#second choice if i just want to get fucked up: cosmopolitans

[glutenfree-rootbeer]

Cheers Tumblr

#another bad day #it never stops #i cant get any more tired #drink of choice because i hate alcohol: bloody marys #second choice if i just want to get fucked up: cosmopolitans #and top choice for social drinking: fruity meads #i dont have any mirrors in my condo except this one rn #which is just a medicine cabinet i took off the wall #welp #oof #personal #guess i should maybe delete my last post since it might be insensitive m #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #shit happens honestly #hope my grandmas last hours were peaceful #she lived a really long life and passed away suddenly #how we all wish to go tbh #no filter tags lol #word vomit

[softholand]

pot valiant - t.h

pairing: bartender!tom x reader

summary: pot-valiant, definition; bold or courageous under the influence of alcoholic drink

warnings: drinking, swearing, smut, dom!tom

words: 4.3k

a/n: i did it!!! bartender!tom was always present in my mind and after that picture (thanks paddy!!) i couldn’t help myself ;))) i hope you guys like this and please let me know what you think <3 enjoy!!

Two weeks, three days, 5 hours, and 22 seconds. That was the time your best friend Briana gave you to mourn your last failed relationship. Once that time had passed, she broke into your house, made you take a much necessary shower, forcing you to shave and wash your hair, while she took care of the mess that was your house. Plastic food containers and cans of beer and Coca-Cola littered both the kitchen and the living room floor, making the house smell like a garbage can.

“Glad to see you’re still alive!” Briana cheered after you got out of the shower, wearing your fluffy robe. “I am but barely. Wow, what did you do to my house?” You asked, being met with a completely different scenario from the one you left.

“I just put out the trash, y/n! Something you should have done before.” Briana scolded you, making you roll your eyes. “Should have waited and put me out too, since I feel like trash!” You groaned, flopping down on your sofa.

“Hey, no, no, no! Get up, y/n! We’re going out!” Your best friend announced, before trying to make you stand. “Noooo, please, Bri! I’ll do anything you want, but that!” You pleaded, but it was of no use. “I don’t wanna hear it, y/n! I didn’t come here to clean your house, I came to take you out of here and that’s what I’m gonna do.” Briana stated, taking your hands.

“Bri, I love you, but please let me stay just a little longer, I’m not ready for the outside world yet.” You groaned, trying your best to convince your best friend. “y/n, I love you too, that’s why I’m here! I can’t stand seeing you like this anymore! Yeah, what Tyler did to you was fucked up, but that doesn’t mean you have to stop living your life because of it.” Briana exclaimed.

“I know, Bri! I know! It’s just… hard for me to wrap my head around the fact he ditched me after all this time and that I’m single now.” You sighed, starting to feel emotional. At that, Briana pulled you closer and wrapped her arms around you, engulfing you in one of her best hugs. “I’m sorry, y/n! I didn’t mean to make you cry again.” Bri apologized, making you chuckle through your tears. “It’s okay, Bri! It’s not your fault, really. I’m just… a mess!” You laughed, drying your face with the robe sleeves.

“One drink. We get one drink and if you still don’t wanna stay after that, we leave. I promise!” Your friend offered, with hopeful eyes. “Fine! One drink!” You sighed, to which she squealed. “Yes! Thank you, y/n! You’re not gonna regret it! I’ve found this new club, it opened just a couple of weeks ago. You’re gonna love it!” She grinned. “Now, go put on your best outfit, we’re going out!” Briana squealed, making you laugh at her excitement.

About an hour later and after a whole lot of makeup and trying on clothes, Briana finally decided you were done with what she called: a Cinderella transformation. Of course, you laughed at her choice of words, and to irritate your friend, even more, you asked if you also should be back at midnight. She gave you the middle finger, before giving up and joining you in laughter.

After a quick cab ride, that could be done by feet, not with the heels you two were wearing though, you and Briana were at the new club she talked about. Once inside, you had to admit your best friend was right. The place looked like a mix of everything you enjoyed, the walls were coated in a beautiful shade of red, while the lounge area was filled with dark green sofas. Different from the other places you had been to, the bar on this one was positioned right in the middle, with bar stools in that same dark green velvet texture, rounding the space. The dim light that filled the space gave a mysterious/sensual vibe, something you were also a fan of.

Briana immediately dragged you to the bar, waiting patiently for one of the many bartenders. While she made her request, you took the time to scan the place, noting some artsy bits that complemented the space. “What can I get you?” A smooth masculine voice took you out of your daze, making you avert your attention to him. Right in front of you, a gorgeous boy with hazel eyes and chocolatey brown curls grinned at you, waiting for your answer. What was even the question?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.” You apologized, making his smile grow even more. “I asked what can I get you tonight, darling?” He asked, making you smile with the nickname. “Oh, uh… a daiquiri, please!” You finally said, not being able to avert his gaze. “Good choice! I’ll be right back, girls!” He smirked, before going to the enormous wall of beverages behind him.

Once he was out of earshot, Briana lightly kicked your bare leg, getting your attention. “Isn’t he hot?” She mouthed, making you roll your eyes. “Really, Bri? Already?” Shaking your head, you went back to looking at your surroundings. “Oh, c’mon y/n! A woman has to eat!” Briana joked, making you both burst out laughing.

Seconds later, hot guy was back, this time with two cocktail shakers in his hands. Like every bartender in the world, he made his presentation while pouring the ingredients into the containers, making sure to really flex his arms while shaking it. Not that you noticed.

With two glasses in front of you, he poured the drinks in, doing the finishing touches before serving them to you. “Two pretty drinks for two pretty ladies, enjoy!” He smirked, before going back to his business. “Oh God, he only gets better!” Briana jokingly fanned herself, making you laugh. “He’s just doing his job, Bri! How many times do you think he used that one?” You asked your friend, who rolled her eyes at you. “You’re no fun!” She groaned, putting her tongue out.

Briana was only halfway through her Cosmopolitan when one of her favorite songs started to play. She made everything in her power to make you go with her but you denied her offer, stating you were fine watching her from the bar. With her drink in her hands, she made her way into the dance floor, purposely shaking her booty at you, which made you laugh and almost choke on your barely touched drink.

“Not into dancing?” The same voice from minutes ago asked, startling you. “Oh, no! Not today, at least!” You shrugged, offering him a smile. “So, what brought you and your friend here? I’m Tom, by the way!” He asked, cleaning the surface in front of him, making the watch he wore catch the fluorescent lights of the club. “y/n! And to be honest, she dragged me here.” You told him, giving into their usual small talks. “Wanna talk about it? I’m a pretty damn good listener!” He offered you with a smile.

You took a deep breath, asking yourself if it was really a good idea to share a part of your life with a stranger, and since you weren’t going to step foot on the dance floor, you thought this was the next most reasonable thing to do. Right? “Well, I was into a two-year relationship that ended a couple of weeks ago, and apparently staying inside your house, eating takeout food, and crying over stupid romantic movies is not a very healthy thing to do, so today she went to my house and here I am.” You smiled, taking a sip of your drink.

Once you looked at Tom, he gave you a pitiful look, to which you shrugged. “That’s not even the worst part though.” You said, the alcohol in your system already making the choices for you. “Instead of calling me or sending me a text asking to talk, you know, like a normal person, he invited me to his parents’ tenth-anniversary party and broke up with me in front of his whole family, claiming I wasn’t what he wanted in a relationship anymore.” With a raise of your glass, you finished your sad story, downing the rest of your daiquiri.

“Damn, what a dick!” Tom breathed after a couple of seconds, making you chuckle. “Oh, well! Cheers to single life, I guess…” You said, raising your now empty glass. “Need a refill?” He asked, pointing to the glass on your hands. “Please!” You huffed, before thanking him. “What will it be now?” Tom smirked, seeing your thinky face. “I don’t know, something strong.” He nodded, giving you two thumbs-ups, before going back to the wall to collect the ingredients.

Once the song ended, Briana came back to you and you two chatted until Tom came back with your drink, waiting for your approval. “It’s good! I like it! Thanks, Tom!” You smiled, locking eyes with him. “Do you want a refill too, darling?” He asked Briana, to which she said a beer would be fine. Once he was off, you felt your best friend's eyes burning a hole in your skull. “What?” You asked, impatiently. “We’re already on a name basis then?” Briana smirked, making you roll your eyes at her. “Yeah, I mean, he introduced himself, what did you want me to do?” You snapped and that was enough to her smirk double in size. “Okay, girl! You sure you don’t want to go home then?” She asked you for what felt like the fifth time. “Yes, Bri! I’m good! I promise!” You assured your best friend before she once again was off to the dance floor.

You quietly took sips of your new strawberry drink, watching from afar as your friend seemed to get her eyes on a specific guy for the night. She gave you a wink, making you roll your eyes at her antics. “She seems to be enjoying herself.” You heard Tom’s voice, turning the barstool to find him looking at you. “Yeah, she always does!” You agreed, taking another sip of your drink. “So, you’re from here?” He asked, sounding interested. “Yeah, I’m a local! You?” You said, raising your brows. “Same!” He smiled, going right to the next question.

The conversation kept going for most of the night, Tom attended some clients, while you took sips of your drinks, and once he was free, he was right back at you with another round of questions. Seeing as Briana wasn’t by your side anymore, you welcomed his company, glad at least this way you wouldn’t be left alone. “Museologist? I’ve never heard that before!” He grinned, making you chuckle. “Yeah, it’s not very common. Basically what I do is investigate and preserve material cultural stuff, like paintings, sculptures or constructions and immaterial, such as traditions and folklore.” You answered and Tom couldn’t help but find adorable the way your eyes lit up while you talked.

Briana came back after a couple more songs, sitting by your side and asking Tom another beer. “So, found your prey?” You joked, making her laugh. “Actually, I did! See that blonde? With the samurai bun?” She pointed and you nodded once your eyes landed on him. “Nice, Bri!” You complemented, giving her a playful high five. “Right? And he’s so sweet and smart and funny! He even asked me if I wanted to go to his house.” She blurted, seemingly disappointed. “And?” You asked, not getting why she reacted that way. “Oh, no! I’m not leaving you. I dragged you here so I’m taking you home.” Briana exclaimed, to which you rolled your eyes. “Bri, I’m totally able to call a cab and go home by myself. I’m fine, I promise! You can go with Mr. Samurai bun if you want.” You assured her, seeing her eyes widen. “No, y/n/n! I promised you!” She protested, making you groan. “I’m fine, Bri! Go with him!” Once again, you insisted. “Are you sure?” She asked and you had to laugh at her. “I’m not a child, Bri! Now go, he’s not going to wait all night!” You teased, getting a hug and a kiss on the cheek from your friend before she was off.

“Lost your friend?” Tom asked once he was back from his bartender duties. “Yeah, it's just me now and I think I’ll actually call it a night and go home.” You told him, making him frown. “Hey, not to sound creepy or anything but are you going by yourself? Because that’s not very safe and my shift ends in like ten minutes. If you want, I can accompany you.” With hopeful eyes, the boy in front of you smiled, making your heart flutter just a tiny bit. You thought about leaving a stranger accompanied you home, you really did, but something in your gut told you it was fine, Tom was a good guy and would never do anything to harm you. So, you went with it. “Yeah, that would be great, actually.” You smiled and ten minutes later, you were both leaving the club, at 3:30 in the morning.

Tom offered to call a cab but seeing as your house was only a few minutes away, you asked if it was okay for him that you guys walked. He agreed and with the moon illuminating your steps, the pair of you made your way into the almost silent streets. You guys kept talking and occasionally your hands would brush on one another, which caused little butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Once in front of your apartment building, you stopped, having no idea what to do next, since you were in a relationship for the last two years.

“It was nice meeting and talking to you, Tom!” You said, opting for the easiest way out. “Yeah, the feeling is mutual, y/n!” He answered, stuffing both of his hands in his pockets. “Thank you for… listening.” You mumbled, making him chuckle. “Of course! Whenever you need!” He smiled, not moving a muscle. “I’ll see you around, then. Bye!” With a little wave of your hand, you made your way to the door, while Tom watched you from his place. “Sure! Bye, y/n!” He exclaimed, making you smile, finally entering the building.

That’s how you found yourself going back to that same club every Friday, getting a couple of drinks while talking to Tom, then being escorted home by him. You had been doing this for almost a month now and Briana was starting to get suspicious. It was Friday again and she had just called you while you finished getting ready. “So, any plans for tonight?” She asked, already predicting your answer. “Not really, just gonna get some drinks and head home.” You said while clasping your black sandals. “Tom’s gonna bring you home again?” You sighed, already knowing where this conversation was heading. “I don’t know, Bri! If he wants to.” You looked in the mirror for the last time, before taking your bag and heading out. Once Briana finally hung up, you threw your phone into your purse, getting into the cab.

The routine was the same, you got in, spotted Tom, sat in one of the many barstools, and waited for him to approach you. “What can I get this beautiful lady today?” He joked, a smile wide on his face. Today he was wearing a simple black shirt, tight around his muscles, the watch still sat proudly on his wrist, and his curls were a little bit messier than most days. “You know you don’t have to waste your pickup lines with me, Tom.” You smiled, watching his reaction. “Okay then, what can I get this grumpy old lady today?” He smirked, making you chuckle. “A Sex On The Beach, please?!” You grinned and after a quick wink, he was off.

The rest of the night passed like magic, you didn’t even see the time pass and once you took a look at your phone, you saw that it was almost time for Tom’s shift to end, which meant it was time to head home. The chilly London air hit as soon as you stepped out of the club, making you shiver, seeing as you were only in a dress. Like the gentleman he was, Tom took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders, and although you protested, saying he was going to catch a cold, he assured you he was fine with his shirt.

You didn’t know what you were thinking when the words “Do you wanna come inside?” came out of your mouth but now was definitely too late to take them back. “Oh, yeah! Sure!” Tom agreed, making you smile. The short lift ride was awkward and once you walked into your apartment, the feeling only grew. Tom stayed pretty close to the door, with both of his hands in his pockets, while you put your purse away and turned on the lights. “Welcome and sorry for the mess.” You said, going back to the living room. Tom just smiled, before saying, “You call this messy? You should see my house!” You both laughed and the tension was back in the air. “Do you want anything? Water, wine, beer?” You offered, taking off your shoes and his jacket, putting the both away. “Water would be good.” He said and you quickly made your way to the kitchen, shaking your head to try and get rid of some very intrusive thoughts.

“Thanks!” He smiled, taking the glass from your hands, while your eyes kept focused on his arm and the prominent veins and the way his shirt was almost being ripped by his bicep. “y/n? You here?” Tom’s voice brought you back, making your face grow hot with the knowledge you got caught. “Yes, sorry!” You apologized, watching as his smirk grew in size. He placed the cup on the small table by your door, before taking a couple of steps closer. Slowly, as if testing the waters, he put his hands on your hips, leaning the smallest bit in, not taking that stupid smirk off of his face.

His smell was intoxicating, the mixture of alcohol and mint was definitely making your mind clouded. “Tom…” You whispered once he was only centimeters away from you. “What is it, y/n?” He asked, looking between your eyes and your lips. “Kiss me!” You almost pleaded, his smirk the last thing you saw before his lips were crashing into yours. The feeling was new, you hadn’t kissed anyone since your ex-boyfriend and you couldn’t help but compare them. Tom’s was so much better though, his lips could be thin but they held so much power on them, his mouth worked like magic against yours, and before you knew he was pulling away, completely breathless. The pause didn’t last long though, he looked so good with his lips plumped, the tiniest of the smirks still proudly on them, you just couldn’t help yourself and launched yourself at him.

You backed him against the wall, moaning when you felt his tongue entering your mouth. Tom placed both of his hands on your ass, squeezing it before asking, “Bedroom?” Without breaking the kiss, you pointed in the direction of your room and before you knew it, he was carrying you in his arms. You squealed, wrapping your legs around his torso, before going back to his lips. He placed you on the bed, making a trail of kisses from your neck, all the way to your stomach. Once he positioned himself between your tights, he looked at you with his bright brown eyes, asking if he could take your dress off. You nodded and after a little bit of a struggle, he took the thin material out of your body, leaving you in just a pair of white underwear. “You’re so beautiful!” He whispered, going back to your lips and attacking them with kisses. “Tom, please…” You moaned, growing even more eager to feel him. “What do you want, darling?” He smirked, loving seeing you like that. “You, I want you!” With a shake on your voice, you pleaded and he finally took the clue and went to work.

After another confirmation from you, he discarded your panties, tracing his fingers through your now soaked folds. “You look amazing, y/n!” Tom breathed before going straight to your core. You let out a moan as soon as his lips touched you, making your whole body shake with pleasure. “And tastes amazing too!” He purred, focusing on his task. Your moans only grew louder when he pushed two of his slender fingers on your heat. “Fuck, Tom! Feels so good!” You blurted, not being able to control yourself. “That’s it, baby! I can feel your walls clenching around my fingers. Tell me how much do you wanna cum.” Tom whispered, making you clench even more, only by his words. “Wanna cum, Tom! Please…” You were never this talkative in bed and not once has a guy been this dominant with you but you couldn’t say you weren’t enjoying it. “Cum for me, baby! Wanna hear you scream my name!” He mumbled and finally lost control. Your whole body shook with pleasure and you had to contain yourself from closing your thighs around Tom’s head.

Once you came back from your high, you opened your eyes to find Tom already looking at you, with some of your wetness still glistening on his chin. “You alright?” He asked, concern coating his words. “Yeah!” You smiled, before going back to his lips. With a quick move, you straddled him, helping him take off his shirt, letting his chest perfectly exposed for you. You lowered yourself, leaving a trail of kisses on his jaw, neck, collarbones, chest, each one of his abs, and finally, his perfectly sculpted v line. “Are you sure? You don’t have to, I’ll be perfectly fine by just giving...” You interrupted his mumbling by attaching your lips to his, hoping it would be his answer.

With the rest of his clothes discarded, you couldn’t help but admire his body. He was perfect. Sculpted by the gods, even. After wetting your hands, you took his cock, pumping a few times before attaching your lips to it. You twirled your tongue, tasting his precum, feeling him grow harder and harder on your hands. “Holy shit, you feel so good, y/n!” His words of encouragement were enough for you to start moving your head up and down, taking his member into your mouth inch by inch, until he was bucking his hips. “Fuck! You’re bloody amazing, darling!” He praised, while making direct eye contact with you, “But if you want more, you better stop before I coat your throat with my cum.” You had to admit, his dirty talk was doing something to you.

Releasing his cock with a loud pop, you climbed on top of him, kissing his lips. “Do you have a condom?” He asked between kisses. “Bedside table, first draw.” You answered and after a loud smack on your ass, you got off of him, both of you wearing playful smiles on your faces. Tom opened the foil package and rolled the material into his member, positioning himself at your entrance. “You sure you wanna do this?” He asked, making sure you wanted this as much as he did. “Yes, Tom! I want you to fuck me!” You said, kissing his lips.

With both of his hands on your hips and a huge smirk on his face, he pushed himself into you, making you moan. It took you a few seconds to get used to him and once you nodded, Tom started to move, bringing another level of pleasure to your body. “Fuck! You’re so tight around me, y/n!” He whispered, biting your earlobe. “Tom, fuck me harder!” You pleaded, wanting nothing more than to be railed by him. That seemed to take Tom by surprise but he was quick to obey your wish, thrusting harder and harder into your soaking wet core. “You look so beautiful like that, all sweaty, begging me for more!” He kept praising you, feeling how much you liked when he did.

With both of his arms by your head, he caged you, tattooing your face with kisses. “Feel so good, Tom! Please, make me cum!” You mumbled, by now barely able to form sentences. Tom was quick to obey and once his fingers found your clit, rubbing small circles in it, you were gone. Toes curling, you arched your back, getting a handful of the mattress in one hand while the other scratched Tom’s back. “Fuck, y/n!” With a final thrust of his hips, Tom reached his high, moaning your name like it was the most beautiful prayer.

He collapsed on top of you, leaving a long kiss on your lips, before getting up and tossing the condom on the trash. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself up, seeing as you were too tired to take a shower, and asked him if he wanted that too. He agreed and once you were decent enough, you put on clean panties and his discarded shirt, asking him to join you on the bed. Of course, he accepted, he wasn’t planning to go anywhere either so, after putting his boxers back on, he climbed on the bed with you.

You quickly doze off but right before you did, you admitted to yourself that, like most of the time, Briana was right, and going to that new club wasn’t a bad idea after all.

tagging: @stuckonspidey @bi-writes @duskholland @screamholland @missnxthingg @tomhollandthing @wazzupmrstark @peeterparkr @veryholland @spideyspeaches-deactivated20221 @lauras-collection @tommybaholland @rebekkah4766 @hopelessromm @pensivepeter @geminiparkers @mrs-hollandstan @hollandcreep @uglypastels

#my writing #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland one shot #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x fem #bartender!tom #bartender!tom x reader #tom holland writing

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 3: Agility

Harry dodged the bludger that had been sent speeding toward his head, swerved to miss Ginny (who was chasing after Zabini and barreling toward him at an alarming speed), then urged his broom downward in a feint to throw Malfoy off the trail.

The former Slytherins were certainly testing his agility today.

"Is that what you call a diversion?" Malfoy shouted at him, still on his tail, apparently.

"Fuck off," he tossed back over his shoulder.

"Not on your life," the other man said, his broom edging up next to Harry's. He knocked into him, their shoulders coming in sharp contact, and Harry elbowed him back.

"It's mine," he said, leaning forward and pushing his broom faster.

"Want to bet?"

"Yes," Harry spat, gritting his teeth.

"What do I get if I win?" Malfoy shouted back. And to be honest, it was really bothering Harry that the other man seemed so nonplussed by this whole conversation. He was ready to just knock him off his broom.

"Five minutes," Harry offered.

"Of?"

He wondered if he could somehow get Malfoy's foot to slip so he could knock him off balance. "Winner's choice."

Malfoy chuckled low in his throat, "Well, I'm definitely going to win now."

Harry could feel the other man's gaze trained on him and he couldn't resist glancing over and in that split second, Malfoy winked at him.

He fucking winked.

And Harry's stupid, caveman brain tuned out of the game and decided imaging what the wink was meant to convey was more important than playing a game of quidditch.

He didn't snap back to reality until precious seconds had ticked by and a heartbeat later, Malfoy caught the blasted snitch.

(More below the cut)

Malfoy didn't approach him directly after the game. He didn't seek Harry out after they'd all gotten themselves cleaned up, didn't sit next to him when they returned to Luna's for dinner. He didn't even come over after they arrived at the bar for drinks.

Harry secretly enjoyed it.

He loved the anticipation, loved never being quite sure what the other man was planning. He loved watching him.

And Malfoy, unlike in their youth, seemed to very much enjoy Harry watching him now, but maybe that was because Harry's intent had changed.

No matter the reason, whether it was a change in Malfoy, a change in Harry, or a combination of the two, Malfoy was almost constantly catching Harry watching him now. He smirked at Harry, sent him looks that were entirely inappropriate for polite company, and even winked at him a few more times.

By the time the other man was out on the dance floor, his skin glistening, hair darker at the temples from his sweat, his body moving sinuously to the beat, Harry was a goner.

"Mate," Ron groaned as he plopped down on the bar stool next to him.

"Hmm?"

"Just go shag him already."

Harry choked on his tongue and turned to look at Ron, spluttering and coughing in indignation.

Hermione patted him on the back as she sat down next to them, "He's right, you know. We're all tired of watching the two of you have eye sex constantly."

"What? Eye sex? We don't-"

"Yes, you do," Pansy replied as she sidled up to the bar beside them to order what had to be her fifth cosmopolitan since they'd arrived.

"Even if I wanted to," Harry started, "and I'm not saying that I do! But even if I did, Malfoy doesn't."

Pansy let out a cackling peal of laughter and Harry grit his teeth, he'd managed to come around on all of the other Slytherins but Pansy still sometimes made him want to punch her. "Well maybe you better go and see," she said, nodding out toward the dance floor, "before it's too late."

At that, Harry glanced back out, eyes instantly narrowing in on Malfoy to find that he'd been approached by some random muggle bloke who was trying to chat him up. His hands clasped Draco's hips and Harry saw red. He swallowed down the last of his whiskey and none to lightly set his glass down on the bar before stalking out onto the dance floor.

He reached Malfoy just in time to hear him saying, "I'm really not interested," as he gently pushed on the man's shoulders.

The other man seemed to ignore Malfoy's words completely, grasping his hips tighter and drawing him in closer. "C'mon, baby-"

Harry decided he didn't like that man one bit and sidled up behind Malfoy, pressing his chest against Malfoy's back.

Malfoy went rigid for a split second before seeming to recognize that it was Harry and relaxing back against him.

"Is this dickhead bothering you, babe?" he asked, glaring daggers at the man who had dared to try to coerce Malfoy into dancing with him.

"You're not even here alone?" the man asked. "Fucking cock tease," he spat before spinning on his heel.

Harry made to go after him, how dare he? But Malfoy caught his hand and pulled him back to face him. "It's not worth it," he said, slowly starting to move to the music once more.

"But he-"

"Is nothing," Malfoy finished. "He's lower than the dust I crush beneath my feet."

Harry sighed, "Right, well-"

"Dance with me," Malfoy said. "I get five minutes, right? Of anything I want?"

"And you want me to dance with you?"

He smirked, "Not exactly but it'll do for now." He drew Harry closer, leading Harry's hands down his body until they reached his hips. He only had a moment to think that there was a bloody good reason that he didn't dance before Malfoy was sliding closer, wrapping his arms around Harry's shoulders, pressing his body against Harry's, and murmuring "Relax," in Harry's ear.

Harry shuddered at the way Malfoy's breath felt, tickling across his cheek, warm and damp in his ear. He closed his eyes and let his body start to move with and against Malfoy's, refusing to allow his brain to start thinking and ruin this moment.

"Yes," Malfoy sighed in his ear, "Harry."

He could have moaned at how good his name sounded on Draco's lips, his fingers clenched against Draco's hips, drawing him impossibly closer.

They danced on like this for a few minutes and Harry very happily would have continued dancing, if Draco hadn't pulled back. "It's been five minutes," he said, relinquishing his hold on Harry's shoulders.

"Err," Harry managed, "Right," not releasing his hold on Draco's body.

"You're free to go," the other man said, gesturing to the bar.

Harry rubbed his thumb over Draco's hip, "And if I don't want to?"

Draco searched his eyes for a long moment, "What would you have done? With the five minutes?"

He paused, warring with himself over what his answer ought to be. With a deep breath, he steeled himself, grasping for courage he didn't feel. "What would I have done? Or what would I have wanted to do?"

The corner of the other man's mouth turned up, he leaned in, "Both!"

"Come outside with me?" Harry asked, "Just so you can hear me?"

Draco nodded and Harry took his hand, leading him outside. The cool air hit him as he walked through the door and he breathed a sigh of relief that the overpowering noise was gone.

Draco gave his hand a little tug, drawing him over toward an alleyway that was away from the rowdy drunks standing outside the club. "So?"

"I probably would have asked for something innocent," Harry confessed before he could lose his nerve. "A walk, a coffee, a seeker's game," he added with a shrug.

"What would you have wanted to ask for?" Draco asked, looking up at Harry through his eyelashes.

"So many things," Harry breathed, trailing his hands lightly along Draco's sides. "But I probably would have wanted to start with a kiss."

A grin spread across the other man's face before he leaned in a little bit, "Can I kiss you now?" he asked.

Harry nodded and met the other man halfway. Their lips met, soft and a touch hesitantly at first before Draco's fingers clenched in Harry's shirt and then Harry was pressing him back against the alley wall and tracing Draco's bottom lip with his tongue. Draco opened eagerly for him and Harry allowed his tongue to stroke inside of his mouth, slow and sinuous.

The other man let out the most delicious sounding moan Harry'd ever heard and Harry tore his mouth from Draco's so he wasn't impeding that delightful sound. He continued to kiss him, pressing his lips to his jaw and nipping at his chin with his teeth.

Someone stumbled past the alley, hollering back at their mates just as Harry had started sucking at the long, pale column of Draco's neck. The noise served to remind him that they were not alone, not really, and they were still very much in public. Harry drew back marginally to look at the other man.

Draco had a faint blush staining his fair skin, his eyes were still closed, and his chest was heaving. Harry could feel the erratic beat of Draco's heart through their clothes. "Alright?" he whispered.

Draco's eyes fluttered open, "Yes," he replied, leaning in to steal another kiss.

"We should get back," Harry said, leaning in closer to the other man, stroking his hands along his arms, and making no move to head back inside. "They're bound to come looking."

"Or," Draco said, looking up at Harry under his eyelashes once more and Harry wanted to melt into a puddle at his feet.

"Or?"

"Or," he said again, "We could go back to mine? I have a couch and a lovely fireplace," he offered. "I wouldn't be opposed to a bit more snogging."

"Oh, you wouldn't, would you?" Harry teased, the smile on his face wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. "I wouldn't be opposed to that either." Draco returned his grin. "Do you need to say goodbye to anyone?"

He shook his head.

"Well, I place myself in your capable hands," Harry replied, taking his elbow so Draco could apparate them.

"You won't regret it," Draco replied.

Harry was quite sure that he was right.

Day 2: Arson | Day 4: Jealousy

#day 3 #drarry drabbles #drarry ficlets #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #my writing #drarry #boys in love #first kiss #silly #send me a one word prompt and I'll write you a drarry ficlet

[alonfic]

in conclusion (i love you)

pairing: tsukishima kei x reader genre: college + fwb to lovers au | fluff, suggestive wc: 3,742 description: In which Tsukishima discovers that love can bloom in inconspicuous ways, even when you and him are supposed to be conducting a (not so) simple experiment. author’s note: cross-posted onto my ao3. still not sure if i’ll be posting here frequently, but i thought i’d see how i like it first.

Tsukishima doesn’t understand romantic relationships. 

He thinks they’re illogical, impossible, and most of all, irrelevant. They seem like too much hassle when it comes to the ordeal of courting. From the hours spent preparing complicated banners for asking significant others out to the extensive search for gifts that are supposed to appease pointless “monthiversaries,” Tsukishima finds it all to be a waste of time. 

Just acts for appearances. Sure, they’re cute, heartwarming even, but what does all of that show for anyway? What happened to qualitative experiences?  

He ascertains that he may never truly understand what it means to love another person by modern day standards; for those standards are all full of overhyped bullshit trying to make a trending post on Twitter and Instagram. If avoiding those things means saving himself from love, then so be it. (Irrationality and heartache be damned!)

Tsukishima decides in his first year of university that he won’t do any of those things. 

How? His friends ask, guffaws in tow.

He simply tells them that he won’t fall in love. 

/

Not many people share in this same ideal, Tsukishima finds. 

He can’t say he’s very surprised or disappointed to have his philosophy rejected, especially by those same friends who have questioned his goal, Yamaguchi and Hinata. They’re fools who deem love as something akin to fate’s gift. 

Love is a choice, Tsukishima tells them, and this is his decision. 

They think he’s being a little silly for not wanting to fall in love. They say he’ll get bit in the ass when he least expects it and he’ll go back on his word, but he hardly thinks that’s true. 

If he doesn’t want to fall in love, then he won’t, and that’s perfectly okay. At the very least, you agree with him. 

You have always understood him on wavelengths that others simply could not. You have always stood by his side when it came to debates on this matter, and even more so when he really thinks about it. 

Tsukishima has been able to lean on you even in high school. Him being so introverted has made things difficult, and what he needed then was patience, something many people lacked, but unlike those people, you took the time to understand him and his struggles. 

It’s made him grateful to you. Even now. Scratch that, especially now. 

These days he isn’t just shooting you texts about how he could’ve let someone down easier. Sometimes it’s checking out hot pot places at 8PM on a Tuesday; other times, it’s going to the library until 5 AM because statistics midterms suck at an unbearable level, but you take the 8AM class with him anyway, just because it’s him, and General Education requirements may suck but they’re mandatory. 

It’s also sharing jokes that no one else gets, and teaming up against the rest of the group when they heckle you two about being the only ones who sees love as the bane of both your existences. 

Tsukishima has heard plenty of love advice and received Cosmopolitan articles on how to woo a friend from those same punks who think that love is given by chance. He has seen the knowing stares exchanged at kickbacks. Hell, he’s heard all the whispers, too. But it means nothing. 

This is friendship. No matter what anyone else tries to insinuate, you both know it means nothing for either of you. 

What you are together is simply platonic. 

Friends, that’s all. 

/

Somewhere along the way benefits become a factor for you two. 

These are the sort of benefits that forgo late night convenience store runs for ramen and other delicious, overly processed foods that Yamagchi and Sugawara blanch at the two of you over. Instead it’s the kind that means heated kisses in one another’s bedroom and wandering hands in places very few people have become privy to in both your two-decades long reign on this planet. 

And, it all starts over a simple experiment. 

At least that’s what you and Tsukishima like to call it. 

/

“Isn’t it stupid that Ennoshita would say that?” Tsukishima asks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “We can be friends. How can he say it’s impossible for us to be just friends? I mean there’s nothing wrong with being attracted to one another, right? You’re good looking. I’m good looking. We’re acknowledging each other’s attractiveness.” 

He pats the open space beside him on his bed, feeling it dip a little soon afterwards. You’re visiting him after he blew off the post-kickback get together. He shouldn’t be surprised that you came by to check on him.

You smile at him as one of your fingers pokes his cheek. “You sound awfully bothered over something that shouldn’t matter.” 

He frowns at your nonchalant tone, even if you are messing with him. 

Tsukishima has never been that particularly fond of other people telling him that his friendship with you is only the stepping stone to something more, that it would only be a matter of time before you two were calling one another cutesy pet names and holding hands for other reasons than as a precaution from getting lost in crowds, and that if he didn’t step up to the plate now, then he would lose you to someone else. 

But how could he? If anything, you’ve been more against love than him. Seeing you with someone else is as impossible as seeing Hinata at Aone’s height. Possibly with some help, but still highly unlikely. 

“I mean, aren’t you? So what if we’re attracted to each other? That doesn’t mean we’re going to start dating because of that.” 

You hum in affirmation. 

You know he has a point. It’s silly to expect two friends to date when both your admissions came as a result from a simple game of “truth or dare.” While it comes from a place of truth, it isn’t like either of you admitted to harboring deep-seated feelings for one another or anything. It’s simply an admission of truth. 

He thinks you’re attractive, beautiful even, and it helps that you share the same opinion as him when it comes to love. And, you think he’s attractive, handsome even, and it’s because you both share the same opinion on love that he doesn’t have to worry about frivolous things like falling in love with you. Or you with him. Your dynamics just work like that. 

“You know, there are other alternatives to relationships anyway, right?” you ask him, watching as he turns to face you on the bed. 

“Like what? Hooking up?” He feels a little dumbfounded. The idea of hooking up with you never really occurred to him. Clearly not because he wasn’t attracted to you, but didn’t those end up… badly? 

You nod. 

Seeing the instant confusion wash over his face, you explain, “Yeah, hook-ups aren’t so bad. It’s like a one and done. It doesn’t even have to lead to anything more. It’s like a preliminary thing. Trial or whatever. We give it a go and if it doesn’t work out, then we can just go back to being friends.” 

“And if it does? Work out, I mean,” he gulps. He doesn’t want to think of an option that means losing you or this friendship. But he’s intrigued, he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t, and you know it. 

“Then we have one of two options.” 

He blinks. “Which are?” 

“Well, if it does, then we can continue and enjoy the fun. Or, we really fuck ourselves over and do exactly what our friends have been betting on for years.” You lean in closer, eyes alight with mischief and interest. 

He feels a tug within him to concede, as if his own body knows its answer, while his mind’s doubts seem to lower in volume the longer he’s under your gaze. 

“What do you say? Up for an experiment?”

He still has to ask: “And, what if we can’t go back from this?”  

“I don’t know,” you whisper, eyes softening as you note his hesitancy. “Even that’s something I can’t answer. This is just a risk we both have to be willing to take. Truthfully, I’m in. But, are you? I-it’s okay if you aren’t, though, Kei. This was just a suggestion, of course—”

He doesn’t take a second longer to tell you his decision.

“I’m in.” 

After all, it couldn’t hurt… right?

 /

Tsukishima discovers many things in this time. 

Things that he never really gave a second thought on. Somewhere between how you look bathed in moonlight with the curtains half-open to the just-right way you feel beside him, he realizes how soft your skin is, how low and husky your voice can get when you’re feeling a particular way, and how powerful you are. 

There’s something enticing about you. Not just in the way you look bare, but the way you can make him feel even without the lack of clothing. He realizes that he enjoys the lingering taste of your lips against his, the heat that your fingertips leave behind, and the small voice you use when you call his name. 

It’s normal, he tries to convince himself. This is how it should be. 

It would be ridiculous to hate the way you feel or sound when it comes to him. And while that is true, that becomes a whole different matter when it bleeds into everyday life outside of the bedroom.

He swears there are moments where he can hear you say his name and you aren’t even in the room. His eyes catch sight of something familiar, at least enough to remind him of you, and suddenly you’re popping up front and center in his mind. He can’t help but smile, of course. 

Even just the taste of last night’s kiss rears its head when he’s doing homework, suddenly taking him right back to that night you two shared talking about the latest fantastical escapade in his reading arsenal. 

He believes the simplicity of these exchanges is the best part of this entire experiment. 

Being able to switch between friendship and, well, sex. And he isn’t sure if the consistent exposure to your presence has brought him to think of you constantly or if it’s some other seed blooming in the vestiges of his chest. He can’t say. Partially because he’s scared to. Because admitting to the second possibility means changing something good, something normal. And change, in this regard, often means a relationship. One that he isn’t sure if such feelings will truck through or crash and burn the moment he mentions it. 

Instead when you call out his name, looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and a fingertip tapping his cheek, he flashes one of his heartwarming smiles your way and brushes aside the concern. 

“It’s nothing,” he tells you. “I’m fine. Everything is perfect.” 

And while you aren’t convinced, you simply nod and take note to ask another day. 

/

The thing that bothers Tsukishima most is being fickle. 

He doesn’t like being fickle. He knows it is transcribed in the stars that he is a fickle being. And it doesn’t help that everyone is constantly telling him that he is indecisive. He knows already. He knows it well. He hates it, but only when it comes to you. 

He is never indecisive with you. Well, only because you’re the assurance he needs when it comes to decision-making. Maybe it’s your influence. You’re bullheaded and more self-assured than Patrick Verona from “Ten Things I Hate About You.” (Mind you, you’re the one who forced him to watch it. And, fortunately, he wound up loving it.) 

He constantly thinks about how opposed those two main leads are about love, simply because it is exactly against what everyone else expects from high school teenagers. They don’t conform to the status quo. They make their own status quo. Perhaps that is where Tsukishima garnered such a strong stance against love from. Partially from the movie and mostly from you. 

While everyone is banking on your relationship to become more than just friends, he truly can’t help but consider the possibility of a ‘more’ with you anymore. He realizes this when he sees you underneath the incandescent fairy lights hanging around your room. 

Your tranquil visage, how effortless you look sporting one of his T-shirts with a giant crescent moon on the back, and the way your limbs so effortlessly remain entangled. This is comfortable. This is… right. 

He doesn’t stop himself from brushing aside the stray locks covering your face. Normally, he might like to turn over and occupy another part of the bed, but he prefers to remain where he is with you in his arms, just so he can listen for your soft and steady breathing like his own personal lullaby. If he was brave enough, he probably would’ve kissed your cheek. 

Truthfully, if he were in a relationship with you, he truly wouldn’t mind. Not even a little bit. 

Realization strikes him then. A simple, yet vital question crosses his mind, one that he hadn’t thought needed to be asked before—could you feel the same way about him? 

Tsukishima doesn’t have any other answer besides I don’t know. 

/

When Tsukishima said he could never be as irrational as any other lovestruck fool, he never imagined what it would be like to see you in the arms of another man. 

Given, this is a man he knows well. Trusts, even. He can’t help but feel a large pang in his chest when Kuroo spins you around on the dancefloor. It’s a drunken habit that everyone either loves or hates depending on their sobriety levels, but even while sober, you seem to bask in this treatment with glee. 

It makes Tsukishima grumble under his breath, “What’s so good about him anyway?” 

He doesn’t ask anyone in particular and expects no one to answer him back, but a nudge and a pointed look from Sugawara tells him that his ruminations have not gone unnoticed. 

Sugawara nods his head in your direction. “You finally realize you’re in love with her?” 

“W-what? I am not in love… with her,” he says. It’s all weak and unconvincing.

The smirk on the silver-haired man’s face says it all, much to Tsukishima’s annoyance. 

“Shut up.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“You’re thinking about it.” He doesn’t want to say it aloud. He hardly feels right feeling what he does when you probably don’t even feel the same way anyway.

“What am I thinking that has you so peeved, Tsukishima?” Sugawara raises his eyebrow. “The truth?” 

The tone elicits a wince from Tsukishima, making him frown. Not that he’s unhappy, he’s just frustrated that the proverbial cat is now out of the bag. 

Tsukishima simply shakes his head, wanting nothing more than to escape from the scene. Maybe go home and burrow away into his bed, away from all of this. Afterparty milk tea trip with the rest of the group be damned. Did he really have to go when he was this emotionally compromised? Stewing right here just spells trouble, and not just for him, but for your friendship with him as well. 

“You should just be honest, dude. None of this ‘experiment’ bullshit. You both lost. Own up to the results.” 

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at Sugawara. The rest of the party seems to cease with more drinks getting passed around, which he receives one quite graciously. “What are you talking about ‘both?’ It’s just me. I fell first.” 

Sugawara snorts. 

Tsukishima shoots him an accusatory glare, but when he receives nothing in response, he chugs down the red Solo cup without thinking of what’s inside. 

The mixture kind of tastes like shit, and it makes him feel even worse, because now his mind won’t stop fixating on you and Kuroo. A match that could be made in heaven. 

The dark-haired man has always been handsome, adorable at times, funny without trying particularly hard, caring, and worst of all, certain. God, was Kuroo a certain bastard. He always seemed to know what he wanted. He did as he pleased and got whatever he set his heart on too. 

It’s cruel, really. The way fate has metaphorically bit him in the ass like Yamaguchi and Hinata predicted. 

Tsukishima can’t stand the thought that maybe you would choose Kuroo’s sauve side tonight. He particularly dislikes that he really did lose his chance thinking that this experiment would last forever. A few months should’ve sufficed. Should’ve. But only an idiot would let something as good as you be a temporary fling. 

“Maybe I’m the idiot,” he mutters, shutting his eyes.

Sugawara doesn’t respond immediately, in fact, he doesn’t respond at all. Instead a voice he swears is yours does. 

“Who’s an idiot?” Fingertips digging into his sides are unlike Yamaguchi or even Sugawara. In fact, these ones are all too familiar, even with two layers of clothing blocking access to his bare flesh. “Kei?” 

When he looks at the perpetrator, he nearly tumbles over to see you in Sugawara’s place. 

You immediately steady him by interlocking one of his arms with yours, and it’s only you. No Kuroo trailing behind you. No Sugawara in sight either. It’s just you and him walking toward an empty section of the house. Milk tea trip really be damned, you seemed to tell him. 

“Are you alright?” He notices you make eye contact with Yamaguchi before you two round the corner into the surprisingly unoccupied hallway. 

Tsukishima’s begrudgingly grateful that Kageyama’s place is a lot spacier than he remembers. It’s enough that he’s been granted some relief—no trip or an audience to bear witness to his major crash and burn.

He sighs. “N—yeah. Er, no.” 

“Yes or no? Which it is.” You flash him a half-smile as he sways inside the empty guest bedroom. 

He looks around after noting just how quiet it is without the thumping bass of music or the chatter of others drowning out just about everything else. It feels bare here somehow. 

He shakes his head. 

“Why?” Your eyebrows screw together. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I fucked up,” he whispers. Looking from the beige walls covered bare of any sentiments, he meets your softened gaze. “I fucked up the experiment.” 

“How did you do that?” 

“T-the results are inconclusive. I can’t continue, because,” he rubs the back of his head, “well, I caught feelings.”

The surprise is evident on your visage, even from the weak lighting created by the moon and street lamp outside. But he can’t deny seeing the sight of a smile beginning to grace your features either. Amusement, he can discern with absolute certainty. Relief, dare he say? All of the things he never imagined in any of his scenarios about this moment. 

“Leave it to you to be able to use big words when you’re buzzed.” 

“It’s true. We can’t continue this. I mean I’d love to have something with you, but this isn’t a one and done for me. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.”

“Really? You mean that?” Even though you won’t say it directly, he knows there’s a huge burden of thoughts on your mind from the way your bottom lip gets captured by your teeth. 

“Yeah, I mean it. I—I can’t pretend that I don’t love you anymore. I just can’t. I don’t think I ever expected to feel this way for anyone, but spending so much time with you in and out of bed has shown me that whatever shit I said before has gone completely out of the window. I mean I’m not asking you to be with me if that’s not what you want, but if at all, you feel something too, then…” He can’t help but fiddle with his fingers. Why is his heart beating so loudly? Can’t you hear it? 

“You love me?” 

He swears then that you probably can. 

Slowly, he nods. “I don’t know how I came to love you exactly, but it just struck me when you were sleeping. It felt right that you were beside me. Easy and comfortable, even. I debated so hard about what these feelings were when it came to you. I didn’t think I could like someone this much. But I just do. I just love you for you, for being there... for existing.” 

The last part has his cheeks burning, and Tsukishima can’t help but look away to save himself the humiliation of looking like a fresh tomato. You laugh when he does this, and he can’t even help himself from trying to catch a glimpse.  

He loves your soft exhale, it’s one that he relishes in. Somehow you don’t look as perturbed or aghast as he expects. If anything, you look quite content. It makes him wonder if Sugawara was right, if everyone else was right all along. 

He asks, “Well, what do you say?” 

This time you laugh again. A much louder, but he can’t help but break out into a broad grin, because the atmosphere feels lighter than any tension breaking to grip the room. He knows without being told.

“Only you, Kei. Of course, I love you too.” 

His heart swells, and a greedy part of him wants to hear you say it again. “Really?”

You nod and look at him as if there couldn’t possibly be any other answer out there. “There’s no one else in this world that could understand me the way you do. No one could touch me like you, make me laugh like you, and certainly not watch ‘Ten Things I Hate About You’ five million times with me like you.” 

“Five million and one times,” he corrects. 

His fingers shyly brush away the hair threatening to cover your face, and he refuses to be denied that luxury. Not when he can’t seem to get enough of you. He can’t even bear to move his hand away after he’s done it. “And I’d watch it over and over again with you, by the way.” 

“Good.” You smile at him, cupping your hand over his. “I’m glad we finally came to a conclusion on this.” 

“Even if it means getting ‘I-told-you-so’s’ and teased to all hell?” He smiles when you nod. “Good, ‘cuz I don’t think I’d have it any other way.” 

“Yeah, me either,” you say, leaning in to peck his lips. Of course, he returns the gesture (and then some). 

(The room is empty, after all.)

#tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima imagines #tsukshima fanfic #tsukishima fluff #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima x you #emwrites #title: in conclusion (i love you)

[zigtheeortega]

incomparable

pairing | logan x mc

word count | 7.4k

warnings | there’s a lot of angst in this one, and it’s definitely an emotional hurt/comfort fic! if you don’t like the idea of logan trying to move on, then this one isn’t for you!

tags | @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @senatorraines, @dionneserrano, @blainehayes, @rodappreciationweek

author’s note | a while ago, my sweet friend and fellow mod @/pixeljazzy suggested a fic plot that’s angsty and absolutely demonic, aka logan tries to move on, so i decided to write it! i’d been working on this before the mods decided to create the time capsule challenge, so i’m very content that this fits into the theme well !!! and to clarify, this is an au where my mc raquel writes down her experience with the mpc and ends up publishing it and unintentionally becomes a best selling author! also yes rodaw brought me out of my choices writing break and i’m not mad at it at all

•─────────────────•

She wasn’t Raquel.

That much was obvious – she was taller. Her shoulders were broader. Her hair was short, bluntly cut at her collarbones, and dark brown.

She was tattoo free. The skin of her arm was bare – a clean slate. Untouched.

She seemed more innocent, too. Not in the way that Raquel was when they first met.

This woman was grown with a full time job and a comfy apartment in the heart of the city, but… there was something missing.

She probably had no clue that there was a seedy underbelly to her home. Didn’t have the misfortune of crossing paths with someone like him when he was at his worst.

She was privileged enough to go about her life while a whole microcosm of crime happened right under her nose. And she didn’t want to know. Didn’t need to know.

Logan wasn’t exactly jazzed to shatter another woman’s innocence the way he did with Raquel.

This girl seemed… safe. Level headed, secure, and millions of miles away from the life he’d abandoned.

It kind of happened by accident. Meeting her, that is.

It wasn’t a carefully crafted “accident” like with Raquel. She actually just… caught his eye.

He’d gotten an honest job as a mechanic on the outskirts of L.A., working mostly with the struggling working class that had long been banished to the dingiest corners, despite being the most important cogs in the city’s machine.

The autoshop was family owned, and had been for generations – the owner, Nicandro, had accepted Logan as his own, and Logan had practically become a part of the Alvarez family.

He hadn’t anticipated finding his own home in the same city that’d chewed him up and spat him out time and time again.

A couple months into working there, he was finally settling into his routine. Nine-to-five job on weekdays, community college classes on weekends, and the occasional Saturday mass when he was invited by the Alvarezes.

He was functioning. He had a routine. And then this girl came in and disrupted it all.

The Honda Civic girl.

When the average looking car pulled up outside, he didn’t give it a second glance.

He went back to work, arms deep in the engine, grimy and stained from repairing Miss Anita’s ancient artifact she insisted on saving even though it was less than a thousand miles away from crumbling cartoon-style till only the wheels were left.

(But she was family to the Alvarezes, so Nicandro insisted on repairing the car for free nearly every week when she needed something new tweaked.)

He heard her voice from across the room and still didn’t look up from his hands.

“Hi, this is embarrassing, but my engine light thingy came on and I have no clue what it means,” she said with a nervous laugh. “I’m on my way out of town for a couple of days, so I thought I’d stop and get it checked out before you closed for the night.”

“Aye, Lo, can you help her out real quick? We’ve gotta truck coming in with parts soon and I gotta keep watch,” Nicandro called across the garage, shooting Logan a toothy grin as soon as he looked up.

“Sure,” Logan smiled politely, scrubbing his forearm over his brow, the sweat managing to hold a couple strands of his hair captive against his skin.

He was assuming it’d be a typical oil change, but the second she came into view, the ghost of the last time he left L.A. gripped his heart and squeezed until adrenaline shot through every vein in his body.

Her t-shirt, tucked neatly into her denim shorts, read “Langston”.

It wasn’t the sweatshirt, but it was the same design, same color.

He knew staying in L.A. was a gamble, but he was willing to risk it. Staying away from Raquel was priority for her safety, but… he couldn’t bury the inkling of hope that pushed its way to the surface when he walked into a coffee shop or a bookstore – places he knew she’d love.

Once he saw the shirt and her big brown eyes, he was done for.

She wasn’t Raquel, but something about her lived in this stranger.

Before he could stop himself, he was comparing her to his first love – a disaster waiting to happen.

Their first date was anything but – she insisted on bringing him a vanilla milkshake from his favorite burger place to his work.

“How’d you know I was working?” He asked earnestly, mirroring her soft smile.

“I didn’t. Nicandro told me vanilla milkshakes were your favorite and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise so…” she shrugged, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve, uh, brought milkshakes up here every day this weekend.”

He laughed – a real genuine surprised laugh – and took a sip from the styrofoam cup. “You didn’t let them go to waste, did you?”

“Nah, Nicandro’s been really happy with me.”

“Yum,” he hummed. “I’m happy with you, too.”

She grinned in delight, taking a sip from hers. “I’m glad my hard work paid off.”

She stayed there for his whole lunch break, and they chatted, casual conversation with no substance, and he actually enjoyed himself.

The last time he remembered having casual conversations about nothing with a girl his age, he was curled underneath the sheets with Raquel, tracing the outlines of her sleeve of tattoos. He could’ve listened to her talk for hours.

This girl… she was pretty tolerable – she listened to him (hung on every word, even) and cared about what he had to say, even though it was a laid back, low stakes conversation.

“My name’s Renée, you know. I realized I haven’t told you,” she smiled, resting her cheek on her hand. She was facing him, and they were seated on the same side of the old wooden table out back behind the garage.

“Renée,” he repeated, shaking the styrofoam cup to gather the last bit of milkshake at the bottom before tipping it back to lap it up. “I’m Logan.”

“Logan,” she nodded. “It suits you.”

“S’not my real name,” he shrugged.

He didn’t know why he was telling her that. If he told her too much, it’d end the same.

She tipped her own cup back, tapping the bottom to get little stray ice chunks out. “Fine by me. I still think it suits you.”

She was way too trustworthy of a man she didn’t know, but… wasn’t that what attracted him to Raquel in the first place?

Without a shred of judgement in her eyes, Raquel took everything Logan said as the truth, despite how many times he’d fucked up. Betrayed her.

Renée didn’t look at him like he was a criminal and… well… he wasn’t one anymore. He was still in the criminal mindset, though, since he’d been ostracized for so damn long.

The next couple weeks were uncomfortable – not because Renée made him uncomfortable in the slightest. If anything, she was doing the opposite, and that was the problem.

He’d had to reopen himself to caring about another woman, and to say it was a difficult task was an understatement. The gates were stubborn, rusted shut, so much so that he had to force them apart, ignoring the grating screech of metal and the inevitable pain that came with being vulnerable again.

They went on a few dinner dates. She brought him lunch at work. She invited him to her apartment. They went to a food truck festival together.

Renée disrupted his routine, and it was a breath of fresh air.

He’d gotten so comfortable with his quaint life and his work family that he hadn’t pushed himself to do much more than that.

But the first time she held his hand, he froze.

She casually grabbed his hand to lead him through a crowd and his body reacted like he’d been electrocuted. It wasn’t wrong, but it felt wrong.

“Are you good?”

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, wiping his clammy palm against his jeans before letting her grab his hand again.

It wasn’t wrong, but it was wrong.

He should’ve ended it that moment, but he didn’t. He’d convinced himself that if he could push through the initial weirdness of it all, he’d be happy. Eventually.

So he went through the motions with her, trying his hardest to push his comparisons of her to Raquel to the back of his mind, but every so often it’d bubble to the surface.

It’d manifest in the most random ways.

She liked Coke icees, not cherry.

Oh we watched that rom-com together, and she hated it because it was too corny.

She likes that TV show as background noise because she thinks it’s dumb, and I do, too.

It was unhealthy to think of Raquel that much – to compare Renée to her that much – but he couldn’t help it.

The last time he was happy, safe, loved, was with Raquel. He hadn’t chased that feeling for a long time (because he wasn’t sure he could find it again), but with Renée he was getting closer to what he used to have.

Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted that warmth – that comfort – again.

She wasn’t Raquel, but she’d have to do.

A month into their casual dating, Renée kissed him. Well, she tried.

She’d insisted on driving him to a boujee rooftop bar near her place and was thoroughly buzzed off a couple of cosmopolitans less than an hour into them being there.

The party was in full swing around them, the corny ass cover band on their fourth “tribute” to Billy Joel.

He was out of his element to say the least. 

Just as he was about to lean over to tell her he needed to use the bathroom, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her mouth against his, planting sloppy, sugary, open mouthed kisses on his parted lips, frozen in shock.

“Logan,” she breathed, squeezing him tighter, not even registering how tense he was.

“Renée… hey, hey,” he said, gently but firmly pulling her away from him. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

Her big brown eyes welled up with tears and his chest twinged with guilt, the distant memory of the first time he’d betrayed Raquel floating around the back of his brain.

“I’m sorry I – I don’t know what came over me –” she turned away from him, dabbing her eyes with the crook of her finger.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize,” he reassured her, rubbing his palm in small circles on her back. “We’re good.”

“I wanted our first kiss to be special and I royally screwed that up,” she sighed, swivelling back till she was facing him again.

“Can’t do worse than me.”

She chewed her lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Oh yeah?” 

“I was a girl’s first kiss… five minutes after we’d outrun the cops.”

Her laugh was a surprised one, her bright smile replacing her disappointed expression almost immediately.

“That’s surprising. I never pegged you as a law breaking type,” she blinked, the alcohol clearly making her a bit more ballsy than she normally was.

It was his turn to laugh – he doubled over, nearly knocking over her half empty glass in the process.

“I used to be quite a troublemaker.”

Despite her not-so-subtle hints over the next few weeks, he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her.

She probably thought he was the prudiest of the prudes, the local catholic church’s golden boy,  the working man’s poster child of abstinence till marriage.

He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Yet.

He was wearing himself down more and more each day – he was on the track to kiss her in… a couple months to a year. Probably.

Two months in, she invited him to a swanky event her job was hosting.

She was one of many accountants working in the financial department for a large publishing company. She had a really cool gig, and she knew it. She never bragged, but she was proud of her accomplishments. 

So why was she dating a mechanic who was making a third of her income? He had no idea.

Either way, he tried to enjoy himself. The car that picked them up was luxurious, and that and the food and booze reflected just how much money their company had made that year.

The venue was huge and packed to the brim with hundreds of people, the standing tables a couple feet apart all throughout the ballroom.

“Damn, they weren’t playing around with this, huh?” He mused, taking a sip from his mug, filled to the brim with locally brewed beer.

“Yep, they’re serious about giving a warm welcome to new authors,” Renée said over the rim of her drink, gesturing vaguely to the room around them.

“Yeah, so is that what they’re doing?”

“Mhmm. Every year we hold a big party to celebrate our deals for that year. It’s really just to pat ourselves on the back and give our new authors a sense of comfort here, you know?”

“Can I get a booklist or something? I might wanna check out some of these books afterwards. I feel guilty as hell eating duck, drinking their expensive ass alcohol, and rolling back home without, ya know, doing anything,” he shrugged, the fabric of his hand me down suit straining with effort at the motion.

“One of the authors insisted on not being included in any of the party promos so… she kinda ruined it for everybody. But she’s our number one best seller for this year, so…” she rolled her eyes, tipping back the last of her cosmo.

“And don’t worry about it. We budgeted for this and we’re good,” Renée nodded, giving Logan’s hand a squeeze over the table.

“So what’s the itinerary for the night?” Logan asked, rolling his mug around by its base, the beer swirling around the edges, just barely kissing the rim, but not quite overflowing.

It was stupid to relate to a fucking mug of beer, but he did.

Anytime he pushed himself to his limit with Renée, he retreated, never breaking past that threshold, that barrier he set in place for himself long before he’d ever met her.

“The President is gonna give some speech – he’s that guy right there –” she said, scooting around the table till her arm was pressed against the sleeve of his jacket, “Then the Vice President – that woman – is gonna introduce the guests of honor, and they’ll give introductions. Then a brief presentation from my boss about how much money we raked in this year, then… yep. We can leave.”

“Sounds painless enough.”

She laughed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Thanks for coming with me, Lo. I really appreciate it.”

Before he could register what was happening, she’d tipped his chin towards her, pressing a tender, gracious kiss on his lips.

She pulled back, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

He mirrored her smile, but inside he was screaming.

He felt nothing. The kiss elicited absolutely nothing from him.

She kissed him and it felt like he was kissing a friend. Completely platonic.

He’d sunk months into getting comfortable with her just for it to blow up in his face. The second he’d let his guard down so things could progress naturally, it backfired.

He’d taken Raquel for granted. Being with her was so effortless that he didn’t have to think about it, and he let that slip away without trying to get her back.

He thought he was doing the right thing by her, but it was hurting him more than he’d ever anticipated.

It wasn’t that he considered her another notch in the bedpost. It was the opposite – the bedpost didn’t exist anymore.

There was only her. No one else. No matter how many times he tried to remedy his broken heart, it’d just bring him right back to her: the only woman that ever had the privilege of making herself a home there.

“I, uh, need to go to the restroom. Excuse me,” he said, jabbing his thumbs toward the double doors, heading outside before she had a chance to respond.

He pushed his way out of the room, his heart in time with the slap of his shoes against the flooring.

As soon as he was out of the doors, he kept walking, striding past the laggards mingling in the hallway, past the bathrooms, past the security, till he felt the dirty L.A. air coat his lungs.

God, if he could only catch his breath maybe he could go back in there and salvage the night. Maybe even make himself look less like a skittish idiot.

Despite the fact that his brain was wired to unintentionally treat her like a friend, he didn’t want to hurt this girl. 

He didn’t smoke often – just a taste of nicotine when he was drunk or the occasional cigarette when he was stressed.

There was a crumpled pack in his glove box that’d been there for months.

Why didn’t he just drive? He was fucking stranded. He couldn’t run. Couldn’t put distance between him and this situation that he’d willingly put himself in.

None of this was Renée’s fault. There wasn’t a single aspect of the situation that was her fault.

She was a girl who wanted to date a boy because of reciprocated interest.

He felt like the biggest loser in the world. Here she was, a beautiful girl with a lust for life and ambitions that dwarfed anything he’d ever imagined for himself.

And all she wanted to do was love him.

And he wouldn’t let her. Couldn’t let her.

His back slid against the brick wall until he was squatting, arms braced against his knees while he tried to gulp down fresh air as fast as the wind whipped at him.

He’d managed to find the one corner of the building that was completely unoccupied. For once, he was thankful for his gut instinct to lurk in the shadows.

He’d barely gotten a minute of solitude before the door closest to him flew open, a blur of tulle streaking across his peripheral.

The person’s breaths were labored, panicked, as they ran the opposite direction until they were at the edge of the pavement.

They bent down, just like he had, and clasped both hands over their mouth, letting out a small muffled scream.

When she was finished with that, she tilted her chin upwards, her skin illuminated by the light from the parking lot that spilled onto their side of the building.

If he thought breathing was difficult before, it got a whole lot worse when she noticed he was there.

She jumped, yelping like a wounded animal before stumbling back, catching herself with her hands. “Oh my god, I didn’t know anyone was here – I’m sorry –”

Pushing herself back up to stand, she brushed her palms off and shook the tulle skirt clean. “I’m just a little stressed. Sorry again for the outburst.”

That can’t be her. There’s no way, he thought, his mouth drying out when he got a clear view of her face.

“Raquel?” He asked, timidly, voice cracking on the first syllable.

She froze, searching the shadows, her hands white knuckling her skirt.

He didn’t speak, and neither did she. He couldn’t tell how long they’d been quiet when he pushed himself to his full height and took a step towards her.

“No, no, no, there’s no way,” she whispered, stumbling backwards, catching herself on the brick wall.

“It’s – uh, it’s me –” he said, laying his palm flat against his chest. “It’s Logan.”

His voice trembled, the effort of speaking (despite nearly being rendered speechless) was more than he could handle – it was as if he had to manually pick up his words like stones and drop them, and they were heavy, and he was weak.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She didn’t respond.

“I… uh, what are you doing here?” He asked finally, forcing the question past his lips.

If he didn’t say something he’d be drinking her in all night. It’d been a couple years, but she looked exactly the same.

Yeah, her hair was mid-length, the ombre traded for a black tone, and she’d gotten a few more tattoos that he could see, but she was the same old Raquel.

Same old Raquel, but professionally styled. He wasn’t self conscious of his hand-me-down suit until he noticed how polished she looked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she breathed, a strained tone followed by a struggled breath.

His heart dropped to his stomach. He’d completely forgotten about Renée.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened and closed it again, like a fucking fish out of water. There was no way to beat around it.

“I’m a plus one.”

Her perfectly gelled brows furrowed, and his gut clenched at the motion.

He was scared as hell, but damn did she look exactly like she did when she was hunched over a textbook, scrawling notes as quick as her brain summarized the words on the page.

“You didn’t… deliberately come here to see me?” She asked, searching his face for something (the truth, probably).

He ran a hand through his unruly hair, an inch or so shorter than she’d last seen it.

Why’d he have to run into her after he’d gotten a trim? He’d imagined this moment going so many different ways, and every scenario he’d pictured them looking like they did the moment they parted – if he had it his way, every detail would be exactly the same as the day he disappeared into the night, from his head down to his shoes.

“I, uh… No, I didn’t,” he stammered, taking another step her way, and that time she didn’t move back.

Shaking her head, she watched him, expression incredulous. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Just because I didn’t come here for you doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” he said, reaching out towards her.

He thought she’d flinch away, but she stayed planted in place, her eyelids fluttering shut when he stroked the pad of his thumb against her jaw, revelling in how soft her skin was. Just like he remembered.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

She turned her head just enough till she could kiss his palm, leaving a streak of lipgloss on his calloused skin. “This doesn’t feel real.”

“It is, baby,” he reassured her, before testing her even further by tugging her into a hug. “This isn’t a dream, but it sure feels like one.”

She ran her hands across his back, like she was refamiliarizing herself with his frame, before squeezing him tight, her arms shaking with effort. “You smell exactly the same.”

He laughed, burying his nose into her crown, pressing a kiss there. “You do, too. Like lavender’n’heaven.”

Raquel was in front of him, just as warm and pretty as she was the last time he’d seen her. She even felt the same in his arms, molding to his shape like no time had passed.

Adrenaline surged in his veins, and he took advantage of his momentary courage by tipping her chin upward to get a good look at her.

God, she was so fucking pretty.

Nothing else mattered to him anymore. His mechanic job, his car, his friendships, his home in L.A. –

He’d made a home in those dark brown eyes, and he was willing to drop everything and follow her to the ends of the earth if that meant he’d be back in the one home he’d ever known.

She blinked away a few tears, her bottom lip trembling, dimpling her chin.

He cupped her face between his palms, cradling her face as gently as he would with something breakable, soaking in the moment for as long as he could.

He could’ve held her like that and re-committed every inch of her face to memory, but she broke first, closing the gap by pressing her lips against his and Christ did she taste sweet.

Their mouths, arms, bodies, slotted together perfectly, not an inch of space between them.

Just as he parted his lips for her, she stiffened, retreating from him immediately.

“You taste like cherry. I hate cherry.”

Her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. “You hate cherry.”

He went rigid, the details from a few minutes before flooding back to him. Renée was wearing cherry gloss.

“Oh my god… you’re here with someone?” She asked, but she said it with such conviction, because she knew it was true, and she was begging for it not to be.

His mouth popped open and shut again. “I’m sorry –” “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve moved on and that’s okay. I’m happy for you.” Her voice was trembling with each word – the stones were heavy, and she was struggling, and he could tell.

“No, Raquel, it’s not like that. I promise –”

“Please don’t make me any promises, Lo. I don’t know if my heart can take it,” she said, palms up in surrender.

And she said his nickname. It sounded wrong coming from anyone but her.

“I’m serious, baby, I didn’t think I’d see you again, especially at a schmooze fest like this.”

She blinked, once, twice, processing what he’d said. “So… not only did you insult me by showing up with another woman, but you’re insulting this event that I’ve worked so hard to attend, and you’re insulting me.”

“Raquel… I never meant it that way, I… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

He dug the heel of his palms into his eyes, groaning in frustration. “I stayed in L.A. in case I ever saw you again, but I didn’t think it’d be this soon, and I dreamed up lots of scenarios but none of them went like this. I fucked it up majorly and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t fucking know.”

She didn’t say anything for a while, her arms folded across her chest while she mulled over his words. “I never tried moving on.”

It hit him like a gut punch, grabbing his organs and twisting till pain shot throughout his body. “You didn’t?” Was all he could manage.

“No, I couldn’t. There’s no way I could when I’m still in love with you.”

She screwed her eyes shut, a sob leaving her before she could contain it.

“Raquel, please believe me –” Logan pleaded, stepping towards her. “If I woulda known you were gonna be here, trust me, I’d be dressed better and you’d be my date and I’d be showing you off to the world –”

Her watch buzzed, startling the both of them. “I… have to go. We can talk after, if you want.”

“Yes, please. That’s all I want,” he laced his fingers with hers, gently tugging her hand towards his lips to press a soft kiss on her knuckles. “I’ll find you after. I promise.”

Giving him one last once over, drinking him in, like she was second guessing if he was real, she stepped back through the doors.

He took a few deep breaths to compose himself before heading in – explaining his outburst to Renée hadn’t crossed his mind till he walked back inside.

He made his way back to the table, running over how he was going to apologize, but nothing stuck. He couldn’t think of anything but Raquel.

Renée was sipping on her second drink of the night, and his beer looked like it’d been dipped into as well.

“Are you okay?” She asked immediately. “I’m sorry about kissing you like that I just – I just thought you were comfortable enough. I screwed up again, Lo, and I’m so sorry.”

“Renée…” He couldn’t get over how unnatural “Lo” sounded coming from her. “The way I’ve been acting has nothing to do with you, okay? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Kinda sounds like you’re breaking up with me,” she laughed once, rolling her eyes. They widened as soon as it dawned on her. “Wait… are you?”

“Can we talk outside? I really want you to hear me out –” “Logan, if you’re gonna dump me, at least respect me enough to not do it in the parking lot,” she sighed, chugging the rest of her drink.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, sliding his half empty mug of beer her way. “I do respect you, though. A lot. You’re an amazing person.”

Sighing, she tipped back the beer, gulping until he could see her eyes through the transparent bottom of the glass. “I’ve definitely heard this spiel before.”

“I’m gonna tell you this story, and you’re probably not gonna believe it, but it’s true, and it was my life – it is my life,” he started, leaning against the table so she could hear his low tone.

“Years ago, I met the woman of my dreams, and she was innocent and way too fucking good for me. I was breaking the law daily by doing jobs with crews of criminals like me, living off the grid, making money in ways I’m not too proud of.

“She was a part of one of my last jobs before I left L.A. to lay low and I, uh, I fell in love with her. I’m still in love with her. I don’t know what my life would look like if I wasn’t in love with her, you know?”

Her face screwed up in disgust, and she all but slammed the mug down, whispering furiously. “Are you mocking me? Did you seriously just regurgitate the plot of Ride or Die to me? That’s the story you’re going with? One that isn’t even your own?”

“Huh, what? What are you –”

The speakers crackled and a mic squeaked as who Logan assumed to be President tapped the surface of it, cutting off his response.

“Hello everyone, I hope you’re all having a wonderful night so far. As most of you may know, my name is Arnie Harris, and I’m the President of Harris Publishing. When my grandfather founded Harris Publishing back in 1901, he only did so because he wanted to be able to publish a few of his wife’s poems as a gift. Publishers refused to register it under her name, so he made his own company so my grandma could achieve her dream of being a published author, and throughout the years, we’ve been committed to giving voices to women and minorities alike.

“This year’s been one of our best yet, and I’m so thankful to our new authors for seeing something in us and our mission statement. A big thank you to everyone here tonight – Editing, Marketing, Finance, all the staff and employees, hell, the caterers here tonight, valets, everyone. Tonight wouldn’t be possible without you.”

He droned on for a bit longer before the Vice President took the stage, and she began introducing the newest authors that they’d signed that year.

They’d copped quite a few best sellers, which was impressive. Each author took the stage briefly to thank Harris Publishing and give a brief summary of their goals for the next few years.

Renée was ignoring him at that point, refusing to even look his way. He’d be more upset about that if he wasn’t scanning every inch of the room for Raquel, trying desperately to spot the rose colored tulle and midnight hair in the crowd.

“– and the last author of the night, the number one young adult New York Times’ Best Seller for five months and counting, Raquel Olvera with Ride or Die!”

His head snapped towards the stage, his eyes wide. “What the fuck –”

“Renée, she… who…”

“She’s our top seller. The one I said didn’t wanna be in the promos?” She answered flatly, still staring straight ahead.

“Renée, that’s – that’s her, that’s the girl I’m in love with –”

“Oh, please –” She stopped when she saw how genuinely caught off guard he was. “Oh my god, you’re not lying.”

“No, that’s her – I didn’t think – I ran into her outside and she said we’d talk later, but I – I didn’t think she was coming back inside for this –”

“You’re who she wrote about,” Renée whispered, her eyes as wide as Logan’s were, words beginning to slur just a bit. “Holy shit, I just thought the names were a coincidence, but no, you’re him.”

“What… huh?”

“Oh, Logan…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ride or Die is about you, your old crew, and how she fell in love with you.”

His heart sank. “About me?”

She nodded. “She changed most of the names but kept some, including yours. The ending… you really had to leave L.A. to flee the cops?”

He nodded. “The feds were on our tails.”

“My god… she’s so in love with you. You have to go to her,” Renée shook her head, her hair swaying around her. “No hard feelings at all. You can’t let her go – I’m serious.” 

She’d taken the stage, and had begun thanking people while Logan and Renée whispered furiously at each other. By the time they looked up, she was beginning her speech.

“I never really set out to become a writer. Even though I’m a published author, I don’t really feel like one. Every time I step back to assess the response I’ve gotten to ‘Ride or Die’, I’m rendered speechless without fail. I just wanted an outlet to get my story out, and surprisingly – thankfully – the lovely staff of Harris Publishing decided to take a chance on me. I never thought this level of success was possible, and I’m so grateful for everyone here.”

She held for applause, smiling as though she was grateful for each clap.

“But beneath the positivity and praise I’ve received, I’m still healing. I’m still hurting. Most people know that ‘Ride or Die’ is somewhat of a true story. And yes, I know there’ve been discussions on whether this is a fake autobiography and that I wrote this for attention. Honestly, for the first year after they left, I wished that it was fake, because I was in a lot of pain. Emotionally, I was in shambles.

“I’ve loved telling my story as a form of therapy, but I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. The love of my life vanished into the night and I couldn’t do a single thing about it. No closure, no healing, no moving on.

“Stagnancy’s been the norm for me for so long that I forgot what life was like when I was smiling every day. I’m still getting used to happiness being an everyday feeling for me.”

Raquel shook her head, taking a deep breath and dabbing at the corner of her eyes. The audience took this cue to clap again, encouraging her to continue.

Logan watched the monitor on the wall, which zoomed into her face, catching her dazzling brown eyes. He was in awe. She was tough as nails with a heart of gold and he still didn’t deserve her.

“I thought that a life without love was bleak, and that I was doomed to suffer because I didn’t know if I’d ever see Logan again.”

She took another deep breath, squaring her shoulders.

“I’ve realized that I’m surrounded by more love than I know what to do with. By those who love my story, who resonate with my story, and who want or already have a Logan of their own. I get to experience love every day through that affirmation, and I took it for granted till… well, tonight, honestly.

“The end of the story wasn’t really the end of the story for me. I thought that ‘Ride or Die’ was the first and final book, and I’ve been terrified for a while that by the time the hype for this book died down, so would my hope, and I’d have to move on… but like I’ve said, the closure I’ve craved is in everyone that carries my story with them. You’re all healing me by making me feel seen and heard and loved.

“This might be a lot for a speech at a fancy event at the publishing company that signed me, but through all of you who’ve made this possible, I feel like the version of me from years ago when I hopped in a sports car with a stranger who later turned out to be the love of my life.

“The adrenaline, the lust for life, feeling alive – I owe it all to you. Thank you.”

The cheers were raucous by the time she stepped off stage.

Logan’s throat was tight – she still loved him no matter how much it hurt.

Jesus fucking Christ, he would never deserve her.

Renée was sniffling next to him, hand over her mouth. “Logan, you seriously need to go to her. You can’t let her get away again.”

He pulled her in for a quick hug, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You really do deserve so much better than me.”

She grinned and patted his cheek lightly. “You’ve never been more right.”

He turned, darting towards the doors, shoving past anyone and everyone to get outside.

When he made it out of the doors, he ran smack into Raquel.

Thankfully, the only people outside of the room were the security guards, who’s attention was focused on the front door.

Raquel pulled him down the hallway and stopped at the last door on the left, a sign with her name on it taped to the outside of the door.

She fumbled with the keycard, her hands trembling.

“Shit –” she cursed, the card tumbling from her hands and onto the tile floor.

He snatched it off the ground and scanned it in one swoop. Within seconds, she’d shoved the door open and slammed it behind them.

His heart was racing. The last time she’d been this hasty was their final kiss, and he couldn’t fathom going through that again.

She stood in front of him, his back to the door, her gaze trained on his chest.

From his height he can see that her face is contorted, but she buries her face in her hands before he can get a good look.

“She looks just like me.” Her voice was a mere whisper, like she couldn’t manage anything more than that.

His heart sank to his feet. “Raquel –” “You say you didn’t know I was going to be here, but then why’d you date someone that works at the same company my book’s being published at?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I didn’t come here with the intention of hurting you,” he started, gently resting a palm on her shoulder. “Especially knowing how hard it’s been for you, I –”

He broke his sentence off, cursing himself. “Shit, I didn’t know you were having just as hard a time as me. I figured you’d go to college and meet someone better than me. I don’t know.”

“You can’t just say you expected me to move on because you clearly haven’t. What, is her name Rachel or something?” She pulled back, putting a step of space between them. 

He shook his head. “Renée.”

“It even starts with the same letter,” she shook her head, biting her lip. “You thought I’d move on so you started dating the first person that reminded you of me?”

“I – I’m –” He stuttered, dumbfounded that she’d gotten it in one try, as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“I want you to understand why I’m upset, Lo. You came back to L.A. because you thought there was a possibility that you’d see me again, but you ‘figured I’d move on’. You’re seeing a girl that looks like she could be related to me, yet you’re avoiding discussing that. “I’m mad because while I’ve been trying to heal, you’ve been making yourself suffer, and that’s not fair to Renée. You had no idea if you were gonna see me again so you tried to get the next best thing. You have to see why that’s fucked up, Lo.”

“Even if I was dating Renée because she reminded me of you, none of that matters now.”

“You can’t just dump Renée because you took one look at the girl you dated for a month years ago and decided you wanted her instead –”

“Stop. Don’t try to downplay your role in my life, Raquel. You’re not ‘just the girl I dated’, alright? I loved you then and I love you now.” 

“You can’t love me and string her along at the same time, Logan,” she furiously whispered, her voice nearing hysterics.

He blinked, shaking his head. “Did… you think I was coming here to show you that I’d moved on? And wanted to rub it in your face?”

She chewed the inside of her lip, her dark brown eyes downcast. “Maybe.”

“Renée ended things first. Just now, actually. The minute she realized that I’m the Logan from your book, she told me I needed to go to you,” he reassured her, reaching out to tip her chin up with a crooked finger, forcing her to meet his eye.

“Raquel, I had no fucking clue you’d written about us and the old crew. All these years, I’ve always known how much I love you but… goddamn, I didn’t know you loved me the way I loved you.”

Her eyes glistened, her surprised laugh coming out as a soft sob.

“So… you really do love me? It wasn’t just circumstance?” She asked, leaning into his palm when he slid his hand up to cup her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter how we felt back then, baby. None of that matters now because we fell for each other while we were apart,” he smiled softly, leaning in to press a soft kiss on her lips.

“God, I love you,” she whispered against his lips, deepening the kiss.

“Say it again,” he murmured. “I need to hear it again.”

“I love you,” she repeated, louder, more confident this time. “I’ll say it as many times as you want, as long as you say it back.”

“I love you,” he said, no hesitation, tangling his fingers through her hair and pulling her in again.

The only time they came up for air was to whisper sweet affirmations against each other’s skin before delving back into silently relearning what they could about each other.

Logan had never been the best with words, and he was at peace with that. He knew that when it mattered, he’d show it. And in the dim lighting of Raquel’s green room, he showed her over and over just how much she meant to him.

Kiss by kiss, they adhered themselves to each other, undoubtedly deciding they’d never let each other go again.

She wasn’t Raquel. That much was obvious. She’d grown into much more than the timid girl he’d met on her 18th birthday, and even more than the headstrong driver he’d left behind. 

And he loved her this way and that way – any way he could get her. His love for every version of her was boundless, incomparable to anything he’d ever felt before.

#playchoices #choices rod #rod logan #rodaw #rodtimecapsule #jade writes choices fics

[brattybookclub]

A BDSMer’s Perspective on THAT Open Heart Diamond Scene

*WARNING: Discussions of NSFW content and BDSM done properly and poorly*

Hi, this is Cath! A major area of interest to me is BDSM, and while I am still a newbie (sadly my journey into the BDSM community was halted due to the pandemic, but that aside, I’ve been doing research since I was a teenager), I was able to identify several problems with the Ethan scene, from a BDSM perspective. This is meant to criticize PB, as I feel that this shows arrogance on their part, and that they just saw the Chapters ad for “Hard To Master” and decided “Hey, we should do that too!” (This will be kind of long.)

Something I didn’t see much discussion on was the fact that towards the end of the scene, Ethan says, “I’ve just never met someone whose appetites could match my own.” Meaning, Ethan has ZERO hands on BDSM experience. And neither does MC. Most of my criticism comes from the fact that neither of them is actually experienced. Hell, I have more experience than they do, and I’m a college student who has to save up for my kink gear, including collars. Yes, a top can practice alone on themselves, but Ethan and MC do very little negotiation. Most of the communication is taking place during the kinky activities, which there’s nothing wrong with, that works for some people, but it seems like the safeword was just there for decoration, and the diamond scene doesn’t really live up to “dark passion”.

When I saw that the scene was in the chapter, obviously I did not buy it, but I was shocked and kind of upset because the way PB marketed the scene was that it was some dark taboo activity where Ethan lets out his inner beast. This isn’t the case. I’m going to start from the beginning here. The context is that Ethan has just demonstrated that he cannot be trusted to maintain the integrity of an important medical study that could lead to breakthroughs in the industry. He showed arrogance and disregard for ethics. This is the backdrop for him asking to dominate MC. Just based on that, MC should say no. BDSM can be an escape from a frustrating day, to regain or give up control, but if one of my partners was going to lose their job, I would not trust them to dominate me that day. If Ethan is in this bad of a headspace, he could hurt MC during their activities (and not in the fun way) and make it worse. Second, HE ASKS AT THEIR JOB, WHERE HE IS MC’S SUPERIOR. The ethics of boss/employee relationship aside, that is blind to the power dynamic built into their workplace. This is the only point PB gives you the choice to consent until later, during the activities. In my opinion, this fucks up the Consent aspect of Safe, Sane, and Consensual, while Ethan’s current headspace and his actions prevent it from being Sane.

I know so many people have said this before me, but the way Ethan says what he wants is probably the grossest way of saying that. “… I need to feel in control of myself… and of you.” Ethan, you are in control of yourself. And saying that he “needs” to feel in control of MC… No. No, no, no. Submission is a gift that you do not take lightly, and must be given voluntarily. You do not ask someone for it without discussion first. And there is no discussion of what MC’s submission style is? Is MC a service submissive, are they a brat, are they a little? What if MC is a top or likes to be dominant? Nor does Ethan discuss what style of dominance he is into. Now that I think about it, there’s not a lot of power exchange. But it’s not just a top/bottom style activity either… Does PB know that you can participate in kinky activities with no power exchange, and that you can do power exchange without pain? It feels like they’ve just lumped all of it together. This scene fails to have any sort of distinct identity. It smells of a couple trying to spice it up in the bedroom and only reading about BDSM off of Cosmopolitan and Buzzfeed, and not really knowing what they’re doing.

As soon as MC and Ethan get to his place, he decides to pour you both some scotch. NO. NO, NO, NO NO. I have been to a discussion amongst EXPERIENCED kinksters about whether dungeons or events should offer alcohol, and it’s controversial because things can go wrong in a PUBLIC kink setting. For inexperienced people, especially with how bad Ethan’s headspace is at this time, and the fact that he claimed he wanted to “feel in control” of MC and himself, he should NOT be touching any alcohol. And over the drinks, Ethan and MC can discuss the events of the day when they could be, I don’t know, talking about what they are about to do??? Because MC has no idea what Ethan’s intentions are, exactly. Later, Ethan gives MC choices for what they can do; either he ties them to the bed, spanks them, or he decides (on all the playthroughs I have seen, Ethan deciding leads to him spanking MC). But they are already in the kink scene. You know how you should never go grocery shopping hungry? Well, you shouldn’t make kinky decisions, especially as a newbie, when you’re horny. They could have used this time to discuss if either of them has experience, and I must repeat, you don’t find out that Ethan has none till after you two finish. Ethan doesn’t tell MC any risks of what they do; if they might be bruised by anything he does, or if something will hurt after they finish. This is not following RACK; Risk Aware Consensual Kink. MC is not able to give informed consent. There’s also no discussion of limits or pain tolerance and… good fucking lord, this is a setup for shit going wrong.

So anyway, after their discussion of the day’s events, and Ethan’s feelings, MC assures him that they don’t want tender (hey, PB… BDSM can be tender!!! Also affectionate, loving, and sweet!!!!) so Ethan gives them a leather body harness and tells them to meet him in the bedroom. My initial reaction was, “How did he have their size, and how did he have that on hand?” I did some research, a lot of body harnesses are adjustable. Still pretty weird that he just had a women’s body harness on hand with no experience. I mean the men’s kind of makes sense because maybe he’s a switch, and as far as the handcuffs and riding crop despite no experience go… a lot of people hoard adult toys without using them much in case they do get the chance.

After MC puts on the harness, they meet Ethan in the bedroom and he asks them to pick a safeword. The default is “Free Healthcare” which fucking sucks as a safeword. The universal safeword is usually “Red” because of the traffic light system. When telling MC not to shy away from using it, he says, “You’re in control just as much as I am.” Uhhh… Who’s gonna tell him that the submissive has all the control? They decide what they consent to. The dominant operates within that. Also the part about, “This isn’t just about giving me what I need… It’s also about giving you what you want.” Yes… but also no. The dominant does not “need” their partner’s submission. It’s them mutually wanting what the other is willing to give. Also the “need” vs “want” feels… icky. So, so, icky.

From there to the options Ethan gives MC isn’t bad. I’ve had at least one of those exchanges in real life because it doesn’t feel cringe in the moment. Since MC and Ethan didn’t negotiate before the scene, I guess Ethan giving MC two options of what he can do to them, or he will decide between the two options if they want him to, isn’t that bad. I just think it would have been much better had there been communication beforehand since MC hasn’t done anything like that before. Thankfully it’s opt-in as opposed to opt-out, because opt-in is recommended for partners who are new to each other.

“Tie me to the bed.” Option: Ethan will muse about whether he should do rope or handcuffs. Maybe he has practiced with rope alone in the past and knows what he’s doing… But MC does not know this!! Mercifully, he picks handcuffs. Thank god he uses leather cuffs. PB has used metal ones in the past and those have all sorts of safety issues if they are not double-locking. PB is super vague about the setup so I’m a little confused about how he can be going down on MC then pull the chains of the cuffs so their back is against the headboard?

“Spank me.”/ “Choose.” Options: Ethan will get a riding crop, which is not at ALL recommended for newbies. I’ve actually had a friend demo a riding crop on my back, when I was fully clothed, but newbies are usually advised to either a) start off with a plain open hand spanking or b) test out how the implement feels by having the receiving partner rate the pain from a scale of 1 to 10 so one can get a feel for their pain tolerance, and how it changes as they are spanked longer. In my experience, it’s important to start out lighter especially with newbies. AND YET. “The first smack of the crop against your bare skin almost ends the game before it’s started.” NO NO NO. STOP STOP STOP. MC can barely take the first hit??? The first one should not push you to your limit, especially when it’s your first time. You may be wondering if riding crops actually sting that much. They don’t have to. It depends how much force you use. Side note, it is important for the top to know what each toy they are using feels like. Whether that means bottoming or testing the toy out on themselves, this makes sure they maintain empathy for their bottom. Anyway, MC gets hit by the riding crop like twice before this option converges with the sex part of the diamond scene. Really PB? You couldn’t at least say that the swats “rained down” or something? Two super intense hits is no fun compared to less intense spankings that last longer. In fact, if you change toys for different sensations, you can usually last longer, since the area gets more sensitive as you go along.

Anyway the sex happens. Ethan says, “Tell me what you want.” Which creates the options:

“Safeword/Free Healthcare” (God PB that’s so cringey, I get it’s a medical drama but just use Red!!!) Option: It instantly stops, Ethan is concerned, MC assures him that they just know their limits, which, good for you MC!! It’s not easy to safeword even when you want/need to. Though, I raise an eyebrow at the fact that you can safeword during the actual sex, as opposed to being tied up or spanked. I would think those would be where a person would be more likely to need to use their safeword especially if they are new to these activities.

“Harder.” Option: Gets more intense after Ethan asks if MC is sure. Goes into Ethan trying some orgasm control. Yay. Don’t see why this whole scene couldn’t have just been rough/wild sex since I’m pretty sure PB has done that before.

“Just like that…” Option: I think we can all guess what happens here.

I’m gonna fast forward through the rest of the sexcapades because there’s nothing interesting or worth critiquing. Safewording makes sure you skip all the rest of the scene and then it’s MC and Ethan in bed, him holding MC. I don’t want to say, “PB didn’t include aftercare!!” because cuddling is a lot of people’s aftercare, but I wish they’d talked about it more. Like Ethan asking if MC needed water or get out of the body harness, or some lotion or aloe vera for their butt if they got spanked. Or him checking their wrists if they got tied up. These are important things for aftercare, and while not everyone needs aftercare for every kind of activity, it’s important to talk about ahead of time, or communicate after the activity. Aftercare helps both parties come down gently from a high that you can easily just have an unpleasant drop from. I’ve gotten emotional after impact play. Some people feel guilt for inflicting pain on someone. Aftercare is necessary for the dominant or top as much as it is for the bottom or submissive, and I wish PB was as good about including that concept as they were about the safeword.

Anyway while they’re cuddling, MC and Ethan have the conversation where it leads to Ethan saying he’s never met anyone whose appetites match his own. While this might be acceptable for someone who lives in a small town… Ethan lives in Boston, Massachusetts. When looking up BDSM dungeons in Boston, I found two dominatrixes, and like three pages that talk about possible BDSM groups. And that’s not even checking on fetlife. Ethan simply didn’t want to look for like-minded people, and that’s on him. He could have found classes to help him learn how to do everything properly and safely, and maybe some friends. More people are kinky than you think!!! People in the community love it when new people join the community and express a desire to learn.

MC spends the night, and in the morning their sprite is STILL wearing the body harness. PB THOSE CANNOT BE COMFORTABLE. Like especially if it’s as fitted as they describe, how can MC still be wearing it?? Especially with them sweating on the leather??? Not going to lie, I laughed when I saw that oversight.

And that’s the end of the scene. Alright. The scene is not good. But it’s not Fifty Shades of Grey bad. I get the jokes and the comparisons, and while PB is arrogant, much like EL James, PB isn’t THAT bad. MC is clearly into the BDSM, which Anna clearly was not in 50 Shades. PB did a little bit of research, but I find it pretty obvious that aside from dirty talk, they have almost no experience actually getting into kinky activities, nor do they participate in the community.

I really hate how they acted like, “Ethan’s in dark mood…” but didn’t commit to that. Also how they didn’t really commit to portraying BDSM accurately. It’s kinky looking if you aren’t in the kink community, but to me, it’s vanilla pretending to be edgy and kinky. PB didn’t really commit one way or the other. They seemed to just use some iconography (excluding collars, surprisingly… that’s really easy to add??) and a little bit of kink, then set it aside and called it a day. This seemed to be there for the shock value. Going into the scene, I felt like SCC was being broken, but in the midst of the scene was a very different tone from what PB was acting like was going to happen. Ethan felt very different going into the scene as opposed to during it. I feel like this is what happens when you have to market kink to a mostly vanilla audience. Anyway, if you want a really great educational youtube channel, Evie Lupine is doing the lord’s work as a BDSM educator. Thank you for reading this 2500+ word rant from a kinky nerd.

#playchoices #open heart #choices oh #choices open heart #choices ethan #choices ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x mc #choices ethan x mc #ethan choices #play choices #submission

[petri808]

We’ll Take Back Heaven a Nalu Yakuza Au

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

“Ms. Heartfilia,” the man nodded at the blonde.

“Mr. Katsunuma.” Lucy bowed in response. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course,” the older male smiled. “Your assistance has led to this celebration after all.”

It was an extravagant party being held in a large room of Katsunuma Industries corporate headquarters. The tech giant was celebrating the acquisition of their rival in the industry… thanks in part to Lucy’s untraceable services. A few bits of intelligence on the rival company coupled by the money laundering Lucy provided allowed Katsunuma to fuel the merger and overtake them. The rival had no choice but to sign the contract because if they didn’t, they would have been put out of business. Part of the deal insured the employees would be kept which had been the rivals concern, but those employees are in large part Katsunuma’s desire to take the business. Their current patents and information aside, those employees were the heart of creating more. It was a genius move.

“Mmm, I do what I can,” Lucy smiled sweetly and held up her glass. “A toast to a successful relationship.”

The man clinked his glass against hers. “For many more years to come. Enjoy the party, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“I will,” Lucy responded with another smile.

As she made her way back towards the temporary bar set up, Lucy chatted with people along the way. Some she knew, others she didn’t, but her stunning looks always turned heads everywhere she went. She wasn’t the typical Asian beauty found around those parts. Her mother was a Caucasian American and her father a Japanese businessman, so the hapa mix created a buxom blonde with almond eyes and legs for days, fluent in both English and Japanese as well as Korean. Gorgeous and intelligent. Men desired her, and women either hated her or wanted to be her. Luckily for the other women, Lucy had no interest in these stuffy, boring business types, except in taking their money because she knew all they wanted were docile arm candies and that wasn’t for her at all.

The only reason she attended these events were to show her loyalties and drum up new business considering she operated at word of mouth. But anyone too eager to do business with her immediately sent up a cautionary flag. No one survives in the dark world by being naive, the biggest lesson her cut-throat businessman of a father ever taught her. Lucy had to get to know the person, feel them out, and background check them inside and out, and even after all that she wouldn’t immediately jump into an arrangement. She made sure that any business wanting to employ her laundering services would lose big time if they ever considered turning on her. ‘Stupid men,’ she mused to herself. Greed was the easiest way to keep them in line, because the green-eyed monster was just too enticing. Another lesson her father taught her the hard way when bankrupted his company on a bad venture.

Lucy placed her empty glass onto the bar top and rested an arm on it. She smiled at the orange-haired bartender. Handsome in a playboy kind of way, even the glasses added to the charm. “A Cosmopolitan, please.”

“Coming right up cutie,” the man winked at her.

She wanted to roll her eyes but played it cool. “Loke, is it,” Lucy read off the name tag on his vest. “Unusual name. Bet you flirt with all the girls, huh?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he grinned back. “And you are the finest example here tonight.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Lucy clicked her tongue with a shrug. “Too bad lines don’t work on me.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Loke smiled back undeterred. “You’re definitely a higher caliber than the rest.”

‘Oh, Kami,’ Lucy droned internally. This guy probably had a ton of cheeky comebacks in his repertoire. Was he fuckable in her view? Toned body but not too muscular, nimble fingers… maybe fit for a one-night affair. It has been awhile since she’d had some action, so maybe he could be fun to end this celebration with. She leaned in closer letting her breasts press up against the counter. “You know this might—”

“Careful dude, this ones got claws you don’t wanna mess with.”

Lucy’s body stiffened in annoyance at the new voice so close to her ear. “Ugh, Natsu.” Not the intrusion she wanted right now!

“My apologies,” Loke immediately put her finished drink down, then his hands up as he took a step back. “You have a good evening ma’am.”

But the bartender’s body language spoke volumes as well. Loke wasn’t reacting solely to the comment, because he was staring straight at Natsu as he spoke. She could imagine that while Natsu’s tone was light, he was probably giving the bartender a menacing glare. Ugh!

Annoyed at Natsu’s interjection, Lucy grabbed her drink in a huff and started to walk away without looking behind her. “I don’t need a knight,” she huffed. But undeterred, Natsu immediately stepped in and tried to weave an arm around her waist. “Don’t get familiar,” she seethed in a hushed tone as she stepped out of his embrace. She didn’t want to cause a scene either, so she pulled him away from the crowd near the bar area to a quieter section. “What do you want Dragneel?”

“It’s improper for a woman like you to be without an escort at these events.”

Lucy placed a hand on her cocked hip in irritation. So, what if that were true, those traditions made her skin crawl. She normally would have brought one, but her go-to guy wasn’t available and since most of the guests knew who she was, Lucy figured they wouldn’t care. Why would a bunch of old guys not want a gorgeous blonde to look at? “I’m perfectly fine by myself considering I’m an invited guest. What are you doing here, this isn’t your playground.” She knew the world of corporate Tokyo and business stiffs were not the type he’d associate with. Though she had to unconsciously admit Natsu looked good in a three-piece suit.

“Be nice kitten, I was invited too.”

“Oh yeah, by who? I know Katsunuma’s not involved with the Yakuza.”

“Not senior, the son. Boy’s got a bit of a habit along with his friends.”

“Ah, let me guess, you’re the supplier.”

“You guessed right, kitten.”

“Stop calling me kitten!”

The irritation in her voice only succeeded in pulling a smirk from Natsu. He was obviously enjoying this dance, which fueled Lucy’s determination to not be swayed by it. She took a sip of her drink in annoyance. “Shouldn’t you check on your client then?”

“What for? Those rich brats partying on daddy’s dime make for disinteresting conversation. I’d much rather talk to you.”

“Lucky me,” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Well, I’d rather schmooze with my clientele. They serve a purpose, you do not.”

Natsu reached out and ran a finger along Lucy’s arm. “So harsh, kitten. We both know you’re enjoying this too.”

The ripple he triggered along her skin and increase in temperature had Lucy internally reeling, though the dead stare she wore on her face showed the opposite reaction. She wasn’t about to admit to a damn thing! “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that Dragneel. Perhaps one day your dreams will come true.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Ugh!” Lucy pushed him away in annoyance. “You’re too much! I’m leaving.” She turned her back.

“Oi,” Natsu grabbed her arm forcefully and spun her back around. “I mean it!” he growled in a lowered voice. “You may be damn good at what you do, but you still got a thing or two to learn about a man’s world.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Lucy spat back in a hushed tone. “These guys don’t care!”

“You think they’d say it to your face, kitten? I’d overheard more than one of your so-called prospects here gossiping about your shameful behavior and you’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. “I’m a lot of things, but you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Okay, so that was true. Lucy’s known Natsu long enough to know when and if he’d ever lie to her. Still, “fine!” She seethed. “I won’t plan on staying much longer if I’m stuck with you.”

“Aww,” he defiantly tipped her chin up. “But I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Pfft,” she glared back with a twisted smile and voice dripping with sarcastic disdain. “As if. You couldn’t satisfy me then, so… what makes you think you could now?”

“Wow…” Natsu placed a hand over his heart feigning pains and groaning for effect. “Hitting me where it hurts, Luce.” He then grinned and suddenly pulled her flush against his solid body, arm wrapped around her waist, while the other gripped tightly to her hip so she couldn’t move. He leaned in, his face lowered and hovering over her ear. “If only it were true. All those nights… I lost track of how many times you called my name to the heavens.”

Between the sensually deep tone of Natsu’s voice and warm breath fanning over her skin, Lucy couldn’t hide her physiological reactions if she’d tried. Her body stiffened up, fighting a hormonal urge to give in with a sheer determination not to play his game. There was a damn good reason they’d broken up, and until he admitted to what went wrong, there was no way in hell Lucy would go back to him.

“It’s not just about sex,” she gritted out.

“I know…” Natsu let his lips brush against her ear, pulling a shiver from her body. He smirked. “It’s about love.”

Love?! How dare he! Whatever spell he was close to casting instantly dissolved on Lucy and her anger boiled to the surface. She pushed with all of her might, forcing them apart. Oh, she was furious! “And that’s something you know nothing about!” Lucy’s hand flew up faster than even she knew it was happening, landing a loud slap across Natsu’s face. “You made your choice long ago, and love never factored in,” she seethed then stomped away leaving the man alone and speechless amongst whispering bystanders.

So much for celebrating, not after Natsu’s intrusion into the affair. Lucy thanked Katsunuma again for inviting her and left the party. She couldn’t be around Natsu for another second or she just might hit him again. Ugh! He made her so angry! Love… seriously?! He had no right to pull that on her, not when it was his decision that lead to their split. In a way she should thank him for opening her eyes, because that’s what lead to creating her own organization. Lucy wanted to show that women could do just fine in the underworld with the right people and the right plans in place. And she hadn’t been the only one to feel that way. This was the modern era and all the bullshit, patriarchy rules that held them back needed to die with the twentieth century. The saddest part… Lucy didn’t even know if Natsu realized how much he’d hurt her all those years ago.

“Ma’am,” the valet snapped Lucy out of her thoughts. “Your car has arrived.”

“Thank you.” Lucy stepped closer to the curb as the vehicle pulled up alongside her. The valet opened the door for her, but just as she was about to step in, she heard her name called from behind her.

“Natsu, can’t you take a hint!” She turned and snapped while still keeping a hand on the vehicle.

“Luce, I was just playing with you upstairs. I didn’t mean to make you so angry.”

“Well, you did.”

“I don’t understand why!”

“And that’s your problem.”

“But I don’t want you to hate me, and you seem to hate me.”

Lucy sighed from the sheer emotional exhaustion. “I don’t hate you, Natsu. But until you can figure out why I left you, we don’t have anything more to talk about. Now. Good night.” She got into the vehicle, and they drove away.

Once they were out of sight, Lucy slumped down into the seat holding back the cloud of tears building in her eyes. She’d meant what she said, all of it including not hating him. Frankly, she didn’t know if she could. Anger, yes, but hatred no. They’d been young but even she recognized the connection she had to Natsu wasn’t something she could easily walk away from, and she also knew he wasn’t lying when he’d brought up love. The man’s reaction to seeing her flirt with the bartender was a reminder of his feelings for her. But it wasn’t enough. Lucy didn’t want to feel like an unequal partner in the relationship and that’s exactly what the Yakuza world Natsu chose expected.

“Home, miss?”

“Yes, please take me home.”

#nalu #nalu au #nalu fan fic #nalu fan fiction #Natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #yakuza au #modern yakuza #rivalry #Natsu x lucy #we'll take back heaven #ch 3 #petri808

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I A THIRSTY INTERLUDE

First time reader click here

Bun Bun at 2:30 AM posting: This is 110% pornography. I wrote that when I was feeling extra thirsty over Tony and his Nano suit so yeah... A bit of choking a bit of mild suit bondage. Daddy kink 👉🏻👈🏻🥺 BDSM themes. Humor & porn. Has minimal correlation with the story and can be read as standalone smut-shot. Inspired by this NSFW tik tok audio (headphones!).

"OH MY GOD, NO! NO, NO, SHIT, FUCK, NO!"

"Princess, what's wrong?" Steve's worried voice rang high in the kitchen, followed by an alarming clattering of the dishes against the sink. "Are you hurt?" He didn't even remark on my use of profanity, which meant I'd startled the Captain for sure. He appeared in the doorway ready to fight, run; his eyes immediately drawn to his shield in the corner.

"Only what's left of my dignity," I sighed.

"Oh, okay," He visibly sagged, tension leaving his voice and his body. "What happened?"

I inhaled several times, feeling heat creep up my neck and blossom on my cheeks. It took a lot, and I mean A LOT, to make me feel embarrassed enough to fumble my words and palm my face but that was exactly what I did. "Well, umm... Tony found a couple of thirst tweets. Mine, from my sophomore year. And uh, retweeted them." I thought I'd cleaned up my social media quite well, actually. My fingers twitched remembering manually sorting through thousands of posts. Apparently, my fingers weren't clever enough.

Steve snorted, evidently having had someone tell him what a thirst tweet was. He, however, did not understand the sheer mortification that I would be subjected to at the hands of Tony. And my classmates. And Peter, oh my God. Natasha and Wanda too, probably. And Loki.

I. Was. Toast.

"How bad was it?" Bucky piped up, finally having dealt with the mini laughter fit.

"Not worse than what you two get up to in the gym when you think nobody is home," I immediately retorted in hopes of avoiding teasing from the metal-armed man. He would take the chance, of course, he would.

"Oof, I'm sorry, doll," Bucky whistled sympathetically. And promptly pulled out his phone, to, what I assumed, see the offending social media posts for himself. I assumed correctly. Bucky was bent over laughing in no time - was it my doing or did Tony's own commentary on them that made the whole situation so hilarious to the gramps on steroids?

"I will light you on fire," I seethed but remained where I was standing. There was no point in doing anything about them now. Screenshots were probably already being saved on everybody's devices.

Steve peeped over his boyfriend's shoulder, chuckling. "You had a crush on Tony? That's embarrassing, doll." He had the audacity to give me an innocent smile before returning to his dishwashing.

"Punk, I don't know if - and I quote: Not to be That Girl™ - it's trademarked, by the way - but Tony Stark could hit it and quit it and I wouldn't even be mad - qualifies as a crush." Bucky pointed out, the sound of his voice being drowned out by Steve's guffaws. "And this one definitely does not qualify for it to be a romantic setting. Listen: I'm not a fucking bottom, okay?.. there are seventeen question marks. But, like, can Tony Stark choke me in one of his Iron Man suits - nine more question marks." Bucky joined his partner's laughter, unable to continue.

I was literally on fire. My face burned, my hands shook. I had the strongest urge to stick my index fingers in my ears and loudly yell "la-la-la" until both fossils ceased to roast me like I was some sort of holiday brisket. "I hate you. I will burn... The heart... Out of you," I seethed.

"O-oh, honey bu-un, da-arling..." I heard Tony's sing-song voice happily calling for me. Too happily. Not good.

I had literal seconds to get myself scarce out of this situation. I'd already avoided the dozen text messages, two calls in hopes the engineer would drop the topic and go back to his Big Bad Science Project. I had underestimated his persistent desire to cause chaos and his terrible, no-good sense of humor.

It was fun and games when we teamed up to prank our friends. I just never expected for the tables to be turned this way, y'know? Betrayal of the highest quality. The turntables had been turned - decidedly NOT in my favor.

In a brief moment of panicked clarity, I opened one of the empty bottom cabinets in the kitchen. It took some uncomfortable folding and maneuvering but I got myself inside and pressed the door shut seconds before his footsteps made the distinctive noise of sneakers on tile.

"Capsicle, Terminator," I heard Tony greet the two laughing supersoldiers. "Have you seen my Princess?"

I melted a little bit at the way Tony called me his, I won't lie.

"Nope," Bucky lied shamelessly.

"She's in the empty cabinet," Steve chuckled at the same time. Top 10 anime betrayals, right there.

"Wow - and I thought we were friends," Tony scoffed, I assumed at Bucky. My body tensed and I prepared to dial-up my puppy eyes to eleven. My hiding spot was wack.

The door was roughly tossed open, my eyes landing on Tony's oil-stained jeans. He crouched down, his brown eyes positively sparkling. The engineer's body radiated smug mischief, fingers twitching in anticipation.

"Sorry, Princess is unavailable right now. May I take a message?" I said, pulling on the cabinet door and fully prepared to slam it shut in his face. I was NOT ready for any more mortification.

Tony's chuckle shook me to the core, louder and ten times more expressive in the cramped, dark space of my temporary lair. "Come on out, baby girl. I didn't peg you for a wallflower."

"Duly noted," I said warily, having been expecting for him to drag me out and carry me to his bedroom, caveman style. I had noticed that my dorky self revved up his gears faster than any stereotypical seductive shit. It was no secret, at least not for us 'vengers, that Tony was a huge dork himself but I guess it takes one to know one.

"So, my suits, huh?" He smirked after a brief moment and just like that, I Did Not Like Where This Was Going. The receding footsteps and quiet snickering only confirmed my suspicions. Tony's form blocked the opening of the cabinet, crowding me even further into the already cramped space.

"Um," I found myself pretty much speechless. Part of me was excited and yearning - of fucking course I was curious if Tony Stark, genius and former playboy, had found a way to incorporate his suits of armor into the bedroom. Daresay, it was the question of the decade, according to Cosmopolitan, GQ, and a whole lot of other large media outlets.

The more sensible part of me screamed shame for that, playing with an essentially massive, powerful destruction machine. Something meant to protect millions of people from bad guys and aliens. It seemed blasphemous to waste such an important thing on scratching a curious itch.

I blinked owlishly, squirming.

"Okay, out you go." Tony's patience had run out and he withdrew himself, promptly standing up.

I heard the tapping of his fingers as I ungracefully stumbled out. He was occupied with his tablet so I turned around to adjust myself and the things on the countertop I had accidentally jostled in my rush to preserve some dignity.

An arm snaked around my waist, cold and unyielding, brushing against my exposed midriff with metal fingertips. Goosebumps followed the touch as I shivered involuntarily, stuttering in my breathing. "Fuck." The sound came out as if it was punched out of my throat with force, breathy.

"What's your safeword?" Tony's neatly groomed beard scratched against my ear. His voice was heavy and his lips were moist.

"Banana," I blurted the first thing that came into my mind. My body was hot and yet, I froze in place. The sheer power that the man behind me contained demanded unyielding obedience. I had no choice but to comply.

"Friday, lock the door. Nobody but me, in and out." Tony growled, pulling my hips into his metal-covered form.

Were we really doing this in the communal kitchen? With Steve and Bucky probably fully aware of what exactly was going on in here? Tony seemed to have zero reservations about that; in fact, I was almost sure he'd orchestrated the whole thing somehow. Steve owed like a dozen favors to the engineer.

The thick of Tony's leg firmly wedged itself between my thighs, spreading them open just enough so I was forced to put a slight arch in my back to keep still, my ass and shoulders firmly pressing against his Iron Man suit. I felt the coldness of the metal through my clothes, heard the hum of the nanobots in my ears.

My blood responded, heartbeat pulsing in my ears in sync with the electrical currents supplying the man behind me with the immense physical power to match his mental one. "Shit," The sound of my voice was faint. His other arm began creeping up my side to my shoulders, making an unmistakable beeline for my neck.

Tony applied firm pressure on it, wrapping the gauntlet carefully - not restricting the airflow, just steering me as he wished. And apparently, he had some very strong ideas about my current predicament: "Got me right where you wanted me?" He asked, low and breathy.

As I attempted to make noise, his hand tightened on my throat. Eyelids involuntarily sliding closed, my lips shook with the force it took me to muster up enough oxygen to hum a sloppy. "Mhm..."

"Can't hear you, baby girl," His cheek rested against mine, scratchy and hot and smelling like iron and gasoline and Tony.

Another shaky breath, I attempted to force the words out - for some reason, Tony's presence commanded me to obey him like never before. I nearly shivered from the sheer aura of power surrounding my man and it was his cue to lessen the careful pressure on my throat - just enough for blood to rapidly rush to my ears, making the world even hazier. "Yeah, Tony," It didn't take me much time to give him the enthusiastic consent he was looking for.

"Uh-uh," Tony tutted cheerfully. His other arm snaked around my waist, dipping lower to play with the hem of my skirt. God bless me for wearing a skirt! The rough pads of his fingertips scratched against the soft, sensitive flesh of my inner thighs. "I think we're past first name basis, baby," The suit retracted, mostly. The nanotech allowed for different parts of it to cover Tony's body in odd places: I felt the gauntlets and the arm braces, as well as part of a chest plate, but waist down my man was wearing simple jeans and tee.

"Uh," My brain supplied unhelpfully, feeling the bulge pressing against my ass. "Daddy?"

"That's my girl," I was rewarded with a groan, so sinful and delicious, falling from his lips straight into my ear. The hand that had gone down south cupped the mound of my pussy with a tender gesture. "Or Iron Man's?" He teased, grinding into me from behind.

"Yours," I keened obediently, my body seeming to find it impossible to decide between rubbing myself on his hand and his cock. It was a hard choice - pun absolutely intended. I was long uncomfortable in my panties and Tony's clever digits surely felt it, yet he made no further moves. "Daddy," I tried to put how much I ached for him into words.

Tony hummed, placing his wet mouth on the juncture of my neck for a moment. His hot breath seared my skin. The curious fingers finally, finally, reached the apex of my thighs. "Fuckin' shit, baby, you're..." He didn't bother finishing the sentence, speaking with his actions instead, scissoring his fingers between my labia, running the knuckles over my clit.

Just to feel me pant and shiver. I was sensitive and so aroused it was nearly unbearable. Tony always made me feel some type of way and, once again, my man had outdone himself. There was no shame left in me as I shifted my hips to the rhythm of his hand.

"Please?" I asked him prettily, knowingly that one little word would get me everything I wanted. A hard fucking, a new dress, a car, or, Hell, my own private island. My eyes were pretty when I begged, he had said. I would move the world for you, he had meant.

"Baby," The whisper was rushed as Tony turned me around and claimed my lips, hoisting my ass onto the marble countertop of the common kitchens. My legs wrapped around his hips, seeking the warmth and relief of his skin on mine. I wanted him inside of me, inconvenient location and two layers of clothing be damned. I wanted to bury myself in him until either of us couldn't tell who started and ended where.

"Daddy," I whispered into the thin line of his mouth, conveying my all-consuming need in a single word.

My skirt was hiked up in a second, the gauntlets of his suit still on his hands tearing my pants in a single clean motion. Eagerly, I scooted forward to pop the button on his jeans; grateful for the fact more often than not, Tony choose to forgo the belt whatsoever when working in the lab. Today was my lucky day.

His cock, red and thick and hard enough to pound nails with, weighed my hand down for barely a second beforehand Tony's gauntlets closed around both of my wrists, securing them to my chest. His other arm swiftly wrapped around me, pulling me close to him, as close as we could be together without sharing a single body. The blunt tip of his manhood stood at my entrance - not just teasing it but seeking permission.

One keen that seemed to come from deep insight my chest and I felt Tony's breath hitch as our sensitive flesh met; he filled me up at least as superbly as I hugged him. We shared a moan and a breath, just feeling each other, feeling the moment.

We were short on patience. Tony's hand slid onto the small of my back, urging our hips to meet each other, setting a punishing pace from the very start.

"Fuck, Daddy, oh God," I panted. I wasn't used to getting things started with so little prep.

"Baby," Tony rumbled, trying for stern, having it come out as breathless as I felt. "Shit, so fuckin' tight," His words garbled.

The sound of flesh slapping flesh was loud, perhaps, loud enough for certain enhanced folk to hear should they happen to pass the kitchen doors - and if that didn't make my insides clench in the most delectable ways.

Tony grunted in response, a lewd noise adding to the cacophony. "Gonna come?" His teeth caught my bottom lip, pulling it slightly. "For Daddy?" He asked, all traces of his usual cockiness gone, as he pulled away slightly to stare right in my wide eyes with his baby doe browns, equally blown with lust and longing.

Neither of us would last. "Yes, fuck, Daddy, please," I begged.

His hips angled just right, Tony continued mercilessly railing me, holding up my weak body between his arms. I felt the cold metal of the gauntlets through my shirt. The shivers ran across my skin in heaps, like busy little ants.

"Come for Daddy," Tony ordered, yanking me closer to hit that sweet spot deep inside of me. I couldn't resist the command, feeling the waves build up with every brutal stroke, clenching, muffling the screaming of my release in the crook of his neck, relishing in the growl that left his lips as he followed me, releasing my arms and folding his torso over mine. "Fuck," Was the only coherent word that left Tony's mouth, his seed creating a sticky mess between our legs.

"Yeah," I moaned, unwilling to part from him. It was intense. My world was spinning on its axis and my Tony was the center of it. He said something again, something soft and quiet, and my only concern was to rub my nose on his pulse point, to savor and remember the smell of our shared pleasure.

"Baby..." Tony sounded... Concerned. He withdrew slowly, frowning at my sleepy state. His frown only intensified when I absentmindedly rubbed my wrists - there were bound to be some marks left from the force of his grip. It was hot and it was... A surefire way to tell the suits weren't really adapted for bedroom games. Kitchen games.

"Daddy," I mumbled, sounding sad and pathetic to my own ears. I kind of wanted to cuddle and watch a movie but it seemed weird asking that from Tony since we've done crazier things and I had never felt like this, never got this greedy.

"Oh, baby, c'mere," He had come to some sort of conclusion. After re-doing his pants and picking up the scraps of fabric that used to be my panties, his arms made a comfortable nest. I was picked up without any troubles; the gauntlets had disappeared, too, into the thin golden bracelets around his wrists. I allowed myself to play with them, the shiny colors doing a good job of distracting me all throughout the brisk walk through the main living room and the swift elevator ride.

Tony's bed was messy, unmade and smelled like us - just the way I had left it that morning. Tony's hands were gentle as he stripped me and then swiftly chucked his own clothes.

"Watcha' doin'?" I asked as he wrapped his body around mine.

"Shh, we'll talk later," He murmured, looking slightly dazed himself. "Friday, put Stardust on the TV. 25% volume," As soon as the command was spoken, one of my comfort movies began playing on the large screen. Tony's hand kept stroking my hair and I didn't resist the temptation to close my eyes, settling into a peaceful lull atop the glowing white-blue of Tony's arc reactor.

My favorite color in the world, to be honest. It felt like I'd slept for ages when I opened my eyes to see the color again. "Um, hi," I supplied meekly, feeling way out of my depths from my own strange behavior.

"Mornin', Princess," Tony seemed joyful, the bags under his eyes a little less prominent than before.

I made moves to get out of the bed but he wrapped an arm around me, tugging me closer. "What do you know about sub drop?" He questioned me, in response to my vaguely confused noises.

That's what it was?!

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings  @vozit ​ @littlegasps ​ @pilloclock ​ @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads ​ @hermione-grangers-wife ​ @individualistfem ​ @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby @cutenessloading @romeo-the-cactus @jelly-fishy-babie

#tony stark smut #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x y/n #party favours #bun writes #THIS IS FILTH FROM THE MUDDY PLAYGROUNDS Y'ALL

[wtf-yoongi]

How am I supposed to sleep after this?

pairing | hoseok x reader

summary | vegas w/ your sunshine friend hoseok i don’t think i have to say anything else

genre/warnings | idiots to lovers + humor + fluff + alcohol + drunk j-hope becoming hopeless + gambling + flexing money bc he’s rich af + language bc it’s vegas come on wouldn’t expect anything less

words | 1,875

note | i went to vegas once and it hit me today: that would be 100x better if i had a hoseok (if any of u know where i can get one pls let me know thanks)

It has been thirteen minutes since you first texted Hoseok to know if he was ready to go. 

That idiot always takes the longest time for some reason. Probably choosing between which Balenciaga bag he’s going to wear for the night.

You take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You don’t look so bad, you’re just not as rich or fancy and the dress you’re wearing might have been on sale last week at Zara, but no one has to know that, right?

You could never reach Hoseok’s level of fashion. Not even if you wanted to.

You don’t want to sit down and wrinkle your dress, so you walk around the fancy room at the Cosmopolitan and stop at the window. Of course, Hoseok booked rooms with a view even though they charge an extra who-knows-how-many-dollars for that, but it ain’t a problem for him.

The sun is setting now, giving tourists a little break from the burning hot temperatures that make everyone avoid the streets as much as they can. To be honest, even at night, the walk between hotel to hotel is just one excruciating experience until you can finally feel the air con on your skin again. The walk you took yesterday showed you that.

Yesterday, however, you both decided to stay away from gambling and just get to know the hotels as if they are freaking museums. Las Vegas doesn’t offer much to do if you’re not into hotels that look like the owner just had a theme in mind and an endless amount of money to realize their vision. So, yeah, visiting hotels is a top notch, must-see tourist attraction. Go figure.

Since you didn’t gamble yesterday, today’s the day. While you were enjoying the hotel pools this afternoon, Hoseok has walked you through every single thing he wants to do tonight. And he has a very meticulous plan.

First, you have to dress up to look fancy. Second, you are going to play blackjack so he can finally realize his dream of looking like he is in a movie. Third, you have to have dinner somewhere to balance the alcohol out. And then, finally, you are going to whatever party is closest to you.

Yeah, sounds like a plan.

Another seven minutes pass and you finally get a reply.

I’m outside your door.

You quickly put your shoes on and grab your purse, checking yourself in the mirror again before opening the door. Hoseok sure is there in all his glory looking at his phone as if nothing is happening, nothing at all.

“You wanna kill someone today?” You ask, eyeing him up and down. He’s wearing red dress pants with a simple white shirt. Come on. “You were right to book two separate rooms for us, I don’t think you’re planning on coming back alone tonight.”

He finally looks up from his phone and laughs lightly after inspecting your choice of clothes. “You say that as if I’m the only one trying to take an advantage of that. You look stunning. Wanna get a drink?”

Your first stop is at one of the many hotel bars. Hoseok quickly orders two drinks from the menu without thinking twice.

“Something light for starters,” he says with a smile as he passes the Cosmopolitan glass to you.

“Oh, you think you’re so funny. Ordering Cosmopolitans at the Cosmopolitan,” you say, raising your glass to touch his. “This is going to be a good night.”

“The best. And hopefully my liver will stand the alcohol levels and you won’t have to drag me back to my room,” Hoseok says, sipping the drink slowly.

“Wouldn’t be too hopeful if I were you.” You know Hoseok and, honestly, the expectations are extremely low. “You were always a lightweight drinker. That shit doesn’t change because you’re in Vegas, you know?”

“I don’t care. What I want today is stop at every single hotel and have a drink and gamble a bit, have some fun!” Hoseok excitedly shakes your arm with his free hand.

“Sure, what’s the worst that could happen?” You ask yourself rhetorically.

As you predicted, Hoseok doesn’t go too far before he’s needing your help to walk. You’re in tiny heels and, despite being tiny, they’re still heels and adding half of his body weight to the mix isn’t helping in anyway. 

You’re inside the ARIA Hotel on your third drink of the night when you first notice that Hoseok isn’t as sharp as he thinks he is to play blackjack. He’s finally living his dream movie life, but he has switched his light Cosmopolitan for Blue Label and you know things aren’t looking up.

If there’s one thing you have to give it to him, though, is that it really feels like a movie. Everything around you looks straight out of a James Bond set, even the young, good looking lady who’s dealing the cards could easily be casted as a Bond girl. But then again, you realize with a scoff, you’re the one standing behind Hoseok’s high designer stool with an eye on his drink so he doesn’t order another one. You’re the Bond girl.

When you get to Park MGM, it’s time to stop. Hoseok is looking sad as fuck as he usually does when he’s too drunk to function and you know he won’t protest if you say he’s had enough. You sit him down on a table at Eataly and leave him for a moment to buy a bottle of water.

“There you go. Drink it up,” you order, handing him the already opened bottle. “You told me I wouldn’t have to drag your ass back to the hotel, but here we are.”

“I never said that.” He takes a break from drinking the water to look at you while you move to sit in front of him. “I said I was hopeful my liver would endure such a challenge.”

“But it didn’t.”

“No, it didn’t.”

You stay silent for a few minutes until the water bottle is empty and Hoseok is using the droplets outside the plastic bottle to wet the back of his neck. He looks wasted and cute at the same time. How is that even possible?

“How about eating something, huh?” You suggest. It’s still early in the night and people are having dinner all around you. The smell of food in this place is driving you mad. “Does pizza sound good?”

Hoseok nods and moves his hands to get his wallet from his back pocket. He hands you the credit card he’s been using all night. “The pin number is your four initials.”

You look at him with raised eyebrows. That’s his pin number?

“Don’t look at me like that, it was the first thing that crossed my mind and you know I’m not good remembering numbers.”

You blink twice and say nothing before walking towards the pizza place, ordering two slices of the best looking one on display. Soon, you’re back at the table and handing Hoseok’s slice. You both eat in silence. 

It seems like he’s coming back to his senses and normal self after eating. For good measure, you order a shot of espresso and something sweet for him to eat from the coffee shop nearby. That should do the trick.

“Are you feeling better?” You ask after a long while. Hoseok is no longer supporting himself on his elbows or looking miserable. He nods. “Good enough so I don’t really have to drag you around?”

He nods again with a shy smile. “Sorry.”

“You wanna party or go back to the hotel? It’s only 11,” you say, reaching for his wrist to check the time on his watch. “You said you wanted to party, but if I’m being honest with you… My feet are killing me.”

“We can order an Uber to go back,” he suggests with a shrug. “I feel tired now, I wanna go to bed.”

“Well if it isn’t my baby showing up again,” you joke, standing up and offering your hand to help him out. “Come on, let’s go back.”

The Uber ride is silent and quick. It’s really such a lazy thing to do, getting a car for such a short ride, but your feet really thanked you for that. 

When you arrive at the hotel, you both go straight to the elevator area and press the button to go up. It feels like an eternity passes before one of the many elevators arrives. You wait for a group of friends to exit before you enter. The door closes and you feel yourself back up until you hit the wall. Hoseok does the same. 

“Sorry for being the drunk friend all the time,” he apologizes. “I feel like you can never enjoy yourself when you know I’m gonna make a mess.”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m used to it.”

The elevator arrives at the 39th floor and you both exit quietly, walking in the direction of your rooms. Looking at Hoseok to your right, you wave him goodnight before opening the door and entering the room with a puff – you just need to be out of those heels.

Soon after, there’s a light knock at the door. 

“Hey,” you greet Hoseok, who’s standing a little taller now that you don’t have your shoes on anymore. “What are you doing?”

“I have to ask you something,” he says with a weird I was drunk five minutes ago and all of a sudden feel sober look. “What would you say if I kissed you right now?”

Is he really asking that? What the fuck?

“What?”

“Fuck it.”

Hoseok closes the gap between your bodies in half a second, reaching for your face with his hands. It’s not romantic or slow or delicate, it’s just intense. 

It’s also rushed. It ends too quickly.

When you open your eyes, you want to say something, but your body needs time to catch a breath. What just happened? What the hell is going on? Your brain is panicking.

“Sorry,” Hoseok starts with a low voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that.”

He lets go of you completely and you can almost feel your body have a physical reaction to that. You want more? What the fuck?

He takes a step backwards to go back to his room, but you can’t just let him go like that. You have to do something. Do something!

“Maybe you should have,” you repeat his words, your voice just above a whisper. “I- I don’t know what else to say.”

The only thing you can do now is laugh. That is your only reaction, almost like a self-defense mechanism when awkward things happen. 

“Good. I’m going back to my room now.” He’s smiling too, taking backwards steps so he doesn’t have to turn his back to you. “Breakfast tomorrow at 9?”

“Sure,” you agree, nodding your head with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Cool. I’ll try not to be late.”

“I’m not counting on it.”

“Sleep well,” he says with a smile and finally turns to get inside his room. 

How am I supposed to sleep after this?

Read more ›› masterlist

#hoseok au #j-hope au #hoseok fluff #j-hope fluff #j-hope fanfic #hoseok imagine #j-hope imagine #bts fluff #bts au #bts imagine #jung hoseok

[lostinsantacarla]

Devil Went Down to Georgia

(A request by @nyx-daughterofchaos98 A reaction to the song by The Charlie Daniels band. I hope you enjoy it. My apologies for taking so long.)

It was one of those rainy nights when the boys took their patronage to their favorite local bar on the wharf and hung out around a table near the tap, but not far from the old music box. Aside from the arcade, the humans of age liked to gather at this spot in particular, making it quite a loud, but cozy atmosphere as various sports and the like played silently on the overhead TV screens.

The boys blended in very well. Marko and Paul sat across from each other playing a game of Rummy, and Paul was actually winning this hand. Usually it was Marko on top of the lead in scores.  David sat in between them on a stool, putting him a little higher than the two, while Dwayne stood at the bar. The second in command had his eye on a young girl at the other end.

She was pretty, red hair and green eyes and her drink of choice was a cosmopolitan. Very much in her own world, ignoring the bustle around her, the sound of music inside her head surrounded her outside like notes of music on a sheet of paper.

Dwayne knew the song. It had been around awhile, and he knew what it was like not being able to get something like a song on repeat out of your head. Paul understood it too, although when that vampire had a song playing in his head, it was usually on purpose.

He glanced at David, who looked ready to step outside for a smoke, and maneuvered his way to the little music machine that thankfully time hadn’t forgotten. Of course, these days it was free choice, given the fact that everyone had smart phones with the ability to play whatever they wanted to hear. The selections seemed infinite and sure enough, the song was there.  With a slight click of a red button, the dial was flipped and ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’ sprang from the speakers.

No one could deny the catchy tune as a fiddle started it off, and a few of the humans in the room looked up in surprise, making it obvious they hadn’t heard it in a while, but welcomed it back into their lives.

Marko was studying his hand, eyes traveling back and forth between it and the pile in front of them, determined to make his next move count when his leg started to dance absently under the table. If there was a devil in the room, it had to be him, though most always declared it was David.

Paul moved up and down on the balls of his feet, waiting almost impatiently for Marko to decide. It was then he realized that Dwayne had been the one to pick the song and while it didn’t surprise him, the choice was mediocre in his opinion.  All music had a ring to it, but this one in particular made him feel like he should have been at a barn dance. He gave Dwayne the look of, ‘what the hell?’ but didn’t say it out loud.

“How can you call yourself a musician, Paul, if you don’t appreciate music overall?” David asked, his tone as always calm and collected. The type of calm you had to be careful about deciphering just in case there was a storm behind it. In this case, he was only giving his fellow comrade a hard time.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate,” Paul explained. “Just not something I’d pick for myself. Dude, are you gonna go or what?” He reached out and kicked Marko in the shin.

“The fuck, dude?” Marko asked. He’d been listening to the lyrics while contemplating his winning strategy and gave David a look. They were always looking for the next soul to steal as the song proclaimed.

“What made you pick this one?” David asked Dwayne.

Dwayne remained silent but raised his beer and tipped it towards the young lady, who was blushing behind her cocktail.

‘It was on her mind.’ He told the three of them through their mental means of communication.

More lyrics filtered through as Marko finally made a move.

‘Johnny you resin up your bow and play your fiddle hard 'Cause hell's broke loose in Georgia and the devil deals the cards

And if you win, you get this shiny fiddle made of gold But if you lose, the devil gets your soul…’

He threw his hands up, the winner at last and Paul tossed his cards into a disastrous pile on the table.

“Dare me not to jump up on this thing and do a jig,” Marko chuckled, turning to lock eyes with the ‘winner’ of the song of choice for the night.

Paul turned to her as well, as did David and Dwayne, and while their looks were curious, the predator inside was always lurking under the surface. It made them appear menacing even when they weren’t trying to be, and the girl spit out part of her drink.

‘The devil opened up his case and he said, "I'll start this show" And fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow

He dragged the bow across the strings, and it made an evil hiss The band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this’

David smiled and stood to take a bow. Paul nodded and started to tap the top of the table, giving up and giving in to the jam. Marko sat back for a moment, aloof and relaxed, a coy smile on his face before getting up to retrieve a shot of whiskey for all four of them. That left Dwayne wide open. The question was, would the lady take his challenge?

‘When the devil finished johnny said "well you're pretty good, old son But sit down in that chair right there and let me show you how it's done”’

To his surprise, she cleaned away the spilled alcohol, sat up straight and raised a hand to get the bartenders attention. Before he’d even made his way halfway, she said very loud and clear, “Four blowjobs for these boys in front here,” and she pointed at each.

Paul, naturally, was the first to lose his shit, a combustion of laughter that left him sweeping most of the cards off the table with his movement alone. No one needed them anymore anyway. “I’ll take one of those any night, sweet cheeks,” he declared. If this were the song that did it, he couldn’t argue it either anymore.

Marko’s grin turned downright seedy. He applauded her and accepted as well, temporarily leaving behind the whiskey. It was a little sweet for his liking, but how could any of them resist a good blow job?

Dwayne was actually laughing and with David’s approval he waved her down to join them as the shots were prepared and set out in front of them.

Thank goodness for alcohol and its stimulant effect on the young lady, making her deny the fact that these four were monsters. Or perhaps she was just in the mood for a good challenge as the song noted and they were four devils that weren’t going to win this showdown.

David at first was reluctant as always to put himself in such a vulnerable state out in public, but he gathered with his gang. Each of them took a seat at the card table, drink in front of them and with their hands behind their backs, they took the shot, tilted their heads up and drank. Boom. The knock of glasses hitting wood rose, as did their faces, whipped cream on their upper lips.  

The young lady got a good laugh as the song was coming to its close.

‘The devil bowed his head 'cause he knew that he'd been beat And he laid that golden fiddle on the ground at johnny's feet

Johnny said, "devil, just come on back if you ever want to try again I told you once, you son of a bitch I'm the best that's ever been"’

“You boys wanna go again?” she taunted.

“Come sit down on my lap,” Dwayne invited, patting his knee. “Then we’ll talk.”

In that moment she probably thought she’d beaten the devil, or possibly his four demons, but in reality, she had no idea what she was in for.

#the lost boys #lost boys #writing #nyx-daughterofchaos98 #request #devil went down to georgia #the charlie daniels band #David #Dwayne #Marko #Paul #vampires #fan fiction #story time

[aforrestofstuff]

What do you think the OPM characters' guilty pleasures would be? I feel like Tatsu loves soap operas and Atomic Samurai secretly loves a really popular boy band, like SMAP

Thanks for your request, anon! Sorry this took me so long to get to, you were buried in my inbox lol. But I hope this was worth the wait because oh boy this required all 3 of my brain cells.

Tornado of Terror: As you said, soap operas. She also loves candy apples in canon. But...she also is a HUGE fan of those really cheesy Cosmopolitan magazines that have all of the personality quizzes and the “which hot male celeb would date you” scenarios. She doesn’t fall for it one bit. In fact, she hate reads those fuckers in the same way that people pay to go see bad movies. It’s fun.

Silverfang: Yoga and following along to some cheesy-ass 80s workout videos. I’ve said he likes yoga in a previous headcanon, but he also likes to exercise along to some obnoxious 80s pop while some dude in a leotard instructs him on what to do from a TV screen. He wears sweatbands and legwarmers, too. The whole shebang. He only does it when he’s alone, though. Sometimes he’ll try to teach yoga to his disciples as a way to help them decompress after a long training session, but his workout tapes are his best-kept secret.

Atomic Samurai: I don’t know what a SMAP is, but he’s definitely got some questionable music choices going on considering he’s... well, the way that he is. I’d say he likes to listen to old country, like Marty Robbins and Glen Campbell. It’s really funny because you’ve got this intimidating man from Japan (or a fictional universe basically set in Japan) with a badass katana and shit but inside that empty head of his, there’s just a faint “out in the west Texas town of El Paso....”

Child Emperor: Picking at scabs. He’s often on his knees fixing shit in his lab, and he probably gets burned all the damn time from playing around with lasers so he’s undoubtedly always has a wound healing somewhere. Whenever he’s working on something, he’ll just absentmindedly pick at his scabs. It’s a bad habit and he knows it, but nothing beats the feeling of peeling off an entire patch of that shit. So satisfying.

Metal Knight: Buying books. He doesn’t even read them. He just buys bigass novels with smart-sounding names to fill up his library because he thinks it’ll make his dick grow another three inches or some shit. One of the few things he likes in this world (besides homicide) is the smell of a new book. If he’s feeling particularly pissy, he’ll go into his library and just ssssssnnnnnnnnnniififfffffffffff. He spends an outrageous amount of money on it. If he has anyone over (which is unlikely, but hypothetically speaking) and they mention his library by asking something like “have you read all of these?” It’ll be one of the few times in his life that he’ll feel shame.

King: Reading and writing fanfiction based on his favorite video game/anime series. Nobody knows he does this except his small following online, of course. And even more so, nobody online knows he’s an ultra-popular S-Class hero who’s friends with the most powerful man on earth. He’s actually a pretty decent writer, he just doesn’t take himself too seriously so the plotline to his stories tend to get a little haywire and overly self-indulgent. Let him have his fun. He just wants to be a Sailor Scout.

Zombieman: Singing. He actually used to be a good singer (he sounded like a discount Steve Perry back in the day), but constant smoking really fucked up his voice. He might as well have lungs the size of grapes because he can’t carry a note for more than 2 seconds without wheezing like an accordion with asthma. He’s never sang in front of anyone before because he thinks it’s silly thing that isn’t worth showing off. Play anything from The Eagles though, and he’ll have a hard time resisting.

Drive Knight: He likes to open up panels in his arms and legs to play with the wires (basically a robot’s version of nerve endings, I’m assuming) just so he can feel something. It’s kind of sad because he doesn’t experience pain or the cold or being tickled... (I know what y’all are thinking and you’d better STOP). So he sometimes takes it upon himself to dick around with his insides and dip his toe into what it feels like to be human, even if it’s just for a little bit. He’s super secretive about it (he’s just secretive about everything, really) because he doesn’t want anyone to know that he desires something outside of being a weapon of mass destruction justice.

Pig God: His whole schtick is basically indulging in a guilty pleasure — pigging out on delicious food with no regard whatsoever for one’s overall health. Other than that, however, he does like to collect body pillows. There, I said it. All he fucking does is eat and he’s too much of a big boi to be going out 24/7, so he’s gotta be on the internet/watching anime/playing video games/reading manga during all of that downtime between his stints of doing hero work. His bed is fucking ginormous to handle all of that big boy-ness and on it, he has his body pillow nest. He rests on a throne made for kings. A true icon.

Superalloy Darkshine: Also working out along to some cheesy 80s exercise videos. His hero outfit was inspired from what those ravishing instructors would wear on the television. Well, it was supposed to be a full leotard but it ripped every time he flexed just a tiny bit so the speedo is the only thing that’s left. He’s gotta hella rhythm and keeps up with the music using little to no effort. Although, he can’t go too hard because he’s also a big boi and he’ll literally shake the entire building if he gets too turnt up. Dance muscle boy, dance.

Watchdog Man: Eating too many dog treats lol. Sometimes while he’s stationed on his little podium thing, visitors will leave him little offerings like dog treats and other miscellaneous food items/toys. He never takes them or eats them in front of people, but he often brings everything home with him after a long day just to gobble that shit up. He’s gained a little weight since he started doing it but you can’t even notice it because his suit is hella bulky. Some of it is due in part to stress-eating because being a dog and dude at the same time is hectic, but it’s honest work.

Flashy Flash: Racing shit. Whenever he’s on his travels during, say, assassination missions or hero work, he gets hella bored really quickly. So, to help with this, he’ll often race birds or planes flying in the sky on his way to his destination to see who’s quicker (it’s always him). Sometimes he’ll even play catch with himself by throwing a pine cone or something and running to the place he guesses it’ll land before it even touches the ground. He just does a ton of weird speedster shit whenever he’s bored and he’ll deny it if anyone asks.

Genos: Purposefully putting a little bit too much oil on his joints after each upgrade so he’ll be as slick as a salamander. It’s a really funny feeling to be able to move your limbs with little to no resistance without having to worry about popping or breaking anything. It just makes him feel so agile despite being like, a hunk of actual metal. If he wasn’t so uptight, he would loosen the screws in his fingers to he can bend them almost all the way back (he’s actually thought about it a few times), but both Dr. Kuseno and his 3 remaining braincells attested to that. He just likes to tinker around with his body and see what weird shit he can do. It’s a bad habit because it’s led to a few things being broken on multiple occasions.

Metal Bat: Zenko’s shitty pop music. Whenever he drops her off at school or piano practice, he’ll immediately go home and blast that shit on full volume (because he’s practically deaf from always jumping out of falling buildings and continuously blasting music in his earbuds) while doing chores and the like. He’s one of those people that HAVE to have something going on in the background as they’re getting shit done. He’d rather be caught dead than listening to the OPM equivalent of Taylor Swift because he knows Zenko would never let him live it down.

Tanktop Master: Wearing suits around the house when he’s not even going anywhere. He’s got to wear his tanktop 24/7 whenever he’s in public to keep up The Image (which he has no problem with, he genuinely loves the tanktop ideology) but he also needs to feel fancy every once and a while. So, if he happens to have the time while in between appearances, he’ll prance around in a suit tailored just for him. Because he’s so fucking huge that he had to pay someone a large sum to custom make an outfit that actually fits. He is 7-motherfucking-feet tall. 7.

Puri-Puri Prisoner: Making Valentine’s Day cards all times of the year. Listen, it gets boring as hell in prison. Sometimes the guards will let all of the inmates have a little glitter and glue to keep themselves busy because no harm can come of a little arts and crafts, right? He likes to make cards on the daily just to let all of his lovers know how much he appreciates them. If they express even the slightest amount of disdain for his creations, he’ll spent the next week crying in the darkest corner of his cell block. He also likes origami. Origami is huge in prison because it’s hella time-consuming and guaranteed to calm a busy mind. His favorite things to make are little unicorns.

Amai Mask: Bath bombs. There have been several mishaps in which he’s used a poorly-made bath bomb and came out of the tub looking like Shrek but he’s grown and lot since then, okay? After a long day or a particularly stressful concert, he’ll sink into some hot water and drop a ball of lavender-scented goodness in there. It’s become a bit of an addiction because he’s got multiple cabinets dedicated solely to his collection, but at least he always smells divine.

Iaian: Shakespearean dramas. Kama got him hooked on theater shit and he’s since ripped through all of the most well-known plays. He thinks in iambic pentameter. It wasn’t always noticeable since he’s a quiet, well-reserved guy but his fellow disciples and Kami have recently noticed that he’s developed a bit of a dramatic flair. Even worse, he’s started calling himself a knight whenever he puts on his armor. Everyone prays it’s just a phase but seeing as how stubborn Iaian is, that seeks highly unlikely. Kami is dying inside because he can’t handle another drama nerd.

Okamaitachi: Soap operas, like Tatsumaki. Kama is the most dramatic out of all of the disciples so it’s only natural that she’d like the most dramatic genre of any show out there. She doesn’t exactly watch them religiously though. She’s the type of viewer to drop off the face of the earth for three seasons and come back without knowing what the fuck is going on (because the disciples have limited access to cable due to Kami’s dumbassery and ignorance to anything technology-related), but still cry during the finale anyway because oh no these people are so hot and one of them is deaaaaaad and the other one is that person’s long-lost sister....

Bushidrill: Taking alcohol from Atomic Samurai’s stash every so often. Bushidrill knows what the good shit is and he could buy it himself if he wanted to, but why would he when there’s a perfectly good alcoholic to steal from living right down the hall? He only takes in small doses because, believe it or not—he’s smart, but Kami isn’t gonna notice regardless of whether or not Bushi takes 1 or 5 bottles at a time because the old shit couldn’t spot a purple raccoon if it was 3 feet in front of him. There have been times where Bushi has opened bottles of Kami’s alcohol right in front of him just to play God and he always, without missing a beat, says “Oh, we have the same taste. How neat.”

Fubuki: I’ve said this before in a previous headcanon, but she has a mild obsession with Victorian aesthetic. She’s got a small collection of semi-authentic ballgowns that cost upwards of a-fuckton-of-money each, but anything’s worth it to be able to play dress-up with Lily. Fubuki’s favorite thing is making Lily feel beautiful because everyone has been an insecure teenager at one point and she knows how it feels to not be comfortable in one’s own skin. This isn’t exactly a guilty pleasure because she’s not guilty about it, but it’s almost gotten to a point where an intervention is needed. She’s got so many damn dresses and sooooo much fine china....

Saitama: Retail therapy, lol. Saitama is only good at budgeting because he has no choice given how fucking poor he is, but give this boy even a little bit of leeway and he’ll buy the ugliest clothes (to which he thinks look poppin’) and the best meats without even batting an eye. His entire manga collection is the product of him having little to no self control the moment he realizes he’s got a bit of money to spend on himself. This is also the only time he’ll experiment with cooking because now he can actually afford to fuck up, literally.

Mumen Rider: Sweets! I’ve said this in a previous hc but he has a major sweet tooth. You can substitute salt for sugar in any given recipe and he’ll see it as a major improvement because he just goes absolutely buckwild for anything sweet. His pancreas is suffering, but he believes nothing feels better than curling up under the covers on a rainy day with a heaping helping of milk chocolate. The only thing that makes him feel better after getting beat to shit is a kiss on the cheek and box of his favorite cookies (and some bananas, lol).

Sonic: Like Flash, he also likes racing things. But, in addition to that, his guilty pleasure is doing his own hair in elaborate hairstyles (when it was longer). He’s pretty much homeless so he’s got a lot of time to himself in between murders. This is when you can find him sitting in the woods somewhere braiding flowers into his hair and tying it off with a moss ribbon. He’d never admit he does this because he’s a big macho man and he’d probably cry.

Garou: Spicy chips. I’ve said this before in a previous hc, but he absolutely inhales his food without even tasting it half the time so it’s not even like he gets to enjoy the flavor that much. He just likes the burn because he’s a shithead. He also doesn’t fear death or a torn-up asshole, so he’ll eat an entire family-sized bag of the OPM-universe equivalent to Takis without even batting an eye. He’s been beat to shit so many times that the agony that comes with downing so much spice is lost on him. He doesn’t even need water. It’s insane. Someone stop this madman at once.

#one punch man #opm #tatsumaki #silverfang #atomic samurai #child emperor #metal knight #headcanon #opm headcanons #king #zombieman #drive knight #pig god #superalloy darkshine #watchdog man #flashy flash #metal bat #genos #puri puri prisoner #tanktop master #amai mask #iaian #bushidrill #okamaitachi #garou #saitama #fubuki #mumen rider #speed of sound sonic #asks

[imagining-supernatural]

Completely Mortified

Summary: After a super embarrassing one-night stand last week, the last thing you want is to run into the guy you ran out on the next week...

Word Count: 5666

Warnings: Cussing, obviously. I mean, it’s me. Brief moment of Google Translate

A/N: Dropping by to give you this BuckyxReader oneshot I wrote. May be the last thing I post on this blog. Pretty sure my muses ran away. Got sick of my shit and just shooped outta my brain.

*****

It felt good to get out of the house. Granted, you’d gone out with Shandra last week, but after the events of Friday night, you’d kind of sequestered yourself in your apartment, only leaving to go to work lest you run into the source of your current embarrassment.

But that was a story for never. Because you were never going to think of last Friday night again. Reliving that disaster of a night was not an option.

Moving forward was your only option. After all, last week’s events had happened in Little Rock. You were in Benton where you lived and you would never again step foot in Little Rock’s city limits again. There was no way the Little Rock Incident would follow you thirty minutes to Benton, right? As long as you stayed in your hometown, you’d be fine.

Maybe you were being extreme, but honestly? You didn’t believe so.

“Alright, babe,” Emily said, sliding into the booth next to you. “Let’s find ourselves some hot guys to take home.”

“Nah, I’m good,” you rushed to say. “I mean, I’ll help you find one, though.”

Emily turned her mission-oriented eyes on you. The look in her eyes was the same look you’d seen since about two months after you broke up with your now ex-boyfriend. Emily, apparently, thought that two months was enough time to get over a two-year relationship and move on. “Listen. Matt was a dickhead. It’s been a while. You need to find a hot stranger and have steamy sex to get over that asshole.”

“Isn’t that what you did last week?” Shandra cut in, throwing you a wink.

A groan escaped your throat and you rubbed a hand down your face. It was too much to hope she had forgotten about that. “Fuck. Don’t ever mention that night again. How fucking embarrassing.”

“Was he bad?” Now that Shandra caught wind of some good drama, she was hooked and leaned closer. “He seemed nice. And shit he was hot. Like criminally so.”

There was no way out of this, you realized. Your first time getting laid after Matt was not a story your friends were going to just let go. Maybe if you’d confessed the truth to Shandra after you’d turned tail and left your one-night stand in your dust rather than avoiding her all week… But alas. What choice did you have but to dish? “He was… Fucking fantastic. Like the kind of good that ruins you for other men. That good.”

“So what happened?”

“Me. I—uh. I. Fuck. I came and then… then I started crying.” Best to just tell the bare details, get everything out there and move on. “And I started blubbering out an apology because I had no idea why I was crying and I was trying to get dressed and I ran out of his place before he could say anything and that is why I am never having a one-night stand again. And that is also why I can’t see him ever again or I would just flat out die of embarrassment. It was bad, guys.”

For a second, neither of your friends seemed to know what to say. So you filled the silence by grabbing Shandra’s cosmopolitan and downing the rest of it in one go.

“That poor man,” Emily whispered. There was a flicker of amusement behind her eyes, but she didn’t say whatever she was really thinking, thank god. Maybe in a few years or millennia you could find humor in the situation too, but right now? Fuck no.

“Right? For all he knew, everything was going great. He was into it, he thought I was into it, and I was. Don’t get me wrong I was so into it. But then this random chick he took home from the bar starts fucking sobbing while she’s naked in his bed. God what he must think of me.”

Emily pushed her half full glass of coke and whiskey towards you, and you graciously took her offering, making quick work of that drink as well. Just the memory of last week was enough to make you want to get black-out drunk so you didn’t have to relive it. “Babe that sucks.”

“Babe,” you replied. “I know. I fucking lived it. I can never face him again. I’m just going to have to spend the rest of my life avoiding his neighborhood. Avoiding all of the shops and bars near his place. Hell, I better avoid Little Rock altogether and stick to my town. Definitely need to avoid any guy who moderately resembles him. So that is why I’m not looking for anyone tonight, but I will gladly help you out.”

Were you being dramatic? Honestly? You didn’t think so. This was a dire situation.

Across the table from you, Shandra pursed her lips. “So, uh, Y/N. You said you’d die if you ever saw him again, right?”

“Yeah. I might have to go as far as getting plastic surgery to completely change my face.” Definitely not being dramatic. “Go into WITSEC. Who fucking knows?”

“Yeah, anyway. What kind of flowers do you want at your funeral next week because he is ordering something at the bar right fucking now.”

Emily whirled around, searching the crowded room for your poor hottie, but you’d known Shandra for years. She was just playing. Rarely serious.

“C’mon Shan. Don’t even joke about that. Maybe in thirty years, but not now. Still an open wound, you know?”

“It’s not a joke, Y/N.”

And fuck she was looking at you with genuine truth in her eyes.

“Shandra, no.”

“Y/N, yes. Tall. Long brown hair. He’s wearing a leather jacket.”

“Okay but lots of guys wear leather—”

“Looks like a prosthetic arm.”

“Fuck.” How in the world could this happen? You were at a bar at the next town over from the one you went to with Shandra last week. Last week you’d driven half an hour to a grand opening of a bar in Little Rock. Now you were in fucking Benton. How many bars were there between the two towns? And the two of you happened to be at the same bar? Whatever gods were running the world this week definitely had it out for you.

“Shit, he’s hot,” Emily said, still blatantly staring. Your hand shot to her shoulder to pull her back into the booth the right way as you slid down further in your seat. Turning her attention from your embarrassment personified, Emily looked at you. “What’s his name? He looks like he has a super hot name. Something like Chadwick or Ace or Adonis.”

“Bucky. His name is Bucky.” Not a name you could ever forget. You’d spent so long moaning and screaming it. “And now we need to go find a different bar.”

“He’s coming over here,” Shandra said, dashing your plan to pieces. And, you had to say, out of all of the words in the English language, those were the four most hated words of yours at the moment.

He was almost definitely not coming over here. There were dozens of tables and booths nearby. He was going to one of those. How could he have seen you? Shandra was just being dramatic. She always did love drama. And your embarrassing failure with Bucky was—

“Hello, ladies.”

Fuck.

His voice. His fucking voice.

It took a deep breath and a squeeze of your eyelids before you were able to turn your head to look at him, standing there with an easy smile on his face. Looking as handsome as ever. With those gorgeous blue eyes you’d drowned in last week.

“Y/N,” he nodded a greeting at you, smile never wavering.

“Hi Bucky. What are the odds?”

“What are the odds indeed?” What was he doing? Why wasn’t he avoiding you? You, Y/N, the crazy, naked, sobbing girl. “You ladies mind if my friend and I buy your next round?”

“Not at all!” Emily agreed brightly before you could refuse the offer.

At the mention of his friend, you finally looked over to see his blond-haired friend, Steve, to whom you offered a small smile in greeting. When you met Steve last week, he seemed like a great guy, but it was Bucky who had kept your attention all night.

“Great! Y/N,” Bucky turned his searing blue eyes on you. All you wanted to do was run out of the bar, grab a taxi, and sequester yourself in your apartment until you went into retirement. But you couldn’t move with his eyes on you. “You mind helping me with the drinks?”

Suppose it was best to get this out of the way sooner rather than later in case the fates decided to keep toying with you and putting Bucky in your path.

So, with a sigh, you pushed Emily out of the booth and faked a smile. “Sure thing.”

Bucky turned to ask your friends what drink they wanted, but you cut him off, assuring him that you knew their order. After all, you’d just finished off their drinks. The least you could do was replace them.

So while Steve slid into your recently vacated spot, you and Bucky made an awkwardly silent walk across the bar. It was only after you waved the bartender down and put in the order that you could face Bucky.

“I am so sorry about last week. I am so fucking embarrassed. Like, you have no idea.”

Bucky, however, seemed so at ease. Looking at him, it was as if nothing had ever happened. “It was definitely a first for me.”

“Me too,” you admitted, glancing away. Maybe he just wanted an explanation. Closure. Maybe if you assured him that none of your tears were his fault, he could move on. That had to be it. The only explanation for why he was giving you the time of day.

After all, even last week you knew a guy like Bucky paying attention to a girl like you was fluke. You knew it wouldn’t last long.

“Look, Bucky, I just… I got out of a really shitty relationship a few months ago and last week was the first time I felt… I don’t know. Like I was finally ready to move on.”

“But you weren’t?”

“God, no. I am ready. I just want to leave it all behind. Close that chapter in my life.” Chancing a look at his face, you couldn’t believe the open look in his eyes. All of his attention was on you. “But, like I said, it was a really shitty relationship. He was… Well, Shandra, my friend, she calls him King Asshole. So being with you was,” you sighed. “Honestly the best I’d felt in years. I guess I just got a little overwhelmed. So, anyway. That’s my fucked-up story. And I’m sorry you had to witness my dramatic realization of how fucked up I am.”

Now that it was all out there, you were suddenly terrified to know what he was thinking. So, you just kept talking so he couldn’t enlighten you.

“I hope that helps you get closure or helps you move on or whatever, and seriously, thanks for offering to pay for this round, but you really don’t have to do that. I can get this tab and we can go our separate ways and you never have to see the crazy, cry-after-sex girl again. I can’t even imagine—”

“Do you always talk this much when you’re embarrassed?” He broke in, making you chuckle humorlessly.

“Embarrassed? I am well past embarrassed, dude. I’m definitely into the completely mortified phase right now.”

“Would a shot help you relax or make you even more mortified?”

“Definitely help,” you blurted before you could consider the ramifications. Too quick for you to take back your words, Bucky waved down the bartender.

“Two shots of…” he looked at you, leaving the decision up to you.

Deciding to hell with it, you said, “Tequila. With lime.”

“Coming right up, Buck,” the bartender replied, placing three of the five drinks you’d ordered in front of you before pulling out two shot glasses. Before you could second guess yourself, he had the salt-rimmed tequila shots with a lime wedge in front of you and Bucky.

Bucky raised his glass for a toast and waited for you to mirror his actions. “To the most interesting one-night stand I’ve ever had.”

“Oh god,” you muttered with a smile. Clinking your glass against his, you licked at the salt on the rim, shot the tequila back, and immediately brought the lime to your mouth. At least you didn’t choke or gag on the shot. Your face couldn’t stand to get any more red.

The bartender took your two shot glasses and lime rinds, leaving you with the completed order of 5 drinks. Between you and Bucky, you somehow managed to hold five drinks in your four hands and make it back to the booth without spilling a drop. Shandra slid closer to the wall and you slid in next to her. The booth benches weren’t that long, so Bucky would probably grab a chair or—

—Or he would just slid in next to you, slinging his arm over the back of the bench and engulfing you with his heat. With his jean-clad legs rubbing against yours, there was no way you were going to be able to get through this night intact.

Just as the alcohol was starting to kick in, he decided that physical distance was nothing to be worried about?

Fuck.

“—This wasn’t the first time I’d been to Germany,” Steve was saying. “But it was the first time I didn’t have someone who spoke German with me.”

“Na wenn du mich mitgenommen hättest…” Bucky said beside you, drawing everyone’s attention.        (well if you had taken me with you…)

“Süß und er spricht deutsch,” Emily replied with a grin. “ Y/N muss an dir festhalten, sonst komme ich und behalt dich für mich alleine.”      (Cute and he can speak German. Y/N better keep a good hold on you or I might just take you for myself.)

“What did you say?” When people had conversations about you in a language you didn’t understand, you got annoyed. “I definitely heard my name.”

First, you looked at Emily, but she just smirked and turned her attention to her drink. So you looked at Bucky which was A Mistake considering how fucking close he was to you. And how fucking blue his eyes were. And his beard that scratched the inside of your thighs last week. And the way he smelled was just making you—

“Your friend—”

“Emily,” she introduced herself.

“—Emily was just mentioning that you don’t know German.”

“And maybe he could teach you some.” Somehow you managed to tear your eyes away from Bucky’s perfect face and saw Emily wiggling her eyebrows.

She was lying.

So you narrowed your eyes at her, trying to telepathically get her to translate the actual conversation. However, your rising blood-alcohol level seemed to be dulling your telepathy. Or maybe it was Bucky’s presence.

“Right. Anyway…” Time to get the attention off of you. “Steve. You were in Germany?”

With a knowing look, Steve took back the conversation with a story that you couldn’t pay attention to because Bucky’s hand had abandoned his tumbler of whiskey in favor of landing on your leg.

What the hell was Bucky doing? Last week was nice up until you ran out of his apartment crying. Any sane man would stay away from you. You were obviously pretty fucked up and a guy like Bucky didn’t deserve to have to deal with that. Honestly, no one deserved to deal with that.

But here he was, thumb gently rubbing back and forth on your thigh. As far as you could tell, his eyes stayed on whoever was speaking, and not on you. But honestly? You couldn’t tell for sure. You were so determined not to look at him, not to do anything else that would embarrass yourself in front of him. So he could have been staring at you and you would have no idea.

And he spoke German? Fuck, he kept getting better and better.

“You know, last week when you first walked into that bar in Little Rock,” Bucky whispered in your ear, making all of your nerve endings stand up, “I couldn’t stop staring.”

And last week when you saw him, you knew whatever attention he gave you wasn’t going to last. Maybe if you hadn’t ruined everything with your stupid emotions, he would have just moved on. But now he was dragging this out and your stupid heart kept thinking what if? And that couldn’t happen.

But it was happening.

“What are you doing, Bucky?” You asked quietly, praying to whatever god had their ears on that everyone else would ignore this conversation between you and Bucky.

His eyes jumped all over your face. “Even before I took you home last week, I knew I wanted to spend more time with you. Then after you left, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“Me either,” you agreed.

“So when I saw you here… Just, what are the odds?”

“I… yeah. Well, sometimes nightmares come in pretty packages.”

“Speaking from experience?” He asked, eyes boring into yours. He was waaaay too concentrated on you right now. Having all of his focus was completely unnerving.

“Something like that,” you murmured, having a bit of trouble thinking of your nightmare memories when looking into his eyes like this.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. For a brief moment his eyes stayed on yours, but they quickly flickered away to the bar, releasing you.

That was it. The moment he realized he deserved better.

The moment you lost the brief moment of hope of what if?

Because this was the moment Bucky shut down all possibilities of anything further than the end of this drink. You’d just shot down any future of another drink with him. Of another night with him.

Which sucked for you, but was best for him.

“Y/N and I went to France once,” Emily’s voice broke into your musings, drawing you back into the conversation and, thankfully, away from the train of thought you’d found yourself on with Bucky. “We quickly realized that our high school French wasn’t enough to make our way around France.”

“Fuck no,” you agreed quickly, trying to tear your mind away from Bucky. “I barely remembered how to introduce myself.”

“Luckily most of the French people spoke English too.”

“And we stuck to the tourist areas, which really helped,” you added. For a moment, you and Emily waxed poetic on your memories of your vacation to France as the alcohol took deeper root in your body. When the conversation moved onto Emily and Steve comparing experiences in foreign countries and moved away from you, you noticed that Bucky was still curled around you as much as he was before. He hadn’t tried to distance himself at all.

If anything, he had shifted closer and anchored himself even more around your body.

“Horror movies,” Bucky broke into your thoughts again, lips right by your ear, “are some of my favorite movies.”

Was he trying to convince you that he could handle your nightmare?

“Yeah, but then you leave the theatre,” you returned, shifting just far enough away from him to turn your torso towards him. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to let this go. Who knows, maybe he had a complex where he had to make sure every girl he fucked left happy, and since you were sobbing when you left, he couldn’t take it. So you faced him head on to try and turn him away from your mess. “You leave it behind. And you move on.”

“Or,” he countered, “I watch them at home and when it’s over, I pop in another.”

“This is a stupid metaphor. I’m too drunk to keep up with this shit.” Pop in another? Was that some sort of double entendre?

“You started it,” he said with a shrug, finally lifting his hand off your thigh to take a swig of his beer.

“What? Uh, no, I didn’t.” How dare he say you started speaking in metaphors. “You brought up horror movies.”

“You’re the one who interpreted it as a metaphor.” He took a sip of his beer and raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I was just telling you a fact about myself.”

“Were you?” You challenged, not willing to lose this.

His head dipped closer to yours with a sinful grin. “Doll, I will tell you anything you want to know about me.”

“I—I, uh…”

His eyes were… so… blue. And so close. Those lips forming that smile… Fuck, he was beautiful.

And scary. The way you were feeling? Safe? Hopeful? That was dangerous. Red flags were going up everywhere.

But you couldn’t stop staring at him. And it didn’t help that he was returning the look as well. Tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

From your pocket, you phone started vibrating. You very nearly ignored it. It was nearly impossible to tear your eyes and thoughts away from the man beside you. From his lips… his arm around your shoulders… his fingers on your thigh…

Your phone kept vibrating, and you were drawn from your thoughts, springing into action to pull it from your dress pocket without elbowing Bucky and Shandra too much.

Bucky, ever the gentleman, let you out of the booth while you answered with a, “Hello.”

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

“That’s me.”

“This is Elizabeth Avery. I’m a nurse at Conway Regional Hospital. I have a Matt Starling here. He was in an accident and you’re his emergency contact.”

Matt? Your ex-boyfriend Matt? Who you’d been broken up with for nearly a year?

“I’m still his emergency contact? Wait… car accident? Is he okay?”

Why did you care? He was a shitty person. Obviously since the morgue wasn’t calling you, he was fine enough.

“He’s unconscious right now, but it seems like he should be waking up any minute now. Besides a concussion, everything is fine. We would like you to come to the hospital.”

“If-if-if he’s fine, then why? He’s my ex and I’m drunk right now so—”

“Ms. Y/L/N, when he wakes up, he will need someone here, and legally you are the only person we can call and disclose information about his situat—”

“Fine, fine.” You relented, giving in, just as you always did with anything related to Matt. “I’ll call an Uber, I guess.”

Without further ado, you hung up and tugged your hands through your hair. The girls were going to kill you. Maybe you could just sneak away and—your jacket with your keys were at the booth. No sneaking. “Fuck.”

Well, at least if they killed you, you wouldn’t have to see Matt.

Before heading back to the table, you ordered an Uber. Best to get that on the way.

“So, uh,” you said as you approached the table. “Matt’s in the hospital so, uh, I’m gonna—”

“Babe, no,” Emily broke in. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I’m still his emergency contact—”

“And that’s his problem, not yours.”

“Em, he needs me right now.”

“Who’s Matt?” Steve asked.

“King Asshole of Abusive Boyfriend City,” Emily replied at the same time Bucky quietly said, “Her ex.”

The lack of judgment in Bucky’s voice was somehow worse than Emily’s answer.

“He’s unconscious in the hospital and I’m the only person the hospital can talk to until he wakes up.”

“Then let them wait until he wakes up,” Shandra finally put in her two cents, coated with venom.

“What if something happens before—”

“He doesn’t deserve you to go to him.”

They never understood anything you had with Matt. And sure, he was a shit head. But you’d been with him a long time, and you were over him. Helping him at the hospital was going to be nothing. It was something a decent human being did for someone else.

“Whatever.” You grabbed your jacket from the back of the booth. “I’ll see you guys later. Thanks for the drink, Bucky.”

He hopped out of the booth. “Let me walk you out. “

“You don’t have—”

“I want to.” And damn it he looked just so sincere that you let him take your jacket from your hand and hold it open to help you put it on. Once your arms were through the holes, he placed his hand on your back. “C’mon.”

Again, silence fell as you made your way to the door. This time, however, it wasn’t so awkward.

When you were outside, Bucky broke the silence. “How long since you and Matt, was it, broke up?”

“About a year.”

“And he still has you as his emergency contact? Sounds needy.”

Matt? Needy? You’d been the needy one in the relationship.

“What, did he always call you needy?” Bucky asked, apparently seeing your expression. “Doll, was he ever your emergency contact?”

“I mean, yeah. We were together for a while.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “So when did you change that?”

What the hell was with this line of questioning. “Like, a month after we broke up.”

“Why did it take you that long?”

“What are you, the Spanish Inquisition? I just didn’t think about it until then, okay?”

He took a step closer, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “Look, Y/N, I’m not trying to make you mad or anything. I’m just saying there is no way he just forgot to change you as his emergency contact for an entire year. The only reason he left it is either because he’s needy as fuck or he’s trying to manipulate you. And I don’t know enough about the situation to tell,” he rushed to say, “but just keep that in mind, okay? When you see him.”

You really wanted to tell him where he could shove his opinions on your relationship with Matt, but looking into his genuinely caring eyes, you found that you couldn’t. “Okay. Fine. I will.”

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. Before you could process what was happening, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to your forehead. The action short-circuited your brain, making it even harder to process. “I think your Uber’s here. See you around, Y/N.”

“See ya… Bucky.”

~~~~

Even unconscious and bruised, Matt looked so fucking good.

You’d met him in a coffee shop of all places. Every day for two weeks, the both of you were at the same coffee shop at the same time and you always sat on opposite sides of the shop until one day when he grabbed his coffee – caramel macchiato with an extra shot – and sat down across your table from you. Conversation flowed easily, which surprised you. Meeting people was never your forte. Once you found out what you had in common, it was easy to talk. But small talk? Getting to that point where you were comfortable? It was a long road that not many people stuck around for.

Maybe that was why you’d stuck it out so long with him.

“Y/N?” Matt’s scratchy voice broke through your thoughts. “What...?”

“You got in a car accident. I’m still your emergency contact, so the hospital called me.” Now that he was awake, you were off the hook. He could call one of his other friends and you could go home and sober up with a bucket of ice cream.

Just as you turned to grab a nurse, he spoke your name. “Don’t go.”

“Why?”

“I’ve missed you,” he answered quietly, hand reaching for you. Your own hand twitched, wanted desperately to fall back in the habit, in the comfort of him. But then Bucky’s request flickered to life in your mind.

Was Matt really needy? Was he manipulative? Or was he actually genuine?

At your hesitance and silence, Matt kept speaking. “I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately, Y/N. I… I really miss you, baby.”

Why had he broken up with you? What were his exact words? Something about you being a needy bitch and never giving him space?

Well, you’d given him a year’s work of space.

And you’d moved on. You didn’t need him.

“I’m calling Jake,” you said, standing your ground. “He’ll be here for you. I’ll make sure he helps you change your contact information to him.”

“C’mon, Y/N. Don’t be like that.”

The hair on your arms prickled and you set your jaw. “Like what? Huh, Matt? Like what? I was having a good night. Hell, I’m still mostly drunk. I dropped that to come here to make sure that you’re okay, which you are. But you don’t have the right to drop into my life like—”

“I got in a fucking accident, Y/N! An accident that wasn’t my fault. So excuse me for not planning my accident around your fucking night.”

“You should have taken my name off of your fucking emergency contact list a year ago!” You yelled back, feeling a rush of… something. Something good. It felt empowering. “I am not your girlfriend anymore, asshole. I’m not even your fucking friend!”

Your loud argument must have drawn some attention, because the door opened and two nurses came in. Using this to your advantage, you stuffed your hands in your jacket pockets and turned to one, forcing your voice to a normal volume. “He’s awake and can give you the number of one of his friends. Can you make sure he takes me off of his records because I won’t show up next time.”

And, with Matt yelling at your back, you left.

Just like that.

Walking away in your buzzed haze, you finally felt free.

It had been nearly an hour since you left the bar so there was no guarantee that your friends were still there, but you didn’t feel like going home to your ice cream, like you had less than ten minutes prior. So you pulled out your phone and called Shandra.

“Hey, you guys still at the bar?”

~~~~~

“Ben!” Shandra’s husband was walking up to the bar when you got out of your Uber. “What are you doing here?”

He gave you a hug as he began his explanation. “I was coming to pick Shan up, but she changed her mind. Hope you don’t mind me crashing your night. She said it wasn’t really a girl’s night anymore.”

That means Steve and Bucky were probably still hanging around. Just the thought of Bucky made your skin buzz. “Of course not. I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s life?”

“Really great,” he said with a grin. “My sister just announced she’s pregnant again.”

“Hey, congrats!” You kept chatting until you were approaching the table. Grabbing everyone’s attention, you motioned to Ben with an exaggerated gesture. “Look who I found outside!”

Introductions were made, hugs and handshakes given out, and before you knew it, you were back at the bar with Bucky grabbing drinks.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how’d it go?” He asked. “With your ex?”

“Good, I think. I mean, I feel better. I yelled at him.”

He grinned at that. “Good, good. From what little I know about him, sounds like he deserved it.”

“Yeah. Well, he was laying in a hospital bed after having just been in a car accident, so I’m pretty sure I’m the bad guy in this scenario, but I… I really don’t give two fucks.”

His hand came up to brush some hair behind your ear and came to rest on the side of your neck. And suddenly you remembered the conversation you’d been having the last time you stood waiting for drinks.

Crying after sex.

Sure, you didn’t give two fucks about Matt, but you sure as hell gave some fucks about Bucky, judging from the sudden blush on your cheeks.

“You definitely seemed happier when you came back,” he murmured.

“Bucky,” you whispered, eyebrows drawing together. What the fuck was he doing? Still sticking around? Didn’t he know he deserved better than whatever he was going to get with you? Hell, what if he came home with you and you started crying again? It wasn’t like you could just run out like you did before. Unless the two of you were going to drive half an hour to his place, rather than the five minutes to yours.

“Don’t worry about last week, Y/N,” he said, reading your mind and stepping closer so there was barely space between you two. “That was a whole week ago. This is now.”

“How profound,” you managed to say drily just before he dipped his head, stopping just as his lips were a breath away from yours. Your move. “Bucky, why?”

“Because I want to,” he replied, drawing back barely enough to look into your eyes. “What about you, doll?”

“I—” you swallowed heavily, eyes dropping to his lips that you wanted nothing more than to kiss. “I don’t understand this at all.”

And with that, you surged forward and kissed him, fingers gripping his shirt. You’d sobered up a bit, but his lips were undoing your progress, intoxicating you. The flex of his hand on your neck, the cold of his metal arm wrapping around your back… You were falling back under the spell he’d wound around you seven days ago and praying that this time ended differently.

A throat clearing and a gruff voice saying Bucky’s name drew you apart and Bucky glared at the bartender. “Really, Rick? I’m a little busy here.”

Fuck, you were in public. With Bucky still holding you close, it was easy to hide your inflamed face in his chest, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Your drinks are all ready,” Rick said, amusement evident in his tone. He slid a tray next to the six drinks. “Wouldn’t want to keep your friends waiting.”

#buckyxreader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel oneshot #reader insert

[jungshookz]

hot cheetos and cosmopolitans; pjm

🗡️ pairing: park jimin x reader

🗡️ genre: spooktober day (5/7); zombieapocalypse!au; angst; this is an end of the world drabble so blood has been shed 

🗡️ wordcount: 2.3k

🗡️ summary: hot cheetos probably shouldn’t be the first thing on your list of things to find when you’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. 

(here’s the picture source!) 

                                        ◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤Ξ◢▅◣Ξ◥▅◤

“so help me god, if you even reach for the chips right now, i swear to god i’ll shoot you.” jimin’s fingers barely brush over the bag of hot cheetos when you call him out

he lets out a little huff and retracts his arm before spinning around to look at you

“it’d be insane of me to not take advantage of the fact that i could eat all the chips i wanted to right here, right now!” he scoffs and gestures to the shelves lined with all sorts of potato chips

you’re surprised there’s still this many bags of chips left

unsurprisingly there’s not a lot in the canned section which was what you were dreading

“i told you to grab the nonperishables-“

“chips count as nonperishable food item-“

“i’m talking about things that are going to fill you up and keep you energised!” you gesture to your backpack before turning around to show him how fAT it is after you filled it up “you know, tuna, beans, soups, stews- water, we definitely need water-“

“you think there’s some coke around here? i miss coke.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes

you’ll just grab two jugs of waters and then you and jimin can head back to the base camp

you don’t remember a world before the apocalypse

you don’t remember your life before the apocalypse

well

okay

you remember soMe bits

you remember living in a nice neighbourhood in a nice apartment with your soft, cushy bed and your one hundred and one decorative throw pillows

you remember going to a nice university

you remember some of the friends you made at the nice university (including jimin)

you remember the morning of the day the announcement was made

that there was some kind of virus that was starting to spread around town

something about a dead deer? or was it a cow? you’re not too sure

you don’t remember too much of that because you peRsonally didn’t think it was that big a deal

you had bigger fish to fry!

like your psychology midterms and your history papers

and then you remember how pale your professor looked when he walked into class that morning

it was weird

he was oddly vEry sweaty

the bags under his eyes were sunken in and grey

“god, he should’ve just stayed home. then i could’ve stayed home. i could be sleeping right now. we could all be sleeping right now.” jimin mutters under his breath and you nudge his side in an attempt to get him to shut up

professor kim didn’t look… that bad….. right?

his eyes would occasionally do this thing where it just rolled upwards for a brief second and it was kind of concerning how many veins you were able to see from all the way in the back

his jaw would tick every now and then

you remember watching him pace up and down the lecture hall steps as he struggled with explaining walter cannon’s theory of fight or flight

in all honesty the poor man looked like he was about to pass out

and right as you had that thought, he literally collapsed to the ground at the front of the classroom

you remember the hushed silence that washed over the classroom

there was no protocol for this

what do people normally do when their professor passes out halfway through the lecture??

a couple of the students up front rushed over to make sure he was okay

watching your professor jolt back to life is something that you think will stick with you for the rest of time

it was terrifying

you remember pale his skin was

all his veins had gone from a healthy green to a coal black and you weren’t a scientist or anything but you were preTTY sure that veins weren’t supposed to be black

you remember the aggressive gnashing of his teeth

you remember the way he sunk his teeth into namjoon’s arm and you remember the pained scream that slipped past namjoon’s lips

you remember the way the room burst into chaos with people sprinting every which way trying to get out of the lecture hall as quickly as possible

and you remember the way professor kim looked at you while he was practically devouring poor namjoon

you stared into those cold, cloudy eyes and you felt like you were under some kind of spell

the fight or flight response was developed in the early 20th century and occurs when a person experiences very strong emotions associated with a perceived threat

american physiologist walter cannon believed that it was a built-in mechanism that assisted in raining homeostasis of the body

there are several physiological reactions that happen when the fight-or-flight response is activated

your pupils dilate

your heart begins to pound, begins to beat faster

you breathe heavily and you start to sweat

you feel butterflies in your stomach

your muscles tense

adrenaline starts to pump through your veins in an attempt to get you to go go gO

but you remember how frozen you were

you remember how frozen you were as you watched the fresh blood dripping from professor kim’s chin to the ground as he got up onto his feet

poor namjoon was twitching in pain and you remember standing there, truly shocked at how quickly his veins began to darken

namjoon was always very nice to you

he lent you a pen once and told you that you could keep it

you still had the pen

in fact you used it when writing all of your exams

namjoon’s pen was your good luck pen

it was difficult for you to process right then and there that this was the beginning of the end

that you had just watched your zombie professor bite into one of your peers

what the heLL were you going to do??? was it safe to go back to your apartment? how many people had been infected? what happens if yoU become infected?? is this happening back home?? are your parents okay?? is your goLdfish okay?? can goldfish even become zombies????

you were so preoccupied with what do i do what do i do what do i do that you didn’t even realise professor kim was heading straight for you

crawling over the lecture seats with such ferocity and gnashing his stained, yellow teeth wildly

“y/n, come on!” the thing that snapped you out of your trance of shock was the sound of jimin’s voice and the feeling of his fingers wrapping around your wrist

you remember him practically dragging you up the stairs because it felt like your shoes were made of cement

“m-my lunch, i left my lunch-“ you turn to glance over your shoulder and you catch a glimpse of your abandoned lunch bag sitting on your seat before the lecture door is suddenly slammed shut and about ten students are working to barricade the door with spare chairs and desks

but yeah

that’s pretty much all you remember of what happened beFore the zombie apocalypse

it’s just been you and jimin ever since

well, no

that’s not entirely true

there were originally seven of you

jungkook, taehyung, hoseok, jin, yoongi, jimin, and you

they were all jimin’s friends to begin with but the more time you spent with them, the more they began to accept you as one of their owN

it’s weird

it feels like it’s been a long time since you even thought about them

you’ve been so preoccupied with keeping you and jimin alive that you haven’t thought about them

hoseok was the first to go

you guys had stumbled across some kind of field and hoseok, being hoseok, decided he’d pick some daisies and make a flower crown or something since there was nothing else to do

it was like the zombie came out of nowhere and in a state of panic, jungkook (who happened to be the closest to hoseok in terms of distance) just fired without mercy because there was literally a zombie right there and that was his immediate instinct

hoseok, unfortunately, got caught in the crossfire

you guys buried him in the fields

you hadn’t even known hoseok for that long but you remember weeping as you tucked a daisy behind his ear

you tried to make a flower crown for him but it kept falling apart and yoongi reminded you gently that you guys needed to head somewhere safe before sundown

jungkook and taehyung were the next two to go

you guys had reached some kind of abandoned parking lot and jin thought it’d be a good idea to check the cars and see if there was anything useful in there

jungkook had been bitten on the shoulder and taehyung had been bitten on his forearm when he tried to intervene to save him

you didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to them because by the time you and jimin got back from exploring your section of the parking lot, the deed had already been done

jin was out two bullets and he didn’t want to talk about the fact that he had no choice but to shoot two of his closest friends

and then it was jin

you had never seen yoongi cry before and it was truly a strange sight because he was typically so void of emotion

the three of you walked in silence that afternoon and yoongi went straight to bed that night

and finally

it was yoongi

the thing was, with the virus, if you caught it fast enough, it wouldn’t spread to the rest of you

yoongi, thankfully, had been bitten on the hand, and all you had to do was a quick chOp to his wrist with the machete and he’d be as good as new

“y/n, you have to do it-“ yoongi grunts through gritted teeth as he places his hand on the tree trunk

you can see how quickly the virus is taking over

the blue veins under yoongi’s pale skin are starting to fade which means you have to act now or else you’ll really be in trouble

“i can’t!” you exasperate as your grip tightens around the handle of the machete “i can’t cut your fucking hand off are you inSAN-“

“y/n, just do it!!!!! jesus chriST, just do IT-“ jimin is freaking out behind you because he does NOT want to deal with zombie yoongi but he also doesn’t really want to watch a live amputation

“well why don’t yOU DO IT-“

“because it’s GROSS-“

“how do you think i feEL-“

“can one of you please just-“ the sound of yoongi’s pained shriek combined with the crack of his bones will definitely haunt you for the rest of your life

you thought yoongi would be okay after the amputation

it was a pretty clean cut!!!! it was actually kind of impressive how clean it was

maybe you would’ve made a good doctor

yeah

maybe

you thought everything would be alright

but no

of course, of course it had to get infected

and of course yoongi had to fall sick

and of course you had to hold yoongi as you watched him die in your arms

“please don’t go…” your throat has gone raw from all the sobbing you’ve been doing and yoongi chuckles weakly and reaches up to brush his fingers over your cheek in an attempt to wipe your tears away “please, you can’t leave us like this-“

jimin is starting to get misty eyed as well but he tries his best to keep it together because onE of you has to be strong

“i’m just glad i’m not dying of a nasty zombie bite.” yoongi croaks

it’s obvious he’s trying to get you to crack a smile but you can’t

you can’t laugh when yoongi is dying and there’s nothing you can do about it

the last thing he said before his eyes finally fluttered shut was a) jimin is not allowed near anY chips because he’s going to eat himself sick and b) it’s up to you to save the world

which is how you ended up here

just you and jimin in the middle of this abandoned grocery store picking up bits and pieces of food

“we gotta huStle if we wanna make it back before the sun goes down, jimin…”

“yeah, i know, i know…” jimin turns to shove a couple comic books into his backpack

“here, i wanna read this later-“ you hand jimin a magazine and he scoffs at the cover

“cosmopolitan?? are you for real?? how is- hOW is the 8 types of booty-call relationships going to help us in a zombie infestation???”

“…horny zombies?”

“that’s just nasty.”

yep

it’s just you and jimin against the world

(you snuck a couple bags of hot cheetos into your backpack to surprise him with later)

help me help you make your wishes come tru (aka send me a spooky request)

spooktober masterlist // main masterlist

#spooktober 2019 #spooktober 2019 drabbles #park jimin #park jimin imagines #park jimin drabbles #jimin #bts #bts drabbles #jimin drabbles #jimin fics #jimin fic recs #bts fics #bts fic recs #bts jimin #park jimin fics #park jimin fic recs #bts park jimin #reader insert #jimin x reader

[alovelyvillain]

F*** I hate tumblr. The question disappeared for some bizarre reason but it was something like "what is Tom's dreamdate with Hermione" I dunno this website gives me a headache I'm going to bed now.

Tom starts their evening by taking Hermione to a 3 Michelin star restaurant because he thinks it will impress her. When she asks how he swung the last minute reservation he admits he's a long-time friend of the owner (he met the owner the day before when he broke into the stranger’s house and blackmailed him for a table near the window.) Halfway through the tasting menu Hermione admits upscale dining is a bit strange to her (a polite way of saying she's uncomfortable) and the chips from the food truck by her office are her all-time favorite.

After dinner, he takes her to the ballet because he wants to appear refined despite his orphaned upbringing (he told her he grew up with two parents, a brother, and a beagle named Max) and as they enter their private balcony she jokingly asks if he's friends with the owner here, too. Tom smiles and says he knows one of the ballerinas (he really does.) Hermione’s face reveals a twinge of jealousy and she leans close to him for the remainder of the performance.

Afterward, she asks which ballerina he knows and Tom nods to Bella when the dancers take their bows. Hermione waits thirty seconds before casually asking how they know each other. Tom hides his pleased grin and takes her hand, assuring her they're merely old friends who met at school (they're old co-workers who met on assignment) and bonded over a particularly difficult chemistry lab (they managed not to kill each other while assassinating a foreign prime minister) but never shared any romantic involvement (they had sex twice and it was anything but romantic), they've kept in touch over the years and he wants to congratulate her on joining the dance company (he’d thought she was dead and wants to make sure she hasn’t risen from the grave to kill him.)

Tom tells Hermione he'll be right back but she insists on coming along, he can't think up a reasonable excuse so he agrees and escorts her backstage. He's reluctant to introduce her to Bella (who’s arguably out of her fucking mind) but Hermione unknowingly solves the problem when she starts up a lively discussion with the set designer.

Tom sneaks off and slips into Bella’s dressing room. She's expecting him and laughs maniacally upon seeing his bespoke suit and pristine hair. He asks if she's here for him and she calls him an arrogant bastard, then goes on to claim she's retired, too. Tom doesn't trust her but can't leave Hermione alone any longer. As he departs, Bella tells him to keep his pretty new girlfriend close, the rumor is someone has, in fact, been sent to kill him. He starts to ask more but hears Hermione's voice around the corner and quickly shuts the door on Bella's dark laughter.

Tom finds his date discussing cheesecake recipes with a dancer who looks like she's never taken a bite of cheesecake in her life. He touches the small of her back and asks if she's ready to go. Hermione offers polite goodbyes to the friends she’s managed to make over the last five minutes and accepts his hand as he leads her outside.

Tom makes the reluctant decision to cut their night short (he intends to take care of the assassin before the assassin takes care of him) but Hermione sees the Christmas light display in the park across the street and clutches his arm with both hands, bouncing excitedly with such a breathtaking grin he decides to put his life on the line for a few minutes more. They hold hands crossing the street and entering the park gates, then he wraps an arm around her waist and she leans into his side as they stroll between the colorfully decorated trees.

As they're leaving he tells himself he can't see her again (doing so surely puts her life in jeopardy) and then she rests her head on his shoulder with a soft sigh and he realizes he's fucked (completely and utterly.) Tom glances around and realizes where they are, then tells her he has a surprise (the opportunity is too good to pass up, international assassins be damned) and leads her a few blocks further until her office building comes into view. Her expression remains puzzled until they turn the corner and the food truck is revealed. She laughs and clutches his arm again. He smiles, pleased with himself as they join the end of the line in their fancy evening wear.

They eat their chips in the back of the cab and discuss the merits of each dipping sauce, passionately defending their selected favorite (honestly, what can compete with malt vinegar?) and attacking each other’s condiment of choice (curry mustard? She was obviously disturbed, perhaps he should rethink this relationship) and when the driver announces they've arrived at their destination they both glance at her building with disappointment.

Hermione bites her lip and thanks him for a wonderful evening. Tom desperately wants to kiss her (preferably not while the driver watches from the rearview mirror) and offers to escort her to the front step. She accepts and blushes when he circles the car and opens her door (despite the fact he’s been opening her doors all evening.) He's already fantasizing about the kiss when she reaches the stoop and turns to him with resolve in her eyes.

She asks if he'd like to come upstairs.

Tom blinks, startled by the offering. He knows he shouldn't (he really shouldn't) it's a terrible idea (bloody awful) and would be incredibly selfish of him. But he wants her (Christ he wants her) and at this moment she wants him (she looks so fucking beautiful standing beneath the moonlight, draped in black silk.) Tom finds himself agreeing before his mind even catches up to the decision.

He follows her upstairs, then he follows her inside, body drawing taut as she fumbles with her keys, the urge to grab her and pin her to the wall nearly overwhelming his self-control. But he keeps his dark desires at bay, stepping into her modest flat with a polite smile, mindful of her nerves (he can tell she doesn't normally do this.)

“I don't normally do this,” she explains quickly, cheeks flush as she sets her greasy chip box on the entry table.

Tom nods, fighting to keep his movements measured and calm. “I can tell.”

She swallows lightly, shutting her door and staring at the deadbolt, seeming to have an internal debate. Turning it means she assumes he'll be staying, perhaps overnight, which could be construed as presumptive, while not turning it means she expects him to leave soon, which could be construed as rude.

Dilemmas, dilemmas.

Tom bites back a grin, shrugging out of his coat as he watches her silent deliberation. Her hand trembles as it slowly lifts, turning the lock. His eyes flash, hunger roaring to life. He steps forward, gaze roaming her body as she turns.

“I’ll be right back,” she utters quickly, halting his predatory approach. Her eyes sparkle beneath the entryway lights.

Tom nods. “Alright.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” she says as she slides past, starting down the hall. “There's wine above the fridge, glasses in the first cabinet.”

“Perfect.” He watches her dart around the corner and flip on the light in what was presumably her bedroom before promptly shutting the door.

He hangs his coat on the rack and wanders into the galley kitchen, grabbing the sole bottle from atop the fridge (it’s caked in dust) and selects twin wine glasses from the appointed cabinet. He strolls into the living room next, setting his bounty on the glass coffee table and glancing around the room. He peels the wax seal from the bottle and examines a row of photographs positioned across the mantle. Various faces smile back at him from exotic locations around the world. Hermione doesn’t appear in any of them. (She must be camera shy. Tom certainly is. It took him nearly three weeks to track down the last roll of film containing his face, another six hours to kill the photographer.)

His casual perusal is stalled by a stack of magazines blocking his path. He tilts his head and reads the titles along the side. Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Look, then scans the cover page on top, gaze narrowing on the address label.

“Lavender Brown…” he mutters, then senses movement from the corner of his eye.

Tom dives behind the couch with the wine bottle as the shot rings out, muffled by a silencer. He hears her bare feet pad across the hardwood and catches sight of her reflection in one of the glass picture frames.

“I presume you aren’t an art appraiser?” He calls out.

“You presume correctly,” Hermione replies calmly, keeping the gun aimed high while approaching the couch. “Though I have a fond appreciation for the museum, I killed someone there just last month.”

Tom wets his lips, carefully maneuvering while keeping himself concealed. “Let me guess, you got chips afterward?”

“Naturally. They’re the only food truck in London with curry mustard.”

“The attempt on my life I can forgive, but there’s no absolving poor taste.”

She tiptoes around the coffee table. “Drop the act. We both know you didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth. Though I’m impressed by the lengths you went to just to get inside my knickers.”

Tom clenches his jaw as she stops before the couch, leaning over with the gun aimed down. “It seems I wasn’t the only one putting on a show.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Tom Riddle. I needed you to drop your guard and follow me upstairs. No man can resist the blushing virgin routine.”

He seizes the opportunity before it’s too late and tosses the wine overhead, counting on her lethal training to kick in. Sure enough, she lifts her gun and shoots the bottle dead center, glass and ruby liquid exploding in every direction as Tom grips the bottom of the couch and flips the furniture with all his strength. She falls back, knocked off balance as he leaps the cushions and topples against her, sending them both crashing onto the glass table.

It shatters, flimsy frame buckling. He hisses with pain, shards slicing his skin from every direction, coating his shirt and raining from his hair.

“I didn’t think you were a blushing virgin,” he groans, slowly pushing upright. “I just wanted to meet the woman who assassinated Secretary Umbridge in the middle of a crowded museum during broad daylight.”

She glances at him sharply, pausing with her hand half-way to her fallen weapon.

“I know all about you, too, Hermione Granger,” he smiles, “and I’m honored Grindelwald selected you to terminate my contract.”

She draws back, glass sparkling in her hair and blood gleaming across her arms. “Then why bother with a date? You could have attacked me long before tonight.”

“I didn’t want to kill you,” he states simply. “I wanted to get inside your knickers.”

Hermione growls while he laughs, then they’re both diving for the gun, reaching it at the same time and rolling back and forth as they fight for control. She wrestles for the grip while he fumbles with the release switch, pulling it down as she wrenches the firearm away. The magazine slides out and hits the ground with a heavy thud. Tom kicks it across the floor and she takes aim at his head. He sits up with no time to spare as she pulls the trigger and the remaining bullet zips free from the chamber and strikes the brick fireplace, sending dust into the air.

She releases a sound of rage and throws the gun aside, stalling his brain when she lifts her skirt high, revealing a set of black lace garters. And then he catches sight of the gleaming knives strapped to her thigh and his senses come flooding back.

“Shite.” He rolls away as she begins throwing the blades with effortless skill, metal whizzing past his head and lodging into the hardwood. He grabs fashion magazines off the pile and holds them aloft, catching a knife darting for his face.

Tom knows she’s out of cutlery when she growls again and springs to her feet, charging him headlong. He manages to pull upright before she’s able to drive her knee into his skull, taking the blow to the side of his leg instead. What she lacks in muscle she more than makes up for with speed, delivering a series of rapid shots to his kidneys and ribs that leave him breathless. But when she takes aim at his neck for the knockout blow he catches her wrist and twists it behind her back. She bites her lip to keep from shouting, pretty face grimacing tight. His side is black and blue from her wicked right hook so he feels a thrill of satisfaction at her misery, that is until she drives her heel into his shin with such brutal force he’s certain she’s snapped his tibia in half.

Tom releases her and staggers back, the abrupt movement causing an object to dislodge from his pocket and roll across the floor. Hermione blinks, staring at the long and narrow cylinder as it comes to a stop between them, then glances up in disbelief.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” he mutters, flexing his sore knee.

“Who the hell carries a grenade in their pocket?”

“The dating scene is rough. It’s good to be prepared.”

She shakes her head and springs forward with renewed purpose, grabbing photos off the mantle and launching them at his head like deadly missiles. He slaps them away, hissing when the corner of a metal frame clips him in the forehead, and then she’s leaping over the upturned couch like a gazelle and landing against his body, the forward momentum knocking them both to the ground. The strap of her dress tears as he knocks her sideways and rolls atop her thrashing form.

“Watch it! This is designer, arsehole!”

“Which designer?”

She shrugs, throwing a jab he blocks with his forearm. “How the hell should I know? Lavender’s closet was bursting with options.”

“And where is Ms. Brown?”

“Tied up in the closet, obviously.”

Tom smirks, then pushes away as she aims a punch at his groin. “Christ, you fight dirty, don’t you, luv?”

She rolls her eyes and springs to her feet, dress and hair a mess, face utterly stunning in its blood-lust. “You have no idea.”

Tom braces for round-three, raising a brow when she retreats for the window instead. He grips the side table and stands, watching her slide open the pane and perch atop the sill.

“This was fun,” he says, breathing in the cool night air. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Let me check my calendar and get back to you,” she replies, swinging her legs over the side and stepping onto the fire escape, moonlight framing her silhouette. “By the way,” she glances back with a smirk, “curry mustard beats malt vinegar’s arse any day of the week.”

Tom grins, limping forward as she begins to descend, shaking the metal structure as she goes. He peers through the window and watches her drop to the cement, sparing him one last glance before charging headlong into the dark night, disappearing around the next block.

She would be back. Her life was in as much danger as his until she completed her assignment (he looks forward to their second meeting.) But for now, Tom leans back and closes the pane, knocking the lingering glass from his hair.

“Well, as first dates go, that was undoubtedly one of my better ones.”

#drabble #unedited and ratchet af #tomione #love is a battlefield #alovelyvillain

[baepsaets]

suga baby ~ min yoongi

pairing: min yoongi x reader

rating: sfw (future smut)

word count: 6.4k

summary: you’re a bartender at a seedy downtown dive. after a close call, your favorite customer yoongi takes it upon himself to make sure you have everything you could ever need.

a/n: hello, i have major writer’s block with eight’s a crowd and it manifested into this beast, i’m so sorry lmao. once again, thank you everyone for your sweet messages! i don’t get a chance to post them on my blog, but i always read them and they make me smile. thanksgiving break for me starts at the end of the week, so i hope to use that free time to catch up on my writing. please enjoy!

part 01 02 03

Min Yoongi sat down at your bar sometime between eleven o’clock and eleven-thirty. It was a busier Thursday night than usual, so by the time you finally made it down to his regular seat, there was already a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

He eyed you from underneath his fringe. “You look tired.”

You snorted, already pouring him his regular drink—whiskey sour with a dash of grenadine. “I feel more tired than I look.”

“I know the feeling,” he replied, tipping his freshly-made drink toward you. “Happy end of the week.”

“It’s not the end of the week,” you told him, voice sourer than the drink in his hand, “if you work the weekend, Mr. Min.”

You tapped the bar next to his slim-fingered hand in annoyance, and his mouth quirked into a half-smile.

You had met Yoongi almost half a year ago, when he’d wandered into your shabby bar half-past midnight on a Wednesday night. The bar had been deserted, and he’d looked like a gemstone in a pile of gravel—Armani suit tailored to fit his slender frame, golden watch ticking ostentatiously on his wrist. He’d sat down at the end of the bar, furthest seat from the door, and had given you a short but dismissive look. “Can you make a good drink?”

With your lips pressed tight together, you’d nodded your head. You made a hell of a drink, which was the only reason you were a bartender. You were the first to admit that you lacked all other qualities that seemed required for the job—you weren’t particularly pretty, hated small-talk, and had a terrible case of resting bitch face. What you lacked in charisma, you made up for with a mean cosmopolitan.

“I don’t know,” you’d told him, flatly. “Can you leave a good tip?”

He’d raised an eyebrow, amused by the venom in your tone. “I’ll make you a deal—make me the best mojito I’ve ever had, and I’ll leave you the best tip you’ll ever get.”

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were intrigued by his offer. What was it like, having enough money to waste bartering with the bartender? You’d turned your back to grab a glass. Sugar, mint—he looked like someone who preferred it sour, so you added extra lime as you topped the drink off with white rum. You’d slid him the drink and pretended to immerse yourself with cleaning the countertop as he’d taken his first sip, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He had shrugged, trailing his finger around the rim of his glass. You’d tried not to sigh in annoyance. Whatever, whatever. You didn’t care if some pretentious, upper-class asshole didn’t like your drink. Plenty of other people did.

Min Yoongi had left half an hour later, and under his empty glass was a crisp, one-hundred-dollar bill.

Since then, you’d been stuck with the man, who was surprisingly good company.

“Busy night,” he commented, holding his drink up to the light, observing the way the grenadine turned the dark alcohol auburn.

“You’re telling me,” you replied, absent-mindedly. You eyed the rest of the bar, checking to see if anyone was gesturing for your attention. Your gaze snagged on a group of men near the door. They were typical—loud, obnoxious. A bundle of unease started to unwind in your stomach. With your manager in the back, you were the only person working the floor. If something happened, if a fight broke out, or if one of them made a move, you’d be completely on your own.

“Has there been a problem?” Yoongi asked. You glanced back toward him and realized he’d followed your gaze, also staring at the rowdy group.

“No,” you assured him. “It’s just been busy.”

It made a tingle shoot through your chest, thinking that he cared.

You were probably something insignificant in his life, compared to whatever rich people usually cared about—the stock market, or fashion, or something. Yoongi woke up every morning wondering what his hired staff was making him for breakfast, while you wondered if you could afford an overpriced coffee to get you through your sixteen-hour workday.

Yoongi sat down his drink. “Can I ask you a quick question?”

“It’s not like I have a choice. I don’t get off until three.”

You grabbed an already clean glass and started cleaning it just to look occupied, any excuse to loiter in front of his seat. Your favoritism was blatant to people who frequented the bar, but to the outside eye, it just looked like you were making small-talk with a random customer while you worked.

“Ha, ha,” he deadpanned, amused. “Do you remember me talking about my client last week?”

You nodded your head, interest piquing. You loved it when Yoongi talked about his job.

He was some type of music tycoon and owned a production company on a side of the city too expensive for you to frequent. He told you a lot about his job, mainly because he liked to complain about it. Most people who came into the bar to complain got too personal and didn’t care about what you had to say. My wife left me. I’ll never be a good father. Yoongi came into the bar and said, Fuck Ji-sung from the sounding department and fuck our capitalistic regime, before asking for extra whiskey.

And then afterward, staring into his drink, slightly drained but more relaxed than before, Yoongi asked for your opinion. Which he seemed to value, for some reason. You had a suspicion he was in such a position of power at his job, most people only told him what he wanted to hear. That wasn’t your style. You may have been reserved, but you were honest. Maybe your opinion wasn’t the most educated one, but it was unbiased and more genuine than any other he had the opportunity to hear.

“The one who wasn’t rude until you started working on his second album?” you asked. “Makes your staff sort his candy by color?”

“Yes,” Yoongi hissed, thoroughly annoyed. “God, what a prick. Don’t get into the music industry. If I had a dollar for every goddamn time—,” and then he went on a nameless tangent, about respecting people who only made minimum wage and having common decency.

You liked seeing Yoongi like this. When you had first met him, he’d been so quiet. You could tell he was used to being quiet—not shy, just reserved. Like you. He had a tendency to word-dump, saying everything he needed to say in one breathless paragraph simply because he wasn’t used to talking very much in the first place.

“—but anyway, anyway, I just wanted to ask how you knew your advice would work.”

You stopped cleaning your glass and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“You told me to give him more creative control over his next album and he started treating the staff better. Usually I do the opposite—treat my staff badly, and I fire you. But I didn’t want to lose this artist. Your advice worked. How did you know?”

You set the glass down and continued to stare, mouth slightly agape. You probably looked like an overworked fish wearing an apron. “You actually listened to my advice?”

He stared back, quizzically. “Of course. It was good advice. A little unorthodox, I’ll admit, but I needed a new approach.” His gaze sharped, turned a little darker, a little more intense. “I don’t usually reward bad behavior.”

You flushed a bit at his possible double-innuendo. Sometimes, it was like that with Yoongi. He’d say something teasingly, something that hinted at the idea of more. It was flattering, but you recognized it for what it really was—nothing serious, just harmless flirting. Everyone tried it at least once during your shift. They were drunk, and you were an easy target, especially once they were infected with liquid courage.

As if someone as handsome, rich, and successful as Yoongi would ever be interested in you.

“But I’m your bartender,” you gasped, surprised he couldn’t see the incredulousness of it. Yoongi was a millionaire. He paid people to give him advice. Highly trained people, who had some type of nonsense business degree that made them qualified to give him advice. You were a lowlife living paycheck to paycheck with a dead-end job and no foreseeable future, and he’d taken your advice over the advice of his hired staff.

And your advice had been better.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “It’s the person on the outside that can see the bigger picture. I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t value your opinion.”

Hearing him say that made your skin tingle and flush. Yoongi seemed so effortlessly smart, effortlessly cultured, effortlessly eloquent. And he valued your opinion. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe so,” he agreed. “But I had a gut feeling you were right. How did you know?”

Still caught off-guard, you slowly grabbed another glass to clean, finding comfort in the repetitive motion. “Well, you told me he only started acting out during this album. People who feel like they don’t have control over certain aspects of their lives tend to overexert control in others. I thought that because he felt like he didn’t have proper creative control over his album, maybe his frustration was manifesting as micromanaging your staff.”

Yoongi groaned, “Why couldn’t he just tell me that? I would have given him all the control he wanted.”

You shrugged, suppressing a laugh. “He was probably scared. You’re pretty intimidating.”

“Am I?” he asked, genuinely surprised.

“Are you joking?” you asked. “With your scowl? Cacti are more approachable than you.”

He considered you for a moment, mouth flattening slightly. “Do I intimidate you?”

“No,” you scoffed. “I’m not easy to intimidate.” His mouth quirked again, and he looked like he was about to say something else, until—

“Hey, lady!” a man yelled from the other end of the bar. You turned and saw it was a member of the rowdy group by the door. “Can we get some service down here, too?”

Every ounce of friendliness dropped from Yoongi’s expression as he glared at them, but you only set down your glass with a sigh. “I’ll get you a refill in a second, be right back.”

You made your way down to the other end of the bar, conscious of the way the other man leered at you. Sometimes, you really, really didn’t like your job. You were in it for the money, and not even a great customer like Yoongi could make the job seem worth it on a bad night.

“What can I get you tonight?” you asked.

“Another beer,” he said, sliding his empty bottle across the counter. It tipped over the edge of the bar and shattered at your feet before you could scramble and catch it.

“Ow, shit,” you cursed. You stepped back, broken glass crunching under your feet. A shard of glass had cut the delicate, exposed skin of your left ankle between your shoe and the rolled cuff of your jeans.

“Today, please,” the man snapped, annoyed by your lack of promptness. You grabbed him an identical beer from the shelf behind you and set it on the counter. He snatched it up before you could even open it for him.

“That’ll be $1.93,” you said, eyeing the cut on your ankle. It was just deep enough to bleed, blood dripping down to stain the white of your sock. You would have to clean up the glass later.

“Excuse me? It was only $1.12 when I paid an hour ago.”

You wanted to throw your head back and groan. You’d given him that beer an hour ago, and it was the same price then as it was now. He was just trying to barter.

If it were any other customer, you would have let it slide. But you knew people like the man in front of you—give them an inch, and they would take a mile. If you didn’t set him straight now, he’d only try to push you further in the future.

“It was $1.93,” you told him flatly. “I know that because you didn’t tip and requested your change. It was a nickel and two pennies.”

“Are you saying I’m lying?”

“I’m saying that maybe you’re not remembering correctly,” you amended. “And even if it was $1.12 then, it’s $1.93 now. Either pay or give me the beer back.”

“Fine, bitch,” he snapped. The man threw the bottle onto the counter at an angle, hitting the edge of the bar closest to you and shattering. Your front was instantly soaked through as the beer splashed everywhere. Vaguely, you heard the group of men behind him cheering.

Anger and embarrassment flooded your chest. You were keenly aware of Yoongi at the other end of the bar, probably watching the whole exchange.

You didn’t want him to see you this way. It was just another reminder of how painfully, painfully below his league you were.

“You still have to pay for that,” you snapped. “Pay up and get the hell out before I call the police.”

The man laughed. He leaned forward and shoved you hard into the back shelf, and you yelped as bottles fell on top of and around you, barely missing your head. They shattered at your feet. Your back banged painfully against the wooden edge.

The noise was loud enough to catch the attention of the whole bar, and hopefully your manager. Before you could gather yourself, the men roared in laughter again, until the man who’d shoved you was dragged roughly away from the bar, and Min Yoongi punched the asshole in the face.

“Yoongi,” you gasped. It was probably the first time you’d ever called him by his first name. He didn’t stop or pause to look at you, only steadied the asshole and punched him again, the ring on his finger cutting across his cheek.

Another man from the group stepped forward and looked ready to intervene, but luckily at that moment, your manager slammed open the door to the backroom, making everyone jump. Your manager was a big man, old and stern, and he asked in his booming voice, “What the hell is going on here?”

Yoongi stepped away and cleaned his hand, wiping bloodied knuckles on the expensive edge of his button-down. You reached forward and grabbed his arm, tempted to drag him over the bar with you. Your manager gasped when he saw the state you were in, recognized your protective hold on Yoongi’s shirt, and immediately turned to the group of men still gathered by the door. They held up their fallen friend, the one Yoongi still looked like he wanted to beat unconscious.

“If you four don’t get out of my bar right fucking now,” your manager said darkly, “I’m calling the police and kicking your ass the whole time until they get here.”

Without a second thought the group of men scrambled out the door, dragging their friend with them. The sudden silence in the bar seemed to echo.         

Yoongi turned and gripped the hand you had on his upper arm, and before you could protest, he was hauling you over the countertop like a child, other arm reaching out to hook underneath your leg and draw you next to him.

“Come here,” Yoongi muttered, lowly and almost to himself. Something in his voice sounded borderline frantic. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you squawked, undignified and startled by his sudden manhandling. Yoongi sat you on the nearest barstool as your manager hovered nearby.

He leaned forward until the tip of his fringe almost brushed your forehead. “Look at me. Are you bleeding?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Having Yoongi’s face so close to your own—well, it was hugely distracting. Your manager turned away and helpfully, a fellow patron at the bar filled him in with what they witnessed.

“(Y/N)?” Yoongi asked, and you realized you’d been silent for too long.

“I cut my ankle, but that’s it,” you told him. Yoongi dropped to his knees, the fabric of his expensive suit no doubt getting stained by the sticky bar floor.

You gasped at him to get up, but he ignored you in favor of grabbing your ankle, lifting it to his face. The cut was already dried and scabbed over. You tapped him on the shoulder to grab his attention, except whenever he looked up, with his dark and infuriated gaze, looking at you from such a compromising position—you lost your train of thought again. Jeez, maybe a bottle really did hit you in the head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, like he could read your mind. He stood up and leaned closer, hand hovering near your face, almost like he wanted to cup your cheek but was keeping himself restrained. “You didn’t hit your head? Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No, no, no,” you immediately said. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“But they assaulted you,” Yoongi seethed, like he was stuck on it, like the thought had just been boiling in the back of his mind since his very first punch.

“It’s part of the job,” you replied, and he stared at you, dark and guileless. He seemed to scoot even closer, until his hips were between your open legs, and his hand was resting on your elbow.

“You don’t have to stand so close to me,” you whispered. “I probably smell like a college frat party right now.”

Yoongi grimaced but didn’t comment, which you were grateful for.

“I’m going to review the security footage and ban those men from the bar,” your manager declared, walking up next to you. “We can call the police right now if you want to press—,”

“That’s not necessary,” you interrupted, and Yoongi’s grip on your elbow tightened. “Really, can I just go home early? I want to shower.”

Your shift didn’t technically end until three in the morning, when the bar closed, but your manager’s gaze softened at your simple request. “I’ll take the rest of your shift and clock you out when I leave. You don’t work tomorrow, do you?”

You grimaced. “I have another seven to three.”

“I’ll ask Cindy to cover it. Take tomorrow off.”

Despite hating your job, your manager really was a life-saver. You thanked him profusely, and once you were done, Yoongi said, “Get your stuff from the back. I’ll walk you to your car.”

Your chest tightened. Yoongi was usually gone by the time you got off, and probably didn’t know you walked to work. It was only a ten minute walk, and while it wasn’t a pleasant one to make at three in the morning, you had a knife and a can of mace in your purse for emergencies.

“You don’t have to do that, Mr. Min,” you told him. “Stay and finish your drink.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Go get your jacket. I’ll wait here.”

In the backroom, you tried to make yourself presentable. Your black shirt was soaked and smelled heavily of beer, which made you wince. You didn’t even like beer. You fixed your hair as best as you could and wiped your face with a paper towel. Grabbing your jacket, you put it on and made your way back to the front.

Yoongi was crouched on the floor with your manager, helping him clean up the broken glass. They were locked in a low conversation that you interrupted.

“Do you want me to help?” you asked, but Yoongi held up his hand.

“Don’t worry about it,” your manager said. “Get home safe, okay?”

You agreed and Yoongi stood, wiping off his hands. He grabbed his own jacket and his scarf, leading you outside with the palm of his hand hovering lightly over your lower back. It struck you as something so gentlemanly, your traitorous heart fluttered. It was bitter cold outside, and your thread-bare jacket did little to protect you. You hoped Yoongi didn’t notice.

Most of the vehicles in the lot looked second-hand, except the one at the end; it was compact, and oily black. It looked like it cost more than your yearly salary.

“The Maserati’s mine,” he commented, breath fanning in front of his face. You didn’t know what a Maserati looked like, but you could tell the slick car at the end of the lot must have been his. It was the most expensive-looking one.

“Black,” you noted. “Like your soul.”

He laughed, and thankfully, the tension in the air dissipated. Yoongi toed at the concrete, and you realized he was waiting for you to speak.

“So,” you started, “I don’t actually have a car.”

He stared at you blankly, which meant you had caught him off-guard. “Pardon?”

You wanted to snort. Pardon. Posh as fuck. “I don’t have a car.”

“How do you get to work?”

“I usually walk.”

Yoongi’s mouth opened before he snapped it shut, scowling. He opened it again. Closed it. Ran a tense hand through his hair. “Are you joking?”

“I wish,” you snorted, but had to suppress a flinch at the sudden harshness in his voice.

“Is your safety a joke to you?” he asked, suddenly, furiously. “First the guy in the bar, then you wouldn't let me take you to the hospital. And now this? Do you know how dangerous it is to walk home in this neighborhood during the day? Let alone at night?”

“I live here,” you snapped. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“What’s your address?” he asked. “I’ll drive you home.”

The idea filled you with dread. He seemed so suave and sophisticated. When he listened to you, he made you feel important. Everything that had happened tonight hammered nail after nail in the coffin of your fantasy, whispering to Yoongi in the dim light of the bar until the early morning. The fantasy where you were more than yourself and the life you lived. Having Yoongi drive you back to your shitty apartment in his fancy Maserati would be the final blow.

“No,” you replied.

He raised his eyebrow. “Why not?”

Because I don’t want you to see my shitty apartment. “It’s not necessary.”

“It’s midnight,” he said. “It’s dark. It’s cold. I’m not going to let you walk home by yourself.”

“I’ve been walking home by myself just fine for the past year.”

“(Y/N),” he begged. “Please get in my car.”

You bit your lip in indecision. It wasn’t like he was going to go inside, and it was freezing; you really didn’t want to walk home when it wasn’t necessary.

“Okay,” you agreed. “As long as you don’t mind.”

Yoongi started leading you to his car until he paused, glancing back at you from over his shoulder.

“One second,” he said, stopping in front of you. He unwound his scarf from his neck and took a step closer.

Yoongi wrapped his scarf around your neck, stopping to tuck your hair underneath your jacket. He was standing too close, and you were glad your face was already red because you knew you were blushing. You took a deep breath and were delighted to realize the scarf smelled like him.

“There,” he murmured, pleased. “You looked cold.”

“Well, it’s cold out,” you commented, and he flicked your forehead. You gasped in mock-outrage.

“It’s unlocked,” he said, walking forward and leaving you to trail behind him.

The interior of Yoongi’s car was black leather and just sitting in the front seat felt sinful. You were afraid to shift, painfully aware of the fact that you were wet and cold and soaked in alcohol like a maraschino cherry.

“It’ll take a second for the heat to kick in,” he said. “Where do you live?”

You described to him the short drive, teeth nervously chattering. When Yoongi started the car, it almost seemed to purr. He must have had a CD in, because the radio started playing light classical music.

You eyed him teasingly. “Fancy. Do you have any Tchaikovsky?”

His head snapped toward you. “You know classical music?”

“I know Swan Lake, and that’s about it,” you admitted, laughing ruefully. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not a disappointment,” he replied. “Do you like it?”

The car felt warm, like you were enclosed in a bubble. Everything smelled like leather and Yoongi enough to drown out the stench of beer and vodka. The gentle sound of a piano filled the car, and you smiled.

“Yeah, I like it.”

You directed him downtown, tensing when you realized what the neighborhood must look like to him. Dark, and dirty, and covered in grime. Messy and trashy. The further he drove, the more his face creased in disgust. You felt embarrassed and defensive, because although you had no love for the neighborhood, it was still the place you had to call home. Judging it felt like judging you, too.

When Yoongi pulled in front of your building, he could do nothing but stare at it. It was short, square, faded and cracking at the edges. There was an upturned trashcan out front next to a dark lump that could have been garbage, could have been a sleeping homeless person. The yellow streetlight outside flickered.

“Thank you for the ride,” you whispered. “I’ll see you—,”

“Let me walk you inside,” he interrupted, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I want to make sure you get in safe.”

“It’s really fine,” you tried to say, but he was already turning off the car and stepping out. You quickly got out of the passenger seat.

“What floor are you on?” he asked.

“The fifth one.” Yoongi bypassed you entirely, and you had to jog to catch up with him as he walked inside, eyeing the suspicious lump on the side of the street.

He went to open the door but it stuck, metal creaking ominously. You reached out and grabbed the other handle. “You have to use the left door.”

He nodded, and the two of you went inside.

You’d never been more critical of your building than in that moment. You could see every flaw: the peeling wallpaper, the dingy furniture, the dirty floor, the water-stained ceiling. And you knew Yoongi saw it, too.

“We can’t take the elevator,” you told him. “It doesn’t work.”

The two of you climbed the stairwell, shivering slightly. He commented, “It’s cold.”

“There’s no heat,” you admitted, and somehow, the carefully neutral look on his face was even worse than an openly judgmental one.

You made it to the fifth floor just in time to hear your neighbor shouting through his thin wall, “Whatever, asshole!”

It was followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass. You walked past your neighbor's door like you’d heard nothing, although Yoongi seemed startled. You were walking quicker than he was, like you were trying to leave him behind. Why couldn’t he get the message that you didn’t want him here?

You grabbed your keys from your pocket and jingled them, halting in front of your apartment. Yoongi stopped next to you, still eyeing the dirty hallway. There were several unpatched holes in the drywall from where your neighbor had punched the wall after arguing with his girlfriend. 

Yoongi broke the silence by saying, “So, this is your apartment?”

“It’s a real five-star hotel, huh,” you said, sarcastically. You unlocked your door and turned your knob, but kept the door shut tight. You didn’t want him to see inside. “Watch out for cockroaches.”

Yoongi’s lip curled in disgust, and he started eyeing the floor. Your chest quivered and started breaking into pieces, because you were laid bare. You were (Y/N), in your shitty apartment, getting home from your shitty job, where you would probably be stuck for the rest of your life.

“It’s, uh,” he said. “Nice.”

Ridiculously, you suddenly felt like you wanted to cry. “Thank you for walking me inside. I’ll see you later.”

“(Y/N),” he went to say, but you were already shutting the door in his face, pressing your forehead against the cheap and cracking wood. A dull ache was starting in your shoulder where a vodka bottle had fallen, but it had nothing on the serious ache building in your chest.

~~~

Almost a full week passed before you saw Yoongi again.

Usually, he came in every Monday night. He liked the bar best when it was quiet, when it wasn’t crowded, when he could monopolize your attention for longer and longer periods of time. Monday night came and Monday night went, and it dragged on relentless as you waited for him, telling yourself you weren’t waiting for him.

You locked the door that night with crushing disappointment.

The fight had probably scared him off. Obviously, he regretted stepping in to defend you. What would have happened if he’d gotten seriously hurt? Sued? His good name, ran through the mud by the media?

Tycoon Min Yoongi Arrested After Late-night Barfight.

The mere idea made you shudder.

You carried your disappointment into Tuesday, but by Wednesday, you didn’t even bat an eye whenever the bell at the entrance to the bar rang. You were wiping down the countertop at ten o’clock at night when Yoongi sauntered in, nose red from the cold, hair wet and mouth pouting with it.

Like usual, the bar was quiet. Two old men sat in the middle of the counter and preoccupied themselves with watching the shitty television mounted behind the bar.

Your breath caught in your throat. Yoongi had a bad habit of always looking like a supermodel, no matter what condition he was in.

Nerves tied your tongue. You wanted to ask him where he’d been, but didn’t want to seem like you cared. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to act around him, but you decided to just play it casual.

“Is it cold?” you asked, dumbly. Of course it was cold. It was the middle of fucking winter.

“It’s snowing,” he said, sitting in his usual seat, setting his jacket on the counter. You started making him his drink just to avoid looking at him. “I’m driving you home.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Yoongi shot you such a sudden glare, your teeth clicked together when you shut it.

“Thank you,” you said, sliding him his drink. He tipped it back and downed it, and you stared mesmerized at the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed.

He set the glass back down and hissed, and you refilled his drink in silence. Yoongi kept his eyes trained on the countertop.

The atmosphere between the two of you felt tense and awkward, and it only got worse the longer the silence stretched.

Maybe it was finally time. Maybe Yoongi was going to say your bar was too seedy for people like him to visit. People like Min Yoongi deserved better than the half-ass booze you could supply, the half-ass décor, your half-ass service. Not even a good drink could make up for it.

You and Min Yoongi were from two different classes. It didn’t matter how special he made you feel. At the end of the day, anything between the two of you, even just friendship, wasn’t meant to be.

“I want you to quit,” he said.

You slid him his drink with a short laugh. You liked the way Yoongi spoke—short, blunt and honest. It mixed so well with his sense of humor, it was hard to tell the difference between the two. “You and me both, buddy.”

What had happened last Thursday had shaken you up much more than you were willing to admit. Controversy was part of the job—there was a constant risk that some belligerent drunk was going to push you too far. But it had never gotten that bad before, and you cringed to think about what might have happened had Yoongi not been there.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I’m being serious. I’ll give you $10,000 to quit right now.”

He reached into his suit pocket and set something on the countertop. You were distracted by his oddly stern gaze when you realized his hand was sliding you a check, and it was filled out to you, and when did you tell him your last name? His handwriting was neat and controlled and he was sliding you a check with your full name on it for ten-thousand-fucking-dollars—

You gasped and slapped your hand over it. “Put that away before we get mobbed by every patron in this bar.”

“Put it away in your pocket,” he said. “Do you want to grab dinner with me?”

To your utter shock, Yoongi took your hand and started leading you down the bar, toward your manager’s office. A few people eyed you, making you blush. You snatched your hand away, and he stared at it forlornly.

“What are you talking about?” you asked him.

“I’m giving you $10,000 to quit your job,” he replied. “And then I’m going to pay for your living expenses while you find a new one.”

You stared at him. It seemed like, for the first time in your life, you were struck speechless. You’d have to make a mark on your calendar. “What the fuck.”

“I’m sorry for how I reacted last week, at your apartment,” he said, suddenly. He took a deep breath to steady himself and winced. “I was an idiot and I didn’t expect it. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t expect what?” you asked. “For me to live in a dump? For me to be dirt poor? Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

He winced again. “I want to apologize anyway. Take this check and talk to your manager. I want to warm up the car before we leave.”

He seemed so confident that you would agree. You felt the embarrassment and frustration from the last week bubble up in your chest. You grabbed a rag from behind the counter and started cleaning the bar, just for an excuse not to look at him.

“I am not a charity case, Mr. Min,” you hissed. He looked up, shocked at the venom in your voice, before his face creased.

“That’s not what this is. Don’t purposefully misinterpret me,” he ran a tense hand through his hair, and you had never seen him so undone. Pride mixed with heat in your stomach, to see him like that—to know that you were the one who finally put such a fine-edged crack in his golden composure.

“(Y/N),” he said. “If I hadn’t been here last Thursday, what would have happened?”

“Nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own,” you bluffed, but it was a lie. Maybe your manager could have gotten there in time. Maybe some other kind patron would have tried to intervene on your behalf. But the result was the same—nothing about either situation guaranteed your safety.

“Please, quit this job,” he repeated, quieter, more pleading. “Right now. And I’ll pay for everything while you find a new one. Your rent, your water, your electricity. Fuck, do you have Wi-Fi? Do you want Wi-Fi? What’s your phone number? And so help me God, if you tell me you don’t have a cellphone—,”

“I have a fucking cellphone, Yoongi,” you snapped. “Even poor people can have a cellphone.”

He eyed you, unimpressed by your attitude. “And you say I’m the cactus of this relationship.”

“You are,” you defended, until, “and there’s no relationship between us. I’m your bartender, and you’re my customer.”

“Why won’t you let me help you?” he asked. “You’re miserable here.”

“A lot of people are miserable!” you burst out. A few people turned to look at you, but you ignored them. “Life isn’t fair! It’s not always happy, or fun. Sometimes, people have to do a lot of shit they don’t want to do to survive, and that’s life, okay? That’s reality.”

“Maybe that’s the reality for some people, but it doesn’t have to be for you,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with accepting my help, you know that? You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

You were so used to doing everything on your own, you didn’t know how to accept help. You didn’t know how to ask for support.

“A lot of people would be grateful for an opportunity like this,” he continued. “How would they feel watching you turn it down?”

“That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Someone very smart actually just told me that life isn’t fair. So, sucks,” Yoongi shrugged. On the outside he seemed calm and collected, but you could see the white-knuckled grip he had on the countertop.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Yoongi said. “If you really don’t want my help, I’ll accept that. But I really, really want to help.”

You threw your rag to the side and took a deep breath, and then another. You knew you had a temper, and you knew you were too stubborn for you own good. How would you feel, if someone in your position had an offer from someone like Yoongi, and they’d thrown it back in his face?

“Job hunting is hard,” you muttered, and Yoongi had to lean forward to hear you. “It’ll take at least a month.”

“(Y/N),” he said. “It could take the whole damn year and I wouldn’t care.”

“I should probably turn in my two-week notice.”

“You quit right now,” Yoongi demanded. “Non-negotiable.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you said, to yourself. You weren’t Julia Roberts, and this wasn’t Pretty Woman. What the hell were you thinking?

“We can go over details at dinner,” Yoongi said. “I’ll pay.” He paused, and eyed you sheepishly. “If that’s okay, of course.”

You didn’t like the idea of Yoongi paying for your dinner, but you guessed you would have to get used to it. It was just dinner. It was basically a business meeting.

“I’ll let you pay if we go somewhere cheap,” you bartered. He didn’t look pleased, but accepted the compromise nonetheless.

“Not McDonald’s.”

You laughed. “Not McDonald’s.”

Untying your apron from around your neck, you took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the upcoming conversation with your manager, but you had a feeling that no amount of deep breathing would help you through what followed afterward.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan boys #networkbangtan #bangtanbookclub #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts min yoongi #bts min yoongi x reader #suga #bts suga x reader #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts suga #min yoongi #yoongi #sugar daddy au

[onewhoturns]

fictober.13.: speech

#Fictober19 Prompt: 13. I never knew it could be this way. Fandom: Oxenfree Pairing: Alex/m!OC, Jonas/Alex (ambiguously maybe/maybe not one-sided) [future fic] Rating: T (no warnings apply) Tags: Alex is getting married, Jonas isn’t happy about that, implied stepcest Word Count: 2032

There’s a chime around the room as the man stands, tapping silverware against his crystal glass. Clean cut, clean shaven, well dressed, looking like he just rolled out of a J. Crew catalogue. That formal kind of casual. Everything about this event screams expensive informal.

The invite said casual wear. Jonas is under-dressed. As per usual, with this group. (Apart from Alex, that is. At least, how she dresses around him.)

“Thank you all so much for being here with us this weekend, for such a momentous event in our lives,” the man begins, his teeth too white as he smiles that too straight smile. “Alex and I are so grateful to all of you.”

Bullshit. 

Jonas’s head cocks slightly, chiding himself. That’s not fair. He probably is legitimately grateful. He’d better be.

“Before the ceremony on Sunday, I just wanted to take this opportunity - with a much smaller audience - to say a few words. So… be patient with me, okay, I usually only make speeches with a nice array of visual aides to back me up.” The room laughs politely.

The man (Jason. Jason Flemming.) clears his throat, and his lips have that little quirk that Jonas reads as smug. Which might be unfair. He has to keep reminding himself not to be unfair. Cause Alex loves him. (Maybe.)

Jason pulls out a note card, but only glances at it briefly. "I never knew it could be this way."

His hand is on the back of Alex’s chair. He’s got a watch that probably costs more than half of Jonas’s wardrobe. Jonas watches it carefully, and tries not to see Alex’s adoring look up at her fiancé. Soon to be husband. 48 hours. Less, actually. 

“I can honestly say that I am truly blessed to have Alex by my side,” Jason continues, and his hand slides onto her shoulder, squeezing for a second, even as his eyes watch the rest of the room. It’s something that irritates Jonas just a little bit. That he’d take his eyes off his bride-to-be for even a moment. “I have had the privilege to watch her grow and mature and develop into the woman she is today.”

Jonas’s jaw clenches, and he’s too focused on his breath, on keeping his temper in check, because that’s just—

“If you had told me, the night I met Alex, that years later she’d be my wife, I never would have believed you. I would have looked at her - dancing on a table, I kid you not, the night we met - and said there was no way that she could ever be tamed. Yet here we are, four years later. Alex is wearing white - and you know that’s a feat in and of itself - and my parents are thrilled to call her their daughter in law.”

Tame her. He wants to tame her. Alex isn’t meant to be tamed. Tempered, maybe, but never tamed. Yet that’s what this Jason has done. Slowly, over time, but gradually he’s been sanding away at her rough edges, polishing her up, smoothing her into something pretty to stick on his shelf.

Maybe.

All of this is conjecture on Jonas’s part, of course. It’s not like it’s something Jason has done maliciously. And Alex may have been just as complicit. But it feels wrong.

“Tonight never would have been possible without all of you; our family and friends,” he goes on. “I’m sure my own parents are well aware of our gratitude and - well, mom, I’m sure Alex is thankful for the pearls as well-” Pearls. Alex in pearls. It’s too cookie-cutter country club. Jonas glances to Alex, finally, and she’s looking just a little nervous. A little bit put on the spot, offering a crooked smile to her very blonde soon-to-be mother-in-law. “-but I want to extend my personal thanks to Alex’s family as well.” Jason himself has dark hair, like his dad. Who’s wearing Hugo Boss. To a rehearsal dinner that was labeled casual.

“To Alex’s father, David; thank you. Without you, this never would have been possible.”

Without David’s threat to stop paying Alex’s tuition. Alex had been utterly distraught, and Jonas had been the one comforting her through it, through her security crisis, when she felt like she was just hovering over a precipice of no education and no savings. The ‘compromise’ that had come to pass moved Alex out of their house and into her dad’s. She got Thanksgivings with them, but Christmas was with the new family. Jonas knows she never really felt at home there. It was why she took every break she could to come visit. But it was never the same, not really. They never had what they used to. Not that Jonas didn’t want it.

“To Alex’s stepmother, Anne; thank you, for your kindness and hospitality. You truly are the perfect hostess, and I honestly think my mother envies you.”

Translation: good little housewife. Alex may not have brought it up recently, but that was one of those things she’d mentioned a lot after the move. Feeling like she had to be performing around her new extended family. Like she was constantly being judged, like they were deciding if she was worth the investment. She was terrified, and Jonas was her shoulder to cry on as often as he was her guilty pleasure. Not— not like that. Not since they were teens. But he was the one she could wear sweats around every day, and stay up with til 2 watching horror movies (her choice, not his), and unabashedly eat all the processed foods banned in Anne’s home. He was her pillow and her ride home and the reluctant participant in every instance of acting out that she couldn’t do around her dad. Well, maybe not every instance. He got the inside scoop on some of her wild nights in college as well.

Until Jason. Until fucking Stephanie, and Casey, and Jason. Being brought into the Stepford fold, as he so uncharitably considered it (to himself, never aloud). Their gentle guidance.

It’s not fair— Jonas knows it’s not fair to think of them that way. Alex really does like them. And he’s met them and… well, aside from being kinda… basic, they aren’t too bad. Just sorta boring. Not exactly the type to go breaking into old amusement parks, or climbing around unfinished construction sites, or deciding that 21 was the year to cross bungee jumping off of her bucket list. They were cosmopolitans, she was a shot of jaeger with a coffee chaser. Unorthodox, and an acquired taste that you couldn’t really forget. Also, maybe a little fucked up on the palate. His lips twitch at that thought.

“To Alex’s mother, Grace; thank you. I have never felt such warmth as I do around you and Martin. Martin, as well, you have always made me feel part of the family.”

Jonas’s dad is smiling. He’s too easygoing. And Jason is… unobjectionable, Jonas supposes, grudgingly. Business major. Not a frat boy, but still in a fraternity. He’s generous, at least, and conscientious. Always makes an effort to follow up on things they’ve talked about in the past. He can even dial down the rich-kid thing, when he stays with them in Camena. But that’s kinda the annoying part; that he’s not that bad. Just irritatingly unobjectionable. He’s nice to Alex, he is. He’s patient with her. And he’s soft and affectionate when it matters, but… But Jonas still gets her calls when she’s upset about something. He’s still the one getting called at 3am so she won’t wake up her fiancé with panic from nightmares.

“To Alex’s brothers—”

Jonas tries not to wince. Aside from just the dropping of the step distinction, being compared to Alex’s other stepbrother is… well, insulting. The douche is a workaholic med student, who’s never in a good mood. Who can never resist the chance to throw insults at Jonas over his vocational schooling and lack of a four-year degree. In layman’s terms: Will is an asshole.

“Will; I am thrilled to no longer be the youngest child! Finally, someone to give noogies to, and lecture about— well, nothing, you’re way more educated than I am,” he grins as the room laughs. Will is smirking, and Jonas resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I fully believe that you will be the next top surgeon wherever you decide to take your talents after residency.” Optimistic, assuming the douche is gonna be a half-decent doctor, when Jonas already knows his bedside manner must be horrific.

“Jonas;” Jonas tries to put on a slight smile. It’s easier if he looks at Alex, whose eyes are bright and appreciative and warm when she looks at him. “I really do have to thank you.” Jason sounds sincere. It almost makes Jonas feel guilty. Almost. “From the bottom of my heart. I have no doubt-” Jason breaks off, speaking more casually, speaking to the room at large, with a crooked smile that feels like something he probably picked up from Alex; “-Have you guys met Jonas? Look, when I started dating Alex— he’s an intimidating guy, right?” Jason grins, looking back at him. “I have no doubt that if you ever thought I wasn’t good enough for your baby sister I would’ve been kicked to the curb in a matter of seconds - either literally or figuratively.” Baby sister. Yeah, he’s never thought of her that way. Though the rest of that is… close. There may have been times Jonas grumbled that Alex’s boyfriend wasn’t quite enough of a dick to actually deserve a threatening.

Jason goes on, jokingly. “I always have this sneaking suspicion that Alex only gave me a chance because she misread my name as Jonas instead of Jason.” There’s a tittering of laughter, and Jonas’s eyes flick to Alex, who’s blushing a little, a hand over her eyes as she shakes her head. She’s still smiling, though. It’s cute. “So for that I have to be insanely thankful.” It’s less cute when Jonas spots Jason’s hand rubbing reassuringly at Alex’s shoulder.

“Alex goes to you for everything - I think your name comes up more than the rest of my entire family-” he jibes, teasingly. It’s frustrating that he’s having a good sense of humor about this. When Jonas has always felt a little… guilty. About that. “...and you have been the most supportive stepbrother she could have ever asked for.” Oh. Oh that’s something that makes Jonas’s lips curve up a bit with his own little touch of pride. Because that’s Jason siding with him over Will. Which is kinda nice.

“It’s a little unorthodox to have a Man of Honor, but Alex has always been a little outside the box. And, I’ll admit, I was pretty jealous of you once upon a time.” Again, Jonas looks to Alex, who’s rolling her eyes, but hasn’t taken her eyes off of him. She’s still blushing. It kinda makes his stomach flip a little bit. “But taking the girls to Vegas, that was really taking one for the team, and your patience is utterly commendable— being the cock in the hen do, so to speak.” Jason has that slightly sheepish smirk as a few people - including Alex - giggle a bit at the words.

Right. Vegas. That had been…

Jonas’s brow furrows for just a second as he studies Alex. She’s still bright eyed and glowing. Like a girl in love. Even if he’s… he’s just not sure if she is. Not after Vegas.

“But that’s enough about that,” Jason smiles, gesturing to the room in a sort of apology for going on. “Suffice it to say; I’m thrilled to have not one but two new sets of parents to buy Christmas gifts for, and two new siblings to rib me about all of my bad life decisions. Luckily— I know that this isn’t one of them.” Jason finally looks at Alex. And… yeah, okay. He looks happy too. In love. Which… well. It’s good, probably. At least he’ll care about her.

“So I invite you all to raise a glass. To all of them, and to Alex. For being exactly what I needed.”

[source for AO3]

#fictober19 #oxenfree #jonalex #alex/jonas #alex getting married #my writing #prompt fill #this is gonna be a fun verse #turner's hallmark period