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alwaysbegrowing · 2 years

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Drop The Bass

Yuna sat alone in her room, swaddled in a blanket, staring at the only source of light: her computer monitor. A slender hand was extended from the blanket clicking the mouse every so often. The monitor rolled through scenes of dialogue on the same erotic visual novel she had played to completion many times. The game had released only in Japan and its name translated roughly to “Can giants find love?” in English. For Yuna, the main draw of the game was that the protagonist was a twenty-foot-tall giant and all of the romance routes involved normal-sized people.

Through the fantasy of this game Yuna could escape a world she found both disappointing and terrifying. On her best day she stood at 4’11” which when coupled with her utter lack of curves had her constantly mistaken as a child when in public. Such excursions had become increasingly rare over the years until, now at the age of twenty-two, she hardly ever left her room, much less the house. The majority of her social interaction was with the roommates with whom she was renting the property.

Both housemates were sources of jealousy for Yuna. Grace was a year or two younger than her but was so much taller it seemed they were a different species. The 6’4” red-headed athlete played volleyball for the local university, and thanks to her workout regimen boasted an athletic body and a firm ass. Even without the height difference Yuna couldn’t bear to even set eyes upon her.

Yet, Emma provided no reprieve for Yuna. While a foot shorter than Grace at 5’4” she still towered over Yuna. To make matters worse, the blond had been blessed with the largest set of tits Yuna had ever seen on somebody that wasn’t an anime character. Emma may have had G-cups but worked as a bartender and frequently did whatever she could to keep her gorgeous boobs on display. The final nail in the coffin was Emma’s enormous bubble butt.

The confluence of having two people boast such, to Yuna, ridiculous proportions only drove her further into isolation. Thus, she chose instead the comfort of clicking through the same lines of dialogue she had read a hundred times before. Beyond her locked door the sounds of a gathering crowd began to build. Parties weren’t an uncommon occurrence given her roommates’ outgoing personalities.

Music began to play which caught Yuna’s attention. She groaned, knowing she wouldn’t be able to exit her room to seek water or food without colliding with the party. Comments about her height, questions about where her parents had gone all played out in her head. The rapid-fire assumptions had driven her to seething over an imagined slight.

Gradually, the music began to increase in volume. It was some kind of EDM that to Yuna’s ears always sounded the same. The music began to build until it was impossible to ignore, and a bassline dropped that seemed to shake the entire house with each beat. Something about the sound made her feel physically uncomfortable, and to make matters worse she was feeling hot.

After a few seconds enough was enough. Yuna cast off the blanket and pushed out of the computer chair. She was wearing black oversized pajama pants and a black hoodie that was so large she could fit her entire body in it if she tried. The only reason she knew this was because she had, in fact, crawled all the way into the hoodie when she was delivered an XXL hoodie instead of the XXS that she had ordered.

Yuna threw open the door to a scene of ten, maybe fifteen people milling about the house. They all seemed to be shouting which, given the intensity of the music, seemed the only way they could hear one another. For the moment neither Emma nor Grace were anywhere to be found.

“Excuse me,” Yuna attempted to get the attention of a nearby frat boy, “could you turn the music down?”

Not only was the man in the midst of a conversation but the soft timbre of Yuna’s voice was hardly competition for the ear-splitting music. Nobody seemed to pay her any notice, not even to ridicule her stature.

“Excuse me!” Yuna shouted firmly. Again, there was no response to her request. Her fists balled up while the music began reaching its apex once again. Heat built up from within until it felt like she was going to burst. The bass dropped and once more began pulsing the entire house. This time, however, each pulse felt like it was threatening to lift the short Japanese girl off of her feet.

Wearing such oversized clothing made the change nearly imperceptible at first. Each pulse of the bass shook Yuna’s body, driving it upward. She swelled up and up, finally breaking the 5’0” barrier that had eluded her for so long. Her head continued to soar upward until the loose-fitting pants grew tight on her legs. All she had noticed, however, was an odd feeling of vertigo over the course of the preceding minute. This lasted until Yuna felt her breasts, previously lacking the need for a bra, started to jiggle along with the beat.

“Wait…is this…” Yuna muttered as realization washed over her. She ran her hands over the hoodie, grasping what was definitely flesh instead of the flat chest to which she had become accustomed. The beat continued onward and so did her boobs. Her nipples stiffened and brushed against the jacket’s fabric, eliciting a soft moan. Again and again the bassline blasted the house, the conversational murmurs and occasional fits of laughter peppering the beat.

Yuna withdrew her hands, staring in awe as she watched what must have been C-cup breasts bounce freely from under her jacket. The music had fallen away to the back of her mind, and as a result she didn’t notice that the bassline itself seemed to be building to another apex. Bewildered, she looked up at her surroundings. In the time it took her to explore her burgeoning tits she had neglected to notice her body had kept swelling upward.

The frat boy whose attention Yuna had failed to grab no longer towered over her. She found herself head-level with his shoulders, but as the beat proceeded, she stretched higher and higher. Further did her sweatpants stretch as her hips and ass began to fill out as well. Then, the bassline reached its apex and dropped once again. The sound overwhelmed the house, scared animals in neighboring homes and even rattled the cars parked outside.

When the ear-shattering bass went off Yuna let out an aroused yelp. Her hips and ass burst outward, straining her sweatpants’ elastic. Inch after inch of delicious, soft flesh poured into her jiggling tits. She stretched upward despite standing still, meeting the frat boy’s eye level and then eclipsing it. Her hoodie became ill-fitting once again, lifted from her torso both by her increasing height and her mind-boggling N-cup breasts.

“Yes…more…” Yuna mumbled quietly. The beat continued pushing her to greater heights; her hips and ass piled on inches until her pants’ waistband snapped. Each pulse seemed to quicken her growth, pushing her breasts further until they could no longer be contained by the formerly-oversized hoodie. In the span of a few minutes, she had gone from wearing oversized clothes to wearing capris and a crop top that were comically small.

Arousal completely overtook Yuna’s train of thought. Without regard to the party happening around her, she cupped a breast with one hand and began feverishly tending to her crotch with her other. In her current state she couldn’t notice that not only had the other partygoers taken notice of her—they were all watching her expand in quiet awe.

“Louder,” Yuna said breathlessly, “more bass!” she then cried out.

At the back of the house stood Emma and Grace. As with the other guests they watched their mousy roommate grow larger in rapt attention. When the command was given Emma seemed to snap out of her stupor. The tall ginger made her way to the custom sound system that one of the partygoers had brought and helped set up. As Yuna commanded, Emma placed her hand on the touchscreen and increased the volume to maximum. She fiddled with the equalizer until the bass overwhelmed the other settings by an order of magnitude.

Such incredible sound in such a confined space should have deafened all those nearby. The pulsing bass boomed like a gun going off every second. Cars from outside the house were rocked until their alarms went off. Sound disturbances were reported to the police from every neighbor on the block. Anything on an elevated surface not nailed down shook and rattled.

Nothing else compared, however, to the sight of Yuna tearing her pants and jacket off with both hands. All that remained was an overtaxed pair of underwear whose integrity was tested more each second by her swelling thighs. Despite her immense size, not a single blemish or stretch mark was anywhere to be seen on her body. As her breasts ceaselessly expanded outward, they remained high and firm on her chest. The power of the bass caused nearly every inch of her soft, supple, growing body to jiggle and bounce.

When Yuna’s panties finally snapped off she wasted no time in massaging her clit. Her head smacking into the ceiling did not register with her on any level. Pieces of plaster began to fall, as she continued ever-upward until her shoulders made contact with the ceiling and soon after, her back. The speed of her massage increased as her legs stretched further. Her ass made contact with the ceiling, jiggling softly from the impact.

The bass let out one final burst, which at such increased volume could only be registered as the sound of an exploding bomb. Yuna’s entire body grew, uninterrupted, for a full minute. An orgasmic shout competed with the sound of the pulsing bass. Relative to her own body, her breasts were beginning to dwarf even a T-cup. To the average person, however, her breasts alone were the size of a king-sized mattress.

An ear-piercing cry rang out from the massively overgrown Asian. Yuna had brought herself to orgasm at the track’s final peak. Her growth slowed to a stop, leaving her tall enough that her tremendous ass left an impact in the ceiling and her torso alone long enough to nearly run the entire length of the ceiling. Panting, sweating, and in the afterglow of the most powerful orgasm of her life she took a moment to regard the party of which she had become the center.

“Damn, girl,” Emma called out. Murmurs of admiration and arousal broke out from amongst the crowd. A few of the attendees had pleasured themselves to the sight, or begun having sex right on the spot, or had passed out in part due to the heavy drinking. The reprieve afforded by the gap in music nearly left enough time for the party to resume.

Then, the next track began playing, filling the house with a distinct but rhythmic bassline. Both Emma and Grace locked eyes at that moment. Something about either girl’s clothing was starting to feel uncomfortable.

#breast expansion #giantess growth #ass expansion

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spectaclespencer · 3 years

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P.H. // Part 3; Need To Know

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Chapter 3!! Yay! I will not lie I got kind of lazy and burnt out when I finally got to the smut scene, and for that I am sorry. I’ll make it up to you guys with a future chapter.

Summary; Reader can’t get her mind off of Spencer, which causes distractions at work. Until one day when he catches on.

Category; Smut (Minors DNI!!!)

Content Warnings; Swearing, Kissing, Mentions of masturbation, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral (Male receiving), Drinking, Mentions of being shot, Kinda Sub!Spencer, Virgin!Spencer (but not by the end of it)

Word Count; 7.2k

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‘Wanna know what it's like (like)

Baby, show me what it's like (like)

I don't really got no type (type)

I just wanna fuck all night’

Spencer Reid. The object of my attraction, the man I fell harder for with every stolen glance I could manage to throw his way. I was obsessed, and that infatuation only grew stronger every day that I saw him at work.

When we went out to bars after cases we ended up in an inevitable game of Never Have I Ever like a bunch of high school kids. With Emily and Derek in the group it almost always turned sexual. It started with innocent things such as; Never have I ever kicked down a door -- to which Derek drinks. There were some targeted jabs, I got Spencer a few times when I brought up an activity I was certain he had done -- just to keep him involved.

However he never drank past that. He never took a sip when Emily made a sexual innuendo, or when she brought up one night stands, number of partners, most bizarre location to engage in intercourse. Nothing of the sort got him to break. I figured he was a private guy, never one to boast about his sexual experiences.

It was frustrating, to say the least. It got to the point where I couldn’t think about anyone but him. I couldn’t engage in any sexual activity without my mind shifting to him, the way he might slip his fingers in and out of me, or how skilled he was with his mouth instead of the person I dragged home. No other person could even begin to compare to the remedy I concocted in my mind. I didn’t have any information to base my fantasies on, either.

I had it bad. So bad, that at one point I spilled hot coffee all over myself in the breakroom over the littlest interaction.

Spencer came in just after me, mumbling a small hello before reaching to grab a mug for himself. In the process of doing so his shirt rode up, exposing a small expanse of his lower stomach that had me sputtering as I clumsily missed my cup and instead poured the coffee all over the counter. It ran down and soaked through my pants; yet it wasn’t nearly as hot as the way I felt on the inside.

I couldn’t help but wonder the noises he’d make if I were to suck dark purple marks across that plain of skin...or if anyone ever had before.

The small burn was a fine price to pay for my inappropriate thoughts.

Him being the sweet guy that he is, offered to help me clean up. This proposal ended up with him taking paper towels and patting down my thighs -- not realizing just how suggestive the action looked to me.

“Sorry,” He whispered, looking up at my face from his position below me. He was kneeling on one knee, with a hand planted firmly on the outside of my thigh. His voice was soft yet raspy, and oh how I let my mind wander.

“Not your fault,” I said quickly, and borderline ran out the door before he could protest or add anything on.

I headed straight to the bathroom to wash my face, try and stop the effect he had on me from becoming too physical.

If I got that worked up over a small piece of skin showing, nothing could have prepared me for the first night we shared a hotel room.

I was in shambles all night, ever since the moment Hotch handed me a room card and explained we needed to double up.

Emily usually roomed with JJ, Hotch and Rossi got their own, and Derek refuses to bunk with Spencer -- if he could avoid it. Much to my luck, this time he did because Garcia was needed for this case, meaning she and Derek would be sharing.

Leaving me with Spencer.

I stood there helpless, eyes burning a hole into the place that Hotch was previously standing. I was panicking on the inside, my body going into fight or flight mode as I went through scenarios in my head.

I was 99% sure I would be embarrassing myself tonight.

“Hey,” Spencer said, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I jumped and shrieked a little bit, and slapped a hand over my heart. “Oh my god, Reid. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughed. “Sorry I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

He nodded, eventually realizing that he was still indeed touching my shoulder. He dropped his arm, only to bring his hand back up to rub over his chin.

My eyes darted down to it, watching at the way his veins stood out. It wasn’t the first time I admired them, there were moments when he was going over maps with two fingers where I wondered what they would feel like on my-

“____?”

“What?” I asked, a little too loud for the setting.

“Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry.”

“I said we should go inside,” he laughed softly, trying to sooth the tension.

I agreed, stepping past him to start walking to our room. I opened the door with trembling hands, wondering just how hard the following nights at the hotel would be.

“I’m gonna go see Emily and JJ. Ask if they wanna go to the bar,” I said quickly, throwing my bag down just inside the door.

“Oh. Okay. Have fun! Don’t stay out too late. You should get a full night’s sleep.”

“I won’t be long. Don’t wait up!” I called, not looking back to see him before half jogging out of the room.

-----

“I cannot go back in there.”

“Oh, because of your little crush,” Emily laughed, much too loud for the early hours of the morning.

Clearly Spencer’s advice about coming back early didn’t plant itself in my head.

“Yes, because of that,” I confirmed. I was staring down at my drink, wallowing in self pity. It was too awkward to even step foot in there, I’m sure just by the sight of him I’d explode.

“What is it about him that gets you hot and heavy?” JJ teased. “No shame, just curious.”

I fake laughed, ignoring her question.

Everything he did was so intoxicating. Even the most mundane things got my blood pumping hard. Each time he let a small gasp through his lips or when he would whisper to himself, a shockwave went through me, igniting a fire deep inside that was near impossible to put out.

But he was so oblivious. He hadn’t a single idea of the effect he had on me. And that was the most frustrating part.

The first time I noticed my extreme attraction to him was shortly after I joined the team, it was only the third or fourth case I’d had with them. Spencer and I walked to a coffee shop to grab some for everyone, and on the way back he was infodumping.

About what, I can’t remember, for I was too fixated on the way his hands wrapped around his cup as he talked. He’d wave it around, and in doing so his fingers would trace little patterns onto the outside of it. I didn't mean to stare, I just got distracted.

I started noticing more little things after that.

Like the way he licked his lips while deep in thought, his mind consuming him to the point where he looked so concentrated and determined. It was hot, to put it simply. I wanted nothing more for him to be licking my lips, to feel him take such care with my body.

He had always been attractive in my eyes, the young boy was nothing but pretty. Even when his hair was shorter and he gelled it back, pairing the look with his glasses -- that he unfortunately wore less often nowadays.

It was nearly painful to be around him all day every day. My head would constantly be spinning with anxiety, only causing more and more headaches to present themselves. It was like a punishment, one I certainly deserved for the tasteful thoughts I had during work hours.

My crush went from an innocent little thing, to full fledged fascination.

‘I just been fantasizin' (size)

And we got a lotta time (time)

Baby, come throw the pipe (pipe)’

Avoiding him as much as I could seemed like a decent plan at the time. If I kept my interactions low, I could distract myself with other things, and not focus on the way his lips pursed as I conversed with him. I raced up more time staring at his mouth rather than completing actual work by my six month stay at the BAU.

“I’m so fucked,” I nodded, coming to a bit of peace with my downfall.

“Well, you could be. If you told him how you feel,” JJ encouraged.

“No way in hell,” I protested, shooting my head up to make eye contact with her.

“____, there is a very, very high chance he feels the same. And if he doesn’t -- which he does -- he’s too sweet to let that impact your friendship.”

“We hardly even have a friendship. Whenever he tries to talk to me I end up running away. He probably thinks I hate him or something. He probably wants nothing to do with me.”

No objection from Emily or JJ there.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Emily asked, changing the pace of the conversation.

“He never speaks to me again. I die of embarrassment.”

“You’re both adults, ____.”

“We are 27!” I shook my head, exasperated. “I hardly even feel like one sometimes.”

“27, exactly. I’m sure by now Reid has gained some experience with talking to women. You’ll be fine.”

“I have absolutely no way of knowing how things will go.”

“Just give him little tests,” JJ suggested. “Like touch him. On the shoulders, compliment him more, really go up to him and make a move. That way if he doesn’t feel the same you can play it off as being platonic.”

I groaned and rested my head on the table dramatically. “You both kinda suck at advice. What am I supposed to do? Waltz into our shared room and confess my love for him? Ask him desperately to dick me down?”

Even though I definitely wanted to.

They laughed at that, saying they were going to bed and wished me luck. Emily advised I should try and ‘get some’ from somebody else, and maybe that would take my mind off of things.

After stalling some more I eventually made my way back to the hotel room, hoping that Spencer was already asleep so I wouldn’t have to face him. But once again, luck wasn’t in my favour.

“Hi,” he spoke softly from his bed.

“Why are you still awake?” I asked, trying my best to stifle a yawn. I threw my sweater down on my bed, before grabbing my go-bag and retrieving my pyjamas from it. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

“I wanted to make sure you got back okay.”

“I told you not to wait up. Naughty boy,” I joked, finally turning my attention fully over to him.

Which could've been a mistake, based on the way you saw it.

He was dressed in flannel pants and a black t-shirt, along with his hair tied up that I’d failed to notice earlier. I froze at the sight, seeing the way his cheeks were dusted a slight red, and lips pink as ever.

His hair was tied up, and I almost dropped dead at the sight. I’d never seen it before. Sure, he sometimes wore an elastic band on his wrist during the work days but never have I seen him actually use one.

“I’m gonna shower and then head to bed,” I said in an effort to keep my voice steady.

He didn’t respond, only turning his head back to the book that was in his hand.

Thankfully when I returned he was asleep, meaning I didn’t have to see him before bed.

The next day was torturous. I couldn’t get the image of him out of my head. The view of him so relaxed on his bed was ethereal, the soft glow of the lamp hand illuminated his skin in all the right places. Did he pull his hair back often? Did he casually sit at home with it up? How did he look in different angles or positions? Are there other things he wears or does that I haven’t seen?

The image was just so domestic that I couldn't stop thinking about it even if I wanted to.

I was afraid to fall asleep, in fear that my dream may turn adventurous. Quitting my job and moving to a new city seems more preferable than having a sex dream about your coworker while they were in the room.

I was hyper aware of every move he made, always keeping tabs on him in the back of my mind so we wouldn’t accidentally run into each other.

Apparently when I was paying attention on how not to see him, I failed to notice how he had filled out recently. He wore looser pants in the past, ones that didn’t allow much shape to show through.

The next day at the precinct I was in for a surprise though, one that was sure to make me fall to my knees.

And I would have, if it wasn’t for the fact I was already seated in a chair.

Spencer walked in clad in pants that were far too tight to be appropriate for work. Or maybe I was overreacting.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath, soaking in his appearance of the day.

It was hot outside, so he decided not to wear his usual vest and tie combo, choosing instead just a white pattern button up and grey tie.

I heard Emily snicker beside me, which earned her a light kick in the calf to shut her up. She got up then, winking at me dramatically before leaving the room to presumably go check in with Derek.

“Hey ____, can you come here for a sec?”

I got up without a word, and walked over to the other side of the room where he was standing at the map hung up.

He went off about the unsub’s possible comfort zone -- things that I’d need him to repeat later because I wasn’t fully listening,

I stayed leaning against the table, just two feet behind him which gave me a perfect view of just how tight those pants really were. They hugged his hips deliciously, I wanted nothing more than to rip them off in that moment. I nodded along dumbly, changing my sight from his ass to his back, to his toned arms that were shown off from him rolling up his sleeves.

It was a fair sight, I don’t really think I could be blamed for staring.

A few weeks after that he got a haircut. His longer curls were gone -- yet not forgotten -- and were replaced with a mop of messy waves that framed his face perfectly.

It was like a new blow to my stomach every time I got used to the change.

“New haircut?” I asked the obvious on the first day back from a long weekend.

“Yeah...thought I should change it up,” Spencer replied, picking up his coffee mug to make himself a cup.

I nodded, the room settling in a short silence.

“Do you not like it?”

“No!” I exclaimed, Spencer furrowing his brows in response. “I mean, yes. I do like it. Sorry.”

“Oh, okay,” he laughed. “Thank you.”

“You could pull off any hairstyle, trust me,” I said, before walking back to my desk.

People that we met seemed to feel the same, because he got stopped more often at bars and at shops that were needed to visit. People would give him their numbers, leaving him a blushing mess. It got obnoxious, to the point where I was at my breaking point. My shoulders were always slumped, and my forehead creased with jealousy.

I stayed closer to him when the team went out, in an effort to get other girls to stop making moves on him.

They hadn’t noticed his beauty before, why should they get the privilege to advance on him now?

It was selfish, really. It may have been good for his self-confidence, but not so good for my own feelings.

I made sure to compliment him more often, telling him I liked his sweater vests, and ‘oh my Doctor Reid, is that a new tie?’ It was a win-win really, for both of us. I was building up my comfort level with him, and he knew that I did not, in fact, despise him.

When Spencer got shot on a case a few weeks later, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to show him that I care about him.

It was an easy job, since the bullet only semi-grazed his shoulder blade. Only needed deep cleaning once a night, for a few weeks so it wouldn’t get infected.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a groan, one that sent shivers throughout my veins.

“Sorry,” I answered quickly, keeping my gaze on the task at hand and not on his face that was just so close to mine.

Here I was in Spencer’s apartment, in his bathroom, helping him clean off his wound.

“I’m sorry but you need to stop moving, it’s just making things worse,” I explained.

“It hurts!”

“I’m sure it does! But I can’t do an effective job in cleaning it if you keep thrashing around like that.”

I saw him pout, and lower his head. The gears in his brain were turning, trying to come up with a possible solution.

“You’re going to need to hold me down.”

“What?!”

“I’m not gonna be able to stop moving,” he said, looking over his shoulder to where I was sitting behind him on the floor. “Come on.”

He stood up and left the room, gesturing for me to follow. And I did, collecting the supplies I’d need as he led me over to his living room.

Before I could protest he removed his shirt fully -- not like how it was bunched up by his neck previously.

I stopped in my tracks, eyes taking in every inch of skin that he freed. He was lean, as I predicted, but still toned in areas.

Spencer laid on his stomach down on the couch, motioning for me to come beside him.

“Get on my back.”

“Are you insane?”

“____,” he pleaded, looking up at me. His arms were crossed by his head, he was using them as a makeshift pillow. “I just want this to be over as fast as it can be.”

Right.

“Okay,” I agreed, and began to place my materials down on the coffee table to my right. I then swung a leg over his lower back, straddling him just how I’d imagine doing so before -- only the other way around. “Is this okay?”

He hummed, digging his face as far into the fabric of the couch as he could.

‘I got a lotta new tricks for you, baby

Just sayin' I'm flexible (I will)’

I took that as a yes, and poured some of the disinfectant onto a swab. Bracing myself with a hand on his other shoulder to pin him down firmly he shivered, breath shaking ever so slightly. I tried to catch him off guard with the swab, choosing a random time to press it into his wound.

He was definitely surprised, because he whined loudly into his hands and clenched all of the muscles in his back.

I couldn’t help but wonder if he made similar noises during other activities…

“Just a minute more,” I soothed him, running my free hand over the smooth skin of his back, doing my best to calm him down.

His breathing only became heavier, and was nearly shaking from the burn. I felt bad, having to see him go through this but I’d be lying if it wasn’t doing things to me. I couldn’t help but get a little bit excited when I got the chance to be near him, to be closer than we had ever been before.

It was intense, I was almost sure he could feel my arousal through the fabric of my pants and underwear.

I was an awful person.

Going home that night to sleep was a struggle. I felt guilty, for using his pain for my perverse temptations. Yet as soon as my fingers were buried inside myself I couldn’t stop myself from imagining him above me. The way he might sound, spewing out similar noises that I’d experienced earlier that were still fresh in my brain.

I wasn’t proud of it, and I thought every one of our interactions after that would be even harder.

Going back to work seemed fully impossible, I didn’t have any hope in myself to stay useful while he was parading around, completely oblivious to the effect he had on me. I became more sexually frustrated every day. It was nearly infuriating to see a look of innocence plastered on his face, meanwhile he would do things that made me go crazy.

‘Wanna know what it's like (like)

Baby, show me what it's like (like)

I don't really got no type (type)

I just wanna fuck all night’

“Penelope, I think I might die soon if I don’t get laid,” I said, rapidly opening the door to her cave.

“____-”

“No, I’m serious. I can’t get my mind off of-”

I stopped in my tracks, finally noticing the presence I hadn’t already accounted for.

Spencer sat in a chair to my left, just out of view that you couldn’t see him if you didn’t turn your head. He was in the middle of bringing a chip up to his mouth, but was stopped mid-air with his mouth hanging open.

“Sorry,” he said, scrambling up fast, bumping into things as he collected his satchel with shaky hands. “Sorry I’ll go.”

The door shut with a slam, and left Penelope and I in silence.

“Well, fuck,” I whispered, earning a booming laugh from her. “It’s not funny.”

“It is funny. It’s hilarious,” she giggled, doing a little spin on her chair.

I groaned, and sat down beside her on the edge of her desk.

“Maybe now he’ll make a move on you.”

“Oh shut up,” I slapped her arm, beginning to laugh along with her. “If he was avoiding me before, I’m sure he’ll never speak to me again.”

Ever since I helped Spencer with his injury the first time he’d been semi ignoring me, not trying to actively partake in conversation. We only talked when necessary, but didn’t exchange any extra words when I came over for an hour to help him with his wound.

I was almost happy about that, it meant I didn’t have to embarrassingly throw myself at him all day long.

I was perfectly fine admiring him from a distance, just how I’d done so for years.

However, there was a part of me that was rightfully sad. Did I cross a line, or make him feel uncomfortable? Maybe from spending so much time together recently he gathered I really wasn’t that interesting.

“Don’t say that,” Penelope frowned.

“Why not? It’s the truth,” I shrugged.

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

“How I feel?”

“Don’t even try and wedge your way out of it. Emily told me, don’t be mad,” she said, with the sweetest look on her face that I couldn’t be upset.

“Bitch,” I playfully mumbled.

“Besides you literally were about to say that you can’t get your mind off of him.”

“Uh, no, I was not. I was going to say someone. A general someone. Not Reid.”

She hummed, turning back to her screen to finish up some work Hotch had sent her to do.

“Okay fine. Pen, I’m gonna die. It’s insufferable. I can’t handle it anymore.”

“That’s exactly why you should tell him!” She encouraged excitedly, always a swooner for young love.

“I would scare him. He’s probably scared of me, actually.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure his little virgin heart can take it.”

“What?” I asked, suddenly giving her all my attention. “Virgin? Is he seriously a virgin?”

“I don’t know, truly. I just kinda figured. He doesn’t talk about anyone or anything to do with sex.”

I nodded. That makes sense. With him radiating pure sex appeal in my eyes, the thought never even crossed my mind that he might be a virgin.

But that just made it all the more exciting.

“But hey, if he’s really a 27 year old virgin I’m sure he’s extremely horny,” she laughed.

“We are at work. Let’s calm it down before I actually combust,” I shook my head.

My palms were sweating at the very thought of him doing anything remotely sexual -- which I thought about a lot. Surely he’s had to at least...taken care of himself. I’m sure it was a gorgeous sight, his hand wrapped firmly around his dick and face contorted in nothing but pleasure.

My thoughts were interrupted by none other than the man himself, who barged into the room to say we were taking off for a case in 30.

The flight there was quiet and boring, we left at night so there wasn’t so much we could do when we got there besides head up to our hotel.

“We’re sharing a room,” Spencer said, walking over to me from where he was previously with Derek.

I was standing in front of the vending machine, doing my very best to not eavesdrop on the mens’ conversation, which was only taking place about 20 feet away. Spencer was speaking in a hushed yet agitated tone, and Derek was matching his energy. It seemed they were bickering, but about what I didn’t know.

“Says who?” I panicked.

“Uhh...Hotch did.”

Great.

“Oh. Alright,” I followed him down the hallway, our room was the last one at the end.

I waited for him to open the door, and when he stepped out of the way to let me inside I brushed past him.

When I turned around Spencer was standing there blocking my path, causing me to bump into his chest.

“Hello...” I said confused, taking a step back.

“I…”

“What?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows. “Spencer what are you doing?”

He didn’t answer with words, instead reaching up to push a piece of hair out of my face. My breath hitched at the contact, sending me into a short frenzy on the inside. He was inching closer, now his body was getting just close enough so that I could feel the heat radiating off of him. He was glancing back and forth between my eyes, searching my face for an expression of discomfort.

He didn’t find any.

“I was talking with Derek. About you,” he whispered. “He said you’ve been coming on to me.”

My heart nearly missed a beat at his words.

“I've noticed your odd behaviour, you don’t act the way you do with anyone else on the team. You run away from me, and at first I thought you just didn’t like me, but now...I think it’s the opposite. I see the way you look at me, you know.”

“And how do I look at you?” I questioned nervously.

“Like you want me. Tell me. Who were you talking about earlier today? Who exactly can’t get your mind off of?”

I paused, eyes almost bulging out of my head at the implication.

“If I'm reading this wrong, let me know. We can pretend this never happened.”

“Get on the bed and take your clothes off.”

He did just that, moving beside me to shove his pants down his legs, followed by ripping off his shirt, as I did the same. We couldn’t take our eyes off of each other, too busy drinking in our appearances to think straight. He sat down on the edge of the bed in just his underwear, and spread his legs just wide enough to give me space to stand between them.

“Tell me what you want.” he breathed, watching me as I walked towards him.

“You,” I answered simply, climbing into his lap and connecting my mouth was his. “All of you.”

He didn’t protest, only doing quite the opposite. He moaned greedily into my mouth, sucking every last bit of life out of me. He was hungry in his movements, not allowing for a single beat of fresh air for either of us. I was more than happy to return the energy, for I’ve dreamt for too long about what he might taste like. And it wasn’t disappointing, the sensation was far better than I could have ever cooked up in my head.

After a minute he became impatient, and started bucking his hips up to meet mine. I did the same, grinding down on his hardening dick that felt...impressive to say the least.

“I’ve thought about you for so long,” I spoke against his lips, taking a break between kisses.

He groaned back at me, moving his hands from my cheeks down to my hips to hold me flush against himself. He whimpered when I was fully against him, he had to break away to keep his breathing somewhat managed.

“Please, I need you so bad. I’ve thought about you too.”

“What exactly did you think about?” I asked quietly, trailing kisses all across his face, and then started heading down his jaw and neck.

“L-lots of stuff.”

“Tell me,” I demanded, looking up at him from my new position kneeling on the floor. “Please, tell me.”

I brought a hand up to his boxers, ghosting just over his bulge while remaining eye contact.

“Everything. All of you. ____, Please.”

‘You're exciting, boy, come find me

Your eyes told me, "Girl, come ride me"’

“Let me do something first,” I said, pushing against his stomach to encourage him to lie back on the bed. He did so, propping himself up on his forearms to look down at me.

He watched my every move, not a second was missed by his eyes that stayed locked onto my form. I dropped my head down to kiss across his left thigh, and toyed with the waistband of his underwear with my right hand.

He was so vocal, and I hadn’t even done anything yet. I knew we had all night, but I’d waited too long for this to take my time.

‘And we got a lotta time (time)

Baby, come throw the pipe (pipe)’

I pulled his underwear down just enough to reveal his dick hard and red as it stood up against his stomach.

“You don’t...have to,” Spencer stopped me before I could carry on.

“Do you not want me to?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s just…” He stopped, and bit his lip while staring off to one of the walls.

“Has anyone ever done this with you before?” I asked, almost unsure of whether or not I wanted the answer.

“Done what...exactly?” he asked, refusing to look back at me. His cheeks were red in embarrassment, and he was too focused on the distance to see the wave of excitement that flashed over my face.

“Spencer,” I said sharply, prompting him to turn his attention back to me. “Are you a virgin?”

His lack of answer told me enough. He blushed impossibly deeper, and started squirming in place. Just as he was about to speak up for himself I stopped him with, “That’s so fucking hot.”

“What?”

I climbed back up his body, just far enough so that I could grab his jaw in my hand and pull him down to meet my lips. It was even more hungry and passionate than the previous ones we shared, full of such fire I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to kiss anyone else ever again.

“You’re so sexy,” I moaned, hot and needy into his mouth.

He was good, which wasn’t unexpected from my end. His lips were always so plump and pink, they just had to be semi skilled.

“Thank you,” he replied, in a typical Spencer Reid fashion.

“Do you want to stop? Or keep going? Take a minute and think about it. I don’t want to pressure you,” I reassured him, but on the inside I was begging for him to want to continue.

He pulled back for a second, running a hand over the back of my head to keep me from going too far. His eyes were closed, focusing only on his breathing as he thought about his answer.

“I want to keep going. Please,” he decided on, nodding his head. “I just, I dunno, didn’t expect to get this far tonight.”

“Believe me, neither did I,” I smirked, smashing my lips back against his and returning to my spot kneeling between his legs. I pushed him back harder than before, sending a small oof sound from his chest as his back hit the mattress.

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” I asked, finally wrapping my hand around his dick,

It only made sense that a pretty boy like him would have a pretty cock, too.

“O-only once,” he breathed, with his head thrown back. He was staring at the ceiling, staring at the dots to distract himself from the feeling and to not come too soon. “Long time ago.”

“If you need me to stop, tell me,” I said, before licking a broad strip up the underside of his dick.

I paused at the head, swirling my tongue around before continuing my mission back down around the other side. I kissed his base, leaving more near his hips. He whined positively -- probably feeling a little ticklish -- and I took that as a good sign to suck a deep purple mark there.

Just like I’d thought about doing months ago.

I left a few more just up to his belly button, marking him up with the intent to claim him as my own. He’d see those marks for the next few days, and every time he would think of me on my knees for him. I kept pumping him in my hand as I did so, and every time I groaned into his skin his dick twitched with appreciation.

“Oh god,” Spencer moaned as I took him into my mouth unexpectedly, bunching up the sheets in his hands beside his hips.

I looked up to see him now staring down at me, jaw slacked and panting heavily. The sight was enough to elicit a moan from my own mouth, which led to him fluttering his eyes shut at the vibrations that shot through his body.

“Stop, stop!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked worriedly, immediately pulling up.

“Nothing, I just really want to feel you and I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Understandable.

I wasn’t expecting him to last long anyways, I just simply wanted him inside me.

“Do you happen to have a condom?” He shook his head. “I’m clean and on the pill. We should be fine. Is that okay?”

He mumbled an ‘uh huh’ as he watched me stand up, as I pushed my underwear down my legs. He immediately reached out to me, bringing me back in and starting placing kisses across my stomach and hips, mirroring what I was doing to him earlier.

“Good, because if you don’t fuck me right now I think I might die.”

‘Yeah-yeah, oh-whoa-whoa (oh, ooh, mmm)

Baby, I need to know, mmm (yeah, need to know)’

He laughed lightheartedly, fixing himself to be sitting up near the headboard. In the process he kicked off his boxers fully, along with his socks.

I followed after him, not letting him stray too far from my reach.

“I heard that women take longer to, erm, get ready,” he muttered into my skin, hiding his face in my neck. “Let me help you?”

“Please,” I whimpered, though I knew I was far from unprepared. I reached behind myself to unclasp my bra, and as soon as it fell down my shoulders Spencer attached his mouth to my left nipple. “Please touch me.”

He moaned into me, bringing his hand down to my core to run his fingers through my folds. He let his middle breach me, moving so agonizingly slow before curling his finger up. I moaned loudly, letting my eyes shut and body fall slack against him. His free arm wrapped around my waist, giving me the support I needed to stay upright.

“So that’s your g-spot?” He grinned against my skin, and I’d be damned to admit it affected me way more than it should have. He sounded so innocent, so eager to learn.

“Uh-huh.”

He explored my skin greedily, brushing over every inch of my chest he could reach. His thrusts became faster every time he re-entered me, encouraged by the grunt that fell from my lips with each one.

“Have you ever done this with a girl before?”

“No,” he replied, moving from my breasts to my collarbone, leaving a dark purple mark in his path.

“Could've fooled me,” I felt him smile against my neck at the praise -- duly noted.

He flipped us over swiftly -- much to my surprise -- and continued with his actions on both my clit and entrance. I did my best to stay quiet, biting down on his shoulder to prevent any noises from leaking out to stop him from getting too cocky.

“Spencer,” I moaned, raking my fingernails up and down his back. “Stop. Please fuck me now, I’m ready.”

“Are you sure you want to? We can stop,” he reassured me in a voice that seemed far too innocent for the activities taking place.

“Spencer, I’m sure. I’m so fucking sure you have no idea.”

I was so turned on I could cry, the pure want running through my veins was starting to send panic signals throughout my whole body. Before I could beg him any further he replaced his fingers with his dick, catching me off guard. He ran the tip over me for a few seconds before gliding in easily, with little to no restriction at all.

“Ah!” I called, gripping onto his shoulder for dear life.

“I’m so sorry, oh my god did I hurt you?” Spencer asked frantically, removing his weight from me and tried sitting up.

“No. God please move, I need you so bad,” I pleaded, pulling him back down before he could get too far away.

He nodded. He started slow. So slowly that I wanted to scream and beg at the top of my lungs for more. However I was above giving him the satisfaction of that -- at least for now.

“You feel so good,” Spencer panted, hips shaking as he slid in and out at a torturous pace.

I pulled his lips back to mine for another kiss, drinking in everything he was willing to offer. I whined every time his body rubbed against my clit in a way that had my toes curling and eyes rolling back.

“This is so much better than I’ve imagined,” I moaned, breaking free from his mouth to lay back against the pillows. I wrapped my legs around his waist, aiding him with the speed of his thrusts. “Please, Spence, oh my god go harder.”

He moaned loudly, and lowered his head to my collarbone in an effort to muffle some of the noises he was letting out.

He followed my directions well -- and I took notes for the future.

The sounds of him bouncing off the walls was amplifying my pleasure to a new degree, it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. His hips snapped forward impossibly faster, leaving him a whimpering mess above me. Our chests were pressed together, the sound of skin slapping and gliding over each other filled the dimly lit room.

“You’re doing so good for me,” I whispered into his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses here and there.

He moaned freely at all of the praise, and every time I urged him on he’d pick up his speed a little bit. He was now moving faster than I thought I could handle, slamming into me at the perfect angle.

I felt him everywhere. In my stomach, insides of my thighs, chest -- where he was now palming at one of my breasts -- and the crook of my neck. I hugged my arms around his middle to keep him locked against me, preventing his hips from heavily backing out.

“I’m really close,” He groaned, lifting his head to meet my eyes. “S-should I pull out now?”

“No,” I demanded, tightening my legs to keep him trapped. “Come inside me.”

He nodded with a particularly loud moan, and snaked one hand down my body to meet my clit. When I gave a sound of approval he quickened his wrist, rubbing me with just the right amount of pressure to send me closer to the edge.

He came with a final shout in my name, resting his full body weight against me as I rocked my him against him to help him through it. I finished soon after, at the feeling of him releasing himself in me. It was so warm, like a comforting blanket that overtook all of my senses.

It was possibly the best orgasm I’d ever had, it was so profound that I couldn’t see, or focus on anything else.

We laid there for a few minutes, my hand running through his hair and his ghosting up the side of my hip. It took a while for us both to catch our breaths, we were too immersed in the moment to break apart from one another.

“That was literally the best sex I’ve had in my life,” I breathed, staring up at the ceiling.

“Same, but I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Spencer replied, and we both laughed weakly.

“That was okay for you? Your first time? Not really the traditional approach.”

“It was perfect. I wouldn’t have asked for anything different,” he pulled himself up with a smile, before pulling out and flopping down beside me.

“But seriously,” I sat up, resting my head on my palm to get a better view of him. “I’ve never been so attracted to someone as I am with you.”

“____,” he blushed. “I-”

“No! No, let me finish. Please.”

He nodded for me to go ahead.

“Not only are you just insanely sweet and so charming, you’re so handsome. Like I can hardly even look at you half the time. You drive me insane, Spencer you have no idea. Holy fuck I’ve never wanted someone so bad before I met you. You’re intoxicating. I can’t get enough. I’ll cringe about this later but I just need you to know.”

“This may not be the most common way...but do you want to go out with me? L-like on a date?” Spencer asked. He was blushing so heavily, his chest was painted pink and ears were turned red.

“You just came inside of me and you’re nervous about asking me on a date.”

“____!” Spencer exclaimed, facepalming himself.

“Yes,” I grinned. “I’d love to go out with you.”

-----

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aoitrinity · 3 years

Text

Why Do I Have to Feel Like a Fucking Conspiracy Theorist -- OR -- How I Find a Semblance of Peace on Sunday Night

I’m also going to start this out with a GIANT DISCLAIMER.

I am about to theorize about what may have happened to the SPN finale. I have absolutely no insider knowledge. I am merely speculating here based on the panels and a bunch of Twitter and Tumblr posts that I have been reading over the last few days. If you are not in a good place to read such things, TURN BACK PLEASE. Go take care of yourself and your mental health. You and your feelings are valid and deserve to be handled gently right now.

Additionally, if you are here to give me shit for being unhappy with the ending, please walk away as well. I am here to reach out and share my feelings with people who might be struggling to make sense of something that upset some of us in very deep-seated ways. I am not here to bother you or critique you or tell you that you’re lesser because you liked the ending. If you felt it was good, then go enjoy it.

Long-ass post beneath the cut, everyone.

Alrighty folks...I debated whether or not to do this because I have been spiraling down the hell that is the SPN finale since Thursday. The travesty of what happened to our show--to this beloved show that seemed to have been so perfectly and precisely written for at least four years that it had basically already paved its own tarmac on which to land its plane and we all thought we knew exactly what we were going to get. And then we didn’t. We had a nigh Cas-less and entirely Eileen-less ending. We had no goodbye between Cas and Jack. We had Dean dying young after finally finding his freedom, only to ascend to heaven with no one but Bobby. We had the weird, weird, weird incest-y death scene. We had the bridge crane shot thing because...sure. You do you, Robert Singer.

It was so terrible, so truly awful, and I couldn’t seem to square any of it with anything we had known going in. I tossed and turned and cried and didn’t eat or sleep all weekend. I spent hours just reloading tumblr and twitter, going to the Misha panel, reading and reading and listening and trying to figure out what the fucking hell is going on because I needed to know exactly where to direct my anger. And after a fuckton of talking with @winchester-reload, I think we have at least a very plausible theory about what happened here--I’m laying it out below as much for my own peace of mind as anything else, because otherwise all of these thoughts are going to continue to spin around in my head for weeks and I won’t be able to do jack shit.

Now to start off, unfortunately I do think Dean was slated to die from the beginning of this season. I don’t know WHY they thought that was the best way to go, and I wish they had listened to Jensen on this one. Part of me wonders if it was an order from on high based on the discussion between Becky and Chuck earlier this season--the writers knew it wasn’t a great choice, but they were trying to signal to us that we should feel free to write our own endings to the story because they’d be better (I can wax poetic on the signs of why many of the writers probably wanted Dean to live, but that’s another post). I’m not defending that choice by any means, just laying it out there that I think they didn’t necessarily all want to kill Dean like they did.

However, what I THINK I can explain now is what happened with Misha and why we got so jerked around with Cas’s story. Consider what we know (I can’t immediately source all of it, but I did my best):

At the end of episode 15x19, Lucifer has been returned to the Empty after being killed AGAIN. He talks with Cas. Maybe harasses him a bit about Dean, idk. But then...Jack shows up. New God Jack. And he picks up Cas and pulls him out of the Empty, leaving Lucifer behind, because seriously. Fuck that guy (also leaving behind his abusive father is character growth for Jack, so yay for that).

-Misha was contracted to film 15 episodes this season. He was only in 14.

-Misha told Michael Sheen he had to go back to film 1.5 episodes after the shutdown in March. (Starts at 6:13)

-Misha was in Vancouver during filming of the finale.

-Mark P said at Darklight Con that the last scene he filmed was with Alex and Misha (and Mark P was only in episode 19).

-Misha implied that he was present for various filming moments, including Dean’s death (start at 35:15), and said that it felt like a “mini-reunion.”

-Various sources have mentioned that Jimmy Novak was supposed to be in the finale.

-After episode 18, Stands tweeted a fan who was angered and hurt by Cas's death that they could talk about the “bury the gays” issue after the finale aired.

-In episode 19 we know there were takes of the parking lot scene where the only thing fans observing could hear was Dean yelling “CAS” at Chuck (fuck I can’t find this one right now, but it’s definitely out there)

-Also in episode 19, we had a very strange, awkward montage at the end of the episode.

-In episode 20, we know there were a FUCKTON of missing scenes

-We also had no opening montage, but three other separate montages.

-Carry on My Wayward Son was played TWICE, back-to-back at the end of the episode.

-Episode 20 was shorter than normal and had surprisingly little dialogue. The pacing was VERY strange.

-The cast and crew has been almost completely silent about the finale since it came out. When they have spoken, it has been with an awkward excuse of “Uh...COVID?”

-Samantha Ferris has specifically noted that, despite the Harvelle’s being back in play and a big heaven reunion having been planned pre-COVID, neither she nor Chad Lindberg received any such invitation to return.

-Cas and Dean POP Funko figures were pictured together in a replica of Harvelle’s in 15x04.

NOW with all of this in mind (and I’m probably missing some stuff too because there is so much--feel free to add on to that list), please bear with me because here is what I think we were SUPPOSED to get POST-COVID (after it was determined that the reunion couldn’t happen because of the virus):

In episode 20, we start with our NORMAL OPENING MONTAGE, like always. It traces everything that happened during the season. We are reminded of Cas. The confession. Rowena. Eileen. Jack. Billie, God, the Empty, all of it.

Things then follow along in the episode where they did up until Dean dies and wakes up in heaven. After his conversation with Bobby, he drives off to find Cas (who, in the script, was listed as “Jimmy Novak” in order to protect against script leaks--who wouldn’t want to do their best to avoid spoilers about the finale with the wrapping of a fifteen-year show?). He does indeed find Cas. We get Dean’s end of the confession. Hell, maybe we even get a kiss. And then Dean sets up his new heaven home in the recreated Harvelle’s. Maybe Cas even fucking moves in.

Years pass. We get Sam having his life on Earth (still can’t explain why they cut Eileen and couldn’t even have Sam signing vaguely to the blurry brunette in the background; if anyone wants to take that on, go for it). Eventually, Cas tells Dean that it’s almost Sam’s time. Dean takes Baby and goes to meet Sam at the bridge. The cover of Carry on My Wayward Son plays during this much shorter sequence. End of episode.

But that’s not what we got. Instead, much of what I just wrote about was excised from the episode. The remnants were stitched together after shooting had been wrapped. Filler was added in the form of montages and long, unnecessary extra shots to get the episode to something approaching a reasonable length.

But why? Why would they spend all that time and money and quarantining on Misha, only to almost completely cut him out of the finale? I struggled with why the fuck the CW would want this mammoth show to go down as the greatest queerbait in TV history when they had the chance to do something truly beautiful and monumental with it? It couldn’t just be sheer homophobia, right? Well, I think that factored into it, my friends, but here is where my head is at right now.

It was about cold, hard cash.

Now I could be wrong, but this is what I’m thinking at the moment: Supernatural is going off of the air. Supernatural, the CW’s cash cow for fifteen years. Sure there is still money to be made on blu-rays and merchandise and cons...but they need people watching their shows. They need that sweet advertising revenue. And you know what show they have about to premiere? A show that could, potentially, bring with it a chunk of that SPN revenue?

Walker.

And if any of you know anything about the original Walker Texas Ranger, you know that the show was predominantly a show about a very heterosexual white man being very excessively heterosexual. And for SOME REASON over the years, many of the execs at the CW still seem to think that this show, Supernatural, is really attractive to a lot of middle-American white men...whom they desperately want to watch this new show with this guy from Supernatural that they already know.

Now here’s where COVID fucked us. I think Destiel was greenlit by TPTB, at least in SOME form, before COVID. But then the pandemic happened, and they panicked. They got the cut of the last two episodes and watched them in their original, probably queer form. And then, the execs at CW looked at the economy. They looked at their cash cow, about to make its journey to the great beyond. And they looked at this new little calf Walker that they were so desperately worried about. And they made a choice.

They decided that it would be too risky to take the step with Destiel. They were worried about frightening off their ever-so-valuable hetero male demographic with the possibility that a traditionally masculine man in his 40s could be in love with another man in an overt way. It was homophobia mixed with greed, spun up by fear for their revenues because of COVID.

So they called in Singer, possibly Dabb, although I wouldn’t be surprised if they went straight to Singer. They told them that Destiel had to go: executive orders. And the only way to make it go in a way that removed any trace of what had been there was to rewrite what happened to Cas and cut him out from the last two episodes entirely. It was too late to reshoot anything. They had to just cut and stitch and fill with bullshit montages.

They removed the scene at the end of 19, probably because Cas and Lucifer discussed Dean. All that was left of Misha there was his voice on that fake phone call. They may have cut other things too, but I would bet my life that they cut a scene from the end of the episode and replaced it with that very strange montage. Then they moved onto 20. They cut out every scene with Cas. And left in only two platonic mentions of him, neither made by Dean. They tried to imply that Cas might show up in Dean’s heaven at some point, but that was as far as the editors could go in the time they had. They filled in with montages, awkwardly long shots, anything they could do to fill all of those missing scenes.

And they even had to take the opening montage, because literally everything in it pointed to Cas being there at the end of it all. They wouldn’t be able to leave out his scenes, they were too critical to the season. They couldn’t cut his confession without raising eyebrows. So they cut the whole thing and moved “Carry On My Wayward Son” to one of the newly-added driving montages at the end. Which is why we awkwardly had both songs play back-to-back--again, such a strange choice unless they were out of options and couldn’t exactly buy rights to a new track or compose anything else.

And so we were left with the shadow of the finale that we deserved, that Cas and Dean deserved. We were left without resolution or happiness or words. Bobo told us the most important thing about happiness is just “saying it” and our characters were silenced without anyone ever knowing the truth.

I think the writers might have known and been given the new party line that “Misha never filmed, he couldn’t, sorry, it was COVID, no one’s fault!” But I don’t think most of the cast even knew it had happened until they watched the finale on Thursday with us (though they might have been confused why the bit from 15x19 was sliced, they could reasonably have assumed it was a time thing and also BL episodes don’t make sense anyway). Why do I say that?

Well, first of all, Misha started sending out a bunch of excited texts to fans with some old BTS pictures about an hour before the show started airing on EST. He also wanted his children to see the episode, his YOUNG children. Why would he show them such a traumatic episode if their Dad wasn’t in it? What if it was because he wanted them to witness what was going to be a monumental moment in queer television history that their DAD got to be a part of? And then that was all dashed.

Which is why I think the cast and crew went almost completely radio silent the next day. I don’t think they knew. And based on how they have been acting on social media since then, I think many of them are absolutely furious, but they have been silenced because of NDAs, because they want to find work again in a cutthroat industry, because they don’t want to bring down the hellfire of Warner Brothers Entertainment upon themselves. So the most we have gotten is a little acknowledgement from the MERCHANDISING COMPANY trying to validate our pain (god bless Shirts, she is a LIFESAVER) and a response to my salty tweet about keeping good stuff in the closet from Adam Williams (the VFX coordinator) that seemed to acknowledge the validity of my complaint.

Then there was a scramble behind the scenes, I would bet my life. Talking points were fed to the boys who had panels today, to CE, to all the cast and crew:

Toe the party line. Misha never filmed. This was always about COVID. Do not mention Destiel. Do not mention Dean’s feelings for Cas. Do not promote the Castiel Project or anything that validates the idea that this was anything less than a superb ending.

And that is why we have heard so little from the cast on this front, and what we have heard has been muddled and contradictory. That is why the writers are saying nothing. That is why we have been left adrift.

Now before I close this out, I do want to say that I really, genuinely do not think this was on the writers at all. I feel like they tried to give us the best ending that they could, in a writers room that we know is notorious for splitting along party lines about the overall story (BL and Singer, who have always been about the brothers and their man-pain vs. Dabb and the rest who always seemed to want more for them and for Cas). I think they did everything in their power to at least end with Dean and Cas happy together. If they could give us nothing else, they wanted to give us that. And then the network took it from them. From us. From everyone.

For the sake of fucking money.

And the WORST PART OF IT ALL, for me, is that in the wake of this disaster, the fans have been left to try and figure out what happened. We have had to wade through a mire of conflicting information in the midst of all of our collective anger and grief over this garbage ending of a show many of us have loved and even relied on for YEARS, all the while wondering if we’re just fucking crazy, if we have all fallen collectively into the hole of conspiracy theories. That hurts ESPECIALLY badly because we have taken so many hits over the years from other groups on social media saying we were crazy for seeing things that weren’t there (especially Destiel), for writing meta and analyzing tropes and believing the evidence of our eyes and ears. The network has made us relive that entire nightmare WHILE processing our grief for a show we wanted so badly to celebrate and which instead we now have to mourn.

So again guys, I cannot prove that this is exactly what happened at all; this is simply my idea of what may have happened. But right now, it’s the most sense I can make from this mess, and to be honest, the act of typing it out has helped me enormously in my processing of it all. I feel like I can see more clearly, like I know where to target my outrage and where to direct empathy. I feel like just fucking maybe, I might be able to do my job tomorrow without bursting into tears at random moments.

I really hope that this post has helped some of you to, in some small way, process this too. We get through this the way that Misha told us at his panel this morning, the way the writers have told us to do all season long...we throw out the story God gave us and we make it better. We write our characters the happy endings they deserve.

We save them.

One last thing--if you have not already, please consider channeling your rage into a donation to one of the five causes our fandom has put together to pay tribute to our beloved show and to mourn the ending it should have had:

-The Castiel Project

-Dean Winchester is Love

-Sam Winchester Project

-The National Association of the Deaf

-The Jack Kline Project

#supernatural season 15 #spn finale #speculation #destiel #destielgate #the ending was not the ending #fuck the cw #trust the story #we were robbed

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voidcat · 2 years

Text

characters: tartaglia, you

wc: 2.9k

warning: obsessive and (more or less) yandere-like behavior

a/n: Mhy already screwed me over w electro abyss mages before I could write and post my first childe fic… so when they mentioned teleport points in the new quest, when I say I was filled with furious panic- anywyas enjoy this mess<3 (when I planned this fic it was A lot shorter in my head, how did we reach to this…)

The air in the cave system cold, you feel yourself shivering as you wait.

How long has it been so far? Half an hour? An hour? Time surely doesn’t seem to pass, especially on such events.

The lights illuminated from the crystals above and near, you can see the uninterested expression on the boy’s face.

Though the magnificent light show holds no competition against the sun high up in the sky, above the surface, you cannot help but reminisce about the old days, allow yourself this much at least for a minute.

Despite the cold that surrounds them for long times, not to mention the reputation that comes because of what a certain group of their nation does, Snenzhnayans are warm, above all.

Warmer than the soil of their land, the wind that bites their faces every day, their fish, their lakes, their god, known for holding no love for anyone, not even herself– or so they say.

And above all, Snezhnayans love traditions.

It’s unclear where most of these come from, some say history, some say a silly game turned into a big event.

The sound of a droplet hitting the stone reaches your ears, but not the the horn you are still expecting to hear.

It must be the latter you assume, at least for this one. For you can recall yourself playing in these endless caves and its countless tunnels as kids, before you were all taken once more, for tradition.

Then it begins, the sound breaks into the silence, and before you can even look around to see the others, the kid in front you has vanished.

He dashes and you follow, closing the gap in no time; no matter the distance, the separation, you are still familiar with these grounds after all, engraved into memory, into your bones and to your very core. He might be good, but you are better.

Hearing your steps behind him, he begins conversing with you, continue the one sided conversation as the two of you met would be a better way to explain. About the newest toy he had, the new kids he has played with, what an amazing brother he has, practically shining, oh how happy he is for the past few days that some of his favorite people have returned already! A sour expression takes over your face as you hear the last one.

Without a care, without a burning ambition, like the one fueling the other kids, he hops over creaks, gets under, jumps and slides accordingly to the scene before him, almost as if it is the caves that is his home and not the place he hopes to return soon and have a warm meal amongst family.

Family, now that, is a word that doesn’t sting one bit.

The emerging lights of the sun start to slide into the cave from the little creaks and that’s when you know the two of you are almost finished.

Then before you know it, the cave spits the two of you out.

A deafening applause follows next, with half a mind, you look around feeling lost, and with half a mind left in that skull of yours, your hand reaches down to grip his wrist and raise it in the air.

Just… how fast was this exactly?

In such a short notice and the first ones to emerge, and he still doesn’t seem to care. A word or two about his newest toy in the garden waiting for him to play, teucer doesn’t seem to care that he has won, and out of a generation with a great number of peers too.

Yet it is not over, there must be a wait, at least for a second and third in place, and so you do, with Teucer standing next to you, speaking to himself altogether, as if from the very start he was talking to himself and you were an intruder.

And in a way, you are.

Eyes observe the people gathered in the crowd, their houses blending into the background.

Besides the warmth and the love for traditions, Snezhnayans are known for always finding their way home.

Home.

Such an unfamiliar word, now that it’s gone; it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

And perhaps, that alone, should’ve been the signal for you to follow, and never return, not even just for one day.

Eyes going over the dull ones in the crowd, all cheering and seeming happy for Teucer and in a sudden, you feel yourself tense up. Frozen. Like an animal trapped, the gaze of a predator locked onto them.

Such lifeless eyes staring back at you, in as much a surprise as you are, though he is quick to wipe that look off his face, not that anyone else has taken a notice.

You should’ve known, when Teucer talked about having some of his favorite people back. You should’ve known, when he gave an incredibly detailed description of devices not to be messed with as his newest toys waiting for him back at home.

You should’ve known, that he would somehow find his way back, find you.

The cheers from the crowd multiply, a second voice gets added into the mix and that’s when you realize, it has come to an end for this generation of kids.

As you look back into the dispersing crowd, Tartaglia has disappeared.

With Teucer tugging at your clothes, you half heartedly offer him a hand and set foot to locate his mother in the sea of people.

It doesn’t take long though, the family finds you first. Brimming with anticipation and still high on adrenaline- yet it seems you are the topic of interest more than the little victory of their precious son.

The guilt sinks away into the pit of your stomach, heavy, you do your best not to swallow.

Insist on leaving, you try, you really do, but once again you are reminded exactly where he takes his stubborn nature from.

‘At least stay for dinner, we missed having you over!’ and with those eyes staring back at you, it gets harder and harder each second to muster a ‘no’, an excuse on how a long road awaits you- because then, you know, they’ll insist more, say you should use a rest and tasty food to charge up before you take off for who knows how long again.

Again.

That is the one word you wish to never say or think, especially regarding Snezhnaya and your once-life in it.

Walk the familiar paths, hear the crumpling sound the snow makes, grouch grouch, it crunches under your feet as the never leaving worry of when he will appear surrounds your entire being.

Every house, every tile, every face and ever smile feels like a lie, feels like something that once was, something that has never existed, that it was just a dream, a rather hopeful one, of a child’s, naive and stupid.

You can feel a hand squeezing your shoulder already, insisting you stay for dinner, for that is least you could do, after leaving everything behind.

The lifeless eyes follow every movement, you pass by every house that is a home, bursting with warmth and a cry that says ‘I’m alive!’.

The hand never leaves your shoulder, that feeling won’t stop eating up your insides, feasting on your organs one by one, waiting for dessert, to move onto your soul and any feeling you have filling your bottle of a body-

After all, people seek out what they don’t have the most.

Everyone greets you with sincerity and genuine emotions, hearts on their sleeves.

The mother is happy, the father is happy, the siblings are happy, rushing around, preparing for the big dinner tonight, Teucer is happy, but he is busy with his friend ‘Mr. Cyclops’ right now.

And Ajax?

Ajax is dead, he has been for a long while now.

Who stands in his stead is Tartaglia. And his emotions vary from all kinds.

You ought to watch out, not let your guard down.

“Why don’t you sit next to Ajax? Just like old times.” Tonya suggests as she brings out an extra seat, open an extra serving.

“Let’s hope those ‘old times’ do not include the ruckus they used to make as well.”

They shouldn’t feel like extras, it used to be part of a routine, not a day would go by that the two of you would be separated.

One big theatrical act, is what it feels like for you.

Bells of danger ring even louder inside your head when he takes his seat next to you. ‘how have you been’s and ‘what you up to’s begin to increase as your mouth delivers the practices lines, all prepared just in case.

He doesn’t get touchy or antsy like he once did when you were kids.

You suppose, that’s because that kid no longer exists.

Despite your nerves jumping in place whenever you brush arms or legs, or whenever he addresses you, only to ask if you could pass that plate; you figure this is better than having him across from you–

watching and waiting your every move, for your smallest slip up.

The eerie eyes cannot focus on you as much, now that it requires him to turn to you fully, and ignore everyone else on the table.

Oh, no, please, our Ajax dearest would never do such a thing; and neither would Tartaglia– not when he has an image to keep.

Everyone digs in, everyone takes a sip, yet the real fest begins once the firewater is brought in.

Everyone is cheering, everyone is laughing, everyone is so happy, and everything is so perfect, everybody is drunk, minus the kids, but they’re too far gone inside their little imaginative lands to be paying attention to anything.

And not a soul can notice that absolute dread in your smile.

Once it gets darker and later, and everyone else a lot laxer, you place your hands on the table and stand up straight.

“Well I better get going.”

You begin your departure even before the words leave your mouth.

The pleas of ‘nonsense’ and ‘stay here’s do not even reach your ears, yet that dreaded hand does, with its iron grip on your arm-

“Let me walk you home at least. It’s gotten pretty dark, we don’t want you getting lost or bruising a limb now.”

The voices of agreement fill the air and you have no choice but to nod slightly, letting him fall side by side with you, soon matching your steps yet the motion holds no comfort.

It doesn’t take much steps for you to see your plans and hopes of having fleeing from a drunk Tartaglia has failed.

Passing house after another, they start to get older and darker as you near the end of the town. With another one to your right passed, there are no lights left burning ahead of you, no sign of life.

Your steps come to an end, standing over the remains what was once a home, the outline still clear to the eye but not much left of rooms or walls.

“It doesn’t seem like anyone has lived here for quite some time, huh?” He breaks the silence first.

Keep it short and clear, “Seems like it.”

“So where is it you’re staying at, then?” He speaks, “not so far, I hope.”

“It wouldn’t be a problem even if it was actually, there’s nothing I can’t handle.”

He speaks and speaks and will not stop it, speaking to himself, speaking as if nothing has changed, as if he is unaware how you’re itching to leave this place.

“Truth be told, I wasn’t planning to stay-“ “Oh, is that so?”

Brows furrowed, you decide to push this away, for once, “I have work waiting for me to be back soon. The life at academia isn’t as calm and easy as people assume it to be.”

“More important than people you’ve not seen in years, I presume?” Maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s exhaustion taking over, but his voice sounds a little different.

It catches you off guard, and that, is your mistake, for letting confusion reflect in your voice, “I- What?”

“Your work, I mean. Since you’re so eager to get back that it never crossed your mind to stay.” Steps get slower, shoulders straight, body tense and ready to be fired any second, more and more he takes the form of a predator.

When did the two of you begin to walk? Weren’t you still by the wreck of a house just now?

“But that has always been the case, hasn’t it? Since it was, again, for this work, and academia that you left us all behind.” A smile begins to appear and it is not the one he has used all night for his parents.

Not the cold, nor the exhaustion, you were right all along; it is impossible to miss the sharp edge to his voice and the poison his breath is laced with.

“What are you talking about Tartaglia?” He winces at his title as the smile gets unnerving to see.

“Just how you left all of us without a word, and never bothered to pay a visit up until now.” Bringing a hand to his chin, he looks up in a mocking manner.

“Come to think of it, it wasn’t even on your free will to come back today, was it?” he lets out a chuckle as if he made the discovery of the year. “Probably happened to pass by and couldn’t decline the looks of hope in people’s eyes.” His stern gaze finds your eyes.

Eyes of a mad man, lifeless eyes, shining dull like a cheap piece of glass orb under the dead moon hanging in the sky.

This should’ve been your second warning, as his words get louder, breaths shorter and rigid, “Tell me, at least, did you ever think back, about us, about me? Did you ever feel guilt for leaving me behind?” Hand over his chest, over the place that should contain a heart-

Bullshit, your brain screams, fed up with this nonsense, with the chilling cold, the strained smile that lies before you.

“I left because of you!” someone’s yelling can be heard in the air.

It takes you a while to register that is your voice.

“Do you think I walked away from everything I’ve known my entire life, as if that awaiting unknown didn’t stand tall in front of me?”

Once the words start spilling, the rest follows easily.

“You think it is easy to get stuck in such a state, to the point I avoid any hilichurl because I cannot bear to see the fragments of what they used to be? That I will walk through an already demolished camp, all that is left behind is the discarded masks?..”

once a broken damp won’t stop until all that is inside is out, there is no fixing up now, it won’t make up for the loss.

“Hey, Tartaglia, say-“ you spit the title you had heard several times over the years, and it works like a charm, he twitches an eye, “do you know why all they left behind is their masks when a hilichurl has taken its last breath?”

“Did you know everything there is to Tevyat and its history is like a pierce through the heart? Between the pages it’s all just people robbed of their lives, branded as monsters-“ you shake your head with closed eyes, you know he won’t do anything, not now.

With one last breath taken, you open your mouth and face him, all those years of exhaustion and dread finally making its way to your features– no more masks,no more veils covering your face:

“You think it doesn’t hurt to witness all that with my hands tied, unable to help the one person I left my life for?”

And with that, you turn around and finally take that first step you should’ve years ago.

One, another, slowly the steps gain a speed, their frequency increase; and without much of a wait a second set of steps come from behind, sinking into the snow, stepping on it with a force.

It has never been a choice but a chase long overdue.

And after years of tailing after the memory of one another, it is set into motion.

Older footprints of kids chasing each other from earlier remain as your feet carve never ones into the ground.

Ajax had been from a family of hunters, and you suppose, whatever is left of him inside Tartaglia carries that same instinct.

They might be good, but you’ve always been better.

He might’ve always chased you yet you could never be captured.

He can be ruthless and careful as much as he likes but you’ll always slip between his fingers.

You could’ve found it interesting, how your heartbeat doesn’t drum in your ears, how your breaths haven’t gotten shallower, how despite the reality of what is occurring to you, right now, right in this very moment, it is dead silent, the world is calm.

An endless white before your vision and before you can feel your body reach its absolute limit, you see it– that flickering red light of salvation.

Uncovering the truths of Tevyat and the many secrets it holds was never an easy feature. And even with all the knowledge under your hands, most keep their mystery.

What peculiar devices teleport points have always been.

Focusing your attention to the tip of your finger prints one last time, you aim at the little puddle of wetter pile of snow you’ve jumped over.

Reaching out one arm from behind, you send a bolt of electro to it and your other arm forward, all you see is a sudden burst of light as your hand makes connect with the candle-like point.

#genshin impact #tartaglia #childe #Ajax #why does he have so many names…#genshin x reader #genshin x you #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #childe x reader #childe x you #Ajax x reader #Ajax x you

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ghostwise · 3 years

Text

not a homecoming, but something like it

There are two men arguing in front of her home.

This is a nuisance, but not an uncommon one. Her neighbors are colorful and loud, so she’s used to people being in her way. Gente estorbosa. Normally she would’ve simply pushed past them to get to her gate. However, these are no neighbors of hers, and that makes her hesitate.

The two men are not speaking Antivan, but she knows enough languages to follow along, even with the street’s lively background chatter.

“This is a mistake,” one of them says.

“At least it’ll be in character, then,” the other replies.

Adelmar shifts the grocery basket on her hip, waiting. They’ll move on their own soon enough, she suspects. Or perhaps they’ll notice her and confront her for eavesdropping. Oh! Then they’d get an earful.

“I am being serious. Why would she remember me, hm?”

“You remember her.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—”

“I think it means more than you expected it to. I think that’s why you’re trying to back out at the last minute.”

Adelmar is not sure what the men are arguing about. She’d assumed their relationship to be contentious but now the shorter of the two steps close to his companion, looping an arm around his waist in an unmistakably supportive and affectionate gesture.

“If you really think this is a mistake, then let’s go, vhenan.”

Neither of them moves.

Adelmar clears her throat. Fascinating as the conversation is, she doesn’t have all day. She has dinner to get started, and her basket is getting heavy.

They turn to look at her, and she drops everything.

Tinned coffee and spices, parcels of lamb, and oranges, which roll out across the cobbled street.

“¿Zevran?” Adelmar’s voice is uncertain. She never expected to speak that name again, but those eyes and that hair…

“Zevran… Chivito. No puedo creerlo.”

The man Zevran is with has begun to pick up her groceries, although somewhat haphazardly, dropping one orange for every three he grabs. “You see?” he calls out, darting after a can and swiping it before it gets rolled over by a cart. “I knew she’d recognize you!”

And Zevran, the little boy she’d read stories to in the brothel, the same brown eyes, just taller, smiles at her like she’s singing a song and he’s in her lap again.

The scene, with all its noise and shouting in the background, and fruit rolling this way and that, feels briefly absurd. Is she imagining this? She has to make sure. She needs to just look at him. Stepping across a gap of decades (but it’s really only a few feet), she reaches for Zevran. She touches his face. Notices his tattoo. Frowns.

“Ay,” she murmurs, removing her hand. It is him.

He bursts out laughing.

“Qué gusto me da verte.”

Close by and with the biggest smile, Hamal Mahariel watches, holding the basket with all the groceries Adelmar has dropped.

It had come up in conversation, casually, a few days earlier. They had been investigating a mark, and Zevran, in the midst of planning and preparing, mentioned, “You know, I grew up near here.”

Hamal blinked. Sometimes he suspected that growing up meant something different for Zevran than it did for him. Did he mean he’d become a Crow here, just thirteen when he’d first killed?

When asked to clarify Zevran gestured at the map before them. He pointed a finger just a few centimeters from their present location.

“Rialto. I lived there before the Crows… acquired me.”

“Mm,” Hamal said, mulling it over. It was always a careful balance on his part to gauge whether it was alright to press for information, or better to let Zevran share at his own pace. But he was curious. Zevran seldom spoke of his early years.

“I’d love to see it, if you’re up to visiting,” he said finally.

“Perhaps. If we have time.” Zevran smiled warmly at him. “But really, amor, the place means very little to me. I have no childhood home, unless you count the brothel my mother worked at. I had no family. No friends. None that would remember me, anyway.”

Then why bring it up? Hamal wondered.

“Consider it a sentimental request from your husband,” he said.

Zevran rolled up the map quietly. He planted a quick kiss on Hamal’s cheek.

“That, I can do.”

Adelmar’s home is small and welcoming, with a tiny patio separating the living area from the kitchen and washroom. Her husband is away for a few days. Her children, grown and gone. She has all the time in the world. She wants to hear everything.

“How did you find me?” she asks, looking at Zevran with wonder. A part of her still can’t believe he’s here.

“We happened to be in Rialto. I… asked around.”

“You went to El milagro,” Adelmar guesses.

Zevran gestures noncommittally.

“I haven’t been there for years and years. It feels like a lifetime ago. I’m surprised anyone remembered, or knew enough to send you my way,” she said. “I’m surprised you looked for me at all…”

Adelmar takes a deep breath. She’s stirring up memories—old thoughts and feelings, few of them pleasant, otherwise she would find it nostalgic.

Quickly, she catches herself and shakes off the gloom. She sets a hand on Zevran’s shoulder.

“But I’m glad you did. I really am so happy to see you. Look at how you’ve grown.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should come,” Zevran admits. “My husband convinced me. He’s nosy. It is why I keep him around.”

He chances a glance at Hamal, who is staying well out of the way. His Antivan still being rather rusty, he’s left Zevran and Adelmar to their conversation, and is currently helping chop vegetables for a stew.

“Well I’m glad for that,” Adelmar says, looking between the two men and beaming. Little Zevran—at her kitchen table and married no less!

“I never forgot you, Zevran,” she tells him. “If I had moved a little faster, saved a little more money, I would have left and brought you with me. You were so smart. You were always moving, running around, playing. In the end, it seems we both escaped to better circumstances,” she says finally, closing her eyes and sighing.

“Thank the Maker,” Zevran adds solemnly. Adelmar smiles, pleased at his manners.

“I’m so glad you’re doing well. So tell me,” she scoots closer and looks at him eagerly, “What sort of life did you have, after you were adopted?”

“Adopted?”

By the kitchen counter, Hamal catches the subtle edge in Zevran’s tone. He pauses, holding the knife in his hand as a lull falls over the kitchen table, but he doesn’t know enough Antivan to guess what’s happened.

What’s happened is this: Zevran and Adelmar came from the same place, and know enough about that life to instantly understand that a lie has been told.

“Oh,” Adelmar breathes after a moment. “You… you weren’t adopted.”

Zevran lets out a laugh. It’s his ‘stalling’ laugh, and now Hamal is looking over, arms crossed, searching his face for clues.

“I was not adopted,” he says. “But do not trouble yourself over that.” Then, smoothly redirecting, he gets up and locks eyes with Hamal.

“Shall I boil some water?” he asks, switching out of Antivan.

The tense moment is gone. Hamal nods, glancing at Adelmar. “I’ll start the fire.”

There’s a reason why the kitchen is kept apart from the rest of the house. While the soup simmers, they bring their visit to the adjacent patio, where a cool breeze offers relief. Tree branches from the outside—from a tamarind tree growing in the street—have stretched out over the wall and blessed Adelmar’s patio with shade and fruit.

Hamal makes a face when he tastes it. Glancing at Zevran, he holds his gaze and waits just long enough to make it clear he’s less than partial to the flavor.

“So delicious, vhenan.”

Zevran laughs. “Wait until you try it in drink form.”

“If you make it, I am sure I will enjoy it.”

Adelmar, knowing she’s touched upon a shared hurt between her and Zevran, makes up for it by talking about anything else. She is particularly interested in their wedding, and is scandalized when she hears they’ve only been married a few weeks.

“I missed it!” she exclaims.

“It was quite sudden, my friend,” Zevran says, as if there’d been a chance of her attending. “Spontaneous. Just the two of us. Very romantic.”

Hamal taps the handcrafted silver band around his ring finger. He gestures at Zevran. “Él lo hizo,” he says in the most accented Antivan ever. “Muy, muy… bello.”

Dinner is delicious. Despite some language barriers, their conversation is easy and effortless. It’s also, intentionally, vague. Adelmar learns that they met in Ferelden, that they’re on an important journey, and that the journey is a dangerous one.

Most importantly, she also learns that Zevran’s heart has survived its rocky passage into adulthood, whole, if not unscathed. The core of the little boy she’d known in the brothel is there, even if he himself does not realize it. It brings her immense comfort.

The visit ends all too quickly, and though she asks them to stay the night, she isn’t surprised when they decline.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Hamal tells Zevran, who relays the message to Adelmar.

“You and Hamal are welcome, always,” Adelmar assures him. “Will you visit again?”

“If it is less dangerous,” Zevran says. “We were not followed here. But repeated visits might be difficult. Risky.”

“I understand. Not right away, then. When you can. We still have so much to talk about.”

“I would like that,” Zevran agrees.

They share one last hug, the three of them, and Adelmar watches them slip into the night.

“I need to brush up on my Antivan,” Hamal says. “But I enjoyed meeting her.”

“She liked you a lot,” Zevran says, smiling. Hamal laughs.

“You talked about me?”

“Of course. I had to show you off.” He winks at him. Then, with a soft intake of breath, Zevran looks away with his brow furrowed, the lines of his tattoo tense.

“… They told her I’d been adopted. All these years, and she had no idea. I’m almost sorry she had to find out otherwise.”

They’ve traveled for hours, leaving the city behind. Bright points of light shine overhead. The night sky of Antiva smells of jasmine and the distant sea.

“That’s awful,” Hamal says, looking at him.

“What a farce,” Zevran says bitterly. “Just like everything the Crows do. Operating in the open, but hidden from view. Buying children and lives while people look the other way.” Earnestly, his brown eyes black in the dark, he shakes his head. “It must end. It must.”

Hamal touches the lines of his tattoo, calloused fingers grounding him.

“Ma nuvenin, Zevran Arainai. It will.”

A short piece to introduce my OC, Adelmar Provencio. If you ever read my WIP For Suffering is Such a Part, you’ve met her through flashbacks already. While I love the idea of Zevran taking down the Crows alone, please consider, Zevran taking down the Crows with the support of a community, strengthened by the bonds he’s made in his life...

Adelmar plays a further role in the story, so hopefully I can write more for her!

#dragon age #zevran arainai #mahariel #zevran x warden #rinnywrites #oc: hamal mahariel #oc: adelmar provencio

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script-nef · 3 years

Text

Tokyo to France

Category: fluff

1.6k words; Office date [1/6]

Gojou Satoru is many things. The Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer, an official title which is proven often to be true; humanity's ray of light in the fight against cursed spirits—see the "strongest sorcerer" bit; a teacher at the Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu Specialty High School even though most, if not all, of the Sorcerers Exclusive don't really approve of him; and a total bother.

He has an aloof and laid-back aura, indicating he doesn’t really care about much other than his missions and his occupation as a teacher. He’s whimsical and spontaneous, sometimes selfish in the extreme, putting his desires—like his all-too-often snack breaks—first ahead of anything, except for critical situations. And even then he might still not come. Add his total disregard for higher-ups who pretend to see the “bigger picture”, and there’s a lot of reasons why everyone he’s ever met—well, most of everyone since the newest kid Itadori is yet to experience the full "Gojou's shitty antics" ride just yet but it'll come soon, you can tell—are often annoyed by him.

And the one person who experiences this more than anyone is you, who's currently suffering under his relentless chatter after another successful mission. He always does this, like you’re the only person in the world he can talk to (read: bother).

You don't have anything specific against the man, he’s usually a good friend and a welcomed fellow sweets enthusiast, it's just that you're currently behind on your assigned paperwork and he's a great distraction. His tales are often laced with humour and he has a natural knack for storytelling. The fact that Gojou has a nice, soothing voice which beckons for your attention is also a factor. If you didn't have work you'd be fully invested in his recount but as previously discussed, he has shitty antics and one of those is not particularly caring about whether the other person is busy or not.

He keeps talking and words like “egg tart”, “Shibuya” and “internationally famous” slip through your defence, forcing your brain to block out the lengthy paragraphs on the report and enticing you to listen to him. After a while, you decide that this is getting nowhere. You can’t remember the last couple of paragraphs and Gojou is usually relentless, but you can hear his voice weakening just a bit as you pretend to ignore him.

Resigning yourself from the work and leaning back onto the chair, you make pseudo-eye contact with him. He seems to brighten up just a bit when you do so, the strength of his voice returning. That makes a ghost of a smile appear on your lips. You'll just have to pull an all-nighter after your dinner with Ken-chan.

Gojou always has great stories about his trips everywhere, both in Japan and overseas. Having a teleportation skill is incredibly useful, you realise with envy. If only I had his inherited techniques is a thought which pervades your mind often.

"And I was so close to getting the egg tart but the person in front of me bought the last one! I waited for an hour! For nothing!" The story is topped off with a small pout as he slouches on the chair, chin sitting on the backrest. You laugh, amused at the sudden change of mood. Only he could go from happy and light-hearted to gloomy and dejected in a breath, jokingly or not.

An easy conversation flows between the two of you as you finally disregard your work, chin resting on your palm and eyes crinkling with laughter.

It’s nice like this. He’s been coming around the office more lately, sometimes armed with sweets and sometimes with an agenda to whisk your time away for his use because he’s bored. It’s mostly fine because a person to talk to is welcomed after a couple of hours by yourself, staring at lit screens until you can feel your eyes die off. You once got a scare because everything had a weird white outline when you finally diverted your eyes from the screen. In a sense, he was keeping your sight safe. He smiled when you said that, replying “Glad I can be of service!” before rattling off another description of a strawberry cheesecake he found in Belgium.

“It must be so nice, being able to teleport places. It takes me so much time just to travel within Japan, honestly such a bother. And I can’t really go overseas either with so many tasks to do with all the cursed spirits running around.” Sighing, you slouch on the desk and bury your face in your arms, missing how Gojou’s lips immediately quirk up.

“I can take you there, you know.” Your head shoots up at that, staring at him with wide eyes. “I can take you anywhere. How about France? We’ll be there in the blink of an eye. We can spend a couple of hours there, eat as many pastries as we want to and just snap right back here. What do you say?” His foot taps on the ground repeatedly, like he’s nervous or agitated. Is he in a hurry or something?

Well, it doesn’t take you long to come to a decision. The offer sounds nice. Really, really nice.

It’s been a while since you had a break. Not like you can take a long one since cursed spirits are unpredictable in their appearances and need constant attention so that civilian casualties don’t occur. Which means the workflow never stops coming. A trip to pastry country sounds amazing.

“Sure, that sounds good. We need to set up a ti—”

“Gojou-sensei!”

The door slams open, the sound echoing through the hallway and the office. Gojou’s new student, Itadori Yuuji, leans on the door while gasping for breaths.

“Hey, Yuuji! What’s the rush?”

“We’re supposed to be training! I was waiting in the room for the past 10 minutes!” A quick glance at the clock indicates 6:40 and you finally notice the sun setting over the mountains. The fading light paints the room in a golden warmth, which makes you wonder why you didn’t notice how fast time was flying. Probably because you were too invested in your conversation with your friend.

Who is now picking himself up from the chair and putting up theatrics by brushing off non-existent dust from his pants. Small giggles escape at his antics. A glance at Itadori tells you he’s close to dying from either dehydration or exhaustion. He must have run all over the campus trying to find Gojou. You wonder why he doesn’t just use his phone. You do live in the fifth technological age and sort of expect a teenager like him to be able to use one.

“Itadori-kun, do you want some water?” Rising out of your seat, you reach for a cup but Gojou’s hand stops it by covering yours. He twists your hand in his and interlaces his fingers with yours.

“No, it’s fine. We’re going to go now. Think about the time and date, okay? Keep in mind the time difference.” He gives the connected hand a slight jiggle as a farewell, skipping out of the room with a bright “Goodnight!” He’s initiating a lot more physical contact recently. Wonder what that’s about.

Itadori watches the scene unfold from the doorway, jaw slack. His eyes follow Gojou but as soon as he’s out of the room, they snap to you. He stares at you so intensely that it looks like his eyes are going to pop out of its sockets pretty soon. You have no idea why he’s staring at you like this and why he’s not following his teacher. It’s like he’s frozen solid in his spot.

Some—read all—of his students sometimes complain about his walking speed, how he purposefully uses his leg length as an advantage and briskly walks on ahead, leaving them in the dust. Some—again, read: all—of your co-workers said the same thing as well. You asked him about it one day and he replied with a great big smile, “I just do it for fun!” He doesn’t do it to you, though. It’s weird because he does it at least once to everyone else you ever met, even your own brother, despite him being only a few centimetres shorter than Gojou. It apparently played a part in his reluctance to partner up with him. Or just generally hang out with him. You wish he’d give Gojou a chance, he’s not that bad once you get to know him.

Hm, maybe I just don’t have an interesting enough reaction for him. Am I not interesting? Is it a really weird and backhanded way of telling me I’m boring? The train of thoughts takes off, expanding and multiplying until you realise Itadori is still imitating a befuddled statue.

You stare at him. He stares back. He doesn’t break eye contact. This is a really weird thing to think right now but he would absolutely crush everyone at a staring contest.

“Itadori-kun? Don’t you need to go?” That seems to startle him out of his stupor.

“Ah, ye—yes! Sorry for interrupting!” Before you can assure him that there was nothing to interrupt, the poor boy stumbles out of the room and also manages to bonk his head on the door and wall no less than twice. Yelps of “I’m okay!” and “Don’t worry!” followed by his running stops you from checking up on him.

“Man, Gojou must really have his hands full taking care of such a clumsy boy. Thank God Fushiguro is a bit more calmer. Now, where and when should we go… Probably should find out the time difference like he said… Oh! Maybe I can invite Shouko and Ken-chan to come along! They need to get out and have a holiday as well. I’m sure Gojou won’t mind if I invite them.”

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#gojou x reader #gojou imagine #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru imagine #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojou #gojou satoru #fluff #series #female reader

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delacyrose224 · 3 years

Text

Gold Rush

-Pairing: drummer!Jungkook x reader, with a side of guitarist!Jin x OC

-Premise: You were never one for rushing into relationships, but what happens when you meet a certain blue-haired drummer?

-Genre: rock band!AU, some fluff but also some angst

-Word Count: 8.1k

-Author's Note: This is based on the song 'gold rush' by the one and only Taylor Swift! It will still make sense if you don't know the song, but you'll find some fun Easter egg references if you do know it. Also, fun fact: this is the first fic I've written since high school...do with that what you will.

“Come...on!” Margot grunts as she tugs on your arm. You literally have no idea why you’ve agreed to this night out-it’s Tuesday, you have work in the morning, you’re already tired and the night hasn’t even started.

“I’m coming,” you mutter begrudgingly, as you step carefully in your heeled boots down very narrow steps into what looks like a very seedy bar. The Dynasty. You walk in the door, and instantly try to retreat-it’s tiny, the floor is sticky with who knows what, and it’s packed. More like The Die Nasty...this could not be further from your comfort zone.

Margot, meanwhile, could not look more excited. She’s been talking about this concert for weeks now. You can’t even remember the name of the band, that’s how not your scene this is. Margot steers you towards the bar. “What do you want? My treat, since I made you come out on a work night just to be my wing woman.”

You scrunch up your nose in disbelief. Her wing woman? Has she seen you? You’re the most awkward person alive around men, especially cute men. Plus, it doesn’t help that you barely had time to throw on an Eagles t-shirt with a pair of jeans, and your hair has frizzed out from the light drizzle of rain that started on the walk over. “A Malibu with coke works,” you say, adding, “And make it a double!” at her retreating back.

You turn and scour the packed room for an empty booth, table, anything. Your eyes finally land on a tiny two person booth in an awkward corner of the room. Margot may not be able to see the band perfectly from here, but at least you’ll have seats. “A drink for my best friend in the whole entire world!!” Margot smiles brightly as she brings your beverages over to the table. “Do you think Jin will notice me? I tried to look cute, but not try too hard, y’know?” She smoothes down the front of her blouse nervously. You immediately have a witty retort ready to go, but you don’t have the heart to say it when you look up and see how fidgety she is. “Mar-if he doesn’t notice you, he’s an idiot,” you smile kindly.

The show isn’t due to start for another 30-45 minutes, so you spend that time chatting with Margot about work, life, and everything in between. She’s convinced that if she can just get Jin to notice her, that she’ll be able to introduce you to one of his bandmates, and then you can go on double dates (or something like that). “Mar, do you really think tortured artists go on double dates? I really can’t see it,” you snort into your drink. Let alone a guy in a band being interested in you, you’re about as boring and straitlaced as they come. You lose track of time as you continue the conversation, and the alcohol is certainly making you less annoyed that you’re here.

“They’re starting, they’re starting!” Margot squeals, gripping your arm. “Really?” You try to twist around in your seat to see, but before you get very far, you’re being dragged out into the space right in front of the stage. You’re not quite front row, but you’re awfully close-too close for your own liking, if you’re being honest.

“Margot…” you hiss, trying to get her attention, but all hope is lost. Her eyes are glued to the small stage, waiting for the man she’s deemed to be the love of her life to walk out and pick up his guitar. You give up after a while, huffing and crossing your arms to show your displeasure. A few girls around you give you a sidelong glance, seemingly judging you for being upset at a concert. How dare you? After staring at you for what they deem to be an appropriate amount of time, they go back to their own conversations, which you’re able to overhear due to your close proximity.

“Were you at the last show? They’ve improved SO much since they started, I love them!!” one yells a little too loudly, while her friend nods enthusiastically.

“Have you heard that Jungkook dyed his hair blue?! He was hot before, but now…” the girl can’t even seem to finish her sentence, she’s so overcome by the ‘hotness’ of this Jungkook guy, whoever he is.

As soon as his name is mentioned, you suddenly seem to overhear it multiple times in the conversations surrounding you while the band’s crew finishes setting up for them. You lean over to ask Margot what the heck the deal is with Jungkook, but just as you open your mouth to begin talking, a loud strumming blasts from the speakers on the edge of the stage, and you mouth ‘nevermind’ and step back to where you were.

A tall, broad shouldered man steps out of the shadows at the back of the stage to deafening screams, his guitar already strapped across his chest. He lifts up a hand in greeting, and steps up to one of the mics set up. “Thank you all for coming out! We hope you have a great time tonight!” He blows a kiss to the crowd (to more deafening screams). Margot looks like she might faint-this must be Jin.

Next to walk out is a sullen looking guy, shorter and smaller than the first. He walks to the side of the stage opposite of you, and picks up a bass. Forget Jin, forget Jungkook (whichever one he turns out to be), you like this guy. Sure, he’s cute or whatever, but he literally looks like he wants to be anywhere but where he’s currently at. “Same, dude, same,” you mutter to yourself under your breath. One of the girls from earlier must have overheard you again, because she turns and gives you a weird look. The multiple Malibu and cokes you had earlier give you the courage to tell her to mind her own business and leave you alone, but just as you begin to lean forward, the loudest screams yet erupt from the crowd. You immediately clench your hands over your ears (which you realize looks ridiculous at a concert) and turn to look at what’s caused the reaction.

Over the heads of the people in front of you, you see a mop of almost neon blue hair making its way to the drum set, but the rest of him is obscured as he swiftly walks across the stage. This must be that Jungkook guy those girls were talking about earlier. His hair looks like a blueberry as far as you’re concerned, and you still don’t understand what the fuss is about.

He settles behind his kit, and as the people in front of you move slightly, you catch a glimpse of Jungkook. His blueberry hair falls around his face in waves, and his nose is scrunched up because of the giant grin on his face, clearly ecstatic to start the show. Okay, he was cute. Cuter than bass guy and Jin (though you’d never utter that sentence out loud to Margot for fear of losing your life). Still, he’s just another guy in a band, right?

Jin starts the opening chords to the first song to deafening cheers, bass guy starting to play shortly after, and Jungkook having the time of his life on the drums. After a long intro, you hear a smooth voice with a tinge of rasp come through the mic. It instantly feels like your bones have turned to jelly, and you want to melt into a puddle (in the best way). However, you are confused. You’re staring at Jin, who is immersed in his playing, sweat already starting to drip from his brow from being under bright lights. His mouth isn’t moving. Why? He’s the lead singer. Are you imagining the lyrics you’re hearing right now?

You lean over to Margot, who’s conveniently also looking at Jin, albeit for a completely different reason. “Why isn’t the lead singer doing anything?” you shout over the music. “Huh?” she screams back, unable to clearly make out what you’re saying. “I said, why isn’t Jin singing?!” you yell.

Margot looks over to you, mirroring the confusion on your own face. “Look!” she points towards the back of the stage. There you see Jungkook, not only playing the drums, but also singing lead vocals in one of most attractive voices you’ve ever heard. Not only that, but he’s somehow managed to keep that scrunched nose smile from earlier on his face while doing it. So THAT’S what all the fuss about Jungkook was over. Just as your brain makes the connection between it being his singing coming through the speakers, he makes eye contact with you and his smile seems to grow even bigger, his eyes sparkling with delight.

Oh, you’re in big trouble.

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The rest of the concert seems to go by in a blur. You have no idea how many songs the group does, you are so caught up in watching Jungkook perform...he clearly has talent, but you can tell he’s in love with what he’s doing. Even when sweat makes his hair start to stick to his forehead, he merely gives his head a shake (sort of like a dog), and keeps going with that wide smile on his face. It certainly doesn’t help that it feels like at least every other song, he’s making eye contact with you somehow-even though you’re not front row, even though his drum kit is at the back of the stage. Surely you’re making that up. He’s just a good performer, right? He makes all the girls feel like this, like he’s performing just for them.

As Jin strums out the final notes of the last song, you shake your head to clear your thoughts. This is dumb, you had too much to drink, and you were distracted by a cute guy who has a pretty voice. That’s all.

As the song dies out, you turn to your best friend. “Margot, you ready to go? I’m tired.” What you’ve failed to notice is that your best friend has disappeared while you’ve been wrapped up in your own thoughts. Did she go to the bathroom? Had she gotten more drunk while you were busy swooning (no, NOT swooning) over a certain blue-haired drummer? Just as you’re about to start panicking, you see her as the group of fans in front of you starts to disperse...and she’s talking TO JIN.

He’s sitting on the edge of the stage, long legs dangling off the front, head tilted back laughing at something Margot has said. His laugh doesn’t quite seem to fit him-it’s loud and squeaky, kind of like a windshield wiper dragging itself across the front of a car. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his guitar pick, and goes to hand it to your friend. Simultaneously, he leans in and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Other girls that are around you, hanging back in hopes of meeting the boys, are clearly fuming at the action and some even stomp off.

On one hand, you are excited for Margot-she’s gotten the attention of the man she’s been talking about nonstop for days. On the other hand, you also want to leave-love is gross and you have no time for it. Since you can’t abandon your friend in a seedy bar with a man she hardly knows, you settle for the next best thing-your fifth (you think?) drink of the night.

“A Malibu and coke please,” you ask the bartender while sliding cash across the counter. You know you’ll regret the alcohol running through your system in the morning, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care enough to stop. You pick up the drink, filled to the brim, and turn quickly to go hide in your booth from the beginning of the night. Surely Margot will come find you when she’s done talking, right? Just as you turn, someone walking the opposite way bumps elbows with you with enough force to cause half your drink to slosh down the front of your shirt and onto the floor.

“Oh wow, I am so sorry! I should have been paying more attention-let me get some napkins for you!” says some unknown male voice. You’re too busy mourning over your half spilled drink that you’d just paid too much for to reply. Suddenly, there’s napkins thrust into your hand, and you look up.

It’s Jungkook.

He’s even more attractive up close, if that’s even possible. He’s sweaty, but somehow makes it look good-his longer hair is swept back into a little blue half bun, his eyeliner is smudged, and he’s down to his white undershirt with ripped jeans. The dim lights of the bar are reflecting off both his earrings and what looks like the stars in his eyes.

“Um...are you okay? I can go get you a new shirt to change into-wait here!” Before you have the chance to form any words, he jogs off towards the stage where he has a conversation with the bassist. The bassist doesn’t look happy about what Jungkook says, but Jungkook still goes to the back of the stage, and comes back with a black piece of fabric in his hands.

“Yoongi’s pissed because these aren’t even ready to be sold, but whatever. Just think of it as an exclusive sneak peek or something,” Jungkook says as he hands the shirt to you. You accidentally brush your hand across his as you take what he’s handing you, and you feel like you might burst into flames with the way your insides feel like they’ve become molten lava.

You unfold the shirt to see that it’s got song lyrics written across it in dripping graffiti font, along with their signatures. The realization suddenly hits you that you still have not said a single word to the man standing in front of you.

“Y-Yoongi?” you stammer out. You hate how much you sound like a high schooler asking their crush to prom. “Oh yeah, that’s our bassist. The one who looks like he’d literally rather be anywhere else than playing with Jin and me,” Jungkook chuckles. “He’s really a softy underneath it all, but don’t tell him I said that.”

You laugh, though you feel like it sounds a little too forced and a little too loud. Your assumption seems to be right, as you see Jungkook raise one eyebrow.

“Are you sure you’re okay? I really am sorry I made you spill your drink.” He genuinely looks worried. About you. What universe are you even living in right now?

“I’m fine, really. Thanks for the t-shirt, you didn’t have to do that,” you mumble softly.

“It’s the least I could do for a pretty girl whose Eagles tee I ruined, don’t worry about it. Yoongi will get over it.”

Jungkook smiles that same smile he seemed to throw your way throughout the concert, nose scrunching up, eyes sparkling. It feels like you’ve been thrown overboard into the ocean in the middle of a storm. You can’t get your bearings, the waves keep throwing you under, and you’re disoriented. The only light is coming from the stars in his eyes. Surely this man who could date anyone he wanted to did not just call you pretty, as casually as he might have mentioned the weather outside?

You’re shaken out of your reverie as Margot and Jin approach the two of you. “JK, my man, sorry I took so long-I was too busy being enchanted by this lovely lady,” Jin smiles, and you can see that Margot is beaming with happiness. You’re glad someone’s night has gone well.

“No problem, I was just talking to...” Jungkook suddenly looks lost, realizing he doesn’t know your name.

“Y/N.” you blurt out. Margot looks at you strangely, but is distracted once Jungkook begins talking again.

“Yeah, I bumped into her and made her spill her drink, so I gave her one of our shirts and we were just chatting.” He smiles gently at you and your heart does a somersault.

“Nice to meet you. You must be cool if you’re friends with this one,” Jin nudges Margot with his shoulder. How long have the two of them been able to talk for, for him to know you’re friends? You’ll definitely need a debrief on the walk home.

You speak to Jin with much more ease and control than you can manage with Jungkook. “I like to think I’m cool,” you grin. At this, Jungkook smirks.

“She’s the best!” Margot chirps, clearly still a little drunk. Jin chuckles and puts an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, pretty girl, JK and I need to go help Yoongi with getting everything put up in our van. It was lovely to meet you,” he drops his arm from around her shoulders, only to pick up her hand in his and kisses her knuckles promptly. Margot giggles. “I’d love to take you out sometime.” She nods enthusiastically.

“It was nice to meet you too,” Jungkook leans in to half-whisper in your ear. When did he get that close?! You nod with a small smile in his direction-that’s all you can seem to manage when that drowning in the ocean feeling suddenly returns.

He and Jin turn to leave, and you go to your booth, making sure you didn’t leave anything behind before the whole drink-spilling fiasco happened. Seeing that you have everything, you turn to find Margot, only to see Jungkook whispering in her ear across the room and laughing.

Your heart drops. You were right all along-he does treat all the girls like this, like they’re special to him.

Margot comes up to you shortly after. “You ready to go?” you ask quietly.

“Yep!” she smiles, and drags you out of The Dynasty by the hand. The entire walk home, all she can talk about is Jin-how cute he is, how funny he is, how talented he is, and oh, did she mention how cute he is? You nod and smile in all the right places in her story. You are happy for Margot, but you can’t help comparing what she’s telling you with your interactions with Jungkook. You had acted like an idiot, and there was no way he was interested in you on any level. Plus, he clearly thought that your best friend was worth flirting with after Jin helped him escape your awkward conversation.

You shake your head to clear it as you reach your apartment building. Margot bids you farewell at the second floor, while you continue your trudge up the stairs to the fourth floor. You key into your apartment, throwing your keys into a bowl and heading for your bedroom.

Makeup off, pjs on, you’ve just finished washing your face when you look at yourself in the mirror. “Boys are dumb, and love is stupid,” you say to yourself, not sure if you actually believe what you’re saying. As you dry your face, you hear the sound of your phone receiving a text. Margot, no doubt, still waxing poetic about how she can’t believe that Jin wants to take her out on a date.

You slide into bed and turn off your lamp, grabbing your phone to set an alarm for the morning and to tell Margot that you’ll talk some more tomorrow during lunch.

Unknown Number

2:37 AM: Hey, it’s Jungkook!...I hope you don’t mind, I got your number from Margot. thanks for coming out to the show tonight, I hope you had a good time!! if you didn’t, you don’t have to wear the shirt I gave you, that would be weird for you to wear it if you hated our music…

2:41 AM: anyway, I just wanted to apologize again for making you spill your drink. Usually I’m not that clumsy, I guess I was distracted. You should come hang out with the band before our next show on Friday! only if you want. let me know...or don’t. Whatever you want.

2:45 AM: Can you tell I’m nervous? haha

2:46 AM: usually i’m not like this, but you’re really pretty and you seem cool. ANYWAY. I hope you hang out with us-bring Margot too, Jin would like that. I hope you got home safe and i hope i see you soon :)

You stare in disbelief at your phone. Jungkook just texted you. Jungkook just texted you FOUR TIMES IN A ROW. Good thing you are much less awkward via text, mostly because you have time to think out what to say. You can’t help the giant grin that forms on your face as you type out a reply.

2:50 AM: I made it home, thanks for checking in...I can’t turn down a good band shirt, so I’ll definitely be wearing it. Maybe I’ll wear it if we hang out, you’ll have to wait and see!

You place your phone on the nightstand and turn over to get comfortable. Maybe Margot wasn’t the only one who had a good night after all.

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Three days later, you’re staring at your phone sitting on your desk. “Can you not?” Margot huffs from beside you, rolling over in her desk chair. “Just freaking text JK and tell him we’re coming to hang out with the band,” she rolls her eyes and lets out a huge sigh.

“Margot, can you not? Stop being so loud, we’re at work,” you hiss. Margot looks slightly taken aback at your comment, and then swiftly rolls back to her own desk.

You’ll deal with her hurt feelings later. For now, you go back to staring at Jungkook’s text that is boring a hole in your brain...he sent it about six hours ago, and you still haven’t replied.

Jungkook

8:53 AM: Morning! I know it’s kinda early, but i figured you might be at work already. You and Margot coming by later? Jin will cook for us! i think i can manage some cookies too, just don’t judge if they don’t taste as good as jin’s cooking...i swear he was a chef in a past life. You like chocolate chip?

You’d had brief text conversations each day since you met, nothing too crazy. Even so, you still can’t help but feel like your brain is freezing over, ceasing all functioning momentarily every time a text comes in from him. Margot is right, you just need to text him back already.

3:30 PM: Make it snickerdoodle and I’m there.

Jungkook immediately sends back a reply, overeagerly filled with emojis, their apartment address, and instructions to come over at 6. For a drummer in a rock band, he is surprisingly silly, kind, and warm. You’re not sure what you expected from him, but it wasn’t this.

The rest of the work day goes quickly, your mind preoccupied with what’s in store for you at the boys’ apartment. As soon as you and Margot step outside your office, her eyes are glued to her phone. “Hey, Margot...I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier. I just don’t know what this...thing...is with Jungkook, and I’m stressed. Not an excuse, but you didn’t deserve me being rude,” you say in a small voice.

“Girl, I forgave you like ten minutes after you said it, it’s whatever. Look at this!” She shoves her phone under your nose, and you examine what she’s trying to get you to look at. Pictures of food? You’re confused.

“What is it?” you ask. “Our dinner, silly! Jinnie’s making us pasta carbonara with homemade breadsticks!” Your mouth involuntarily starts watering at even the mention of food. Homemade bread? Jungkook must not have been kidding about Jin’s cooking.

“Look look look, your boyfriend is making us snickerdoodle cookies too-how sweet!” Margot gives you a sly smile, and you can immediately feel heat radiating off your cheeks.

“He’s not my boyfriend! He’s just-whatever! He’s not even interested in me like that, he hasn’t asked me out or anything. Not like someone I know,” you attempt to distract her by bringing up her date with Jin (it had literally happened the day after meeting him, and he’d set up a second one for the weekend-you couldn’t help but be impressed). Even though you’re flustered, you still can’t stop the warmth spreading through you. Yes, embarrassment. But also Jungkook was making snickerdoodle cookies like you asked.

“Boyfriend or not, we’re here!” Margot singsongs as you walk through the front doors of an apartment building, and step into an elevator, pressing the button for floor seven.

There’s a loud pinging sound as you step out, and Margot knocks on the door directly across from the elevator. You hear clanging sounds, alongside shuffling and male voices indistinctly talking. The door swings open to reveal Jin in a pink apron.

“Hey pretty girl,” his eyes light up when he sees Margot standing in the doorway, and he immediately bends down to kiss the top of her head. Margot is positively beaming, and looks up at him like he’s her entire world.

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Oh hey, y/n,” Jin smiles warmly at you. “Jungkook’s excited to see you, he hasn’t stopped talking about you coming over since he started making those cookies.” Jin winks as your eyes grow wide.

“HYUNG!!” you hear Jungkook bellow from you assume the kitchen. As you all walk into the apartment, you can see him glaring at Jin.

“What? I’m just telling the truth, nothing wrong with that-right, Margot?”

“Right,” your best friend grins.

“Not you too, M. Why do I put up with this torture?” Jungkook pouts in your direction, blue strands of hair falling messily in his face. You can see he’s also wearing an apron, black-but with lots of flour stains.

You walk closer to the kitchen and lean on the counter that separates it from the living room. You may be nervous as ever, but maybe if you fake confidence, things will feel better.

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because he’s one of your best friends and bandmates? Because maybe it is the truth?” you grin cheekily.

Jungkook’s doe eyes go even wider than you thought possible, and it looks like he may drop the mixing bowl he has in his hands.

“Weren’t you excited I was coming over, Kook? I can leave if you want…” you step into the kitchen with him, reaching forward and gently pushing a loose strand of hair out of his face. You swear he leans into your touch, and it feels like electricity is coursing through your veins.

“I-I mean, of course I was! I invited you over, didn’t I? Of course I want you here.” Jungkook has a fierce blush creeping up his neck towards his face, and he looks like he wants to sink through the floor.

A deep chuckle resounds from the corner of the living room, and you turn around to see Yoongi smirking at the two of you from an armchair. “Can we eat now, please? As much as I love seeing the two of you absolutely not know how to function like normal human beings...I’m hungry.”

Jin uses this opportunity to sweep into the kitchen, grabbing his pasta off the stovetop and bringing it to the center of the dining room table. Margot brings the breadsticks over and places them down as well. You each take a seat, Yoongi sitting at one end of the table, Jin and Margot on one side, you and Jungkook on the other. Dinner unfolds in a relatively normal fashion, mostly silent because everyone is so hungry. Jungkook may have actually been underselling Jin’s cooking ability, because you’re not sure when the last time you had pasta this good was.

Just as you’re finishing up, the timer on the oven beeps, signaling that Jungkook’s cookies are done. He hops up out of his seat to grab the pan out of the oven. A few seconds later, you hear a loud expletive and a metallic clang. “Kook?” you call, already walking towards the kitchen. As you round the corner, you see him holding his hand under the faucet, water streaming over what looks like a nasty burn.

“Kook!” you exclaim, swiftly moving towards him, peeking around him to see the injury. “What happened?”

Jungkook turns around, seemingly just noticing your presence. He gives you a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing. The pan started slipping out of my hand, so I went to grab it with my other hand to steady it. I just happened to forget I was only wearing one oven mitt.” He forlornly looks behind the two of you. You follow his gaze to see that most of the cookies have fallen on the floor, save for three. “I just wanted the cookies to be perfect.” His lower lip juts out as he begins to pout, staring at the cookies littering the floor.

“Jungkook, look at me.” His eyes raise from the floor to your own. “The fact that you even made any cookies at all is very sweet-pun intended. It’s the effort that counts. That, and making sure you don’t have permanent burn damage.” You reach out for his wrist and delicately turn his hand to look at it. It’s angry looking, but you can tell it will heal pretty easily (you may have suffered several cookie-related burns yourself in your day). “Just make sure you put ointment on this a couple times a day for about a week, and you should be fine.” You shoot him a soft smile, which he returns.

“What are you, a doctor?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you reply, grinning widely.

“Yah, why do you have to be so difficult? Here I am, trying to be nice, trying to get to know you more, and this is what I get in return,” he gripes, but there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Hmm...I dunno, Kook. I think you like it when I’m contrarian,” you giggle, turning to leave the kitchen. Before you can move through the door frame, Jungkook moves in front of you. You look up at him confused. He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear as he whispers.

“...maybe I do. But next time I see you, you should actually wear the shirt I gave you.”

He winks, leaves the kitchen, and leaves you to wonder what the heck just happened.

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

Your sporadic texts with Jungkook have turned into one long, continuous conversation over the past few weeks. It feels like you talk about everything, but also nothing. He remains somewhat a mystery, though you know this is because you’re still keeping him at arm’s length.

Jungkook is too good for you, you’ve decided. He’s cute, funny, charming, and talented. Everyone is in love with him for good reason. Every time he makes eye contact with you, his smile lights up his entire face. That smile has you falling faster than you’d like, and it isn’t a pleasant feeling. A cloudlike floating down to Earth? Try hurtling through the atmosphere like an asteroid determined to destroy the planet. You haven’t hit the ground yet, but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to properly recover once you do.

Kook

4:23 PM: Come with me to the beach this weekend! You need a break from work, and i need a break from the morons i live with...don’t tell them i said that. I need to work on song stuff too, but i’d like some company :)

Your chest constricts at his latest message. Is this a date? He hasn’t asked you on one before, but this feels suspiciously date-esque. But he’s working on band stuff, so maybe he really just wants company. You shoot off a quick text in the affirmative before you can think much harder about it. Jungkook immediately sends back a slew of emojis, as well as telling you he’ll pick you up at 8AM on Saturday to drive the two of you down to the coast.

The next two days go by in a blur. Before you know it, you’re standing in front of your closet Saturday morning, wondering what to wear on your not-date. It’s not quite summer yet, so you know the two of you aren’t wearing bathing suits (not to mention that would have been a whole other crisis to work through-being half naked in front of a very attractive man on a maybe-date? Absolutely not). You quickly put on a pair of jean shorts, and smile as you grab their band tee and slide it over your head. You still hadn’t worn it in front of Jungkook. You finish off with french tucking the shirt, sliding on sandals and wearing a simple gold necklace with your first initial on it-you didn’t want to be too fancy.

You make yourself a cup of tea to pass time waiting for Jungkook to arrive. Halfway through drinking it, there’s a knock on the door. You hastily place your mug on the coffee table, grab your bag, and open the door to find Jungkook leaning against the doorframe.

He lights up upon seeing you, his doe eyes widening when he notices your outfit. “You’re finally wearing it! I thought I was gonna have to bribe you or something,” he smiles.

“Let’s go, dork,” you reply, shutting your door behind you and making sure it’s locked.

Jungkook leads you outside to his car, opening the door for you. “After you, m’lady.” You roll your eyes, but not without laughing at his antics. He slides into the driver’s side and starts the car. “Off we go!”

The car ride is comfortably silent-probably because it’s still early in the morning, neither of you are completely coherent yet. The hum of the road beneath the car combined with the radio playing in the background puts you at ease. You can swear you keep seeing Jungkook look at you from your peripheral vision, but maybe you’re imagining things. You settle for looking out the window at the passing scenery, which honestly is beautiful-you should get out of the city more.

After about 10 minutes, you glance over to the driver’s side, only to make complete eye contact with Jungkook. “Kook, why do you keep looking at me?” His eyes widen, and now you know you weren’t imagining things earlier.

“Oh, uh...I-I’m just glad you decided to come. Yeah. And um, you look really good in my shirt.” You can see his ears reddening as he says this, and all of a sudden, you’re looking at anywhere but him.

There’s an awkward pause for a few moments, and then suddenly that molten lava feeling from a few weeks ago at the concert is back. You whip your head back towards Jungkook so fast, you think you might injure your neck. He has reached his hand across the console to where yours sits on your thigh, and as you watch, he intertwines your fingers with his. It feels like an out-of-body experience, where you’re watching yourself from above. Is this really happening? You glance up at Jungkook’s face with wild eyes, and he meets you with a steady smile. Not only is the molten lava feeling back, but it’s brought along the storm in the ocean feeling as well. Only this time, Jungkook is there to be the lighthouse that leads you back home.

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

The rest of the drive is peaceful. Jungkook continues to hold your hand the rest of the way to the beach, shooting you smiles every time you look over at him. You’re so mesmerized, you don’t even realize that you’ve parked until he lets go.

He immediately rushes over to open your door after getting out of the car, and then proceeds to pop the trunk open and grabs a cooler and a picnic basket.

“Kook, what is all this?” your eyes widen in surprise.

“Please, like I was going to take you to the beach and not pack a picnic. We have to eat, don’t we? I got those weird sparkling waters you like too.”

Your response is to grab the picnic basket out of his hand and immediately intertwine your fingers again with his free hand. Jungkook looks like his face might split in half with how big his smile is.

“You like it?” he asks with a hint of uncertainty.

“I love it.”

The two of you walk hand in hand down the beach quite a ways before you find what Jungkook deems the ‘perfect spot’. “And what exactly makes it perfect?” you peer up at him.

“Easy-one, we’re snagging the last free shaded spot,” he points at the umbrella stuck in the sand, “and two-it’s far enough away from other people that I can work on songs without a ton of noise distracting me.”

“Are you sure I won’t distract you?” you frown slightly, worried that he won’t get any work done.

“You’re never a distraction, you’re an inspiration.” He winks conspiratorially at you, and chuckles at the flustered look on your face. He sets the cooler down under the umbrella and looks over at you. “There’s a blanket in the picnic basket, can you get it out? As much as I love the beach, I don’t really want to find sand in my shorts for the next month.”

You set the basket down next to the cooler, open the lid, and pull out a bright blue blanket. Jungkook takes one side, you take the other, and you unfold it and place it lightly on the sand. He immediately plops down on one side of the blanket and reaches his hand up toward you, motioning for you to take hold. As soon as you do, he yanks a little too hard, and you careen sideways onto the blanket and into his side. “Well, that’s one way to sit down I guess,” you laugh at his appalled face.

“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to pull that hard…” his brow furrows in worry.

“I’m good, weirdo. Great, even.” You reach into the cooler, pull out a sparkling water (key lime, your favorite), and pull the book you always keep in your bag out. You lay out on the blanket, propped up on your elbows, and begin to read. Jungkook lays down beside you in a similar position, pulling a small notebook out of his back pocket and starts scribbling.

You sit in this position for a couple of hours, silently working, occasionally catching each others’ eyes and smiling when you do. Suddenly there’s a loud rumbling beside you. You laugh. “Hungry, Kook?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he laughs, sits up and reaches over to pull the picnic basket closer to the two of you.

“What’s on the menu?” you peer over as he starts to pull plastic containers out.

“Gimbap. Simple, easy, and delicious.” He hands you one of the containers as he pulls out a second for himself.

“Did you make this yourself?” you ask, mouth half-full. He nods. “Delicious,” you concede through your mouthful. He grins.

“Maybe I could actually cook for you sometime. Without burning my hand on cookies, that is.”

“I’d like that,” you shyly respond, eyes firmly locked on the plastic container of gimbap in your lap.

“It’s a date, then.” Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and you can see dimples forming alongside his smile. You can’t help but smile back.

After eating, the two of you go back to your previous positions-you reading, him working on song lyrics in his notebook. This time, though, after about 30 minutes you start to get restless. Looking over at Jungkook, you notice he keeps shoving his hair behind his ears as it falls in his face while he’s writing. You rummage through your bag for a hair tie, and scoot over closer to him. He raises an eyebrow in curiosity at you, and you just lean over and gently start pulling his hair back for him into a half bun that matches the way his hair looked the night you first met.

“Better?” you ask quietly, running your fingers absentmindedly through the hair at the nape of his neck that’s too short for the bun. He looks up at you, awestruck.

“Everything is better with you,” he whispers. You’re not sure if he knows he’s said this out loud. He suddenly sits up on the blanket, flipping through the pages of his notebook he’s been working in. He stops about halfway through. “Can you look over these lyrics? I’m not sure they’re quite right, I need a second opinion.”

You look down at the page and see lyrics scribbled in Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

“I wish you were right here, right now”

“This mad, mad love makes you come running”

“See your face, hear my voice in the dark”

Different versions of these lyrics are scattered across the page, certain words changed, scribbled out, and moved around within phrases. As your eyes scan the page, they land on one final line etched out on the bottom of the page. No scribbles, no changes-it simply reads:

“I wish you knew that I’ll never forget you as long as I live.”

“This is really good, Kook! It’s so much different than the music the band’s done before, how’d you come up with this?” You’re genuinely curious, this almost seems more like a ballad compared to the band’s usual upbeat tunes.

Jungkook looks at you warmly. “I’ve had new inspiration lately, that’s all.” You suddenly notice that he’s way closer to you than he was when you started looking over his notes...he’s sitting directly in front of you now.

You feel frozen as you see him stealing glances at your lips while his face inches closer. Is he going to kiss you? He’s going to kiss you. Oh my gosh, JUNGKOOK IS GOING TO KISS YOU.

As his lips meet your own, the molten lava turns into an erupting volcano. You feel hot and tingly all over, and Jungkook is assaulting your senses in every way possible. You can smell his cologne, feel the softness of his lips, taste his mint chapstick, hear the satisfied hum that gets caught in his throat as your lips collide. Even though your eyes are closed, the vision of Jungkook leaning in to kiss you is seared into the backs of your eyelids.

The kiss is over far sooner than you’d like. As Jungkook retreats, he doesn’t go far, instead leaning his forehead against yours, gazing at you longingly. The stars in his eyes have become a full blown galaxy, and you can’t look away. Still recovering from the kiss, Jungkook breathily laughs.

“You make me want to write all the love songs in the world.”

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

Margot is tugging insistently on your arm. “Hello? HELLO? Is there anyone in there?” she taps the side of your head. When you don’t respond, she grabs you by both shoulders and gives you a shake.

The room comes back into focus and you look over at your best friend with eyes still lightly glazed over. “Huh?”

“I said, it’s intermission...are you enjoying the show? You certainly seemed distracted by Jungkook-I saw him smile at you,” she grins. “Jin made eye contact with me a couple of times, he even winked!” she gushes, continuing to talk about how hot she thinks he is.

Your stomach feels like it’s dropped completely out of your body, and your throat has gone dry.

“Hey...you okay?” Margot notices that you still seem slightly out of it.

“Yeah, yeah...I just...need another drink, that’s all,” you manage to choke out, turning on your heel and heading straight to the bar. While the bartender works on your drink, you run through everything in your head. The texts...the dinner at the boys’ apartment...the beach. The kiss. None of it was real, was it? What was wrong with you?

You take the drink that’s slid across to you and head outside to a side alley beside the bar. No one’s there, everyone has gone to the bathroom or to refill their drinks while waiting on the band to return. You let out a deep sigh, leaning against the brick wall and running your hands through your hair, making it even frizzier than when the night started. At least it isn’t raining anymore, you think to yourself.

You return to the question Margot had asked you-are you okay? You’re not sure. You’d apparently made eye contact with Jungkook, a man you had never spoken to, and imagined a whole entire relationship with him in the span of half the band’s setlist. Are you that desperate for a man? Apparently. You let out a deep sigh, replaying the scenarios you had created in your head. Once your brain reaches the kiss again, you find yourself getting teary-eyed at how sweet Jungkook had been...in your head. You feel a tear escape, and you quickly swipe it away.

Taking a steadying breath, you push yourself off the wall and move towards the door to head back into the bar. As you reach for the handle, the door swings open and hits you in the shoulder, turning you slightly to the side and spilling your drink on your shirt and the cobblestones of the alley.

“...again?!” you mutter, looking down at your ruined shirt.

“Um...are you okay? I can go get you a new shirt to change into-wait here!” you hear a male’s voice, but as you look up, the bar door is already closing again as he’s gone inside.

A minute later, the door is swinging open again to reveal none other than Jungkook-hair in a half bun, eyeliner smudged, and in a white undershirt and ripped jeans. Just like in your imagination.

He reaches out to you with a black t-shirt in his hand. “Yoongi’s pissed because these aren’t even ready to be sold, but whatever. Just think of it as an exclusive sneak peek or something,” he parrots your imagined scenario you had played in your head moments ago.

“Thanks,” you say as you take the shirt, unfolding it to see the familiar graffiti design.

“It’s the least I could do for a pretty girl whose Eagles tee I ruined, don’t worry about it. Yoongi will get over it.” Jungkook smiles at you the same way he did during the first half of the show. One thing your brain got right are the stars in his eyes sparkling at you, which makes you smile back at him.

“Hey, I need to get back to make sure we’re ready for the second half of the show, but it was nice to meet you. You should hang back after the show-Jin thinks your friend is cute, and he was talking about inviting her to come grab food with us when we’re done. Yoongi can’t come and I don’t want to be a third wheel. Come hang out with us and save me from dying of awkwardness?” he looks at you shyly, his rock star persona melting away completely.

“I’ll think about it,” you tease, turning away and heading back into The Dynasty. Jungkook is left wide eyed in your wake, smiling as he turns to head towards the backstage door.

You meet up with Margot again after changing into your new shirt. The crowd has started to gather in anticipation of the second half of the show. “Hey Mar, let’s move all the way up,” you motion at the space in front of the stage.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?” Margot gapes at you in disbelief, but follows your lead as you weave through the crowd to get to front stage center. You shrug goodnaturedly and just smile as an answer.

A moment later, Jin, Yoongi and Jungkook come from backstage to get in place for the second half of their set. You can see Jungkook scanning the crowd, brows slightly furrowed. You give a small wave, which catches his attention, and his nose scrunches in a smile as he sends an enthusiastic wave back. ‘I like your shirt’ he mouths at you as he settles behind his drum kit, winking as he does so. You can feel the heat creeping onto your cheeks as a bar employee strides across the stage to the mic and the crowd starts cheering.

“Give it up again for Gold Rush!”

#jungkook x reader #jk x reader #jk x y/n #jungkook x y/n #jin x oc #seokjin x oc #bts fluff #bts angst #bts one shot #bts rock band au #jungkook oneshot

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atalho-s · 3 years

Text

Sweet Sugar

2 | Oh this town it's so electric

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: swear words, underage drinking (not much tho, nothing descritive and nothing like “Skins” lmao), suggestive scenes in some chapters, not smut!! but minors be aware. Fluff/angst/drama/ Y/n and Tom being stupid teenagers with feelings.

words: 2.5 k

a/n: english it’s not my first language, sorry for any mistake!

Summary: Y/n has always been Harrison’s and Tom’s best friend. Since childhood they’ve always been close, but what happens if after a break up with her first boyfriend, she starts to feel something more about Tom?

PART 2! If you want to read Part 1 click here

Don’t forget to check out the playlist by @petesrparker created for the series! here

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It was almost 7pm on Saturday and I was almost ready to go meet Tom before we went to the party. I had put on a stylish shirt along with a skirt (a little shorter than i usually wore) and a sandal with a medium heel. After finishing doing my outline, I take the bag with the gift and went down the stairs.

The day before I had found something in the mall, a chain with an amber stone as a pendant. The attendant of the store had told me it meant protection and calm, which I thought was perfect to give to Tom as a way to show that I was there to comfort him whenever he needed it.

As soon as I went downstairs my mother was already waiting for me to fill me with accessories (she always complained that I didn't "dress up" properly).

- You look beautiful! - She said putting a bracelet on my wrist and two rings on my fingers.

- Aw, thanks mom!- I said giving a kiss on her cheek. - I have to go, because I'm almost late, I don't know what time I'll be back, probably before midnight.

-Okay, If you need anything calls us and we'll go get you. - She said and I nodded waving to my father who was in the living room. - Give my birthday wishes to Thomas and a hi to Haz for me and take this pie to Nikki. - She handed me a bag with a pot as we walked down the stairs from the front door.

- Okay, bye mom! - I said and waved down the street.

After walking for less than 10 minutes I was in front of Tom's house, took a deep breath, went up the stairs to the entrance and knocked on the door. I heard some screams to open the door from the inside and a "messy hair" Harry wearing striped pajamas answered me.

- It's Y/n! - He yelled to the side. - Come in. - He said as he gave me space and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

- Are you ready to sleep? - I said pointing to his pajamas. - Actually it's time to children to be in bed, you're right. - and Harry stuck out his tongue.

- So funny. Since we're not old enough to go to the party with you guys, me, Sam and Paddy are going to play video games and watch movies, you know, boys night. - He said as if celebrating, putting a fist up.

- Got it. In fact, what I really wanted was to be with you guys watching movies, much better than a party. - I said as we arrived in the kitchen, where Nikki and Sam were preparing cookies.

- I doubt it, I can't wait to go out and have fun at night. Harry said and I shrugged.

- What can I do? I'm a old lady... - I laughed and greeted Nikki and Sam with a hug.

- I wish my children like to stay in home like you. -Nikki spoke as she took the cookie shape out of the oven.

- Well Nikki, I've already tried to get them on the right path, but they're too rebellious.- I said and Harry and Sam giggled. - My mother sent you apple pie. - I put the bag on the counter.

- Yay, your moms apple pie is delicious!- Sam said opening the bag and taking a fork to taste.

- Teenagers....I don't know what I do with these pests anymore.- Nikki said putting her hand on her hip and watching Harry and Sam fight to eat the pie.

- Did I hear pie?- Paddy came into the kitchen greeting me with our handshake, which I taught him since he was practically a baby, Paddy and I had our little bond, I was his defender when the older brothers made fun of him.

He stole Sam's fork and ran off as he and Harry ran after him screaming.

-Oh God…I don't deserve this.- Nikki laughed. - Honey, Tom is there in his room getting ready, if you want to go upstairs.

- Okay, I'll hurry him.- I said and she agreed, laughing. - By the way, you look amazing! I loved your outfit.

- Thank you Nikki! - I thanked going towards the stairs.

Once I got to the top I walked until I reached the end of the hallway where Tom's room was, knocking on the door.

- Tommy? Can I come in? - I asked and heard a "come in!" from the inside.

I opened the door and saw Tom in front of the mirror finishing his hair. He wore a basic white T-shirt and black jeans, along with a black all star with white laces. He looks beautiful, which made me miss a few heartbeats for a moment.

- Did you like it? - He asked turning to me and opening his arms looking at himself and then at me again.

- Perfect! I loved the all star- I said and he smiled.

- You not looking bad yourself either... New skirt? - He said looking me up and down making me feel my cheeks burning.

- It's old, but I've never used it, I left it for special dates.

- I felt honored now- he said and I laughed.

-Hey happy brithday! - I approached and hugged him feeling his delicious and intoxicating perfume. - Best wishes, I hope all your dreams come true. - I said still hugging him tight and closing my eyes feeling him kiss my cheek when we let go.

- Thank you mate, you and Haz are one of the best thinga in my life. - He said and I smiled seeing him smile back, and what a smile... Damn y/n! Stop thinking things that shouldn't be thought!!

-I have a present for you!-I said, delivering my bag in his hands.

- Yay!! - He got excited sitting on the bed to open it like a child on Christmas Day. -Wow!- he said taking the chain out of the box. - It's beautiful... Thank you so much darling, I love it! - and obviously I blushed even more with the pet name. Tom called all the women closest to him darling or love, which was normal, but whenever he said to me, for some reason, I felt a warm feeling in my heart...

- You're welcome Tommy, it's an amber stone to bring you protection and patience.

- Perfect, everything I need - he looked at me - I'll use it right now! It even matched my outifit- he said putting the chain around his neck and winking at me right after.

- I liked it, it looks amazing. - I said looking at him and he hugged me from the side.

- Hey, we have to go if we don't want to be late.- he said getting up and giving me his hand to get up too.

- Right. - I said, following him out of the room and down the stairs behind him.

- Mom? We're already going! - he yelled, taking the keys from the counter and Nicki appeared approaching.

- You two are rocking huh? Both look beautiful! My baby is already so grown... - she said squeezing one of Tom's cheeks making me laugh and he rolled his eyes.

- Mom...

- Okay, go ahead, and don't drink! Especially you young man - she said pointing at Tom with her intimidating finger. - And don't come back too late.

- Okay mom. I'm responsible.

- Yeah... I'm just more relieved, because the Y/n goes too, she's the only sane one of this "impossible trio." - and I made a face of "proud of myself", puffing out my chest.

-Ha-ha, yeah sure...- Tom replied and I hit his arm causing him to rub it pretending he was in pain.

- I'm the oldest and most responsible, Nikki is absolutely right. - I said and Nikki laughed.

- You said like you're very old, but it's only some months... - He start saying and I raised my hand ready to hit him again, making him shrink with fear. - Okay, okay... Now let's go, because we're already too late. - Tom said opening the door letting me through and we waved to Nikki.

We took an uber and arrived in 20 minutes in front of the party. It was a really nice house, Tom’s friend welcome us on the front door and lead us to the backward, into what appeared to be a small wood structure with a big window at the front, but when Tom and I walked in after passing the door, the place was a lot bigger than it looked. It had a lot tables around like a big saloon even with a dance floor and seemed to be very cozy. When we walked in you could hear an indie song playing in the background, which I really liked as it's one of my favorite styles. Passing through the door we already saw some familiar people seated, including Haz.

- Finally! The birthday boy arrived!- Tuwaine, one of the boys' friends, who eventually became mine too, stood up greeting Tom with a hug.

- Thanks mate.- Tom said returning the hug and greeting the rest of the people who were at the table and I went after him greeting them too.

- Good to see you here Y/n! I know you're not a big fan of parties.- Tuwaine said as I sat between him and Haz.

- Well, it’s what we do for friends, right? - I laugh looking at Tom who was talking to some friends from the school.

An hour passed and everyone was drinking and talking happily. Tom sat at the end of the long table a little away from where I was with Haz and Tuwaine, so the 3 of us were talking nonsense and joking together.

Until a group of 4 girls arrived together, one of them I could recognize as being Gracie, a girl from the school, I didn't know her very well, we were classmates, we did math together, but we never talked. And another face I knew well: Meghan. A girl who do theater with the boys and who was everyone's crush. Tom and Haz were always talking about her, but I had never talked to her for a long time, just the times I would meet the boys at the theater, we would say hello and goodbye and that was it. The only thing I knew was that Tom was in love with her since he was a child.

Obviously that made me a little jealous, which was ridiculous, because I didn't even know her very well and even though I felt something different for Tom for the past few months, it wasn't right for me to be jealous, he was my friend, that's all.

The girls approached the table and Tom got up to greet them.

-I'm glad you came!-I heard him say as he kissed Meghan's cheek and hugged the others. I could see Gracie looking in Haz's direction and look away quickly, which made me raise a curious eyebrow.

They sat down and I saw Meghan walking to the bar with Tom as they chatted excitedly. I looked away picking up my glass with a drink I didn't even know what it was anymore, taking a sip. I heard someone approaching and when I looked up I saw Gracie.

- Hi Haz! Good to see you. - She said and I saw Haz turn a little red.

- Good to see you too Gracie!- he said greeting her across the table.

- Do you guys know each other?- I asked looking from one to the other.

- Yes we did English together. - Haz said.

- You are Y/n aren't you? Do we do math together? - Gracie asked.

- Yes we do! Do you know Meghan too?

- Yes, she is a childhood friend of mine, as she said she was coming on Tom's birthday and didn't want to come alone me, Beverly and Paige came to accompany her.

- Got it, do you want to sit with us? - I said pointing to the chair in front of us.

- I wish, but the girls are already asking me to sit with them, we haven't seen each other for a while, you know, don't you want to go sit with us instead? - She said pointing to the other table where the other 3 girls were looking at her, calling her.

- It's a good idea. - Haz said and looked at me and Tuwaine who agreed, getting up.

So Gracie went in the front with Tuwaine behind her and me and Haz got a little further back, where I poked him.

- Why didn't you tell me you had a crush? - I asked like a whisper so that only he could hear me.

- It's not a crush... She's just a nice girl from my class, that's all. - he replied.

- Haz I know you.- I said and he rolled his eyes giggling.

We arrived at the table and stayed there talking and getting to know each other. The girls were really nice and cool, which I ended up getting along really well with them, especially Gracie, which was funny because we did a class together and we never even said hello to each other. In the meantime, Tom and Meghan had already returned from the bar with their drinks, where Meghan ended up finding a way to sit next to Tom at the other table, which I thought was a little weird, but I ignored it.

After a few minutes Tom approached our table.

- Hey guys, we’re going to the dance floor, do you guys want to?- he asked leaning between my chair and Haz.

Everyone ended up agreeing, getting up and following him to the dance floor, where Meghan and a few others at the other table were already dancing. The song Juicebox by The strokes starts playing, and everyone sang loudly. I was a little behind as I hated dancing, but I also joined in the singing, because Strokes was one of my favorite bands.

Soon after, the song Glockenspiel song by D.I.D started to play. We got even more excited and started jumping singing. I saw Haz approach Gracie, which made me smile, they looked cute together. So, I looked around and realized that I was in a corner alone, Tuwaine had already left for the middle of the floor super excited and the other girls were on the other side, talking to Marcos and Julian. I kept looking until I found Tom and Meghan, they were dancing very close and talking talking into each other's ears, laughing.

(Oh this town, it's so electric Since I got the feeling I can't shut down)

I lowered my eyes finding the ground very interesting for a moment, but I couldn't stand it and looked up again.

(Oh this town, it's so electric Since I got the feeling I can't shut down)

Which I regretted, because now they were kissing passionately.

(We are a mess, we are failures and we love it)

I felt my stomach starts to hurt, and my eyes fill with tears. Why did I feel this way? It was ridiculous and immature. Tom had already hooked up with other girls in front of me, why was it different now? Not understanding my feelings, the only thing I did was run away, I went outiside and went to the front of the house, leaving.

Maybe it was the drink? But I sat on a low wall and lowered my head to my knees and started to cry.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland friends to lovers #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland series

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nowplayingblog · 3 years

Text

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT:

Sweater Weather, by @lumosinlove

... and other related works.

SPOILER FREE

Short(er) Remus Rights. One of the big things I dislike about a lot of people within any fandom is how much they can sometimes gatekeep different interpretations of characters. Remus and Sirius get a lot of this - there are interpretations of their characters that the majority of the fandom has decided to agree on, and anything outside of that is somehow wrong. For me, Remus is the hardest, because my interpretation is at times the exact opposite of what the fandom seems to have agreed on. I won't go into too much detail here, but one of my points is that I imagine Remus as shorter and smaller than Sirius. A lot of people will come for your next if you don't think that Remus is like seven feet tall or something ridiculous. Overall, Hazel's Remus has always lined up a lot with my interpretation of him. It's just nice to see Remus written and described in a way that I also imagine him in my head. (I may make another post explaining myself more in depth on this one...)

Use of French, and Hockey Accuracy. When reading Sweater Weather, I would be constantly translating the French that is used by multiple characters in the story, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the use of the language seemed to be a lot more accurate and genuine than a simple google translate plug (which... No hate, I've been there.) It made me wonder if Hazel actually knows French? At least a little? Also the descriptions of Hockey both on and off the ice feel really real and accurate, especially after I finished the story and started to look more into Hockey (because I'm probably on my way to becoming a Hockey fan now) and was ecstatic to find a lot of the things being discussed in the story also being discussed in real hockey clips and videos. This is most likely due to Hazel being a Hockey fan and actually understanding the sport instead of just fudging it. (Which again, I would be guilty of.)

Healthy Polyamorous Relationship(s). I have very rarely read anything with a polyamorous relationship. Period. But when I do I have that awful monogomous-normative voice in the back of my head that tells me which two are "actually in love" and which one is "the third wheel" and I definitely don't have that awful voice regarding the real life polyamorous relationships I've seen. Hazel does a wonderful job at developing every interpersonal relationship with O'Knutzy as well as how they all work together. (And O'Darwin is new to me, but I already love it so, so much)

Varying Relationship Lengths. There are relationships of varying shapes and sizes. Some take years to say "I love you" while others are engaged less than two years after getting together. I think it's easy to forget nowadays that you don't need to be dating for years before getting married and starting a family - and it doesn't need to be in that order.

That Hurt/Comfort tho. Hurt/Comfort is may favorite genre perhaps ever. And in Hockey there is a lot of hurt, so it makes sense to be followed up by a lot of comfort. It's perfect. *chef's kiss*

Feeling Things With The Characters. In almost every scene I could feel how each character felt and kind of get a sense of what's going on in their heads. There were times in these works where I could really feel that longing or loneliness or pain or sadness. I don't get to feel that intensely that often when reading fanfiction, and these fics make me feel all the things.

These are just a few of the broader themes I enjoyed while reading Sweater Weather.

SPOILERS AHEAD

TOP FIVE FAVORITE SCENES:

The All Stars Game (AKA all of Chapter 15) I loved this chapter, because it captures the entire arc of the pain Remus and Sirius feel after being outed, the steps they take to actually talk about it and talk to eachother again and get through it together, to once again being on the same page, and rooting for and protecting eachother more fiercely than ever. I loved the team members coming over to be with Remus and watch the game, I loved Remus's past coming to light, I loved Sirius punching Greyback in the face, Regulus being rescued. I even loved hearing the terrible things the press had to say, because I love that kind of drama it gets me so worked up (... In works of fiction. In real life that stuff would make me very, very angry.)

Remus Talking to Logan (Chapter 13) I love this scene because it really shows basically every side of the O'Knutzy drama, and because I could really feel Logan's pain and panic in this scene. I loved how soft and kind Remus was in trying to talk to Logan about it, at the same time trying to keep him calm. I loved Finn walking in and seeing that Logan was hurting and immediately wanting to fix it, nearly ready to fight Remus, who was getting in his way. And I love the final part, where Remus suggests Logan tell 'them' he loves them, all the while promising himself he would tell Sirius the same thing. I think this scene is the perfect crossover point between Coast to Coast and Sweater Weather, and progresses both storylines flawlessly.

Family Skate (Chapter 12) I think it's hat I liked most about this scene was the Team learning not only that Remus used to play, but just how good he was, and still is. I loved how shocked they are, and the foreshadowing when Arthur asks Remus if he has any tapes. I really like the somber tone around Remus's injury, and how tragic it is, and the team can really understand that. It also sets the time for just how much this injury is affecting Remus even to this day. Aside from all that serious stuff, seeing the Team with little kids is also super cute. And James finding out about the necklace.

The Game Against Vegas (Chapter 16) I liked this scene a lot because you can really feel how much the team wants to avenge Remus. I liked the tense interactions between Remus and Greyback, especially the part where Remus said "you're not my teammate". One of my favorite moments is at the end of this chapter when Remus is spiraling in a gas station parking lot, and all of his old superstitions are coming back to him. The Angst Levels are astronomical.

Leo and Finn Like Eachother (Coast to Coast, Chapter 4) I honestly loved this scene so much, the emotional roller coaster Leo went through, the hesitance surrounding the whole "all three of us" question. The pain Leo feels when he thinks the kiss was only out of confusion, and that Finn only loved Logan. The relief he feels when Finn says he likes him. It's just a master piece. (Honorable mention for when all three of them get together in the next chapter: it was such a close tie.)

All in all, Sweater Weather is such a good read, and I love that I'm still immersed even after I've read the fic so many times. I'm going to keep following Vaincre, and I have a lot of ficlets planned out for this universe, coming soon.

Lots of love and praise to Hazel, who wrote not only such a good story, but wonderful characters (both Harry Potter, and original) as well.

#sweater weather: lumosinlove #sweather weather by lumosinlove #sweater weather #sirius black #remus lupin #leo knut #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #o'knutzy #coops #wolfstar #james potter #lily evans #harry potter #now playing: sweater weather

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seihun · 4 years

Text

7:53pm // can i be your boyfriend? — a bbh social media au

ϟ prev ◂ part 19A ▸ next

ϟ pairings: byun baekhyun + oc:reader

ϟ word count: ahaha

ϟ notes: i am so sorry for dropping arguably the climax of this whole au and then going ghost for three weeks 😬😬 why you all put up with my clownery is beyond me. i don’t have much to say here except thank you to all to lovely anons who encouraged me and to all the readers who stuck around waiting for this. i apologize that this is completely over the top drama, but hey that’s college. (lowkey inspired by real world experiences haha) enjoy 🥺

Sehun can hear Minseok and Baekhyun asking rapid fire questions behind him, but he’s too busy seeing red to focus on them. He follows behind Johnny almost uncomfortably closely, ensuring that the younger boy is in fact leading them in the right direction and not trying to pull at fast one on him.

Sehun swears on every deity above him that he’ll knock out Jongdae if even half of what Johnny has said so far is true. He couldn’t care less about Minseok reasoning with him to slow down or Chungha telling him to calm down. He’d had it up to here with the games.

It was almost a decade in the making anyway; he’d be the one to knock the lights out of those two one way or another. He doesn’t care to be rational or relax.

Jongdae and Jongin not only had no considerations for your feelings or dignity as a person, but for Kyungsoo’s either—or rather, Baekhyun’s, kinda—either. They’re willing to cross a line—and for what, Sehun’s not really sure. To make a point? Get validation? Piss him off?

At this point, it didn’t matter. Sehun was relishing in just the mere thought of seeing Jongin’s stupid surprised face when he walks in the room. So, imagine his disappointment, when he doesn’t get to see the idiots’ stunned expressions; because you seem to have beaten him to the punch.

“—Are you out of your mind? Jongdae, I’d expect this shit from you, but—”

“[Y/N]?” Sehun blinks, taking in the scene in front of him: your finger pointed at a very nervous looking Jongin, whilst a panicked Jaehyun sunk behind his laptop screen, with Jongdae leaning against a desk—looking far too nonchalant for Sehun’s taste—and Kyungsoo standing just a bit behind you, “Kyungsoo?”

“Sehun?” you question, eyes widening as you look past him to see possibly every person you know at the university filing into the room, all with similar murderous expressions on their faces, “Chung—Minseok? Baekh—what—”

“What are you doing here?” The two of you ask at the same time.

“I—Johnny messaged me,” you explain briefly, “I didn’t believe it, but then I caught Jongin walking into the building, so I followed him.”

Sehun narrows his eyes. “Johnny messaged me too,” he explains, stepping forward and in Jongdae’s direction.

“What a lovely family reunion,” Jongdae sniggers, looking over Sehun’s shoulder, “Junmyeon, long time no see, buddy. You look well.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sehun growls, stepping directly into Jongdae’s line of sight.

“You all need to relax,” Jongdae lolls, crossing one leg over the other and resting his palms on the desk, “I tried explaining that was just a prank, her little boyfriend over there wasn’t gonna get hurt or anything.”

Jongdae nudges his head in Kyungsoo’s direction, whose eyes are now wider than Sehun has ever seen them before. He looks briefly to you, watches as your eyebrows crinkle together.

“Boyfriend—are you talking about Kyungsoo?” you ask Jongdae, then snap your head towards Jongin, “Is that what this whole thing is about? You think we’re together so you were gonna try and publicly humiliate him?”

Sehun might not have gotten to see Jongdae’s surprised face when he walked in the room, but he thinks seeing the shorter boy’s eyes go wide with horror at your words is even better.

“You’re not—?” Jongin stutters, gesturing towards you and Kyungsoo.

“No we’re not!” you screech, turning swiftly to Kyungsoo, “No offense or anything.”

Kyungsoo shrugs, “None taken.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, you imbecile. I don’t have a boyf—well, I kinda—it’s none of your business, anyway!” You shout, stomping your foot.

“Then—who—but we saw you!” Jongdae counters. Sehun takes a deep breath, counts to three in his head, remembers that murder is a crime.

“It’s called having a friend, you should try it sometime,” Sehun says, in lieu of breaking his jaw.

“[Y/N], look, I—I’m sorry, we—I didn’t know,” Jongin apologizes hurriedly, taking a step forwards towards you. A little too close for Sehun’s comfort; too close for Chanyeol’s too, by the way he pushes forward towards him. “We’ll go and change everything back right now, I swear—”

“That’s not the fucking point!” you cut him off, making him pause in his place, and effectively stopping Chanyeol’s strides too.

“First of all, I don’t know what or how you’d have been changing anything. Yeah, we send them to the TA’s, but then the head TA compiles them into one PDF for the showcase,” you explain frustratedly, “So nothing you changed would have shown up anyway. Not to mention we submit the final versions 24 hours beforehand. It’s protocol to make sure students don’t change anything, and the board can review for plagiarism. I used to think it was a stupid rule, but I guess I was wrong.”

Sehun watches as Jongin, Jongdae, and Jaehyun’s mouths fall into tiny o-shapes. An embarrassed blush spreads across the latter’s face as he attempts to quietly close his laptop screen. In his periphery, he can see Johnny pulling his hood over his head. Sehun rolls his eyes. He’d deal with Johnny some other time; he’s not off the hook in his book yet.

“But you were willing to completely sabotage Kyungsoo on the odds that I was dating him,” you continue, but your tone is different now. Sadder than before; not quite disappointed, but almost somber, like you’d come to a harsh realization, “I tried to get you to come with me to this for two years, Jongin. I can’t even count how many times I’d rambled to you about how much of an honor it would be to give my own presentation—about how many opportunities and important people there are here tonight—and you were willing to ruin that for Kyungsoo? For what? For what! I don’t fucking get it!”

Jongin shakes his head, has a jerk reaction to move forward and try to comfort you. “I’m sorry—it was wrong, stupid! I just… I just wanted to have your attention for a little bit.”

Sehun’s seen this scene before; the one where Jongin upsets you, and then somehow makes you believe he’s the only one who can comfort you from his own wrongdoings. He’s a smooth talker, Sehun will give him that, but he’s seen it all before. It almost hurts him to watch it unravel at this point; he can’t even think to look back knowing Baekhyun’s about to witness it, too.

But it doesn’t play out like that; not like it has before. Jongin doesn’t get close enough, but you’re already stepping back, almost stumbling into Kyungsoo.

“You did all this for attention?” you cry out in disbelief, “You wanted to embarrass me in front of my entire faculty and all my friends, for my attention?”

Sehun watches you ball up your fists, the somber timbre of your voice gone; now filled with a kind of anger and frustration he doesn’t think he’s ever heard from you in regards to Jongin.

“Jongin, when we were together I couldn’t hold your attention for more than a few fucking weeks, and now you want me to give you mine, completely undivided? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

It’s a good look on you, Sehun thinks. He likes what he’s hearing, he likes what he’s seeing; he likes this scene much better.

“[Y/N], I—” Jongin reaches out again, but you’re already moving back. Sehun smiles; you might not even realize it, but ironically your backwards movements were a huge step forward.

“Don’t touch me,” you seethe, turning your back to him. You make eye contact with Sehun briefly, then Chanyeol, then some of the others; you look at Baekhyun the longest, a kind of silent message—before sighing.

Jongin doesn’t hear you though, because he tries again, extending an arm, and aiming for your shoulder; but all he gets is a fistful of his own shirt in Chanyeol’s hands.

“She said not to touch her,” the blonde growls, shoving Jongin backwards, letting him stumble into a few desks before standing upright again.

“I—we have to go,” you mumble, shooting Chanyeol a thankful expression before pulling Kyungsoo with you by his sleeve to the door, “Soo and I should go prepare with whatever time we have left.”

You pause at the door, briefly, looking at Baekhyun again, nervous; but it’s all smiles in the shorter boy’s eyes. “We’ll be out there when you guys are up, promise,” he says to you.

That seems to be enough to put a smile on your face, small as it is, before you and Kyungsoo walk out of the room completely and back to the presentation hall.

It’s quiet with you gone now, a palpable tension in the room with Sehun and Chanyeol staring down Jongin, Chungha grilling Jaehyun and Johnny, and Jongdae and Minseok looking like they’re three seconds away from ripping each other’s hair out.

Sehun kinda feels bad for Baekhyun, caught in the middle like this. He sticks close to Junmyeon, the only other neutral party. Well, neutral enough.

“So you’re the boyfriend, then, huh,” Jongin is the first to speak, eyes aiming for Baekhyun, “Dae got it wrong.”

Baekhyun brings a hand up to his neck, “Uh, well… kinda? Not that—it shouldn’t really matter to you, now, anyways.”

God, does Sehun wish Baekhyun was the trash talking type right about now. He sighs; he supposes it’s for the best that he isn’t.

“Well then you should watch out for blondie, and eyebrows over here,” Jongin warns him, “They never let her think for herself. Not to mention, Sehun follows her around like a lap dog, probably because he’s in love with—”

Jongin doesn’t get the chance to finish before Sehun’s fist collides with his jaw, knocking the older boy over, and leaving him hunching over one of the empty desks. Jongin barely gets the chance to gather his bearings before Sehun’s got his fist in his shirt, and pushing his back into the blackboard.

“This is the last time I’m going to tell you to shut that dirty mouth of yours and leave her the hell alone,” Sehun orders, voice so low it could be a whisper, “Do you understand me?”

Jongin only has the strength to groan in response. “I fucking mean it, Jongin, or so help me god,” Sehun’s mouth twitches, his free hand almost coming up to hit him again, but he’s pulled back by Chungha.

He looks at her, huffing as his resolve washes away, and lets go of Jongin completely, not caring for the way he stumbles around to find a desk for support to hold up his weight. Jongdae looks entirely too un-punched for Sehun’s liking, but he’ll leave him to Minseok. For now.

“Do you fuck around with [Y/N] like that because you’re jealous of her?” Baekhyun asks, his question leaving them stunned.

He directs his gaze to a hunched over Jongin, Sehun stepping out of the way with Chungha at his side to give him a better view. All eyes are on Baekhyun, now.

“You don’t like that she has friends who care about her. And you didn’t like that she might have cared about Kyungsoo like you want her to care about you,” Baekhyun reasons, “She has people who love her in way than one, but it’s obvious you don’t have any real friends. Not anymore, at least.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongin replies, voice strained with coughs in-between his words.

Baekhyun frowns, hands in his pockets. Sehun’s never seen him like this either.

“I think you do,” Baekhyun corrects him, “I think you know you fucked up so bad—not just with her, with Sehun, and Chungha, and Chanyeol, too—they were all your friends before, right?”

Jongin doesn’t answer him, but Sehun nods at Baekhyun in confirmation. His lips fall into a pinched line.

“I used to think you and Jongdae were different,” Baekhyun drawls, “But I get it now. You both had people who loved you, but you thought it was unconditional right? You thought no matter how badly you fucked up, they’d forgive you. But you’re wrong.”

“Sehun doesn’t fight for her blindly; she does the same for him, for Chanyeol, and Chungha, too. It goes both way, like any functioning relationship,” Baekhyun continues, “She was even willing to do the same for you. And Minseokie for Jongdae. But they don’t have to, not if you don’t keep up your end of the bargain; love isn’t unconditional like that. They don’t need you, either of you, but you want them to. Badly.”

It’s evident Baekhyun’s words put a sour taste in Jongin’s mouth, but just enough strength for him to pull himself upwards. “And what makes you think you’re so much better that she’ll need you instead?”

“Nothing,” Baekhyun shrugs, “Because I know she doesn’t.”

Sehun finds himself smiling at Baekhyun’s words, looks around to see that everyone else seems to be in agreement.

“Come on,” Chanyeol speaks up, “We have to be out there before Kyungsoo is up.”

They all nod in agreement, everyone filing out the room. He doesn’t think to look back, not caring for the four left behind. Sehun throws his arm around Baekhyun’s shoulder as they walk towards the presentation hall.

“You know your little speech was pretty kickass and all,” Sehun starts, “But let’s talk about the boyfriend title, shall we? Or, rather, lack thereof.”

Baekhyun chuckles nervously, gone is the serious tone in his voice from before. “Well I didn’t want to call myself her boyfriend because I’m not!… Yet… And, also, she didn’t before!”

“Because you have to ask her, dumbass,” Minseok interjects from behind the pair.

“I am going to!” Baekhyun squeals, composing himself as he realizes they’re now inside the lobby, which means inside voices, “Or, well, I was going to. I don’t think now is the time, anymore.”

Sehun frowns, removing his arm from Baekhyun’s shoulder. He’s probably right. With the way things have gone tonight, he doubts you’re going to want to do anything but go home and eat your weight in fried rice when this is all over.

Still, looking at Baekhyun and Chungha groan over the lack of use of their “beautiful masterpiece of a sign” as they take their seats has him smiling. You and Baekhyun are good; official couple terms or not.

As soon as the showcase was over, he and the others met you and Kyungsoo outside of the building, with a mountain of hugs and compliments.

Junmyeon shoves a bouquet of flowers into Kyungsoo’s hand, forces him to take pictures with all of them, and Baekhyun even gets a piggy back ride from his friend for all of three seconds before he’s thrown off of his back. Baekhyun also brought a flower crown for Kyungsoo, but none of them could keep it on his head for more than a minute; now it sits atop Maize’s instead.

Baekhyun also gifts you a flower crown, albeit a little bit bigger, and more expensive than Kyungsoo’s, which you accept happily, along with telling him how much you’d loved his very bright decorative poster.

Chanyeol, Sehun, and Chungha, however make his little grown seem obsolete, as they shower you with baked treats, an expensive looking yellow rose bouquet, a homemade sash that reads “best presentation,” and falling confetti from a small confetti gun that Chanyeol had managed to wrangle into his pockets.

By god do you have some good friends.

“Thanks for the… everything, guys,” you say, speaking for both you and Kyungsoo, “I know we wanted to go out to eat after, but honestly, I think I need to call it a day.”

Baekhyun’s hunch turned out to be right, much to Chungha and Chanyeol’s chagrin; both of whom seemed to be looking forward to eating out as a group. The complaints soon settle into small talk, everyone agreeing that tonight had been a whirlwind of events, and some greasy take out and two respective movie nights at Junmyeon and your apartments would suffice.

You’d all get together to celebrate some time later in the week, and at that point there would likely be even more to celebrate for, as it would be after a joint interview you and Kyungsoo were offered for your work in the showcase.

Baekhyun thinks about the other posted rolled up in the one you’d seen, both currently in Chungha’s possession (who’d promised to keep it safe until he was ready to use it again). He’d have another opportunity to ask you, he was sure of it.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you snap him out of his train of thought, loosely wrapping his hands in yours. Baekhyun crinkles his eyebrows as you continue, “That tonight didn’t go as planned. With—”

“You don’t have to apologize!” he cuts you off with a light chuckle; however, you seem startled, confused even by his reaction, “Babe, you did absolutely nothing wrong; you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you reply, unsure of yourself, “I don’t know, I just—if they’d thought to go after you instead, who knows what they’d of done and—”

“[Y/N],” Baekhyun calls—that laugh of disbelief still airing through the syllables—wrapping his fingers around yours more firmly, “You’re not responsible for his actions, you know that?”

“I know, but still,” you frown, “I should have known he was up to something. I know I kinda told him off but I just—I don’t want anything to happen to you as a result of their antics, you know?”

“I think the punch Jongin took to the face should prevent them from bothering you again,” Baekhyun chuckles as you eyes go wide.

“Punch—who punched him! Not that he didn’t deserve it, but I told them not to punch anybody. Was it Chungha?—I keep telling her that’s not safe, even if—”

“No it was Sehun,” Baekhyun fills you in, “I don’t think you could have prevented it. Seemed like a long time coming.”

“Yeah, I—I guess it was,” you say, finally, “I know. I’m sorry—about being sorry for them, then.”

Baekhyun laughs from his stomach this time, removing his hands from yours to wrap an arm around your shoulder, pull you into him, and press a kiss to your forehead. “You’re cute.”

Baekhyun sees that you’re about to open your mouth to reply, when you’re cut short by the flash of a camera. When he looks up he finds the culprit to be none other than Chungha, who’s holding her phone up right, and lets out a disappointed groan.

“Ugh, I didn’t get the kiss,” she whines, shoving her screen in Chanyeol’s direction before flipping it around to face the two of you, “You guys look pretty cute still, though, so you’re welcome.”

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you say, a worn out lilt in your voice as you slowly pull yourself from his hold, “I need a nap. And egg rolls paid for by Chanyeol, so time to get going.”

“But I just volunteered to pay for the later celebration dinner!” Chanyeol exclaims, pouting excessively.

“Don’t worry, Junmyeon can pay when we all go out to eat,” Baekhyun grins, “Won’t even leave a dent in his pockets, right hyung!”

His comment is enough to make everyone chuckle, except Junmyeon who merely shoots him an unamused glance; but Baekhyun knows it means no harm. As if he’d let anyone else pay for a meal.

This information seems to pique Sehun’s interest, however; as the taller boy finds himself stalking towards Junmyeon and wrapping a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Is that so?” Sehun starts, dragging Junmyeon along with him and prompting the rest of the group to start walking towards the parking lots, “I don’t think we’ve met yet, hyung, I’m Sehun.”

“I think I’ve been replaced,” Minseok lolls, watching Sehun and Junmyeon’s silhouettes as they walk ahead.

You chuckle, finding yourself walking between him and Chungha, Maize on his other side, as you head towards the cars. “Don’t take it personally,” you tell him, “Anyone who’s older with a bank account is of interest to Sehun. At least as far as lunch goes.”

Minseok laughs lightly at that, the four of you making small jokes at Sehun expense about his need for companionship and affection in the form of food. It’s a few minutes later when Chungha jokes that if Minseok really needed a new friend to dote on, he should get to know Chanyeol better.

“Hey, Chan, you hear, Min—” you call out to the taller boy, turning your shoulder to face him, but he’s not there. Neither is Baekhyun—not anywhere near the rest of you, anyway.

You stop completely, and turn around, prompting Maize, Minseok, and Chungha to do the same. In the distance, you can see Baekhyun and Chanyeol; it’s as if they hadn’t seen the rest of you walking ahead. And, unfortunately, it looked like the two idiots were… dancing in the middle of the street.

“You think they’ve been hitting the whoah this entire time we’ve been walking?” Maize questions, staring ahead at them like they’re a spectacle. They might as well be.

Chungha sighs, “Probably.”

“I think Chanyeol and Baekhyun are gonna be a little busy becoming best friends,” Minseok laughs, “It looks like they’re already half way there.”

“What could they have possibly been talking about that led them to dancing like that?” Chungha questions.

You’re next, crossing your arms and shaking your head, too. You have to admit, it makes you smile a little bit. That doesn’t make them any less embarrassing.

“Do you see why I avoided introducing them to each other now?”

ϟ tag list: @artfulbarnes @bat-shark-repellant @baek-byunies @baeklooming-day @bbh-kji @cosmins @etsjusoa @exuwu @elyxion1485 @fifiaaaaaa @haechanspudu @honeyboocal @httpschoisan @junkfoodwriting @just-a-sad-writer @j-pping @joyfulponyoafhuman @kokomaesadie @kkpoptrashhh @littleflowercrown13 @loeytingz @marina-del-rey98 @mangobaek @minseokscock @miraculyfe @mochahyuck @oasissehun @ohwosehun @p-polaroid @peachesyeol @peacherparker @penguinsoo-l @rikachusworld @sakura-uji @shesdreaminginoverdose @sekshi-namjas @smolpeyy @strawberrychannie @takoyakkun @to-all-the-stories-i-love @vaiva @writingindaisies @xiutingmyself @xxbluestrifexx @yourexotextplus @zaez

ϟ more notes: once again sorry about the long wait hehe but i hope you liked it!! also, friendly reminder that the taglist is closed!! also, yes i’m sorry this is part 19A which means there is a 19B but it’s not written so don’t worry you won’t have to read through my excessive commas anymore LOL

#exo smut #exo fluff #exo reactions #exo scenarios #exo imagines #exo fanfic #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun x reader #exo fake texts #exo x reader #chanyeol fluff #sehun fluff #sehun fanfic #FINALLY SHE'S HERE #exo college au #jongin fluff #*cibyb

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olivemac · 3 years

Text

heartbeat | chapter two | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence , smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | coarse language

master list | AO3 link

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prev chapter

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Kate is on the next commercial flight to Bucharest. She's worried Bucky will move on before she can get to him, but she knows Tony would never approve of the use of one of his jets to chase down an ex-assassin in hiding. The less he knows, the better. Which is why she told him she was escaping to Europe for a long respite after feeling oh so overwhelmed with her work at Stark Industries.

Tony barely bats an eye when she told him. There were some advantages to being Tony Starks' baby sister. The first being he feels guilty about his ineptness at raising her after their parents' death and would literally let her get away with murder. The second is an almost unlimited bank account left to her by her father and supplemented by Tony's previously mentioned guilt.

Kate Stark was her mother’s mid-life crisis. Maria, three decades younger than her husband, had – at forty-two years old – decided she wanted another baby. Tony, who was eighteen at the time, had balked at the idea. But Howard relented and called in the best team of fertility doctors money could buy, and Kate was born.

She doesn't remember her parents, not really. She was only three when they died, and she doesn't remember that event either. Though she was there, in the car, when it crashed on Long Island.

Tony's only ever spoken to her about it once, after she accused him of hating her for surviving when their parents died. Really, he hated that he survived.

When rescue workers arrived at the scene of the wreck, they found her parents dead in the front seat and her tucked safely into her car seat in the back, bundled up against the December cold. She was an orphan, and Tony, at twenty-one, was suddenly responsible for a toddler.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He hired a series of nannies to raise her, then sent her off to boarding school as soon as she was old enough, all the while playing genius, billionaire playboy.

He wasn’t surprised when it turned out she was just as smart as him or their father. And it surprised him less when she followed in his footsteps and attended MIT. What did surprise him was when she started hacking government databases for fun. She only agreed to work for him at Stark Industries in exchange for him not sticking Rhodey on her after she released documents regarding the US Air Force‘s involvement in some less that savory overseas dealings.

On the plane, she starts an email to Steve telling him where she was headed and what she had found. Then she deletes it and starts over. Then deletes that. She chews her thumbnail and thinks. If she tells Steve where Bucky is, he'll come blazing in, shield at the ready, and Bucky will.... She doesn’t know what Bucky will do, but she has a feeling the encounter would end with a fight and Bucky running. Which will kill Steve. Again. So, she decides she doesn't need to tell Steve – not right away. She'll see if she can figure out what Bucky remembers – if anything – before telling Steve where he is.

_____

A little over forty-eight hours after her software found Bucky, Kate is assembling IKEA furniture in her new studio apartment in Romania. Getting the landlord to lease her the empty flat next to Bucky's was easy enough when Kate offered him double what he was asking in rent. He was discreet enough to not ask any questions. Most of the people in the building were hiding from something so a young American woman who paid cash upfront wasn't the most unusual thing he'd dealt with.

She makes her bed, unpacks her suitcase, and re-reads the Winter Soldier file. That night she dreams of her parents and the wreck that killed them. In the dream there's always a man outside of the car, but she can never see his face. Her father begs for help: "Help my wife, my daughter. Please. Help."

She wakes up sweating, a scream caught in her throat.

_____

The apartment next to his is no longer empty. Bucky can hear music and soft footsteps through the paper-thin walls. If he focuses his hearing, he can hear a heartbeat other than his own, but he's working to turn off the super soldier reflexes, so he tries to ignore it. He's enjoyed the silence that the empty apartment afforded him, and he hopes the new tenant isn’t as nosy as his neighbor in Kiev who had asked so many questions. He hadn't stayed long after that meeting.

Around two in the morning, he wakes to the sound of a strangled cry from his new neighbor. Bucky sits up straight, suddenly on alert. He listens closely, focusing for the sounds of a struggle, but he only hears the unfamiliar heartbeat. His neighbor was having a nightmare, he imagines. He had plenty of those himself.

Sometimes he was staring down the barrel of a gun, his only intent to kill. Other nightmares took him back to the HYDRA base and their machine that scrambled his thoughts over and over again. And others found him falling from a train, the blonde man from the Triskelion reaching out toward him. He always wakes up just before he hits the icy river he knows awaits him.

Bucky knows now that the blonde man is Steve Rogers. Without HYDRA's influence, he's started to remember more: flashes of Steve and a group called the Howling Commandos during the war, but also flashes of Steve before the war, smaller, shorter. And flashes of a family – his family – a father, a mother, a sister. Rebecca. The name comes to him one afternoon while he's browsing the used bookstore near his flat.

He's started eating plums and jogging to improve his memory. He isn't sure if it's helping, but the memories are becoming longer and more frequent. He sees himself with Steve at Coney Island, riding the Cyclone until Steve lost his lunch and Bucky laughed so hard tears were streaming down his face, and he sees himself flirting with an auburn-haired combat nurse in Italy, following her back to her tent and undressing her slowly.

He wakes the next morning feeling restless. He had slept in fits and starts, listening for any more disturbances from next door. None came.

He dresses and goes for a run, and when he returns, he catches his first glimpse of his new neighbor. She's coming out of her apartment, her face turned downward toward her phone. When he reaches the top of the stairs, she lifts her head and smiles. Bucky is struck by how pretty she is, a thought he hasn't let himself have since leaving HYDRA. He turns away quickly and slams the door to his own apartment. He doesn't need pink lips and dark curls reminding him of what he can never have again. He's too broken for her, or anyone else for that matter.

_____

Bucky has seen his new neighbor more times in five days than he's seen anyone else in the building over the past two months. They always seem to be coming or going at the same time.

The first time he actually speaks to her, she's dropping groceries up the stairs from a rip in her canvas bag.

"Fuck," she mutters as an apple rolls beneath the railing and falls to the landing below.

Bucky has a brief vision of her uttering that same word while his head is buried between her legs, but he shakes if off quickly.

"Let me," he says in English, scooping up some rogue potatoes and taking the bag from her.

"Thanks," she says before unlocking her door and holding it open for him.

Her apartment is the same layout as his – one room, with a tiny bathroom at the front and a small kitchen along the back wall. He sets the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and steps back.

"I should—"

"Thank you—"

They both speak at the same time. Bucky bows his head and motions for her to continue.

"Thank you for your help." She pauses. "And it's nice to speak English for a change. My Romanian is atrocious," she laughs. "How’d you guess?"

"All the music you listen to is in English," he replies brusquely.

She cringes. "Sorry. I'll turn it down."

"No," he says, "It's fine. Really."

There's an awkward pause as they both stare at each other.

Bucky breaks the silence first. "I should go."

"Right." She leads him to the door. "Thanks."

Bucky nods.

When his own apartment door closes behind him, he sighs and scrubs his right hand over his face. He needs to avoid her. He doesn't need anything to distract him from regaining his memories, and he certainly doesn't need to get close to someone he'll inevitably hurt. He doesn’t even begin let himself entertain the thought that she could be a HYDRA agent waiting to turn him in.

_____

Later that evening, he's startled by a knock at his door. When he peers into the hallway, there's a plate of food on the floor, covered with a cloth and a note. He picks it up.

Thanks for saving my groceries.

- Kate

Bucky considers the possibilities that she is a HYDRA agent and the food is poisoned, but he decides it's unlikely HYDRA would take that approach. If anything, they would want their soldier back, and if they didn't, they wouldn't kill him quickly. Also, he can't remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal – definitely before the war – and he’s starving. Protein bars aren’t really cutting it anymore.

He studies the note as he eats. He runs his fingers over the name written in curling handwriting: Kate, and debates what his next move should be. He needs to ignore her – for her own safety – but his mother raised a gentleman so he should at least thank her for dinner, right?

_____

Kate nearly steps on the plate when she leaves her flat the next morning for a run. It’s sitting right at her doorway, clean, the dish towel she had with it folded with a note peeking out.

Kate,

You’re welcome. Thank you for dinner.

- Bucky

If she knew how long Bucky had agonized over whether to write back, she probably would have cried. Kate definitely would have cried if she knew he had debated whether or not to sign the note “Bucky” or “James.” He’s been using James at any off-the-books odd jobs he can get, but with his memories returning, he’s been feeling more like the Bucky Steve referred to in DC.

_____

Kate makes a potato soup that night and leaves it outside his door sans note. She brings him dinner for a week straight before she asks him to dine with her.

"Come over,” she says the next time they pass in the hall.

"What?" Bucky freezes.

"Come over tonight,” Kate repeats, “for dinner.”

"Why?" He sounds rude. He should really work on that, but she’s caught him in one of his broodier moods after another sleepless night.

"Why not?” she shrugs. “I have wine."

He’s staring at her. He realizes he needs to stop staring at her and answer.

“Okay.”

“Seven thirty?” she suggests.

"Okay," he replies.

"Okay," she laughs.

For a second, Bucky wonders if she's laughing at him, but there's a softness in her eyes that makes him think not. Talking to women used to be easy, he thinks. It took him hours to come up with the simplest response to her note the other night, and now he can't even form a sentence in front of her. He spends the rest of the day worrying he's made a huge mistake in accepting her invitation.

He's not the only one. Kate has half a mind to call it all off, phone Steve, and get on the next plane back to New York. What if he doesn't remember anything? What if he's still the Winter Soldier? She has a brief vision of Bucky snapping and wrapping that metal hand he's been hiding around her throat – and not in a fun way. But when he knocks on her door at seven thirty, she thinks she might actually die from how sweet he looks.

"Hi," she says.

"Hi," he responds, running his tongue over his lips nervously.

They're caught in another awkward moment of just staring at each other when she finally invites him.

The old Bucky would have bought flowers and then made some quip about how the flowers aren't nearly as beautiful as she is, but this Bucky – post-HYDRA Bucky – feels like he's forgotten how to interact with women at all and his tongue has suddenly turned to lead.

Kate's debated how much to reveal about herself. Finally, she decides she'll tell him everything. Well, mostly everything. He doesn't need to know that she's a Stark or friends with Steve Rogers or here on some crazy rescue mission to save the Winter Soldier because maybe, just maybe, she read his file one too many times and got caught up in the look in Steve's eyes when he talked about Bucky. No, he doesn't need to know that.

Kate's also considered how much to ask him about himself. She wants to know what – if anything – he remembers, but she also doesn't want to give herself away by revealing she knows who he really is. And she doubts he’ll tell her outright. The fact that he signed the note Bucky seems like a good indication that his memories are returning, though.

"How long have you been in Bucharest, Bucky?" she asks, plating their dinner.

"Almost two months," he says.

"Here for work?" she asks casually.

"Uh...it's complicated," he says, scratching at the back of his neck. "You?"

She looks up at him. "It's complicated."

They're staring at each other again, and Bucky has to force himself to look away.

"Family?" she asks.

"Also complicated," he says. God, he thinks, he sounds like a jackass. But it's not like he can tell her he's a ninety-eight-year-old ex-assassin in hiding so his family is probably long dead.

She motions for him to sit at her small kitchen table and sets a plate in front of him.

"You're not hiding a wedding ring under those gloves, are you?" she asks, a smirk on her lips. She knows about his arm; she just wants to see what he’ll give away.

He blushes and looks at his hands. Then he realizes he's taking too long to answer, and she probably thinks he's an idiot. "No... uh...no. No," he finally says without elaborating.

Kate can sense he's nervous so she does what Tony would do in a situation like this and just keeps talking. She tells him about Tony – minus the Stark detail. She talks about MIT and New York and the last book she read. He listens closely, laughing softly when she makes jokes and asking questions where appropriate. He likes the way her lips look when they form his name and the way her eyes light up at her own humor.

When they finish eating, Bucky helps her wash dishes. She considers asking him to stay, watch a movie or something, but then she thinks maybe she should take this slowly, not overwhelm him, so she bids him goodnight and closes the door behind him.

Bucky thinks Kate might be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. Then he thinks that might be because she’s the first woman he’s interacted with in so long. Either way, he tries not to think of her that night when his body remembers what it's like to be a man.

He decides that staying away from her would be too hard.

On the other side of the wall, she’s thinking of him, too. She hadn't expected his eyes to be so impossibly blue. She had stared at the black and white military photo for hours, but seeing him in person, she was caught in the Arctic waters that made up his eyes.

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next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes romance

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