneath his expensive shoes seemed to bother him in the slightest. In fact, he’d look almost bored if it weren’t for the dangerous gleam behind his espresso irises.

“I—” You cut yourself off, swallowing roughly and glancing back down at the table. A depleted deck of cards sat in the center, two hands laid out on the surface. One was yours — a ten of diamonds and a ten of clubs — and the other his. A red ace of spades and a black jack of hearts.

You were out of money.

Having bet more than you possessed, you were also out of chances.

“It’s simple. You owe me money as promised,” his deep, baritone voice spoke up casually over the noise of your heart beating through your chest. “Either hand it over, or you won’t be leaving this room alive. Your choice.”

You closed your eyes for a moment too long to be called a blink, and cursed yourself for ever getting into this situation.

                           One Month Ago

Final Notice of Payment

Ms. L/n,

This is a reminder that you have a balance of $20.54 that is past due. Please make a one time payment no later than—

“Oh, please.” The bill enclosed envelope hit the top of the small, circular dining room table. Or was it the kitchen table? It was hard to tell, seeing as how they were one and the same.

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned back against the creaky wooden chair, fingers massaging your temples. That was the third bill you’d come across that morning and every single one of them was the final notice of payment. The last warning they’d give before sending someone to collect what was owed.

It hadn’t always been like that. You hadn’t always been in such an insurmountable amount of debt, not until recently. Two months ago your mother, the last bit of family you had left, died. Passed away clinging to the sheets of the hospital bed she’d been laid up in for the past half a year. Cancer, the doctors had said. From all of the cigarettes she’d burned through in the past decade or so.

Irrecoverable, they’d said.

No amount of “sorry’s” or meaningless condolences could fix the massive amount of money that the hospital billed you. Or the debt that your mother left behind, along with her slim-boned corpse that you’d had to bury in the corner of the city cemetery. Perhaps if you’d known who your father was, you could’ve laid her to rest in the space next to his own, but you didn’t. Weren’t fortunate enough to.

Bills had piled up. Rent for the tiny studio apartment the two of you had shared was demanded by the pigeon-toed old woman who owned the rundown, overpriced building. Her husband had passed away two years ago and ever since then, she’d been relentless. She pounded on your door at approximately eight in the morning everyday, shouting through the thin wood that you had until the week was up to pay what was owed. Otherwise you’d be tossed out onto the street with only the clothes on your back.

Combined with the utility bill and the fact that you still had to come up with the dough to feed yourself, you were trapped. The meagre pennies you got from your waitressing job at the diner three blocks away weren’t nearly enough. Nothing would be enough. Not unless you wanted to sell your body on the street corners in the late of night.

Which you didn’t. And you wouldn’t. You’d be more likely to end up dead in a ditch somewhere with your throat cut than out of debt. The city wasn’t safe for women, less so by those men who saw prostitutes as no more than an object to relieve stress onto. And you refused to become another headline in the paper.

Tossing the opened envelope across the table, you paused when familiar handwriting caught your eye on top of the rest of the mail pile. Addressed to you in a curling script that only ever came from someone who could afford a private tutor. You sighed, carefully sliding a knife along the top to slice it open. A waft of sweet, cherry scented perfume filled your tiny kitchen and you almost rolled your eyes at the unnecessary addition.

Jennie, your oldest friend since high school, always had an inclination for the unnecessary. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and a gold digger for a mother, she’d had nothing else to waste her time on. How you’d even gotten on as friends with such a gap between tax brackets was still a mystery to you. Maybe it was because she’d always used her wealth and status to get the two of you out of trouble. Whether it was from breaking into the school late at night to get wasted in the halls with the rest of her friends, or to get away with slipping things from the corner store into your dress pockets.

She’d always been a rule breaker.

Which was exactly why when you read the contents of the letter, a laugh tumbled from your mouth. It was an invitation to celebrate her upcoming twenty-third birthday in three day’s time. That wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary, however, if it weren’t for the location. There wasn’t an exact address, there never was. Just a thin piece of cardboard the size of your hand that fell from the envelope. A playing card — a red ace. One that looked normal except for the center that had the name of a restaurant in the heart of the most rich part of downtown printed on it.

It was a ticket to the most popular underground casino in the whole city. No one knew how to get one, how to get your name onto the list that only catered to the rich and powerful. Located beneath a restaurant, it had grown to be infamous almost overnight since gambling and alcohol was outlawed. Even the coppers knew well enough to leave the establishment alone.

The only way to gain entrance was by flashing a ticket to one of the restaurant staff. That was what you’d heard, at least. You had no idea how May had managed to secure one, let alone enough to cover what you knew would be a large party of her closest friends.

Flicking the corner of the card, you couldn’t believe your luck.

Your mother hadn’t taught you very many things, had been too busy gossiping with her friends over a carton of cigarettes to bother. What she had passed down, however, was her ability to draw cards. To play blackjack with the best of them. That’d been the only thing she’d ever bothered to teach you; when she’d had too many sips of wine and her eyes had glazed over with memories of the life she used to live. 

She’d sit you down and make you memorize the names and faces of the cards until you could count them forward and backwards. Could predict what card would be drawn and when. Where she’d learned it, she’d never told you. But that didn’t matter now. Couldn’t, seeing as she was dead and all.

Grinning, you flopped back into your chair.

Maybe you’d be able to pay off your debts after all.

And you had. Paid off your debt, that is.

After clearing out your savings account of the last fifteen dollars you had left to your name, you’d dolled yourself up and gone with Jennie and her friends. Had left the group of flappers tittering and groaning drunk at the line of slot machines at the back of the casino. Calls of bets being placed, dough exchanging for chips, and illegal cocktails pouring into glasses played as a soundtrack.

None of the card tables scattered across the underground establishment held what you’d been looking for. Neither roulette, nor craps, nor slots. The bartender had been the one to tell you where the real games were, where the cash was. A door down a tiny back hallway led to a room where private games were held. If you managed to win at one, he’d told you, then you’d win not only the pot, but an invitation to come back and play again.

Which had been an opportunity that you just couldn’t pass up. No matter the risk.

You’d won.

And now you were addicted.

To the money, the lifestyle, the adrenaline that shot through your veins like a particularly harsh sip of gin. Which was exactly why you’d gone back. Again, and again, and again, every single week for the past month. It wasn’t your fault that it was so easy. So simple to swindle your way into getting your name permanently written down on the entry list.

Oh, and the men.

It was a different group every week, but they weren’t all that dissimilar from one another. They’d sit there and smoke their cigars and drink their whiskey, all while silently mocking you with their eyes. Like they thought they were better than you just because they had a dick between their legs.

You were addicted to that too.

To watching the way their faces would fall in disbelief every single time you cleared the pot and took their money. And how their voices would raise in pitch with their countless complaints about how some lowly broad conned them out of their pocket change. Because that’s all that money was to people like them.

Change.

They were rich. You could tell by the custom suits they wore, the cologne they bathed in, the way they carried themselves. The money they gambled with always had a cap, a max amount that they were willing to bet. And the games never got too crazy, didn’t escalate once they lost to you. Which was a shame really, because you wanted more. Craved more. More of what, you weren’t too sure, but the high that playing brought only lasted so long until you came crashing back down.

Which was exactly when fate decided to change the routine.

“Here to play again, miss?” Felix, the same teenage boy who always manned the door to the gambling room, asked with a slight tilt of his head. His light brunette hair was tucked beneath a bowler hat, different from the usual fedora. Back to the door, he was standing up straight instead of his normal slouch. And the way his mouth was taught around the edges was out of the ordinary as well.

The boy didn’t have a cigarette clenched between his teeth, which should have been enough to set off the bells in your head. But it didn’t. Because you were too bullheaded, had gotten too cocky in the terms of things.

“You know me too well, Felix.” You reached out a hand to pat the lanky boy on his suit clad arm lightly, a smile pulling up at your red painted lips. “Is the usual table ready?”

The volume in the casino wasn’t as loud either, nor were there quite as many patrons. But you’d just chalked that up to the heavy rain pounding a path into the concrete outside. Though the lack of customers did nothing to eliminate the permanent smell of cigarette smoke that lingered, hidden in the walls beneath the fancy looking wallpaper.

“I don’t know if you want to play today, miss.” Felix glanced away from you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You blamed the flickering light in the corner of the hall for the way his freckles stood out amongst his slowly paling cheeks.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

He didn’t answer. Not at first. Silence lingered in the hall, drowning in the soft jazz music coming from the band on the stage near the back of the joint. It took the raising of your other brow for the underaged boy to finally answer.

“It’s just not a good day for gambling.”

Now that had you leaning forward until you could finally catch his flighty gaze, voice hushed in a playful whisper. “Oh really, how so? Is there a stool-pigeon running about somewhere? Should we be expecting the coppers to come kicking down the door any minute?”

“No. I—”

“Then why can’t I play, Felix?” You were starting to get irritated. The week had been long and you were ready to forget about it all for the next few hours. Buried beneath the weight of a handful of cards and glass full of gin.

Either Felix could see your growing impatience, or there really was something he was hiding, because he stepped even further in front of the door. “You don’t want to play with this group, miss. They aren’t as welcoming as the others are. It’d be best if you just went home.”

“You ca—”

“And what’s going on back here?” That wasn’t Felix’s voice and neither was it yours. You whipped around, surprised at the new addition.

The man behind you had honey brown hair parted and styled carefully until it was brushed back away from his heart-shaped face. Though some of it still hung in front of a single, dark eye. His other was uncovered, a scar running through his eyebrow and cutting it in half. Everything about him was angular, sharp. From his jawline to the slope of his nose and the corners of his full lips.

One look and you already pegged him for a cake-eater, a ladies man, if you’d ever seen one. Hell, he even dressed like he came right off the front cover of one of those Time magazines that littered the newspaper stands on every street corner. With a navy blue suit and perfect, unscuffed shoes.

“No, sir,” Felix attempted to pull the man’s attention from you unsuccessfully. “The missus here was just leaving.”

The Stranger hummed, tilting his head to study you with those sharp eyes of his. “Were you, bunny? Just leaving?”

You couldn’t help the twitch of your nose at the unfavorable nickname, squaring your shoulders and crossing your arms with a scoff. “No, I wasn’t. I want to play a few rounds, you see, but he won’t let me.”

Perhaps you should have felt bad for ratting out the kid, but you didn’t. Especially not when the Stranger huffed a laugh, a distinct ha-ha-ha! in amusement. Though there was something else in his eyes that you couldn’t name. Didn’t want to acknowledge. “You want to play a hand of blackjack, is that right?”

“Ab-so-lute-ly.” You raised an eyebrow at the man and waved a hand through the air. “I can play.”

“Oh,” He asked, taking a step closer until you had to crane your neck back to meet his imploring gaze. “Playing isn’t cheap.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “I can pay too.”

He must have been waiting for that answer if the smirk that pulled at his lips was any indication. And he finally, finally broke eye contact to wave aside the boy behind you. “Well, did the dame make herself clear or not? She wants to play.”

You happened to turn just in time to catch the alarm that flickered across Felix’s face as he stepped to the side to reveal the door behind him. Felix reached out with a ringed hand to twist the brass knob of the door. It swung open without a sound and he gave you a quick, wide-eyed stare filled with a warning you couldn’t interpret, before looking away.

“Well?” The Stranger questioned from over your shoulder. You could smell his cologne now; husky with a hint of sweet orange.

His words were an invitation if you’d ever heard one. And you didn’t want to look like a bluenose, a prude, so you stepped inside without hesitation. Though perhaps you should have taken Felix’s unspoken warning, for you had no idea just what it was that you were walking into.

Inside the cramped room was filled with a haze of cigar smoke, which wasn’t unusual at all. What was, however, was the group of six men sitting at the circular table as you rounded the corner with the Stranger at your back. They were beautiful, all of them. A huge contrast to the usual rabble that came to play. Hell, even underneath the dim light you couldn't spot a single flaw on them.

No one noticed your entrance at first.  

Well, at least not until the Stranger cleared his throat. “Gentleman.”

His greeting sounded like it toed somewhere on the line between amusement and respect.

All movement in the room came to a halt as six men looked up from where they’d been bent over the blackjack table. If you’d been a little less prideful and a lot more careful, then perhaps the overbearing confidence that bled from their pores would have given you pause. But as it was, you stood standing, back straight and head held high. Even while their eyes roamed your figure like tigers behind a cage at the zoo right before feeding time.

A pause hovered in the air, lingering with a tension that crawled onto your skin. What seemed like hours passed merely in seconds before it was broken.

“And who’s this?” The question came from the fella who sat in the chair closest to where you stood. He was turned around with his arm propped up on the back of it, head tilted to the side in curiosity. His hair was styled similar to the Stranger’s, though his was darker and the gel pushed through the strands made it gleam silver beneath the dim lamp that hung above the table.

High cheekbones and skin the same color as molten honey, his jaw worked around a piece of gum stuck between his teeth. A smirk pulled up at the corner of his mouth, dark eyes glittering with a touch of interest. With a black and white suit that complimented the shade of his hair, the man was nothing if not a billboard: flashy. Handsome.

“I found bunny here outside arguing with Felix. Something about wanting to play a few rounds of blackjack. Isn’t that right?” The Stranger placed a heavy palm between your shoulder blades. What might have been intended to come off as comforting, only succeeded in making you feel the opposite. Like you were being put on display.

You didn’t let it show on your face. “That’s right.”

“Oh?” Gum Chewer’s smirk grew broader at that, but he said nothing else. Just leaned back in his chair.

“What do you say, should we let her play?” Blond hair, pink kissable lips and dangerous, dangerous eyes. The slim man sitting next to Gum Chewer was attractive in a pretty way that made you envious of his easy-on-the-eyes looks.

While the question may have been asked to the whole room, none of them answered it. Instead they looked towards one of the men sitting in the middle who had yet to speak. If you’d thought the rest of them were a sight for sore eyes, well, they had nothing on him. How your attention hadn’t been drawn to him the moment you walked through the door, you didn’t know.

He wasn’t even looking at you and you already felt tongue-tied. Busying himself with shuffling the cards in his hands against the green felt table, the expensive looking rings adorning his slender fingers caught your eye. He was what your mother would’ve called a timeless beauty. The type of handsome that meant he could walk the streets of the city in nothing but a sack and he’d have women throwing themselves at his feet.

Hair the same shade as a moonless sky made him look intimidating, like he belonged to the shadows themselves. A straight nose, cupid bow lips and long eyelashes that would make any broad jealous; he gave off the type of power that could make even the bravest of men cower at his feet. The longer he took to respond, the more the room grew still. As if your fate was in the hands of a man who’s name you didn’t even know.

Though perhaps it was.

A muffled thud echoed throughout the room as he tapped the deck of cards against the table once, twice, before sliding them over to the fella to his left. Plucking up the glass of scotch in front of him, he finally looked up. And graced you with the prettiest chocolate brown eyes you’d ever seen.

“What’s your name, dollface?”

tagged: @bewitch-me​  @jxngkooksthxghs​   @kaitswrld​  @clarissalance​  @namurkive​ @ifntelyinspirit​  @kotaevln​  @red--aren  @ggukkieland​  @moonlitmyg​  @i-like-puppy-mg​  @aianloveseven​  @drumsofheaven​  @figurativehoe00​ @wonhoandonly​ @wacdon​ @hear-me-growl​ @milaridez7 @1088x1088​ @alana-ba​ @vlntaeg​

#bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #magicshopnet #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #bts #kim taehyung #taehyung smut #jungkook #jimin #namjoon #hoseok #seokjin #yoongi

[feralnumberfive]

The Rewatch Academy: Episode 4 of Season 1

“Man on the Moon”

I am in no way a good analyst so my little analysis and speculations probably sound a bit goofy or pretty wild and probably mean nothing at all. Everything I put into this post about each episode is purely what I noticed or thought, whether it’s funny or serious. I will be making jokes, so please just leave it at that (in no way am I trying to make fun of an actor and or character!) I am also in no way saying I noticed this stuff first. This is just what I noticed while rewatching these episodes

☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂

1x01 | 1x02 | 1x03 |

☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂ ☂

☂ So at that point Luther had already been alone for about five years (due to his siblings leaving when they were 18 or even 17 according to Diego), and by alone I mean he did’t have his siblings with him. I’m not counting Reginald, Grace, or Pogo because I’d imagine they weren’t the best company. There was a two year gap between Luther getting the serum and then being sent to the moon. He had already been “alone” for five years before he was sent away to be completely alone for four years. He hasn’t had really any social/outside interaction besides going on missions for almost ten years, which means Luther is an awkward dude and he hasn’t been a true leader because he hasn’t had anyone to lead. I don’t think people really realize this and I think that’s where some of the hate towards him comes from 

☂ We see that Luther looks into Allison’s and Klaus’s bedrooms as he makes his way down the hall, and I’m willing to bet he did that for all of his siblings. Makes me wonder how many times the siblings went to Five’s room to visit it or to even check with hope that he had come back  

☂ I wish I could ride my bike around my house and chug a gallon of milk :[

☂ I can’t believe that Reginald still made him wear that leather battle suit 💀

☂ Why are there posters of animal anatomy in the infirmary?

☂ Apparently it takes between two to four months to grow a full beard, so that’s  about how long Luther had been lying there

☂ *suffers through the Allison and Luther scene*

☂ “HoPe I wAsN’t BeInG tOo LoUd”

☂ Vanya and Leonard were really sweet in the beginning. Screw you Leonard

☂ It’s really sad that not one his siblings notice that Klaus is gone. Not. One. 

☂ Are you telling me that Klaus and Five are certified freaks? At least I’m sure that’s who Cha Cha is referring to, or maybe it’s Luther

☂ I tried looking up tortures in Trinidad to see if Cha Cha was referring to any specific event, but I think it’s just a random thing in the show

☂ It’s only when Diego mutters “The boy” that it reminds him either of Five’s superhero name “The Boy” or his new appearance as a teen again so it finally clicks in his head that that’s who the mystery kid is

☂ Diego admitting that he doesn’t really know how to process his feelings!

☂ He’s very protective of his family and that’s something that I love about Diego. He doesn’t know who Hazel and Cha Cha are but all he knows is that they are searching for Five for some reason and that his siblings almost got killed last night

☂ Five doesn't realize the suffering that he’s putting his family through at this point since he’s only focused on finding who’s responsible for the end of the world. It’s ironic that he’s doing all of this to keep them alive and safe and yet him not being with them almost got them killed. Five buddy, you should have included all of your siblings from the start no matter how much they annoy you

☂ Also where has Five been this entire time? He left the van at night and now it’s the next morning. He’s been following the guy but why did it take him so long to corner him?

☂ Ope, and there’s a continuation error! When Luther takes his arm out of Five’s dresser, he takes part of the wood panel with him. When it cuts back to Diego talking there’s just a fist size hole

☂ “We barely got out with our lives.” Okay but where were you, Pogo?

☂ It’s funny how quickly they revert to child-like shame when Pogo scolds them. At least they still respect him I guess

☂ Is Hazel eating potato chips with ketchup? 

☂ I think one reason why nobody notices that Klaus is gone is because none of them saw him that night during the attack. They possibly assumed he already had left the Academy??

☂ Looooove the “Shingaling” scene. They are straight up vibing

☂ I don’t know why Luther was frustrated with the van door being locked. It’s not like he could rip the door off or anything.......

☂ I have a two questions here:

Why did Diego know where to find Five based off of the book? Sure he saw that it came from the library, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll be there

Wouldn’t Luther and Diego have seen the smoke coming from the Meritech building? Unless they left immediately and weren’t able to see the smoke even though they probably were still in the vicinity when it began to burn

☂ Five is holding the man’s arm to make sure that he doesn’t get away (hard to tell in the pic below though). He needs that sense of security that this lead isn’t going to escape his grasp, but I’m sure that if he were to run he wouldn’t get far when you can just teleport after him

☂ I got a nice pic of Five (also the dude on the bike that was riding behind Five as he runs up in this shot just does not care that this building is on fire) 

☂ When it shows Five on the ground, it at first starts off with light and slightly comedic music before it quickly switches over to something dramatic. I always thought it was funny that they play the light stuff as we see Five just laying there 💀

☂ You can see just how quickly Five’s face changes from shock to disbelief and disappointment as his only lead is literally blown away from him look, you can pinpoint the exact moment his heart breaks. Also Five definitely would have had hearing issues since we can see that the windows on the building behind him were shattered. He’s staring into your soul....

☂ There’s nothing really significant about this at all, but Whippets are racing dogs and in the comics Five goes to watch a dog race at one point

☂ “I hate sprinkles.” Hey, me too!

☂ I love that Griddy’s is still open despite the damage that was done to it

☂ Diego left home at 17 (which is illegal so I wonder if he was emancipated or maybe Diego ran away and Reginald didn’t care to look for him) so I wonder if the others left when they were 17 too or if they waited until they were 18 

☂ Luther I don’t really think you’re one to talk about being “grown up” my guy. In fairness none of the Umbrellas know how to be fully functioning adults, not even Five who’s about twice the age of his siblings and is almost a senior citizen

☂ “I stayed because the world needed me.” Hey that was basically Five’s reason too, but more so for getting to see his family again. Anyways, like brother, like, uh, brother! 

☂ "And things are never gonna go back to the way they used to be.” You sir just predicted the next week(s) (and technically years in the 60s) of your life and the lives of your siblings! This also applies for what happens after those weeks/years, but we haven’t gotten there yet but it’s certainly not the way things used to be!  

☂ How was Luther upset enough that he wanted Diego to stop talking after he said something genuine and a bit sad?

☂ This whole relationship talk isn’t exactly relatable......

☂ He’s just chillin’

☂ Reginald can ✨perish✨ Oh wait, he already did 

☂ Here I am taking any little scrap and running with it, but when Five says he’s going through puberty twice does that mean that he didn’t get his aging altered by The Commission? In the comics, Temps Aeternalis/Commission stopped Five’s aging but here it sounds like that didn’t happen. Since we haven’t heard anything about Five’s DNA in the tv show we don’t really know much about his aging alteration either. I think that they really do have to leave that part out due to Aidan himself, who is a growing teen, and for the fact that they would need to come up with an excuse for Five’s aging (Aidan already looks different in S2 and he’s taller too). I wish they would bring this stuff up in the show!

☂ Five deflects answering the question of what he’s the best at most likely just because he’s just distracted but also possibly because he doesn’t want his brothers to know at this point

☂ First the feral chimp smile and now this

☂ Five actually sounded serious when he was talking about how many people he has killed and how he’s the ”Four frickin’ Horsemen” which is more so an exaggeration but it still shows us that he views himself as dangerous and powerful. He revealed this to them while he was drunk, even though they don’t really understand, but I wonder if Five ever actually planned on telling his siblings what he did and how much blood he has on his hands. I feel like he would have told them after he had saved the world from the apocalypse, but yet again I could also see him brushing off questions in relation to what he just said to Luther and Diego to hide his past from his family

☂ ✨”Little Psycho”✨

☂ As eerie as all of those ghosts are, it’s a really neat scene

☂ It’s not really meant to be funny, but Klaus denying the duct tape just reminds me of a little kid refusing to go into timeout 

☂ I guess Cha Cha got out through the door next to the bathroom when Klaus was banging his head on the table?

☂ It’s a shame that Patch died right away, I really liked her

☂ Klaus, where you’re going really isn’t any better 

☂ It’s sweet that Diego puts Delores down gently and doesn’t just toss her somewhere. Even though she’s a mannequin, Diego knows that she means something to Five

☂ Well Luther I think it’s pretty self-explanatory what he meant. You just need more context 

☂ Diego: *signaling that someone, possibly a threat, is approaching and to be alert*

Luther: 🕴👁`👄’👁

☂ Even if they did think that Klaus had left the Academy before Hazel and Cha Cha attacked it, it’s sad that it took them this long to think about him

☂ Luther patting Delores is so cute

☂ Say it with me kids, “Patch deserved so much better!”

☂ My heart breaks to see Diego so heartbroken and upset, especially when he says “I gotta go, okay? I can’t be here when they come, okay?” Ugh, that gets me

☂☂☂☂☂☂☂

Feel free to comment or reblog with things you have noticed too!

#tra #the rewatch academy #tua #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #number five #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #hazel and cha cha #eudora patch #reginald hargreeves #man on the moon

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - Fights with the guys

[ this Ask was wheelbarrowed over from @cheri-cheri​ ]

Hello~ Angst is inevitable with such a prompt, but I hope the fluffiness at the end makes up for it! (´･ᴗ･ ` ) Lucien isn’t here because I’m not familiar with his character :<

[ Gavin - spending too much time apart ]

It begins with a pang of disappointment when a date she’s been looking forward to for weeks gets interrupted halfway by a phone call

With that, Gavin gets whisked away abruptly for a month-long mission

During the first week, she cheers herself up with a reminder that Gavin is doing something noble - keeping the streets of Loveland City safe.

During the second week, she consoles herself with the knowledge that this isn't the first time Gavin has been uncontactable for a long period of time. Shouldn’t she have gotten used to it by now?

During the third week, doubt creeps in. Despite him telling her in advance that the mission site could lack a proper signal, the heaviness in MC’s chest gets weightier with each unread message and unanswered call.

She doesn’t know if her boyfriend is dead or alive.

She doesn’t even know where he is.

During the fourth week, she’s frustrated. She's frustrated at the STF, at Gavin, and at herself.

She’s frustrated that this isn’t the first time the STF has deployed Gavin on missions at short notice, as though he’s simply a tool ready to be wielded at any moment.

The frequency of missions over the past few months suddenly skyrocketed. It’s the main reason why she was looking forward to the date before he left - she wanted him to get a proper rest.

She’s frustrated that there doesn't seem to be anything she can do about the situation.

She's frustrated that the days without him pass by so painfully slowly.

She’s frustrated that-

“MC, I’m back.”

The fight is a quiet affair.

It might not even be considered one, since MC is the one doing most of the talking. She pours out everything in her heart, and how she’s very, very tired.

She doesn’t know if she can continue being in this relationship if she's going to be the only party in it.

Gavin listens quietly.

Then, he takes out two plane tickets from his pocket

The reason why he was deployed on so many missions recently was because he actively volunteered for them. That way, he would be able to clock in enough hours to take her on a long, undisrupted vacation

He intended for it to be a surprise, but didn’t expect that his actions would make MC upset instead

Aside from this, they also try to make future time apart more bearable:

When Gavin knows that he’d be embarking on a mission where remaining contactable is an issue, he would write a bunch of letters beforehand and entrust them to Minor, who would secretly place one on her office desk every morning

The letters vary in length. They could be entire pages filled with a somewhat clumsy yet heartwarming documentation of what went through his mind on certain dates they had together... 

Or a simple: I love you. I’ll be safe. I can’t wait to come home.

MC finds out very easily who Gavin’s “messenger pigeon” is, and she forces Minor to hand over the entire box just in case he loses it or decides to take a peek out of curiosity (which he already did)

Meanwhile, MC leaves tons of voice messages in Gavin’s phone for him whenever he needs a pick-me-up.

They could range from her reading works from Byron’s Poetry Collection, or a clip of her playing the piano...

Or a simple: I love you. Be safe. I’m waiting for you to come home. 

[ KIRO - the fatigue of a secret relationship ]

Initially, MC thought that having a secret relationship with a world renowned celebrity would be as thrilling as what’s typically depicted in TV dramas

Whenever they go on dates outside the studio or their homes, Kiro has to disguise himself with various props

e.g. wearing an ugly wig, donning oversized sunglasses, peppering his face with fake freckles, and even changing the tone of his voice

While it was funny the first few times, it gets exhausting after a while.

It’s mentally exhausting to always be on the look out for paparazzi and discerning fans at the expense of enjoying the date and each other’s company

It’s emotionally exhausting to see gossip magazines speculating about Kiro’s relationships with gorgeous women in the entertainment industry

It’s exhausting when her mind wanders afar off, leading her to ask:

“Are you... ashamed of me?”

The fight is one akin to daggers to his heart.

“Of course not! Miss Chips, why would that even cross your mind?” 

Kiro explains that he’s more than capable of renting entire restaurants, and even the entire amusement park so he can remove all his stuffy props and be with her without worrying about the fans

But at the same time, he wants their relationship to be as normal as possible.

Because when he’s with her, he doesn’t feel like Kiro the celebrity. He’s simply a boy in love who wants to go on normal dates like any normal couple would

He doesn’t want MC to get tied down by having every social media post and every move scrutinised by the public.

But MC has considered all of this. And she's ready to shoulder the relationship with him - both the good and bad.

Eventually, when the time is right, and after much discussion with Savin and the PR department, MC and Kiro go public with their relationship

He starts doing livestreams more often where he does cute couple activities with MC, in the hopes that his fans are won over by her just as much as he is

It turns out that MC wins his fans over a little too much

Sometimes, they even ask Kiro to step aside and let MC take over his livestream instead QAQ

[ SHAW - good intentions gone wrong ]

“I’m grabbing dinner with Minor and Gavin. Want to join us?”

“Eli and Gavin were telling me about the new dishes in Lynn’s Kitchen. We should drop by sometime.”

“That tin of biscuits? Gavin gave it to me. Help yourself to them!”

...

For some unfathomable reason, MC has been bringing up his brother in their conversations every day over the past two weeks

When he sees MC putting on Gavin’s ginkgo bracelet before heading out, he finally snaps.

“Since you’re always going on and on about Gavin, why not date him instead?!”

The fight is one he wishes he could take back.

“I’m not... You’ve got it all wrong! Gavin’s been wanting to meet you, and I-”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

MC flinches at Shaw’s harsh tone.

Then, she averts her eyes, hoping her tears wouldn’t spill out

“Yeah, I clearly don’t.”

And she runs out of the apartment, and into the storm.

After chugging down a can of iced Cola, Shaw more or less cools down

In the process, it dawns on him that MC does know many things about him that he’s never shared with anyone else

She’s caught the nostalgic gaze in his eyes when he talked about the little guardian who held his hand from the moment he first started walking

The little guardian who had fathomless patience for his endless ‘why’s

His very first best friend, and someone he could rely on.

And how the little plane from so many years ago wasn’t the only important thing he left behind that day.

And right now, he’s close to losing another important person.

Ignoring the dampness on his face, he grabs his phone and calls MC, before realising that she left her phone in the apartment

So, he sends his first text to Gavin.

Together, they manage to locate MC, who’s drying herself off in the rehearsal room of Live House.

“I’m sorry.”

Shaw’s apology is soft, but it reaches the hearts of two people.

Before Gavin turns to leave, Shaw calls after him.

“Thanks. Your bracelet was of some use.”

Of course, Gavin will never tell him that he doesn’t actually need it to find MC

“Cough, no problem.”

Although the estranged relationship between the brothers requires much more than a stormy night to mend, having dinner together is a promising start.

-

Just want to put it out there that it isn’t confirmed if Shaw and Gavin are brothers. It’s a very sensitive topic within the CN community where a sizeable portion of the players believe they aren’t, and the players aren’t afraid to tear you down if you believe otherwise LOL

But for me personally, I love the idea of them being brothers!

[ VICTOR ]

I couldn’t think of any major things they could fight about aside from his sharp tongue. But that’s painfully cliché so I shall just leave you with two petty reasons why they would argue instead:

Whenever MC visits Souvenir, she doodles on the serviette while waiting for the food. She eventually makes it a habit to draw really awful caricatures of Victor and laughs over them with Mr Mills. Victor gets all pouty because he can hear their laughter from the kitchen but is missing out on the fun :<

Victor decides to test MC one day, and gives her a pudding from a convenience store instead of his. MC does taste the difference but doesn’t say anything because she thinks Victor is just having a bad day. On the other hand, he gets irritated because HOW DARE SHE mistake this low-grade jiggly thing for his perfect pudding??

#cheri tries to write

[all1e23]

Between the Stars [Pt.7]

Pairings: Past!Steve x Reader, Bucky x  Reader

Series warnings: CHARACTER DEATH. Grief. Overall sadness. Depression. It’s pretty angsty if I’m being honest. Things mellow out as the series goes on. TW: Military/Spouse death

A/N:   This might be my favorite chapter yet. Bucky is soft, and I love him. Reminder because I know the timeline for this fic is confusing with switching between readers and Bucky's POV, we are eight months past Steve's death. Bucky has been home with her for seven. Thanks to my beautiful beta @moonbeambucky​​​ for looking this chapter over for me. If you like it write me a book report, sing me a song or come scream at me.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****

Eight months after Steve’s death, Y/n was playing again. It wasn’t on the same scale as it once was and she was no longer teaching, not that it mattered. It was a big deal, Bucky didn’t downplay just how huge this was. She had given up, threw out her dreams in search of new ones as some misguided form of punishment; maybe she thought it was her penance for some terrible crime she convinced herself she committed by living. Bucky understood that feeling better than most, he really did, but she had nothing to atone for. The only one who needed absolution was Bucky and he hoped that by helping her get her life back, he was earning a tiny bit of forgiveness for everything he had done.  

Nothing would ever completely absolve him, but he prayed this would help to even the scales.

Over the last month, Y/n hasn’t mentioned Steve as much. Bucky didn’t know if that was because she was starting to heal or if it hurt too much to keep talking about him. She still slept in his room most nights, only slightly closer to him now, her foot usually wrapped around his ankle and Steve’s pillow was no longer hugging her back -- it was still there every night though. A handful of nights she fell asleep on the couch watching trashy late-night television and Bucky didn’t know if he should pick her up and carry her to bed. Was it too intimate of a gesture? Should he touch her that way? And if he did what bed would he take her to? It wasn’t something he was ready to test and he wouldn’t risk the potential hurt the wrong move could make. So he let her sleep, and stayed close by, sleeping on the small window bench nearby in case she needed him. 

Things began to resemble something better, calmer and there was a bit of normalcy returning. They even started going out. It began with small outings, a trip or two to the market, or down to the Mexican restaurant twenty minutes away for takeout. A few Fridays back, they spent the entire day at one of those you-pick farms a couple of hours away from the house. She told him she wanted to go get peaches. Bucky wasn’t about to tell her no or tell her that they could pick some up at the grocery store without the hassle of having to pick them off a tree. No, he wouldn’t do that. This was a big step for her; she wanted to go out, and well, she’s so damn pretty when she’s smiling. 

The farm was enormous for the area, sitting at around 200 acres. They had blueberries, pumpkins, peaches, and strawberries. Some of the produce wasn’t ready to pick, but Bucky knew Y/n was planning their next trip as soon as the seasons changed, and he really didn’t mind. They had a petting zoo they found upon arrival, at which point Y/n squealed over the baby goats, and they spent some forty-odd minutes feeding them. Then Bucky spent the next hour talking her out of having a baby goat of her own. Okay, Bucky would get her a damn goat if she really wanted one, but he was praying she would forget about it on the drive home. There was a hay maze that was still in the process of being prepped for the upcoming season but Y/n’s eyes lit up at the mere thought. 

The food had to be Y/n’s favorite most of all. 

There were candied peach slices that she had been so excited about. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh when Y/n had a bite with too much of the ginger that was sprinkled on top and wrinkled her nose in disgust. She glared at him, but it only made him grin wider. They both tried the vanilla scones with fresh peach jam and shared a large Mason jar full of peach iced tea because she said it was silly to spend the extra money when they could share. One sip and all Bucky could think about was the sweetness on his lips is what she would taste like.

Maybe the food had been Bucky’s favorite part, too.

The sun was starting to set, and despite being forced to leave the goats behind thanks to closing, Y/n was still smiling. Bucky followed behind her, letting her lead him to whatever tree she deemed had the best peaches. Y/n delicately placed three more peaches in the pail he was carrying and then set her eyes on him, scrutinizing and somehow still playful. She stepped towards him and flicked the bill of his NASA ball cap, causing it to pop up and sit crooked on his head, and she grinned at the feigned look of annoyance he was giving her. 

“I can’t see your face when you wear a cap.”

She told him that as if it was an excuse for her assault on his favorite hat. 

“Well, I’m trying to hide my stupid looking hair.” 

She giggled at that. 

Y/n giggled, and the little bit of his heart that didn’t belong to her became hers. She leaned in, and if he was a stupider man, he would have thought she was going to kiss him by the look in her eyes and how close their lips were. Y/n slowly reached up and pulled his hat off his head only to plop it on top of her own. If she was his, he would have pulled her close and claimed those pretty lips, savoring the honeyed peach and candied ginger he knew was still lingering on her tongue as he took his sweet time tasting her. He would have kissed her until she was smiling and giggling and sighing in that soft way she does when she’s really happy. 

She wasn’t his. So he didn’t. 

But he would dream about what it would be like if she was. 

“Looks better on me anyway,” Y/n told him with a grin, wandering off towards the next row of trees. 

Bucky could only watch as she walked away with his hat and his heart. He mumbled quietly to the peaches hanging nearby, “Yes, it does.” 

After their outing, their day trips became something they both looked forward to. It wasn’t their norm. In the past, they spent a lot of their time watching movies, sitting in the quiet enjoying each other’s company, or Bucky would read while she played and worked on her music. But this new normal was good, too. It was nice to see more than the seafoam green walls of her living room, and he would do just about anything if it made her happy. 

“Hey.” 

Bucky looked up from his spot on the couch to find Y/n standing next to him in those black skinny jeans that make his knees weak and a plain white t-shirt. He knew she was wearing that black lace bra of hers because he could make out the imprint of the lace against the delicate fabric of her shirt, and he recognized the design from an embarrassing mix-up on laundry day. Bucky couldn’t seem to find his voice so he met her gaze, a question lingering in his own eyes as he waited for her to spill whatever she was so excited about.

“Wanna take me out?” 

He laughed softly and closed the book in his hand. He found it funny that she still asked him that. The answer would always be yes. For her, it’s always yes. 

“I’ll take you wherever you wanna go, Y/n.”

They went out to dinner that night. It wasn’t anything lavish, but it was the right amount of rowdy. There was a band playing out on the patio and the music carried through the open doors to where they shared a small booth inside, it was loud but not so they couldn’t talk. She ordered pasta because pasta always makes her happy, and Bucky tries his hardest to make sure she’s happy. They talked a lot, well, she talked a lot. That wouldn’t be so strange if she hadn’t been so closed off the last eight months. 

Bucky let her talk about how she wanted to see if the band had any shows soon because she wanted to see them play in a better venue, and she told him she liked lights the restaurant had above the tables -- a large beam with hanging Edison bulbs wrapped around them. She talked about the funny picture of him Sam posted on Instagram. Bucky had rolled his eyes at that. Sam had the bad habit of taking candid photos of everyone, and he always posted the worst ones of Bucky. This one happened to be from the worst possible angle; the camera caught his mouth hanging wide open as Bucky took a bite out half of a cheese pizza, folded over and covered in potato chips. Some people eat pizza that way, it wasn’t weird or funny, and Bucky stood by that. The night was perfect, but even perfection has a few cracks if you look hard enough. 

Someone had mistaken them for a couple that night, and Bucky was quick to correct them. He informed the older man and his wife that she was his best friend, she was taken by another lucky man. It was all platonic Bucky had said. Y/n didn’t say anything. She watched Bucky charm the older couple and gave them a friendly smile and a wave as they walked away. 

“Platonic,” she muttered quietly once it was just them again. 

Bucky looked up from his half-eaten burger and ketchup soaked fries, took in the furrow of her brow, and the frown sitting where a smile was beaming only a few moments ago, and his heart sank. 

None of that was good. 

“Yeah, Trouble.” 

Bucky’s eyes dropped to the wedding band she was still wearing without meaning to, and she quickly pulled her hand under the table. The rest of dinner was quiet, and they didn’t speak about it again. 

--

They never talked about what happened at the farm or dinner that night, but whatever bothered her the night at the restaurant hadn’t caused a setback in the healing process as Bucky had feared. It seemed forgotten. Bucky was thankful for that, and he was thankful for days like today. Y/n wanted to spend the day at home, relaxing. She informed him that today would be perfect if she could spend the day with just him. She might have said something like, “I just want to spend today curled up on the couch watching movies with you.” Not that Bucky memorized the way her voice sounded when she said that or anything. 

Three movies into their marathon and Y/n declared they needed a break. She was going to figure out something to eat for dinner, and Bucky wasn’t sure how it happened, but he found himself upstairs, staring at a ghost. The letters Steve gave him have been tucked away in a drawer of the old desk that sat in the corner of his room. They caused him more heartache than Steve intended Bucky was sure. Or maybe this was exactly what Steve wanted. This was his punishment for loving her. Bucky tapped the letter on the desk and ran a hand down his face, Bucky had hoped they would disappear, and he wouldn’t have to look at them again, but there all twelve sat. 

A heavy-handed fist pounded on the front door, startling Bucky out of his trance and his stomach dropped at the sound. He wasn’t down there with Y/n, not that she needed him to answer the door, and lord knows if she knew he dared to even think about babying her like that, she would chew him out for a week straight. Still, he didn’t like leaving her completely on her own, not yet. Bucky tossed the letter back in the drawer, and hastily closed it before trampling downstairs. 

Bucky made out a familiar voice as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Well, you never answer your phone anymore, and I figured you were spending all your time with-” 

Her father met Bucky’s eyes, and he grinned.

“-Bucky. Well, shit, son. It’s good to see you home.” 

Bucky grinned and took the hand that was extended towards him. He hadn’t expected it to be her father at the door; he thought Sam or maybe Natasha. It made sense, though. No one has come by to check on her since he’s been home. It was about time they started to get visitors, and Y/n didn’t answer her phone much anymore, so if someone wanted to talk to her showing up like this was their only choice. Bucky knew she wasn’t doing that on purpose, she had to put some things off in order to keep going, and there wasn’t any shame in that. 

He was doing the very same thing. 

Y/n was uncomfortable, whether her dad knew Bucky wasn’t sure. Bucky knew, though. She hates small talk, so Bucky knew when Y/n said she was starting the grill, she just wanted a moment to breathe without being judged; a minute so she could prepare mentally for a guest when she didn’t want one. Bucky could keep her dad busy until she was ready for idle chit chat and undoubtedly Invasive questions. How hard could it be to keep up a conversation and look for a small fire on the porch? 

He could handle it; smoke meant they had to run. It would be fine. 

“I thought you would’ve stopped by before now.” 

Bucky passed over an amber-colored bottle from the fridge, taking a beer for himself and leaned against the counter. It probably wasn’t proper or how Steve would entertain him, but Bucky wasn’t Steve. He didn’t even know why he was thinking about that. This was still Steve’s house and his wife, no matter how much Bucky wished this life was his. 

“Well, I knew she was in good hands. She has you.” 

He smiled but shook his head. “I appreciate that. She’s probably helping me more than I’m helping her.” 

“I doubt that.” 

Bucky caved under the weight of his stare and grudgingly nodded his head in agreement (or cession depending on who you ask). He has yet to win an argument with her dad, and Bucky wasn't about to try to now. 

"We haven't had a chance to talk since you've been home. I've meaning to come by.  Y'know how much we love Steve; we always have." 

Bucky tried to keep his face impassive, his grip on the bottle in his hand tightened, and he could feel his stomach-churning. Where the hell was this going? 

“He was a good man and a good husband. Took care of Y/n, made sure she was happy and was always respectful.” 

Bucky relaxed some when he realized he was simply praising his lost friend, and he nodded, taking a swig of his beer to wash his guilt down. Yeah, that was Steve. The polished side of the coin. The hero, not the broken sidekick.The better of the two. Bucky heard the speech before; it was one truth he knew well. 

“But I always thought it was going to be you.” 

Bucky froze and by some small miracle managed to keep his face blank as the older man went on, “Even up to the day of the wedding I had this feeling one of the girls were going to come running in, flowers in their hair to tell me she ran off with you and the wedding was off.” 

Bucky huffed. “She would never do that.” 

Her dad smiled and nodded his agreement. “She wouldn’t, but you would have.”

Bucky licked his lips and dropped his gaze to the counter, not risking the chance the truth could be seen in his eyes. He couldn’t lie and say he didn’t think about it after Steve proposed. That he didn’t let it play out like some romantic drama in his head where he got to her just in time and told her the truth, the whole real, painful truth, and she loved him back all along. 

But she didn’t. She loved Steve, still did. 

It was obvious any time Steve was mentioned or when something reminded her of him. He could see it written all over her how much she still loved Steve, and Bucky couldn’t blame her. He still loved Steve too. Despite everything, Bucky loved them both. 

“Give her time to work through her grief, and I’m guessing you need to deal with your own. Losing someone you love is never easy. The time will come though when you both can move on. I’m not saying you’ll do that together or that I think you should, but there may be the chance to in the future. If you were looking for hope of some sort, well, that’s the best I can offer you.” 

Y/n had found her way back into the kitchen, no smoke in sight and their conversation ended there. It wasn’t one Bucky wanted to continue anyway. Not when the hope he was offering didn’t exist. Bucky tried to leave them alone so she could spend alone time with her dad, but she gave him the look, the one that pleaded with him to stay and tugged on his heart. So he stayed by her side until the stars were shining brightly and they were alone once again. 

Bucky had been more careful with his affection after that. He was meaningful in his touch and waited to make sure he meant each one. Not that it was that hard to do, he meant every one. When it came to Y/n, everything Bucky did had meaning, a purpose. 

Y/n had started asking him to go on a walk around sunset every night. It was getting cooler out now that autumn was right around the corner, and she liked to watch how everything around them changed -- slowly almost without notice.

Their walk tonight felt different. Things had changed between them, when Bucky didn’t know. He wasn’t sure what they had changed to, but he wasn’t going to question it. He was afraid if he did, she would realize her mistake, and all these small moments between them would stop. Halfway through their walk, Y/n had let her hands hang by her side instead of staying crossed over her chest. When they were kids, she would do that when she wanted Bucky to hold her hand, or maybe he imagined that she ever truly wanted to hold his hand. 

Bucky never could figure her out.

He never knew what she meant when she would lean in close to whisper something in his ear and pull away just as fast. When she would tease him and give him that giggle that had his heart stopping and restarting like an old engine that was about to give out. He could never tell if she felt something beyond what they already were; if she wanted him the way he wanted her. 

Her street was just up the hill, and Bucky finally gave in to the screaming in his chest because feeling her hand in his once more was all he could think about. He slowly slid his fingertips down her forearm until he reached her palm. He risked a peek at her as he laced their fingers together and caught the smile she was trying to hide by dropping her head to gaze down to her white high-tops and his black boots. 

Bucky didn’t know if Y/n wanted to hold his hand, and at this point, he wasn’t sure if he knew her as well as he thought, but he sure did love that smile.

Previous // Next

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #past!Steve Rogers x reader #alternate universe #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #tw: death of a spouse #tw: military death #military au #tw: character death

[ryukoishida]

Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Fic: [Ch 4] In which SQ drinks with YWS and YA barges in.

Title: You’re a Problem I Encounter Fandom: Qian Qiu / Thousand Autumns Characters/Ships: YanShen Rating: NSFW eventually Chapter: 4/? Summary: Yan Wushi was the proud leader of Huan Yue Group, one of the most influential syndicates in the underground world, who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. His accidental encounter with the pure-hearted school teacher Shen Qiao was a problem he didn’t expect to get entangled in. A/N: So, funny story, I didn’t plan for this AU to be more than just snippets of scenes and vignettes, so now that there’s actually a Plot, updates might be sporadic at best. Sorry folks :’)  List of Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4]

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iv. Fake Love

In the end, Shen Qiao conceded to at least meet with YuWen Yong and his son once before deciding whether or not to completely turn down Yan Wushi’s proposition. That was his begrudged way to make up for the stab wound that was still bleeding merrily on Yan Wushi’s upper arm.

At Shen Qiao’s defeated declaration, the leader of Huan Yue Group looked pleased and seemed unable to hide his grin despite his injury.

With a weary sigh, Shen Qiao reminded him that this was only because he didn’t want Yan Wushi to get any other weirder ideas.

Yan Wushi was completely okay with that.

(When Yan Wushi got back into his vehicle, Bian Yanmei’s brows immediately gathered into a concerned frown at the sight of his superior's injured arm and ruined shirt.

Yan Wushi was known to be a painstakingly meticulous man – everything from his speech, his gestures, the way he fought, the way he dressed – he would not allow anyone to see him in such a disarrayed state. Besides, who would even have the guts and the capability to leave a bloodied mark on the leader of one of the most feared organizations in the syndicate world?  

“Yan-dangjia, is… everything all right?” Bian Yanmei helped him clean and bandage his wound. Thankfully it wasn’t a deep one, but it was definitely going to leave a scar.

“Oh, it’s more than all right,” Yan Wushi said with an amused grin, and left it at that.)

-

Almost an entire month had passed before Shen Qiao and Yan Wushi crossed paths again. They agreed to meet up at a high-end urban lounge in downtown called Indigo Palace, which coincidentally turned out to be one of Yu Ai’s favourite drinking places in the city, and as one of his closest friends, Shen Qiao had long been familiar with the establishment though he rarely partook in alcoholic drinks.

His last visit here had been an unpleasant one, to say the least, and to return to Indigo Palace after that incident instilled a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if the moment he entered this place, he’d be swallowed up by abhorrent memories and be reminded of the once pure and innocent relationship he shared with Yu Ai had now been poisoned by betrayal and tainted with distrust.

Shen Qiao half-wondered if Yan Wushi picked this place on purpose; knowing his twisted personality, he wouldn’t be surprised if the leader of Huan Yue Group had found out about the connection between his kidnapping and Indigo Palace, and had specifically chosen to meet Shen Qiao here precisely because he wanted to see how he’d react.

No matter, he thought to himself with a bitter smile as he pushed the glass door and strolled in, jazzy lounge music immediately surrounding him like silken sheets, providing him a sort of mundane comfort that he found hard to explain.

Upon seeing Xuan Du Group leader’s adopted son, the concierge in charge of taking care of patrons at the entrance and filtering troublemakers and drunkards instantly plastered on a striking smile and lowered himself into a respectful bow in greeting, to which Shen Qiao warily nodded in return.

“Is Shen-shaoye meeting a friend here? Will you require a private room at all?”

“There’s no need, thank you,” Shen Qiao replied and was about to head straight into the seating area when he changed his mind and turned to ask, “do you happen to know if someone of Huan Yue Group is already here?”

“Speaking of the devil…” the concierge’s face twisted into an expression akin to a mixture of aversion and dread at the mention of such person, “Yan Wushi came in about fifteen minutes ago, claiming he’s here to meet someone. What does the leader of a rival group want from us? Is he trying to pick a fight with Qi-dangjia or something?”

“Where is he seated?” Shen Qiao hoped the clueless boy didn’t actually say or do anything to irate Yan Wushi for real, or he was certain the concierge wouldn’t survive even if he were given ten extra lives to spare.

“At the far end of the bar,” the concierge informed him with a sour look, “Gu-jie is keeping an eye on him in case he starts something.”

A good call on Gu Hengbo’s part, Shen Qiao mused with approval, and thanked the concierge before heading in.

Unlike a lot of pubs and bars in the downtown area, Indigo Palace boasted of tasteful décor, delectable drinks, and professional service. Most patrons were here to relax after a long, grueling day at the office nearby and just wanted to relax with a drink and some venting to their friends and colleagues; others through connections with Xuan Du Group might be here in one of the lounge’s VIP private rooms to deal business of the clandestine and illegal kind. Tonight, it looked just like any other evenings of a workday: men and women in loosened ties and wrinkled blouses chattered quietly in their own secluded circles, expensive drinks in hand.

Shen Qiao meandered his way to the far end of the room where the bar was located, the wall of colourful bottles of alcohol and syrup gleaming with a mystical glow under the subdued lighting of the lounge.

“Shen-dage!” the bartender was the one who spotted Shen Qiao first, and she greeted him with a bright grin and a friendly little wave after putting away the last glass she was wiping clean.  

“Hengbo,��� Shen Qiao smiled warmly at the young woman, who was like a little sister to him since she started training and working under Qi Fengge’s tutelage. The four of them – Shen Qiao, Gu Hengbo, Yu Ai, and Tan Yuanchun – shared a close relationship like siblings due to their ages being relatively close. Though as they grew to have their own group of friends and social obligations, Shen Qiao would never think to abandon or cut ties with the three of them no matter how differently they lived their lives.

Gu Hengbo rushed to the side of the bar closest to Shen Qiao and began to prattle away, “Shen-dage, what have you been up to? It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you! And you know Yu-dage, he wouldn’t tell me anything even if I’m being my most charming self.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to come in to see you sooner,” Shen Qiao smiled apologetically, petting the younger woman on the head with the kind of gentle affection that he only allowed when he was with people that he felt comfortable with. “Work has been… well, you know how it can get.”

Shen Qiao wasn’t good at lying, so the best he could do was avoiding the topic all together. From what he could surmise, Gu Hengbo still didn’t know that he’d been fired from his previous job, nor did she seem to be aware of the kidnapping incident.

“Ah-Qiao, you’ve kept me waiting.”

Before Shen Qiao could continue his conversation with Gu Hengbo, they were rudely interrupted by that oh-so-familiar drawl that could only belong to one person.

“Shen-dage, you know that man?” Gu Hengbo was actually about to tell him to stay away from Yan Wushi. She’d never met the infamous leader of Huan Yue Group herself, but she’d heard enough about the man, and given his dubious reputation, it didn’t make her feel any easier to see her beloved sworn brother getting acquainted with such a dangerous and controversial character, even by the standards of Xuan Du’s lawless nature.

“Unfortunately,” Shen Qiao only said drily, “don’t worry about him. He’s here to see me.”

Shen Qiao sighed, already feeling the start of a headache brewing in his temples, but his upbringing dictated him to greet Yan Wushi with as much courtesy as he could muster under the circumstances.

“Yan-dangjia, I see you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” he folded himself onto the bar stool next to Yan Wushi and was careful to keep a safe distance between them.

“I’ve got to say,” Yan Wushi swirled his drink in a tulip glass, the liquid inside a glistening rich amber, “I would never have expecte this place to serve such excellent cognac.”

“You have Hengbo to thank then,” Shen Qiao said, nodding towards the bartender who was looking at them curiously out of the corner of her eyes, “she’s the one who makes all the purchases here, and she does have an eye for good liquor.”

Yan Wushi raised his glass towards Gu Hengbo with an appreciative hum. She returned the gesture with a curt nod, eyes cold and guarded.  

“And what will you have?” Yan Wushi wanted to know after taking another sip of his cognac.

“Hengbo, can I have my usual please?”

“Of course,” Gu Hengbo happily made his order with elegant ease, measuring out and pouring different liquids into the silver drink mixer. The resulting solution was a pale foggy citrine fluid poured over ice chips into a copper mug and topped with a sprig of mint leaves and a thinly-sliced wedge of lime.

She slid the beverage across the lacquered bar top, but a hand intercepted the mug before it could reach Shen Qiao.

“Yan-dangjia…”  

“Moscow Mule?” Yan Wushi leaned in a little closer to take a whiff, a brow raising up before passing the drink off to Shen Qiao at last. “Virgin?”

“Do you have a problem with my order?”

“Not at all,” Yan Wushi smiled easily behind his glass, “I’m merely interested in what Ah-Qiao’s favourite drink is, that’s all.”

Instead of reacting to Yan Wushi’s comment, Shen Qiao took a much-needed gulp of his drink. The refreshing lime flavor and the spicy-sweetness of the ginger beer instantly cleared up his mind and made him feel better, slightly less annoyed by Yan Wushi’s presence and the brazen way the man kept staring at him while he drank.

Yan Wushi finally spoke after he watched Shen Qiao finished half of his drink.

“Well, how did it go?”

“I imagine you’ve already talked with YuWen Yong, so why are you asking me?” Shen Qiao cradled the mug with both of his hands. He was staring quite hard into the cup as if the answer lay somewhere deep in the bottom of his drink.

“I’d like to hear your side of things, too, Ah-Qiao,” Yan Wushi sounded almost genuine that it made Shen Qiao pause.

“How much did he tell you?” Shen Qiao turned to face the other man, gaze remaining hesitant.

“He sounded impressed, which is a rare occurrence for that man, so that’s saying something. He was also quite upset that you rejected his offer. I heard he’d even proposed to help you re-instate your position at your old academy, or give you a recommendation to an even more distinguished institution.”

“There’s no point in getting a position if it weren’t earned by my own merits,” there was something unshakable in the steady tone of Shen Qiao’s voice that fascinated Yan Wushi.

“There’s no shame in relying on someone else’s help now and then,” Yan Wushi reminded him matter-of-factly.

“That’s where you and I differ, Yan-dangjia,” Shen Qiao said in an equally pragmatic tone.

“I wonder…” the corner of Yan Wushi’s lips curved up in a subtle degree as he leaned closer towards Shen Qiao, the amber liquid in his glass churning with a mesmerizing pattern, “or perhaps you just haven’t hit your lowest point yet.”

As if sensing Yan Wushi’s sudden unwelcome proximity, Shen Qiao quietly shifted his body back with just enough precision and poise that it looked like he was merely changing his position of sitting by crossing his legs the other way naturally.  

“I don’t mind YuWen Yong,” Shen Qiao continued as if that little display of push-and-pull – a silent, deadly waltz – didn’t happen, “as a politician, he has done beneficial deeds for the public and he has good intentions, even if the means to his goals were a little… unscrupulous.”

“So, the problem lies not with him but with his son?”

Shen Qiao nodded grimly.

“I did say that brat’s a handful,” Yan Wushi laughed. “I take it that means you met YuWen Yun as well?”

“YuWen Yong insisted that I at least talked with his son first before making my final decision, so I did.”

“And?” Yan Wushi’s eyes brightened with interest.

He couldn’t avoid interacting with the boy since he was always having meetings with YuWen Yong at the politician’s mansion, but the few times they were forced to talk had been… well, let’s just say that if he didn’t have favorable business ties with YuWen Yong, Yan Wushi wouldn’t have tried as hard to prevent himself from throttling the bratty teenager with his own two hands. He wanted to know what Shen Qiao – a teacher who was experienced in communicating with children of different personalities and attitudes – might think of someone like YuWen Yun, who many would label a problematic child upon their first meeting with him.

“I’ll admit, academically speaking, he’s smart for his age. And maybe far too clever for his own good in other ways.”

“Oh?”

After another sip of his drink, Shen Qiao continued, “he played the role of a perfect high school student and the son of a respectable government official in front of me: bright, polite, just the right level of charm and playfulness, but there was something not quite right – I could see it in his eyes.”

“I didn’t know Shen-laoshi is an expert in physiognomy, too,” Yan Wushi commented with amusement.

“It has nothing to do with physical facial traits,” Shen Qiao said, “call it an instinct—”

“Ah-Qiao!”

The familiar voice made Shen Qiao freeze and his fingers tightened around the copper mug with such force that his knuckles were turning white. He bit his lower lip to stop the words that were about to rush out of his mouth; there were things he’d like to say, but he also knew that once some words were laid out bare, he could never take them back.

But Shen Qiao couldn’t – shouldn’t – run away anymore. Sooner or later, he’d have to face Yu Ai and their crumbling friendship, and what it meant to Xuan Du Group as a whole.

“Ah-Qiao, what are you doing with that bastard?” Yu Ai was now standing directly behind Shen Qiao, his eyes glaring daggers at the unwelcome guest. He’d heard from his own informants that Shen Qiao had started to mingle with some high-level member of Huan Yue Group, but never would he imagine the protagonist of the rumor was none other than the syndicate leader himself.  

Yan Wushi snickered, absolutely unperturbed by the pointed name-calling.

“You have the face to call me a bastard? I’m not the one who betrayed his own brother behind his boss’s back, am I?”

“You—!” Yu Ai was this close to pulling out his revolver despite being in public with witnesses and civilians all around.

At the exact moment that Tan Yuanchun grasped at Yu Ai’s bicep to stop him, Shen Qiao got off the stool and turned around sharply to face his sworn brothers.

“Yu Ai, that’s enough. There are people watching.”

He’d called him by his full name, Yu Ai noticed with a grimace. He didn’t think it would sting this much.

“Ah-Qiao…” Yu Ai seemed relieved that Shen Qiao was at least talking to him, and after sending another dark glare at Yan Wushi for good measure, he suggested in a softer tone as if any sudden or loud noise would scare Shen Qiao away again, “let’s find somewhere quieter. I’ve been meaning to talk to you since…since you quit your job.”

Shen Qiao raised his brows at the painfully awkward pause but said nothing.

“Ah-Qiao, for Tan-dage’s sake, will you hear Ah-Ai out just this once?” Tan Yuanchun opened his mouth for the first time that night, and Shen Qiao couldn’t say no to the benign face of his elder sworn brother.

“Please excuse us for a moment, Yan-dangjia.”

“Of course,” Yan Wushi didn’t even turn to see them go.

“Hengbo, are there any available spare rooms in the VIP area tonight?” Yu Ai called over to Gu Hengbo, who’d been furtively listening in on their conversation as she pretended to mix drinks for patrons.

“Sure,” Gu Hengbo only tripped over her own feet a little when Yu Ai unexpectedly summoned her. “Follow me.”

-

The music was entirely shut out by the soundproof walls of the private room, in which Shen Qiao had sat down on one end of the lush cushioned bench and Yu Ai and Tan Yuanchun had perched on the one that was set perpendicular.

Shen Qiao looked over at Yu Ai expectantly.

From this single expression, Yu Ai knew he’d been found out and that there was no use in covering up anymore, but it was still incredibly difficult for him to start, so he began with small talks, which he knew Shen Qiao hated.    

“H-how have you been holding up? If you’re having financial troubles, I can—”

Shen Qiao’s usually warm brown eyes hardened into cold sepia behind the icy glare of his lenses.

“If you’re that concerned about my wellbeing, then why did you do what you did in the first place?” Shen Qiao demanded. He never demanded anything of anyone – he asked, prodded, requested – but he didn’t like forcing answers out of others unless he was desperate, and right now, he was desperate – frantic and forlorn for the answer that he somehow knew he wouldn’t get from Yu Ai.

He didn’t wait for Yu Ai to confirm his suspicion, and with a sad smile brimming with thick, heavy disappointment that was almost tangible in the air, Shen Qiao said, “it was you, wasn’t it?”

Yu Ai inhaled sharply but didn’t have the heart to deny it.

“You doped my drink that night under the pretense of wanting to have a confidential chat with me about your crush on some woman working under you, when all you wanted was for me to fall unconscious so you can hand me over to Sang Jingxing like a wrapped gift. And for what? Money? A higher position within He Huan Group? What is it? What did Sang Jingxing and Yuan Xiuxiu offer you that made you decide to betray father’s trust… my trust?”

At the end of his rant, Shen Qiao was exhausted, the ice in his eyes melted into nothing but a muddy puddle of confusion, the strength leaving him as suddenly as the heat of frustration had struck just a moment earlier.

“I didn’t mean for the whole thing to go so far,” Yu Ai said weakly, his gaze downcast as he continued in a listless whisper, “Sang Jingxing… that sonovabitch went too far; he wasn’t supposed to hurt you. The initial plan was to just keep you imprisoned, give you a scare, make you reconsider your position…”

“My position…?” Shen Qiao’s brows gathered into a bewildered frown.

“Xuan Du Group needs a leader; we need you. Yet you keep dodging your responsibilities by detaching yourself from Xuan Du, pretending to live amongst civilians like you’re better than the rest of us.”

“I don’t —” Shen Qiao was startled by the raw animosity in Yu Ai’s voice, the bitter scorn etched so agonizingly obvious and real on his face. Had Yu Ai always thought of him this way? Shen Qiao was torn in pondering between this hidden side of Yu Ai and the equally true state of Yu Ai breaking his trust, even if his intention had not been as malevolent as Shen Qiao had initially thought. He just didn’t understand why Yu Ai had to go through such farce to get them here.

“It doesn’t matter now, Ah-Qiao,” Yu Ai said with a resigned exhale, and he glanced up to see the younger man staring at him with wide, lost eyes. He thought maybe he’d finally found the metaphoric chink in Shen Qiao’s always immaculate and perfect armor, and Yu Ai was not one to waste opportunities. “What matters is that you come back to Xuan Du with us. Qi-dangjia, the elders, and all the younger members will be so happy to welcome you back with open arms as their young master.”

Shen Qiao shook his head slowly but firmly; though disbelief was evident on his pale face, it didn’t erase the lucidity that still dominated his mind.

“Xuan Du has father, and father has you and Tan-dage. Hengbo, too. She’s becoming very good at managing Indigo Palace, so father should feel confident to gradually let her handle Xuan Du’s other affairs.”

“But none of us is the true heir of Xuan Du,” Yu Ai said, a sliver of impatience was slipping into his voice. “Qi-dangjia had always wanted you to be his successor eventually, despite the free reigns he gives you, but you wouldn’t quit your civilian job and we’re running out of time, so I figure…”

Yu Ai swallowed hard, and he wished he had something to drink to rid of the lump in his throat, but he pushed on, “I figure we’ve got to do something to force you to quit and rejoin Xuan Du before Qi-dangjia’s condition gets any worse…”

“Father’s condition…? What do you mean?” Shen Qiao cut in with widened eyes. “The last time I went back home…”

The last time Shen Qiao had went back for a visit, Qi Fengge had been taking more medications than Shen Qiao had last remembered, and he’d asked his adoptive father about it, to which the leader of Xuan Du only replied with a tired but genuine smile, “ah, it’s nothing a few more pills and a strict diet won’t fix. You know how it is – it’s the fun part of getting old.”

“I didn’t realize…” Shen Qiao murmured, eyes darkening and fingers gathered into fists partly from remorse of not noticing the gravity of Qi Fengge’s worsening condition sooner and partly from fury that nobody had thought to let him know.

“Qi-dangjia instructed us to not tell you,” Tan Yuanchun said, “he didn’t want to worry you.”

“Do you even know what’s happening within the inner circle of Xuan Du Group right now?” Yu Ai asked with a tense mutter, but the volume of his voice only increased with intensity from there. “The elders are shitting themselves because the group’s losing money, and they’re saying Qi-dangjia is the one to blame for running the organization like it was still the good, old golden days. Now that some of them are aware of his deteriorating condition, they’re going to find any damn excuse to kick Qi-dangjia out of the leader’s seat. Are you going to let those old dogs do that to your father? After all Qi-dangjia has done for you, do you have the heart to leave Xuan Du the way it is now?”

With his chest still heaving from the outburst, Yu Ai could hear the crevices in Shen Qiao’s armor crackling and multiplying, the gashes widening and seeping blood.

“I—” Shen Qiao rose halfway from his seat.

And then the door to the private room swung open.

“Do you enjoy teasing me by keeping me waiting, Ah-Qiao?”

#qian qiu #thousand autumns #shan he jian xin #yanshen #bowie's crappy writing

[kessel-fun]

so what did we think of The Bad Batch S1 (spoilers duh)

well that sure was a star wars cartoon sgafsagbxcswvsbcnd i thought it was pretty good when it wasn't very blatant filler, i enjoyed the characters for the most part, and it obviously looks amazing. i feel like a lot of people felt let down by this show not having some profound message, or being super socially conscious. but like. did we really expect that from lucasfilm ?? idk, i don't really feel let down by this or anything, but it mostly was just a standard star wars story. i did end up liking omega a lot more than i thought i would, she was really only annoying in those filler episodes i mentioned earlier. i sorta liked hunter, im not a huge fan of the stoic leader archetype. ALSO WHILE IM ON OMEGA AND HUNTER, PLEASE STAR WARS STOP MAKING THE SAME SHOW. "serious guy adopts funny baby" was already played out even before mando did it. but that's whatever, it didn't really impede my enjoyment of the show. back to characters, i think echo sorta stands out as a pretty odd character in this show, given that he almost always acts exactly like hunter. it's weird and i really think they could've done a lot more with him, maybe get into what he thinks about the situation more, seeing all of his brothers being replaced by conscripted soldiers. wrecker was.. fine ?? i liked that he and omega were just besties but other than that he didn't really have much going on, just the strong dumb one. tech felt very underutilized, which was a bummer because i really enjoyed him in TCW S7, he felt needlessly cold at times, but i did enjoy how he kinda told off crosshair in the finale. and crosshair..... was probably one of my fave characters ?? the way they switched perspectives between him with the empire and the bad batch reminded me a LOT of the story telling in the original trilogy, switching between the factions to show us what's going on on both sides. im confused on what he meant by having his chip removed a long time ago, i really don't get why he'd stay with the empire, like what just made him fucking evil gasvdbsvcgdshvdf. but i thought he was cool, he really stole the show whenever he was on screen. i really liked the stuff with the empire, seeing how they operate. the new disney canon has a LOT of time that they need to fill in, and i really enjoy what they're doing with it so far. something that stuck out to me was the cool bases built into like mountains n shit on remote planets, THAT'S SO COOL and really shows how much other shit the empire had going on. god. the art direction is so good. i reeeeally loved seeing the TK trooper armor be based off of the concept art for stormtroopers, i think that's a good way to adapt the ralph mcquarrie concept art, do it sparingly (unlike rebels lol) one thing i DISLIKE HEAVILY is the reliance on prequel era stuff in modern star wars. i know im just a little hater but i really dislike the prequels and really want to see more stuff taking place during the galactic civil war/after the sequels. although this soooooorta gets a pass bc it's during the dark times so. whatever. uh. i think that's all i really have to say. this is really unorganized sorry. i enjoyed most of the main cast and the antagonists, the story driven episodes were really great, the filler was not so great, and the overall aesthetic of the show is just. mwah chefs kiss. I AM GIVING THE BAD BATCH SEASON 1 A......... 7/10

okay goodbye forever now

#the bad batch #bad batch spoilers #tbb #hunter #echo #tech #wrecker #omega #crosshair #clones #empire #star wars #stormtrooper #the clone wars

[star-six7]

Running Away and Hiding With You

Mikey Way x Gender Neutral!Reader (ending 1 of 4 for Here In This House of Wolves)

Word Count: 1444

A/N: Here’s the Mikey ending! The others will be posted today and tomorrow, hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is entirely a work of fiction. No part of this story is meant to be libel, slander, or in any way derogatory towards any character’s real life counterpart. I’m not delusional; I know that these characters are simply based off of a public persona and may not actually resemble the people behind those personas. Any additional characters that you do not recognize are entirely fictional, unless otherwise stated. And finally, if you got here by Googling yourself, whatever happens next is 100% on you.

You began to fidget as you listened to the hosts explain the rules for the walkthrough. While you knew that they were likely playing it up for their own enjoyment, seeing as the band were likely the first visitors they had had in a long time, you couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious. They urged everyone not to run, panic, or get separated, as it was apparently very easy to become disoriented. Yikes. 

“Hey,” someone whispered from your left. You turned and noticed Mikey had edged his way out of the group to stand next to you. “You look a little green.”

“Oh. Uh. Just not convinced that we’re not about to get murdered. Or kidnapped.” You were slightly embarrassed that you were visibly nervous about a volunteer-run, small town haunted house, especially in front of Mikey. Though it was silly, there was still a part of you that had never gotten over the “impress him” phase of your crush.  

Mikey glanced up towards the others and smiled. “Honestly? I’m not crazy about the whole thing either. Let’s go.”

And before you knew what was happening, Mikey took your arm and led you out the door before the others even had a chance to turn around.

After a few minutes of standing by the van, waiting to see if anyone else would follow, you felt the need to break the silence. “I didn’t mean to talk you out of going.” “Not at all. I love Gerard and all, but sometimes his sense of self-preservation…”

“Or lack thereof,” you finished.

“Exactly. You wanna try and find Main Street? I’m pretty sure I saw an ice-cream shop or something back there.”

---

After a few dead ends and wrong turns, you and Mikey ended up being the only two customers in the ice-cream shop. When the bored-looking teenager running the store handed you your cone, you moved over to lean against the window and watched as Mikey agonized over his order. You tried in vain to hide your smile as he finally decided on a quadruple scoop (chocolate, vanilla, mint chip, and cookie dough, to be exact) with sprinkles, and of course, a cherry on top.

“What?” He pretended to be offended as he noticed your barely concealed laughter. “Can’t a man be particular about his ice cream without being mocked for it?” Your snickering turned into full-blown laughter, which only led to Mikey cracking up with you. Moments like these reminded you exactly why you fell for Mikey in the first place. Though he seemed so quiet and reserved to others, he was funny, kind, smart, and an amazing friend when you got to know him. You suspected it was part of the reason he seemed to know everyone, even the most casual acquaintance, so well. He kept his cards close to his chest. Which, unfortunately, made it almost impossible to tell if he returned your feelings.

When you were finished, and Mikey had eaten enough of his ice-cream to the point where it wasn’t about to topple onto the sidewalk, you decided to wander down the street some more, hoping to fill the time before the others were done. Or murdered. A few minutes later, Mikey tugged on your sleeve as you were staring into the storefront of a tiny antique shop.

“Check it out,” he said, pointing to a Halloween store across the street. He looped his arm through yours as you stepped off the curb.

Unsurprisingly, being a member of My Chemical Romance and entering a Halloween store was the equivalent of a kid walking into a Toys ‘R Us with a 200 dollar gift card. You and Mikey practically ran to the center display, an homage to some of the greatest cult-classic horror movies of all time. You quizzed each other on your favorites, seeing who could get the reference first and retelling the best parts. Soon enough, you moved on to the costume section, where it turned into a contest of who could find the creepiest mask or most grotesque makeup kit. Finally, the excitement began to wind down as the two of you got to the decorations.

“Oh, hey. Spiders. We should totally get Frankie a little present,” you said, smirking.

Mikey shook his head. “And wake up to a knife in my pillow? No thanks.”

“Or bats,” you suggested. “They’re pretty cool. Everyone likes bats.”

You dug through the bin until you landed on one at the very bottom. “Look!” You held it up so he could see. It was a plush bat wearing a red scarf and a pair of glasses. “It’s you. I’m totally getting it.”

For reasons unknown to you, he couldn’t quite keep the smile off his face as you tugged him over to the register.

Not long after you had left the store, Mikey glanced at his watch. “Oh shit,” he muttered. “It’s been almost two hours. There’s no way they’re not done by now, we gotta get back to the van.”

“Definitely. Death by Brian isn’t exactly how I want to go.”

---

Much to both your and Mikey’s surprise, the van was empty when you got back to the haunted house. 

“Damn it, Gerard,” you sighed. “I knew there were murderers in there.”

Mikey snorted. “Gerard wishes.”

“Oh yeah. Him and his melodrama.”

The conversation lapsed back into a comfortable silence as you stared at the doors of the building, wondering when the others would come back.

“Damn,” Mikey exhaled as he turned his collar up against the now-biting fall wind. “Wish I had thought to snag the keys from Brian before we made our great escape.”

You shuffled into his side. “Well, I can take your mind off it, at least.”

“How so?”

“By giving you your gift, of course.” You pulled the bat out of the bag. “Here. So you’ll always remember the one Halloween where you chose to be sensible with me and escape certain doom.”

Mikey smiled as he took the plush. He turned it over in his hands a few times before his expression became more serious. “So, I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you why I really asked you to come with me. Aside from escaping homicide, of course.” He swallowed, apparently trying to rid himself of nerves. “I… I really like spending time with you. I mean, I’ll take it any way I can get it. Remember that time I volunteered to walk a mile and a half in the snow with you to get that can of gas?”

You laughed, trying to ignore the way you felt your heartbeat quickening hopefully.

“Well… I guess what I’m trying to say is that I really like you in general. All of you, all the time, not just when we’re going on wild adventures or playing shows. And I understand if you want to pretend I didn’t just say all of that, or if you’re worried about the band, but. You deserve to know. Just… don’t leave me hanging, okay?”

“Mikey, I… I really like you too. And whatever happens next, with Warner, or the record, or- or any of it, I want it to be with you. All of you, all the time.” The slightly apprehensive look on Mikey’s face gave way to a smile that could rival your own. 

And, of course, the rest of the band chose that exact moment to come crashing through the doors of the building, running like hell.

“Unlock it, unlock it, unlock it!” Gerard yelped, as he pushed past you and MIkey, banging on the door of the van. He looked more pale than you had ever seen him, an impressive fate given his usual stage makeup. 

“I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but, I told you so,” Brian sighed as he unlocked the doors to the van. Frank, who had been snickering the entire time, ratcheted up his laughter into a full-blown cackle, which of course, caused Ray to shove him, and they both fell into yet another wrestling match on the floor of the van. You and Mikey climbed in over them, your subtly intertwined hands gone unnoticed in the chaos. Up front, Brian was griping about not being able to find the map, and Gerard was staring pensively out the window, likely about to start writing a song about his near-death experience. Apparently, almost being murdered couldn’t put a damper on the strange chaos you now called home.

“Everybody ready?” Brian called, glancing in the rearview. 

You looked down at your hand in Mikey’s and smiled. Yeah, you were definitely ready. For this tour and whatever came next.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Stay tuned for the other endings, and as always, requests are open!

#mcr imagine #my chemical romance imagine #mikey way imagine #mikey way x reader #mcr x reader #my chemical romance x reader #mikey way #mcr #my chem #my chemical romance #bandom #bandom imagine #choose your own ending #gerard way #ray toro #frank iero

[sunlightdances]

Happy Mistake (College!Bucky x Reader Oneshot)

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Request from @jbbuckybarnes​: Being assigned roommates with modern!Bucky. He's a giant and looks like he's a bully, but he's actually so shy and soft. Author’s Note: *It’s been 84 years.gif* So sorry this took so long! Note: There’s note writing in this fic - italics are the Reader, and bold are from Bucky. PS - I listened to the playlist “Relaxing Classical Strings” on Spotify whilst writing and I highly recommend it. Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes, Marvel, or any related characters from the MCU. Please don’t repost my work on any other sites (including collections or hosting sites) without my permission! Reblogs are gold. I’d love to hear from you if you like this!

You’re sweating a little as you unpack your last box, wondering why colleges always pick the absolute hottest day of the year to have everyone move in.

You step back and admire your work - your bookshelf is organized and you’ve got one of your favorite scented candles burning on your nightstand. You can already picture yourself studying here, and staying up too late drinking homemade cocktails with your roommate.

Loud voices from the living room draw your attention, and you feel those nervous butterflies - you hope you get along with your roommate for this year. Last year was definitely an adventure, and not in a good way. You’re just praying this person is nice and considerate.

Heading out to the common area you stop in your tracks, seeing three guys lugging in boxes. They smile at you a little curiously, but don’t say much. You look around them for your roommate, but you have no idea what they look like. You’re a little embarrassed to admit that you can’t remember what their name is either - you lost that handy piece of information almost immediately after it was mailed to your parents’ house over the summer.

“Hi,” One of the guys says, holding out his hand. He’s tall, well built, with dark hair that looks like he spent an hour coiffing it just right. His eyes are the most distracting thing about him. “I’m James, but everyone calls me Bucky.”

You smile and tell him your name. “I’m waiting for my roommate - are you helping her move in?”

His smile fades. “Are you kidding?”

You feel your face get hot. “... No?”

He stares at you so intensely you can practically feel it. “Where’s your friend? Are you helping him?”

“Holy shit, dude.” His friend - large, blonde, and a smile out of a magazine - says, laughing.

James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We have to go to the RA. I think they made a mistake.”

You frown. “What are you talking about? How would you even know? You’re not--”

“Your roommate? It’s me.” He digs in his pocket for a letter from the University, handing it to you. Right there, in bold letters, it reads James Barnes, Easton Hall, 305.

Your stomach sinks when you realize what happened. “Oh. Right -- I don’t know how this could have happened.”

He groans, turning to his friend. “Remember when you said moving in for a second year would be easy? You’re a jinx.”

You fold your arms over your stomach, trying to stave off the urge to cry. It’s not your fault or his fault, but you just wished this wasn’t happening. You just wanted an easy year for once.

“Hey,” James’ friend says, looking at you with so much concern you almost believe you’ve known him longer than 5 minutes. “It’s going to be fine.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“God. Stop flirting.” James complains, elbowing Steve.

Steve looks annoyed, “Shut up. Let’s go fix this before one or both of you are homeless.”

The RA was almost zero help. They gave you plenty of sympathetic looks, but otherwise had no idea what to do to fix your situation.

Back in the dorm, you sit helplessly on the end of your bed, trying to ignore James on the phone in the common area.

You look up when he comes into the room, knocking lightly on the door frame. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You reply, wondering if you look as pathetic as you feel. Your insides are a twisted up ball of anxiety.

“The admissions office was no help. They said they’d have to sort it out and with everyone moving in, they might not have a free room for either of us for a few days.”

You nod, and he tilts his head slightly to one side. “Hey, this isn’t your fault.”

You huff. “I know, I just-- I wanted this year to be better than last year and it’s already off to a terrible start.”

His eyes are sparkling a little as he pretends to be offended. “Most girls would be excited at the prospect of sharing a dorm with me, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes. “I guess you better get unpacked. Who knows when or if they’ll ever get back to you.”

He winks so you know he was joking before. “You can call me Bucky,” he says offhandedly. “All my friends do.”

.

.

.

That was three months ago, and you’re still living with Bucky Barnes.

You’re making it work, but it’s still an awkward conversation every time you have friends over. You still haven’t told your parents.

You’re an adult, but you’re still sure your Dad would flip knowing you’re living with a very eligible bachelor. Very eligible, as you’ve learned.

You’ve never met someone who goes on as many dates as Bucky does. Some of them you’re positive are just friends, and he invites you out with them sometimes, but it still feels weird. Most of the time you stay in, opting to study instead of third wheeling it with Bucky.

You’ve taken to leaving each other notes around the dorm when the other one is out - the only way you can think to get a message across sometimes.

All out of milk, stop at the store on your way home?

You leave that message taped to the fridge in the morning when you leave before him, and when you get home in the afternoon, there’s a new note in its place.

Forgot the milk, but got chocolate chip cookies. Priorities? Then, scrawled smaller, (sorry. Will buy in the morning)

You roll your eyes, but eat two of the cookies while you’re doing your homework later that night after dinner.

The next morning, you hear the door a few times and are just about ready to open your bedroom door and throw a fit when you hear Bucky shush someone.

“Dude, can you please speak at a normal volume for someone at six in the morning? She’s asleep--”

“Sorry, I’m a morning person.” You recognize Steve’s voice and roll your eyes, rolling back over and hoping for a few more hours of sleep before your first class.

Meanwhile, Bucky follows Steve out of the dorm, trying to keep his steps light and quiet as he shuts the door behind them.

Steve chuckles, and Bucky glares. Pretty standard for this pair of friends.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just so worried about her. It’s cute.” He ducks away from Bucky’s punch.

“Shut up.”

“Really, dude. Don’t think I missed the way you looked at her on move-in day. When are you going to do something about it?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, “It’s a bad idea.” Steve scoffs, and Bucky continues, “Seriously. We’re roommates. If something happened and it didn’t work out--”

“How do you know it won’t work out?”

“Just drop it, okay?”

Steve shakes his head, but doesn’t push it any further. Bucky swallows his feelings down, down, down. He can at least admit to himself that Steve’s right about one thing: when he first met you and thought you were his roommate’s friend or sister or something, he was ready to lay on the charm.

You’re beautiful, and funny, and there’s something about you that sticks with him like glue. He can’t shake the feeling, and he really doesn’t want to.

But he’s afraid, too. Because what if it does ruin everything? If he’s honest, you’re the best roommate he’s ever had. And not just because the dynamic between you two is good, even though that’s definitely part of it. But you’re courteous, and you do small things like set the coffee maker up the night before so there’s hot coffee on mornings when he gets up earlier than you do.

You leave him a reminder on the kitchen counter not to forget his notebook, the one with the torn cover that he always loses. You check on him if he’s staying up too late and you make sure to buy the ice cream he likes when it’s your turn to do the shopping.

It’s like you actually care about him beyond just being his roommate, and he’s never felt that kind of connection with anyone before.

At that, he has to keep himself from stopping dead in his tracks as he walks with Steve.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

.

.

.

Bucky comes home while you’re tugging on a sweater, getting ready to leave for your first class. You lean out of the door, smiling, but he heads straight for the shower and shuts the bathroom door.

You frown; it’s unlike him to ignore you completely.

You figure he’s tired after his run with Steve, but can’t get rid of the niggling worry in the back of your mind that something’s wrong.

The day drags on, and you find yourself nearly falling asleep during your last class - your mind elsewhere and attention lacking. Towards the end of class, you text Bucky, asking him if he’s going to be home for dinner.

No response.

Not unusual, but to your anxiety brain? You immediately start thinking the worst. You’re replaying every conversation from the last week, trying to remember if you’ve done anything that could have possibly made him upset.

When you get home, his bedroom door is shut, but the light is on. You try to go about business as usual, writing him a note that there’s dinner in the fridge and sliding it under the door when he still doesn’t come out, even after an hour of meal prepping.

Taking the hint, you take your own meal into your bedroom and shut the door.

After an hour or so, you try not to feel hurt when you hear his door opening, and then the sound of the front door. No matter how hard you try not to take it personally, you can’t help it when your stomach sinks.

He doesn’t come back that night.

Or the next two.

By day three, you’ve moved on from hurt and have settled on anger.

There are no more notes, no anything to indicate that he’s been in the dorm at all and has just missed you. There’s nothing.

This goes on for a few more days before you’re sitting on the couch, listening to a key being put in the lock. Your heart starts to race, and you sort of hate yourself for leaning forward, waiting for him to step into view.

It’s not Bucky.

Steve looks sheepish, even a little upset as he gives you a wave, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Hey,” he says quietly. “I’m uh-- Bucky asked me to get a few things.”

You don’t even know what to say. This feels like a break up, except you and Bucky have never been together, and you have no idea why he’s not sleeping here, or why he’s not talking to you.

Your throat starts to tighten as you fight off the threat of tears.

And it’s worse because Steve looks embarrassed, and he looks sorry for you and he’s so nice, and you hate it. You don’t want him to pity you.

You just watch helplessly as he goes into Bucky’s room, the sound of drawers opening and closing the only thing you hear for a few minutes before he comes back, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Look, I-- I told him he should talk to you. I don’t really know what happened--”

“Nothing happened.” You say, frustrated. “I just came home one day and he ignored me and he’s been ignoring me ever since.”

Steve’s jaw ticks. “What day was that?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. A few days ago. When you and he went for a run early in the morning.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry. I think-- I need to go talk to him. Hang in there, okay?” He ruffles your hair as he leaves, and you realize he’s left Bucky’s bag behind.

.

.

.

Bucky is staring at his phone when Steve comes back, slamming the door behind him. “Christ,” Bucky mutters. “What’s your problem?”

“You’re my problem.”

Bucky frowns, looking up to see his best friend looking pissed.

“I just went to your dorm. Your roommate was there.”

Bucky feels the familiar feeling of guilt and self loathing come over him, but doesn’t know what to say, so he lets Steve continue with his tirade.

“She had no idea you were here. She had no idea why you were gone, and she had no idea what she did wrong.” Steve puts his hands on his hips. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You made it seem like you guys had a fight or something! And then she said you’ve been ignoring her ever since our conversation the other day. If you’re really pushing her away because I was giving you a hard time--”

“That’s not what’s happening.”

“Then why the hell are you sleeping on my couch?” Steve asks exasperated. “It’s not like I don’t like having you here, but come on, dude.”

Bucky swallows heavily, trying to get his bearings. “You were right, okay?” He says it quietly. “I’m-- getting attached.”

Steve watches him carefully. “I think you need to be telling her this, not me.”

Bucky rubs his face. “I know.”

Steve smiles slyly. “I forgot your clothes. Looks like you need to go home.”

.

.

.

Bucky feels like an idiot.

He’s knocking on the door to his own dorm because he was in such a rush to leave Steve’s, he forgot his key.

And now he’s waiting for you to open the door, half sure that you’re going to slap him across the face when you see him.

The door opens, and he’s struck by the sight of you. You look sad. But you’re beautiful, and he has no idea how he thought he was ever going to be able to live with you, see you every day, and not fall head over heels for you.

“Bucky.” You sound surprised.

“Um-- I forgot my key.”

“Oh, sure. Uh-- come in.”

He follows you inside, and takes a deep breath. “I think we need to talk.”

You look apprehensive, and he hates himself for doing this to you. You sit down on the couch and he does the same thing, mirroring you.

“I owe you an apology. I didn’t -- I shouldn’t have just left. Or ignored your texts. I’m sorry.”

You shrug, “It’s not like-- you don’t owe me--”

“Yes, I do.” Bucky is adamant. “Look - when we first met, I was really unsure how we were going to get through this. Obviously we weren’t meant to be living together. But now I can’t imagine it any other way.”

You laugh, though it still sounds a little sad. “I thought you were this big, scary guy.” You look down at your lap, wringing your hands. “I was really wrong about you.”

Bucky wants nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and make up for every sad feeling you’ve had over the last few days.

“I’m sorry. I never should have ignored you. I was-- I was kind of panicking.”

You tilt your head. Bucky thinks it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Why would you be panicking?”

He decides to just bite the bullet. “I think I have feelings for you.” At your quick inhale, he shakes his head, “No, I know I have feelings for you. You just-- crept up on me. And I freaked out, because Steve kept getting on my case about it, and--”

His rambling is stopped when you grab his arm, tugging him towards you before throwing your arms around his neck in a tight hug. Bucky freezes at first, but soon melts into you, sighing at your touch and burying his face in your neck.

“I missed you,” you whisper, and Bucky feels his knees go weak. How he ever thought you weren’t going to have him wrapped around your finger, he has no idea.

“I missed you too. I’m sorry.”

.

.

.

6 months later

“Buck?”

“I’m coming--”

“We’re going to be late…”

“We’re not going to be late. We’re going to be early, because you think early is on time.” He comes out of the bedroom, pulling his leather jacket on. He grins at you, voice softening. “Look at you.”

You feel your face heat. “Stop it,”

“What? I can’t compliment my girl?”

“If we’re late again, Steve is going to roast you. And if he doesn’t, Peggy will.”

Bucky grabs your hand, rolling his eyes. “You worry too much. Come on.” As you’re walking, he’s muttering under his breath about double dates, but you can tell he’s happy to go out - the both of you have been so swamped with school, you’ve been shut up in your dorm for days.

The day after your talk with Bucky, you slowly but surely began working your way towards a relationship. It wasn’t hard - you were already close friends, and without the fear of thinking either of you were going to be rejected, it was easy to take the next step.

Now, as you walk through the building hand in hand, you’re so grateful that someone in the housing department screwed up.

From the spark in Bucky’s eye as he winks at you, you think he is too.

#bucky barnes x reader #prompt fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

[systematicmasspoisoning]

Traitor Tubbo

I've seen so many excellent theories as to who the traitor is and I would like to throw my hat into the ring. I see several possible options. Depending on how this is received, this could be part one of a few. Reminder, this is all speculation. I'm analyzing a character here, not the streamer themselves, and in reality no one, especially not these teens and 20-something role players, are genuinely intending to be malicious or calculated. This is a game. But they're playing it, and my heartstrings, so damn well.

My top theory for the traitor? Tubbo.

Traitor Tubbo is definitely a fan favorite, and I'm probably a bit biased. I watch his streams most often and perhaps am overthinking things. But here's my supporting evidence: I think Tubbo has the most motivation because it's been established that Tubbo is underapprecited and underestimated. He's assumed to a yes-man, Tommy's right hand man. Schlatt specifically made him Secretary of State because he knew it would be a kick in the gut to Tommy.

But everyone also knows that shit gets done when Tubbo is on the server. This kid is dedicated. Guess thats what quarantine does to a Minecrafter. He planned the fesitval, helped streamline Pogtopia's potatoes, is an expert in redstone, is draining the ocean and making allies with the Badlands (BBH, Awesamdude, Antfrost, a few others).

Jschlatt said in his speech at the Festival that Tubbo gets things done (only to kill the kid like 10 minutes later :sadface:) and Wilbur said, later, that the planned Manberg Hotel probably won't be built now that Tubbo is (supposedly) on Pogtopia's side. I see parallels to Eret's traitor arc: he was the deus ex machina who saved them in Season 1 from being arrested for drugs, built their walls overnight and was given little credit for it. Wilbur still says to this day, "The walls I built to protect us."

Underappreciation fuels betrayal on this server. And Eret was smart. Overpowered, almost, from all his grinding (some of which he did with Tubbo, for hours on end.) He knew the revolution was 'never meant to be,' that L'Manberg was the losing side. He betrayed for power and kingship. Tubbo has different motivations - he doesn't advocate for violence, so he's said, and he just wants people to get along. He doesn't want a war. So what might he do for peace?

We all know, if we watch old SMP Earth clips and his Among Us streams that he is big brained. He's sometimes malicious and mischievous when he wants to be, as attested by his recent stair pranks. So him being the peaceful, owo baby boi side character isn't necessarily fact. It's a bit. A role, along the lines of Tubee and Big Law. He's much more.

Speaking of the stair prank, so funny, but had the potential to be cruel, too. Anyways, he clearly said that he was watching Tommy's stream, and saw Tommy die to the stairs. Then he pops on the server later and acts clueless to what went down, though he knew, mentioned in his stream earlier that day, that something important was going to happen that day. He turns up while they're discussing traitors, is quick to take control of the conversation and point out that the traitor is likely Wilbur (for being 'technically' on Dream's side, the side of chaos.) Fuel is added to the flames of confusion and infighting.

Playing dumb is one of Tubbo's most popular bits. It farms awes, as Tommy says. People underestimate him and assume he has no reason to lie. Tommy so easily believed him when Tubbo said he had the discs. In the Dream Betrayal stream, Tommy confronts Dream about the location of the discs with Tubbo in the call. The misunderstanding is cleared up. They don't question Tubbo's earlier statements. They also don't question it when Tubbo mentions he has blackmail on Dream. I have no idea what that might be, we can speculate on that all day. But when it comes to the discs, I think Tubbo lost a bargaining chip there. His lie was very thin. But we know he's good at lying (when its actually important) and thinking quick on his feet so I feel like there must be some motivation behind it. I don't know how, but I think the discs will definitely play a part in the coming war.

That same stream, with Dream's betrayal, Wilbur even foreshadowed Traitor Tubbo. He was making a list of their allies on the wall in Pogtopia and, despite his chat screaming at him to include Tubbo, he leaves the kid off the list and dismisses chat's worries. I'm being a little dramatic here, but can you imagine Tubbo coming across that? Seeing himself, once again, left out of the loop, off the list of people they can trust, possibly considered unimportant now that he's filled his role as a spy and had his arc seemingly completed? Back to being a yes man, a footnote in L'manberg's history, the sidekick to the protagonist, a foil who is killed off to fuel the protagonists' need for revenge.

Except, in Minecraft, you don't really die. You're respawned. Tubbo didn't die when he was executed on the day of the festival; a celebration he planned, was proud of, so excited to take part of that he used a dyslexic font to write his speech.

Some notes about the festival.

1. His excitement. He was looking forward to it. I say let him be excited, that's not necessarily suspicious - he worked damn hard on it.

2. But, I have thought about his difficulty choosing a side. He showed interest in blowing up L'Manberg, but then turns on a dime when Tommy says it's bad, and then comes up with a diplomatic response of "I trust your better judgment, Wilbur " There was the added element of peer pressure from Wilbur and Tommy, granted, talking over him and assuming his viewpoint. He's not always a yes man, he stands up to himself with Tommy constantly, but the scene with him on the roof with Tommy and Wilbur shows how little he is kept in the loop. (Him understanding peer pressure likely led to him forgiving Techno so easily. But I also wonder, and others have too, if he forgave Techno.... too easily.)

3. This isn't so much of a point but something that keeps the writer in me up late at night. He was very grateful when Schlatt praised him, probably something he didn't hear often under Wilbur's rule.

4. He said the phrase. In spite of him not advocating for violence, he said the phrase that would trigger an explosion. The choice was in his hands. That is assuming he got Wilbur's DM telling him what to do, but Tubbo had been told by Wilbur to check his DMs and they had been exchanging whispers frequently throughout the stream, Tubbo taking orders from Wilbur to hurry things along. On that note, why a DM? Why didn't he give Tubbo the order through a whisper thru minecraft where we could see the wording? Likely because they use their DMs to push along major plot points and discuss serious matters. This wasn't just an order from Wilbur, the character, this was an order from the streamer who has the most role playing experience and has admitted to being the puppetmaster behind a lot of Tommy and Tubbo's major actions. Tubbo, who has always tried to advocate for peace, supposedly was told a trigger phrase that would blow the place up, and he said it. It was so out of character for him, that I was surprised, and Wilbur was surprised too, from how Tubbo scrambled. So, I don't know - did Tubbo know it was a trigger phrase? What did the DM say?

There was clearly a lot of miscommunication and weird things that day so all of this is speculation. However, from Tubbo' side of the stream, you can see the deliberation when he finished the speech. The pause. The silence, like he was finished, but then Schlatt reminded him (not the real quote) "Anything else?" And then. Tubbo took the leap. To us, the uninformed audience, it seemed he was willing, in that moment, to allow the chaos.

He was given a role of power, and it backfired on him so quick after, but I would like to rewind to the moment Wilbur decided to give Tubbo a deciding role. I knew Tubbo would be playing a big part this season, cause the boy deserves it, but Wilbur putting that decision in the hands of Tubbo? Wow. *Chef's kiss* Wil's reasoning was, if Tubbo wanted to prove he wasn't a yes man, he'd make the decision NOT to pull the trigger.

But Wilbur also said that Schlatt approved of the speech and would know if Tubbo deviated, putting Tubbo at risk of being caught. He was caught anyway, obviously, but there was a moment there... where Schlatt was giving Tubbo a choice, too. To say the phrase that would prove he was a traitor. Like...Schlatt knew what was planned, and wanted to see what Tubbo would decide. Maybe it was a trigger phrase for something else, not just the bombs.

Point is. Tubbo, technically, saved the day. He was, in physical form, the button. He was the deciding factor for great destruction. He said the phrase, but instead of Manberg being blown, Schlatt moved quickly to trap Tubbo and start a bit that would STOP WILBUR IN HIS TRACKS. The button was never fully pressed. Tubbo's Traitor/Spy Arc was halted, and a diverging plot formed, one where Tubbo is exiled too, trusted again by Pogtopia, and the land isn't blown to smithereens.

As Wilbur has said time and time again, when you introduce a weapon in a story, it has to go off at some point. Traitor Tubbo has been on our minds since the day he was left behind in Manberg and given a position, (once again, might I add, as a right hand man, a loyal lackey. Never the lead.) Has that arc met its completing? Did it go off with a bang?

One possible theory is that, well, no. This has all been premeditated. Not scripted fully, but I feel as though there are strings being pulled by a master who knows how to tell a story.

When he was asked to be a spy, Tubbo's position was nearly revealed time and time again but it was Schlatt who decided he was too bored to continue walking down the tunnels. It was Schlatt who easily accepted Tubbo's blatant lie that he was pregnant and allowed for so much betrayal under his nose.

What I'm saying here is that Schlatt is, in fanfic terms, soft for Tubbo. In a less fluffy way, what I'm suggesting (which has been suggested before) is that Tubbo wasn't a double agent. He was a triple agent.

I've read a lot of fucking books, and when you're a triple agent and one side is getting suspicious of you, what's the greatest length you can go to to prove your loyalty to someone? Die for them. Organize your execution. Throw yourself on top of a bomb.

But like I said. You don't die in Minecraft.

(While I'm on the subject, does anyone find it interesting how Tubbo focused on messaging only Wilbur while Technoblade was on stage, whispering 'i thought he woulded hurt me?' and the like. Wouldn't you, if you were being executed, contact your best friend to get you out of there? Or the clearly stalling 'ally' holding a crossbow to your head? But it wasn't Tommy or Techno that Tubbo needed to convince of his innocence. Its Wilbur who was sus of him.)

I digress. Tubbo didn't die, but he execution=exile and he's living full time with Pogtopia. He's proven his loyalty. When Tubbo is asked if he's a traitor, his best friend quickly jumps to his support and says, something to the effect of, "Schlatt killed him! He couldn't be a traitor!" Suspicion is thrown off him.

He wasn't even there when Dream revealed there was a traitor. He. Played. Dumb.

Meanwhile, streaming on his own, Tubbo is seeking out tridents and OP bows, working on Redstone traps, refusing to get netherite for Tommy, going so far as to trap his friend's house under the guise of a prank, and appearing in TeamSpeak calls to listen in while Tommy was mining gold with Dream (around the time Tommy was pressuring the green bastard to reveal who the traitor is.)

Tubbo has also been building a reputation as someone with bad wifi and a constantly crashing game, so he can conveniently leave situations and not help out when he doesn't wanna. Sidebar: I have to wonder if Tubbo will even stream the day of the war. Schlatt doesn't stream, and neither did the Dream Team when they were villains. It builds up tension and the audience wonders about their motivations. Granted, Eret did stream so his betrayal was a huge surprise, but recently Tubbo has, quite often, made a point of struggling with bad wifi and a game that seems to crash when he's not the one streaming. It wouldn't be too suspicious for him to claim technical difficulties so he can slide under the radar and not have snitches and stream snipers tracing his steps. This is a stretch, but it would be Big Brained to meta game the war.

I've watched a lot of Tubbo's streams lately. It's probably not healthy, and I'm probably connecting dots that aren't there.

But here is my prediction(s) for next week.

Dream said, jokingly, the traitor is Tommy. Despite Tommy's adamance, it may just be possible. He just doesn't know about it yet. Maybe Tubbo talks Tommy into betraying Wilbur. (Wilbur, specifically, and not necessarily their cause, which is not to be exiled and have a not-blown-up L'manberg.) Tommy has said he couldn't be the traitor because he wouldn't betray Tubbo (followed by "Wilbur, too...well...he is a little crazy lately" and you can hear Tubbo in the background making noises of agreement.)

But if betraying Tubbo was no longer a worry? I think, for Tubbo, and for the discs, Tommy would negotiate new terms with Dream. Another end to the war. Another peace treaty. Let's be real, once Tommy switches sides, Pogtopia will crumble. Him and Tubbo are the linchpins.

To continue, Dream supposedly has a contract with Schlatt, and in the stream today, he was leaving banners with a big red X on different properties, like in Tommy's house. Marking territory. He made a point of doing it while Tommy was streaming, following the kid around into the nether and giving shields with the giant red X to supposedly Pogtopian allies (Awesamdude, George.)

Wilbur told Quackity in the Dream Betrayal stream that he worries that Dream's deal with Schlatt is to rescind Manberg's independence. To give power back to Dream. To get Tommy's allyship, Dream may propose instating Tommy as president. Those are Wilbur's predictions. They're not far off the mark. Or maybe I'm just as paranoid as him lol.

I think Dream is trying to manipulate Tommy, but what will the terms be? Presidency? Or Freedom?

I'm not sure that Tommy wants to be president. He likes to play around and while he's shown he can be good at coordination and leadership, (for example, the recent MCC thing where he taught Quackity how to play and they kicked ass,) Wilbur is quite right. Tommy shouldn't be president. Narratively, we all know the server would become....chaos. Okay, that might be kind of fun and he's got good ideas.. I like the kid, and he's grown so much, but he's not "mature enough." Not like Tubbo is, according to Wilbur himself (this is referencing the Stays in The Pit battle). Dream has also said, in the eboy collaboration, that the only Dream SMP player in the video whose stood a chance was Tubbo.

Tubbo has said he doesn't want to be president either, but shit gets done when Tubbo is on. Nature is preserved, giant builds are coordinated, events planned (with cute little digital invites sent to players). The few times that Tubbo has shared his opinion about drama on the server (there's a moment before the Pit that he gives a good speech) he's shown sound logic, great empathy, a willingness to compromise, to have fun and strengthen their community.

There's an old saying, that those who seek power shouldn't have it, and those who don't want the power are the ones who deserve it. If peace wants to be preserved on the SMP, maybe Tubbo should be president, and Tommy should see what it's like to be the right hand man. Or maybe, they will simply run off to a distant jungle base and leave the war to the adults.

My point is, Tubbo is Chekov's gun. Tubbo is the button that hasn't been pushed yet. He may be the deciding factor to change the tide of the war, by changing Tommy's loyalties. Tubbo might not be fully loyal to Schlatt, I could be totally off about the triple agent thing, but he's certainly not loyal to Wilbur. To Dream? We'll have to see. From what we've been shown so far, his loyalty is to himself and to Tommy, and in the end, its usually him and Tommy against the world.

If I'm wrong, I'm wrong. It's fun to speculate. He's just a kid, a smart one granted, and he's having fun; he isn't evil. Unless Evil Tubbo is the next huge arc, the villain of Season 3???? God I would love that. Go feral kiddo.

There are other streamers who are equally over looked and unappreciated and have just as much motivation to be the traitor. Niki is a strong contender, have ya'll heard about the letter she wrote to a mysterious 'friend?' Or, or, what if Philza gets whitelisted? What if there's no shocking traitor at all, just Dream trying to cause division in Pogtopia? What if it's us, the viewers, who were the traitors all along for being dirty snitches? (@rainbowtransform, great theory.)

I'm sure I'll be surprised no matter what the outcome is. But nothing would please me more than to see Tubbo get the spotlight he deserves.

Let me know your thoughts?

#dream team #dreamteam #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #mcyt #sapnap #dream was taken #tubbolive #tubbo #horned tubbo #traitor tubbo #tommyinnit #evil wilbur #wilbur soot #eret mcyt #eret #king eret #jschlatt #schlatt #dream smp #dream mcyt #pogtopia #l'manberg #l'manburg

[carriagelamp]

Book Review - Summer Summary 2020

I didn’t get around to doing an individual post for the books I read in June/July/August, so I decided to choose a dozen that I read over the summer... I’d separate the wheat from the chaff for you so to speak. Though like you’re about to find out, that doesn’t necessarily mean they were all good by any means...

Crave

My girlfriend got this for me to “tide me over until Midnight Sun”. Between you and me, I think she was taking the piss. Anyway, Crave is very... standard fare paranormal YA school romance with the added flare of being written by an adult erotica writer, meaning the rhythm and tone of this novel is fucking bonkers. If you want to read the novel without reading the novel, just take Twilight and the entire Vampire Academy series, shove them in a blend, and force down the sludge you get from that. Normal Average Girl Goes To Secret School In Alaska For Vampire, Werewolves and Dragons. That’s this book. It is so big and so so so bad. I finished it out of spite, please don’t do that to yourself. Unless you are really craving (hurr hurr) some top tier trashy paranormal romance, in which case... no judgment.

The Last Firehawk

The Last Firehawk is a Scholastic “Branches” series, written for beginning readers (grade 1-3ish, depending on the child’s reading level). It has short stories, big text, and awesome pictures on every page. Guys. I unironically am adoring this series. It’s simple and is introducing children to a number of classic elements in the fantasy quest genre, but it is so charming. Friends Tag and Skyla discover a firehawk egg, and species that is supposed to have disappeared long ago. When Blaze hatches from it, the three are tasked with going out and finding the magical ember stone which was hidden long ago by the firehawks and which could be used to defeat the evil vulture Thorn and his dark magic... I read the first two books to second graders who ate it up and read the next four books because I personally wanted to continue the series. If you have young readers in your life (or just want a fun kid adventure) then please try these they’re the literary equivalent of nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie.

Lupin III: World’s Most Wanted #3

All the kind people that still follow my tumblr and haven’t tried to murder me because of my Lupin obsession are not going to be surprised by this one. I finally read one of the manga for this series and honestly I’m delighted. Somehow even hornier than the show, but hilariously funny. I felt like I was reading a more adult version of Spy Vs Spy. It’s a bunch of short, individual bits/adventures with lots of visual gags and an artstyle that is really different and delightful.

River of Teeth / Taste of Marrow (American Hippo series)

I’ve talked about River of Teeth before, but I finally finished the American Hippo duology and need to sing its praise. This is an alternate history series composed of two novellas that explore the question What would have happened if the States had decided to import hippos as livestock...? Anyways, my pitch for you: queer hippo cowboys. That’s all it took for me to read it. You have a gay gunslinger who loves his hippo to death, a nonbinary explosives-expert / poisoner who is the main love interest, a fat con artist who spoils her hippo and is the only voice of reason in this entire series, and a latina mother-to-be who is the scariest assassin in the entire series and is obviously scheming. The four of them are brought together on a job to deal with the Mississippi’s feral hippo problem.

IT’S A QUEER HIPPO COWBOY HEIST NOVEL GUYS I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M STILL TALKING AND YOU HAVEN’T JUST GONE TO READ THIS YET.

Petals to the Metal (The Adventure Zone series)

The graphic novel adaptation to the McElroy family’s DND podcast The Adventure Zone. Most of you are probably aware of this? It’s a great adaptation, it hits all the important beats, shows off the characters really well, and still gets lots of good gags in even while condensing entire arcs into single book stories. This one is probably my favourite so far just because Petals to the Metal was one of my favourite arcs in the show... but you can also see how the art has improved and the chaos of the race is fun to see drawn out.

If you like The Adventure Zone but haven’t tried the graphic novels yet -- would recommend! If you’ve always wanted to listen to The Adventure Zone but don’t have time for such a long series or struggle to focus on podcasts then pick up the first book of this series (Here There Be Gerblins) and try reading it! It really is an enjoyable adaptation.

Pony to the Rescue (Pony Pals series)

I continued my April/May theme of reading old-school chapter book series to combat Covid Brain Fry, so I picked up a few Pony Pals books. I read these as a kid and always enjoy them -- there’s just something so appealing to a child about having a horse. It gives your child characters a level of independence and ability to explore that you wouldn’t get otherwise. These books definitely read young, but they were nostalgic to revisit.

Small Spaces

A really cool middle grade horror novel I picked up. Maybe it’s because I live around a lot of corn fields, but farm/scarecrow themed horror absolutely does it for me. One evening, after seeing a woman try to destroy a strange, old book, eleven year old Ollie doesn’t stop to think, instead stealing the book and running. That’s how she becomes wrapped up in the strange, sinister story of a cursed family and creature called the Smiling Man that seems to live out in the foggy fields. While unsettling, Ollie tries to remind herself that it’s just a story... but this becomes more challenging when her school bus breaks down one day out their own set of fields, and a fog is rolling in...

“Avoid large spaces. Stick to small.”

Snot Girl #1 - #2

A Canadian graphic novel series by the creator of the Scott Pilgrim series! I love his work so I decided to give Snotgirl a try, even though it’s not generally my genre. I’m glad I did! First book took a while for me to get into, but by the time I hit the second I was really wrapped up in the mystery and character development. Snotgirl is about Lottie, a self-consumed fashion blogger whose biggest struggles are dealing with her allergies, frustration with her fellow-blogger friends, and how entirely her self-esteem is tied to her “beauty” and how people view her. But everything shifts in strange and horrifying ways when Lottie starts taking a new allergy medication, meets a new friend... and then witnesses that girl’s death. Or does she?

Seriously, or does she? I have no idea, I need to read the third book. This book is full of intrigue, complicated relationships, murder (or not?), and a healthy dose of magical realism to keep you guessing. If you like slice-of-life, crime, and abstract reality then this series is world a try. Plus the art is gorgeous.

Summer Wars #1 - #2

I recently rewatched Summer Wars (still one of my favourite movies) and decided to read the two-book manga adaptation. It was a really neat little adaptation. The creator of the movie gave the writer free range to tweak things to fit better in a manga format, which means some movie elements were allowed to fade into the background, whereas other aspects were fulled into the forefront and fleshed out to a greater degree. It was very cool, it kept the same story but gave you new things to think about which I wasn’t expecting. Reading this as a stand alone works just fine, but honestly if you’ve never watched the movie Summer Wars you should give it a try! It’s a great mix of slice-of-life, sprawling family dynamics that I relate to a little too well, cyber adventures, and fantasy. Super feel good.

This One Summer

Okay, last graphic novel, I swear. This One Summer was... weird and intense. It’s a coming-of-age Canadian graphic novel that follows a pair of pre-teens who meet up like they do every year at their family’s summer cottages. You see them both in the awkward phases between childhood and growing up to become teenagers, as they’re confronted with things like maturity, friendship, self-esteem, family problems, and sexuality. A beautiful read, but probably the heaviest out of all the books on my list.

Wild Thornberrys Novelization

I rewatched The Wild Thornberrys movie with my girlfriend earlier this year, and decided I wanted to hunt down the chapter book novelization because I’m kind of a sucker for novelizations. Honestly, this was about what you would expect from the era. 90s/00s novelizations, especially young novelizations, are generally just a transcript of the movie without much thought or effort put into them to make them anything but. That’s what this was. It was fine, and it really let me revisualize the entire movie, but honestly you’re probably better off just rewatching the movie unless you also really deeply love The Wild Thornberrys.

The Willoughbys

I saw that Netflix had done a funky looking adaptation of The Willoughbys and I decided I needed to read the book first before watching the movie. This was a little bizarre, I’m still not sure how I feel about it. Over all, I think it was a net-positive experience. It’s an obvious satire on classic children’s novels, especially the likes of Mary Poppins (real Mary Poppins, not the Disney version) and while a little heavy-handed, it does a Series of Unfortunate Events vibe that redeems it. The story is about a group of horrible children (The Ruthless Willoughbys) who decide they are sick of their parents and would rather become Worth Orphans... and to do that, they’re going to have to dispose of their inconvenient parents, obviously. Conveniently their parents are also sick of having children and decide to do away with them as well. The Willoughbys sets up three (or four?) different subplots that are gradually woven together through a series of schemes and exploits. It’s definitely more ruthless (hurr hurr) than the Netflix version, which tried to make the children more sympathetic, and in some ways I think that’s a definite point in the novel’s favour. I’m not sure I would go out of my way to recommend it, but it was a fun romp if you want something short and off the wall (and a lot more fleshed out than the Netflix version).

#book review #book reviews #the willoughbys #the wild thornberrys #lupin iii #scott pilgrim #snotgirl #bryan lee o'malley #this one summer #small spaces #pony pals #crave #the last firehawk #river of teeth #taste of marrow #american hippo #summer wars #petals to the metal #taz #novels #manga #graphic novels #children literature #kid lit #chatter

[mstrumpeter]

And When He Smiles I Swear I Can’t Breathe

Alan Rubin x fem!Reader

Word count: 1,655

Fandom: Blues Brothers

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Blues Brothers characters or movies. This refers to Alan Rubin as a character in the movie, not the real Alan (although he obvsly played himself but you know what I mean)

I’d like to add that I made everyone of the band a few years younger (so the age gap between the reader and Alan isn’t that big), so he’s approx. in his early 30s.

Sophia & Lisa are two OCs created by two lovely people within the fandom.

Warnings: none

Chapter IV

A few days past and Sophia and Lisa had a hard time to get a hold of Charlotte. She barely was home and spent a lot of time in classes or in the College’s own library. Her plan was to keep herself distracted from thinking about Alan and also putting more effort into her studies had settled her parents in some way. At least they were asking less questions and leaving her alone for most of the time.

One day the two friends went by Charlotte’s home again, hoping she’d be there. And as she opened the front door, her friends were purely delighted to see her again. “Hey hun, we’ve been trying to reach out to you.” “Yeah I’m sorry, I was pretty busy studying. Please come in.” “You’re parents home?” “Nope, fortunately they’re not.” “We really have been worried about you.”, Sophia said and took a seat on the couch. “I know and I’m really sorry, I had some trouble with my dad and you know how I prefer to isolate when things become though.” “We’re always there for you.”, Lisa reassured Charlotte and they both sat down beside Sophia. “We are meeting the boys Friday night for a casual get together and thought it’d be lovely if you joined us.” “Just Lou and Jake?” “Yes exactly.”, Lisa replied to her. But Sophia shot the girl with the red hair a commanding eye. “A-and Alan.” “Well, to put things straight he said he’d be there if there was a chance of you being present.”, Sophia explained. “What? Girls this ain’t funny.”, Charlotte said and wanted to get up but her friends hold her in place. “The last times we met the boys he asked about you, wanted to know why you wasn’t with us.” “Alright don’t toy with me. The last time I saw him, he had some blonde woman in his arms.” “Look I don’t know who that woman was, perhaps we was unhappy with the situation between you two and was simply trying to distract himself.” “You know what men are like.”, Sophia also trying to comfort Charlotte. “He really asked about me?” “Yes, yes, he did! A few times actually!” And just the day before yesterday. I told you the very first night he’s crazy about you.” Charlotte needed a moment to think about it. “Well, okay, yeah, why not!” “Great, I can’t wait for the three of us back together, we really missed you.” Sophia gave her friend a tight hug. “If anything’s wrong, call us. Please.” She gave her friends a warm smile. “I will. Oh, Sophia before it forget… I hope you gave Jake an appropriate welcome the other night.”, Charlotte said with a whimsically grin. “Oh you bet I did. We didn’t even made it home without, you know. So finally my car’s inaugurated.”, Sophia boasted with a big laugh. “Woah remind me to never ride along in your car ever again.” “Well in that case you shouldn’t use my apartment’s door anymore either! Or sit on my sofa, my kitchen table-“ “Damn girl, I got you!”, causing the three girls to scream with laughter. “No seriously Jake’s a wild boy,  couldn’t wait for him being back but there’s no better feeling than falling asleep in his arms, cuddling into his chest.” “Well, we certainly are happy you got him back for now.” “Truth to be told you were pretty narky without him.”, Lisa rolled her eyes joking.

Until Friday there were going so many thoughts through Charlotte’s head and she constantly told herself not to get her hopes up again. Yes, he asked about her. But that didn’t mean anything necessarily. He still could be interested in a casual hook, especially after what Lou had told her. But tonight would give her a harmless opportunity to learn more about him and that “issue" without making a fool out of her by asking him out directly.

Charlotte picked out a nice dress and did her make up in front of the mirror, while dancing and singing along to one of the boy’s albums. When she was satisfied with her look, she grabbed her coat and jumped on to the next bus heading city centre. 

They agreed to meet at this little bar with live music, which especially gave young, newcomers of the rhythm and blues scene a chance to gain experience.

Sophia and Lisa waited for Charlotte in front of the bar. “Hiya girls, am I running late?” “No, not at all, the guys are already inside but we didn’t want you to walk in on your own.” They gave each other a hug before Charlotte went inside first. She let her gaze wander through the room and found Jake sitting at a table near the small stage where a young girl with a guitar was performing. Lou was walking towards the bar, where no less than Alan was sitting on one of the barstools, a lady leaning into him. She was tugging and fiddling with his shirt, his hands grabbing hers and the upper part of his black, silk shirt was unbuttoned, exposing his chest hair. Her face only inches away from his. And that was all Charlotte needed and wanted to see. She turned on her heel, squeezed past her friends and straight through the door. “Wait, Charlotte where’re you going?” Hearing her name, Alan looked to the door and saw a baffled Lisa and Sophia, who quickly noticed the woman that was almost on his lap by now and they gave each other a concerning look.

Lou carefully grabbed the woman, trying to pull her away from Alan. “Miss you’re drunk. You’re surely doing better if you go home.” “No, get your hands off of me. I’m in the middle of a conversation with this very handsome man, can’t you see?”, the woman slurred. “We’re not!”, Alan claimed. “I’m sorry but I already told you, I’m not interested.” “No, no, you gave me those eyes, I can always tell.”, the woman persisted. Luckily the bartender chipped in “Listen, Ma’am, we called you a taxi, it’s waiting outside and will bring you home. You are way to drunk to be in my bar and I won’t approve of you molesting other guest.” Jake started up from his chair and he and Lou both grabbed on arm of the lady, dragging her outside, placing her carefully in the car waiting outside. “Thanks guys.”, Alan thanked the two as soon as they got back in. He greeted Lisa and Sophia and they all took a seat at the table next to Elwood. Alan looked at the girls, “Charlotte, she…?” “Is probably home by now.”, Sophia finished for him. “There was nothing going on, SHE approached me, I wasn’t even interested.” , he tried to explain himself. “We know that, Charlie’s just… overreacting sometimes, when it comes to things like these.”, Sophia told him and Lisa felt the need to correct her, “she’s overcautious, that’s all.” The three musicians gave the girls a curious look. “Her ex cheated on her for quite some time. Problem was he was an employee of her dad, he introduced the two.” “Some young and rich wanna-be.”, Sophia added. “Everyone knew he wasn’t good for Charlotte but her dad thought so much of him it was hard for Charlotte to convince him otherwise. So she had a hard time when she was trying to break up with that guy. Her father simply didn’t let her and she had so stay with him.” “That’s shit, man.”, Lou mumbled. Alan looked taken aback. “She knows not every man is like him but if a guy she likes is surrounded by women every time, it scares her off.” “No chances for you then, Mr. Fabulous, huh?”, Jake joked and gave him a bump with his elbow and Alan said nothing but lowered his eyes. “I’m sure she will understand that she was wrong to judge the situation from what she saw only.”, Lisa said with a smile and laid her hand on Alan’s arm. Lou though quickly grabbed Lisa’s other hand and she understood that little hint by removing her hand from Alan’s arm causing him to chuckle about the cute couple next to him. 

For the rest of the night the four tried to cheer up the trumpet player but didn’t success. He had been looking forward to this evening so much. He understood that Charlotte was being cautious after what had happened with her ex but was as disappointed he didn’t even had proper chance yet to show her how much he liked her.

The next Monday afternoon Charlotte’s father got home excitedly. “Sylvia darling! We won the case against ‘Jones & Johnson’! They finally decided the verdict, what a triumph.”, he praised and gave his wife a big kiss. “We’re all going out for dinner, tonight. This calls for a celebration. Tell the girls to get ready and dress up!”

On schedule for their reservation the family got into their car. “You know I still think you and mum should enjoy this night on your own, you deserve some quality alone home.”, Charlotte tried to bluff it out. “Nonsense, you two are joining us.”, her dad told her. “What was that restaurant called again….?”, the youngest sister enquired. “Ugh, don’t even bother to tell us, I bet it’s just another snobby French place”, Charlotte snapped and laid her head against the window.

As they reached the posh restaurant, the bored girl ambled behind her parents, checking out the place. “Chez Paul.”, she mumbled the name of the place and scoffed. “Good evening, Sir, we have a reservation at 8, for Ellington.”. She heard her father say. “Of course, welcome at the Chez Paul, Mr. Ellington. Please this way.” And at the first word Charlotte had already recognised that voice. His voice. So soothing and sexy, like the melody of her favourite song.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III

#Alan Rubin x fem!Reader #Alan Rubin x Reader #blues brothers #blues brothers fanfiction #blues brothers fandom #Mr. Fabulous