#I cleared almost the ENTIRETY of the fucking desert
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YOU
PIECE OF SHIT IT’S FINALLY HERE
I have gone through hell and back to grind for you. I saw my life flash before my eyes, my dearest memories and grandest moments were laid out in front of me as I was at the nearing the ends of my efforts; I was losing ALL HOPE.
good god now I can finally claim to be the #1 Baizhu haver. After some 200 WEAPON BANNER PULLS
#I AM STRICTLY FREE TO PLAY#THAT'S WHY THIS IS IMPORTANT#I have so many more screenshots of the WORK I put into getting this fucking thing but I'm not gonna bother attaching them#I cleared almost the ENTIRETY of the fucking desert#I love 100% exploring places but I had fallen behind for a WHILE when it came to Sumeru#this damn weapon fixed the fuck out of that#I have scrounged every grain of sand that land had to offer#my Teyvat interactive map is literally wiped CLEAN#AND I MAXED OUT THE TREE AND POND AND THE STATUE#I even began to LOOK UP WORLD QUESTS to do#my god#Genshin Impact#Genshin#Baizhu#genshin baizhu#Genshin gacha#blazingshitpost#blazingshitpost genshin edition#I may not like men but this man is not men#he is the man of all time#and I would do anything for him#an average of 67 pity for Amos then a skyward piece then THIS SHIT#I'm finally free omg
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Doug Walker Jumpscare
My routine for the last full week has just been work, sleep, and slowly force myself through all of Channel Awesome's movies. More accurately 2 of those days were spent watching Kickassia and Suburban Knights, and the last 5 have been me procrastinating finishing To Boldly Flee, because god, that movie has got to be one of the single most unbearable things I have ever watched. I watched them all in the form of a Twitch stream with commentary and The 9/11 Brothers (don't worry about it.) and I don't think I could've gotten through any of those films without those 2 silly little ducks. To be fair, Suburban Knights, and Kickassia weren't the worst, like I found some enjoyment from those 2, especially Kickassia that movie was just genuinely fun, but I could not tell you a single thing about To Boldly Flee other than that every scene was really awkward in a non-funny way.
Doug Walker is like, actually so unfunny that he integer underflows into being the funniest person ever entirely on his own, every single scene involving him (which was almost all of them) became extremely entertaining after a certain point. He has 3 jokes, and 2 tones of voice and he acts exactly the same in every situation, he always feels like he is simultaneously trying way too hard and also has no clue what he's doing acting. It was so hard to tell when a scene was supposed to be serious, or if it was him being self-aware and making fun of himself, like some of those scenes have to be ironic, they can't not be, but they're filmed and acted in the exact same way as the actually serious scenes it's such a mess. Like it sounds like I'm just making fun of him at this point, which I am I think anyone who's ever talked about these movies inevitably does because it's really easy to do, however I did genuinely find these movies (with the exception of To Boldly Flee, which to be fair was probably just because I watched all of these movies back to back and that was not a good idea) to be really fun to watch, and it's very clear that Doug had actual genuine passion in making these and probably really enjoyed filming them (even if the rest of the crew very clearly did not).
This has been like the least productive week ever, I have done NOTHING all because I refused to let myself do anything until I finished these films in their entirety. Tbh I do this a lot, I will very frequently start something and refuse to move onto anything else until that thing is complete, no matter how unimportant it is, it's kind of a problem ngl lol. The worst part is whenever I do just say fuck it and move on without finishing something, it will eat away at me for an indefinite amount of time afterwards, 2 years ago I played Persona 4, got to the final boss then just stopped, like I didn't even attempt the fight I just stopped despite enjoying the game and being at the very end, and that has haunted me ever since.
I don't know where to put this because I suck at structuring things, but like, I just want to bring up a few of my favorite moments (all of them are from Kickassia my brain completely turned off for the other 2 I don't remember shit). The scene where Cinema Snob gets exiled from Kickassia and everyone just awkwardly stares at him as he walks away is easily the best part of any of these movies, it's filmed so weirdly, and it goes on for way too long, like it feels like just a full minute of cutting back and forth between him walking off into the desert, and everyone else on the other side of a fence waving. The point where they just straight up play a random clip from Board James completely out of nowhere was also peak fiction, I love how that small clip of someone else's Youtube show is filmed so significantly better than this full length movie. Another really odd thing is that Doug is just like, obsessed with Ma-Ti from Captain Planet, like he's a recurring character in all 3 of his films, like why him, it just feels so random? I literally don't remember a single other moment from any of these films they left so little impact I actually remember more about the 3 minute Board James cameo than anything else why did I waste my week doing this it wasn't even that funny.
#purgatory#kickassia#suburban knights#to boldly flee#doug walker#doug runner#the ipod brothers#cinematic masterpiece#yaoi#monstergirl
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there ain’t nothing common about us
a/n: some much needed comfort after all the hurt the fandom has put itself through this past week :)
aO3
title courtesy of @malikjavaddzayn, thank goodness she isn't as indecisive as i am!
tagging some people who may be interested: @evaneddie @diazalex @buttercupbuck @diazseddie @firefighter-diaz (please let me know if you'd like to be added/removed from my tag list!)
When Eddie wakes, it is violently and with a tortured gasp as he abruptly sits up in bed, the sheets tangled around him. He covers his face with his left hand for a moment, breathing heavily, fighting back the sobs that threaten to spring free, his body shaking like a leaf.
It isn’t the first time he’s woken up like since he was discharged from the hospital with a sling around his right shoulder and an acute sense of fear and paranoia that followed him even into the safety of his own home. It has been almost a month, but the nightmares wake Eddie almost every night, varying in degrees of severity. The first two weeks were the worst, reaching the peak when he screamed in his sleep loud enough to wake Christopher, leaving the boy shaken and terrified.
Eddie put Chris into therapy the next day, and started working on waking himself up before the nightmares could get out of hand. The last thing he wants to do his traumatize his son even more than he already is, Chris has been through far too much at such a young age.
The dreams seem to blend together most of the time, memories of Afghanistan and the shooting, making the lines between the two blurry and unrecognizable. Sometimes, he’ll see the bodies of his fellow soldiers scattered around him on a sunny street in LA. And other times, he’s in the inky-black darkness of the desert, reaching out for Buck, who seems impossibly far away, covered with sand and blood.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Eddie reaches for his phone, wincing as the movement jostles his right shoulder. It’s 2 AM. Wonderful.
He tiptoes down the hallway to Chris’ room, cracking the door open just enough to see the shape of his son under the covers, sleeping peacefully. The sight makes something settle in his chest, the something that has been left askew after every single nightmare. He is here. He is safe. Christopher is safe. He didn’t leave him (again). They’ll be alright, eventually.
How pathetic is it that even after a month, he still needs to remind himself of it almost daily?
Eddie returns to his room and sits back down on his bed, leaning against the headboard as he feels a wave of bone-deep exhaustion wash over him. Between the PT and Chris’ therapy and occasional nightmares and his own nightmares, Eddie needs all the rest he can get. But he never can go back to sleep after waking up from an episode and. Well.
Maybe he should start going back to therapy, too. Eddie knows he’ll have to, eventually, to be cleared for duty. But before that, he still needs to get himself together. For Chris’ sake, if nothing else. He just—he can’t stand the thought of talking to some stranger about what happened, though. The only person he has been able to talk to so far is Buck.
Buck. He’s been a rock throughout this whole process, the entirety of the 118 has, really. Buck, though? He’s just been around, somehow more entwined in their lives than before, cooking meals, helping out Eddie with chores around the house, watching Chris when Eddie needs his rest. And coming from anyone else, it would make Eddie bristle, would make him protest that he doesn’t need all this extra help, to be treated like an invalid, but it never feels like that with Buck. Never has. He’s just…there, sometimes spending more time in Eddie’s house than his own apartment, putting up with Eddie’s occasional bursts of temper on harder days. He doesn’t allow Eddie to push him away, and Eddie thinks there’s nothing more he is grateful for, really.
Eddie is dialing Buck’s number before he can stop himself. While the two of them have talked about the incident, briefly, Eddie has never told him about the nightmares. He knows Buck blames himself, still, because he has a guilt complex possibly larger than Eddie’s own and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t want to be a burden. He should be able to deal with this himself. He did deal with it alone, after returning from Afghanistan. Why is this time so different?
Buck answers on the third ring. “Hey,” He doesn’t sound surprised or panicked at receiving a late-night call from Eddie. He doesn’t even sound like he’s been startled out of sleep, but Eddie feels the need to apologize anyway.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” He says, guilt feeling like lead in his stomach.
“It’s alright, I wasn’t asleep,” Buck says and before Eddie can wonder why, he’s asking, “Is everything alright?”
Eddie opens his mouth to answer and nothing comes out. He feels frustrated tears prick at his eyes and he exhales deeply, trying to hold them in.
“Eddie?” Buck sounds more concerned now, and Eddie can hear a rustling noise, like he’s sitting up.
“Sorry, yeah,” Eddie manages to get out, wondering if his voice sounds as wrecked to Buck as it does to him. “I, um—” Might as well just rip the bandage off and get it over with. “Nightmares.” He says, finally.
“I’m sorry,” Buck says, his voice taking on a softer, consoling lilt. He doesn’t sound surprised. Eddie doesn’t know why he expected him to be.
“It’s just—” Eddie breathes out harshly, gripping the phone harder. “I just can’t fucking sleep. It’s almost every night, I just keep reliving that day over and over and it never stops and I should be over it by now, right? And I should be able to hold it together, for Chris, he deserves so much better, but—God. It’s too much.”
“Have you considered going back to see Frank?” Buck asks, carefully. Eddie sighs.
“I did. I mean, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? I need to get better, and Chris—”
“But this isn’t about Chris, Eddie,” Buck interrupts, almost sharply. “You should want to get better for yourself, too. I mean, you were shot. In broad daylight, with zero warning—” he cuts himself off for a moment and Eddie can hear him exhale roughly over the line. “No one expects you to just bounce back. Trauma doesn’t exactly have a time limit, you know. You need to do what’s best for you.”
And Eddie can suddenly remember Carla’s words in that moment—Make sure you’re following your heart instead of Christopher’s—and wants to laugh hysterically at the irony of it. He knew then that Carla had a point—it’s why he broke up with Ana—and he knows that Buck has a point, too. But it isn’t as easy as it sounds.
“I’m not sure I know how.” He confesses.
“I know,” Buck says, softly, and sighs. “You always put Chris first, Eddie, that’s who you are, and that’s why I—”
Eddie holds his breath for a second. He isn’t sure what he’s expecting.
“Anyway,” Buck says, after too long a pause and Eddie deflates slightly. “You’re important too, Eddie. I wish you could see that. I wish you could—you could see yourself the way I see you.”
And how do you see me? Eddie wants to ask, but doesn’t dare. Things have changed since the shooting—there’s no way they couldn’t—and he feels like he and Buck have been hovering on the edge of a precipice, something electric and alien sparking between them. There isn’t a word for it, and neither of them have done anything about it. They’re really not in any state to do so. But lord, is Eddie tempted, sometimes.
“Why were you awake, anyway?” Eddie asks, wanting to break the thick tension that has suddenly formed. Buck sighs, like he was afraid he would ask.
“Nightmares,” He says, clearly trying to sound casual, but a waver in his voice gives him away.
Eddie’s chest clenches. “I’m sorry.”
Buck lets out a wet-sounding chuckles and Eddie hates the idea of it, him having nightmares all alone in that apartment. “Only you would apologize for getting shot, Eddie.”
“Come over,” Eddie says, before he can stop himself. “I know it’s late, but—I don’t think either of us should be alone right now.”
There’s a lengthy pause and Eddie almost wants to take it back but Buck, mercifully, speaks. “Are you sure you want me there?”
“Yes.” Is what Eddie says. I always want you here, is what he doesn’t dare to say.
Buck pauses again. Then—
“I’m on my way.”
Eddie turns off his phone and waits in the darkness for Buck to arrive. The moment he hears the key turn in the lock, he exhales a relieved breath and manages to smile when Buck appears in the doorway of the bedroom, hovering hesitantly, as though he expects that now he’s here, Eddie will change his mind and kick him out.
Eddie tries to sound exasperated, but it comes out sounding fond. “Buck, I really hope you didn’t come all the way here in the middle of the night just to crash on the couch.”
That makes him laugh and eases some of the tension from his shoulders. Kicking off his shoes, Buck moves over to the other side of the bed and lays down over the covers on his side, facing Eddie.
It should be uncomfortable, this level of intense intimacy that hasn’t been present in their relationship before. But right now, Eddie feels the most comfortable and relaxed he has in a while and he can only hope that Buck feels the same way, too. He reaches out, a little tentatively, to take Buck’s hand in his.
The other man stiffens slightly and he looks at Eddie with something like wonder in his eyes.
“Don’t make this weird, Buck,” Eddie murmurs, hoping to break some of the tension. It works, and Buck lets out a startled chuckle.
“God, you’re such an asshole.” But he complies, slotting his fingers through Eddie’s and squeezing tight. Eddie can remember him doing it in the firetruck on the way to the hospital and he swallows. He’s glad he has a better memory to replace that with.
Eddie closes his eyes, feeling a hazy, soft, sort of comfort settle into his bones, with Buck’s touch and just him, there, so close by. He can’t help but wonder why it took them so long, to give each other the comfort they each need.
“Buck?” He murmurs, without opening his eyes. Buck hums in reply. It feels strangely domestic and makes Eddie’s heart beat a little faster.
“I think I will go to see Frank,” He says. “But for myself, this time.”
Eddie can’t see Buck’s face when he replies, but can hear it, the tender, proud smile in his voice. “I’m so glad, Eddie.” He says, his voice cracking a little bit.
If Buck says anything after that, Eddie can’t hear it, as sleep pulls him under into the most restful night he’s had yet. And when he wakes in the morning, Buck curled around him, his face peaceful and serene in the golden sunlight, Eddie can revel in the fact that the feeling was mutual.
#911 fox#buddie#buddie fic#evan buckley#eddie diaz#dailybuddie#neethu writes#otp: you two have an adorable son
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wow the amount of bad takes about jgy in his tag are so ??? and the number of people who write jgy's love for lxc as being unrequited in his own tag is also ?? and gleeful and borderline sadistic? like why do my boy dirty like that 🥺🥺🥺
It's the worst!!!!
There are so many. Soooooo so many. And yes, the unrequited thing too!!!! Like, sad unrequited is...well, let's say I very much disagree with unrequited as a reading of canon, but you do you, but there really is a lot that's just spiteful to JGY!!!! Or god I don't know if you've ever gone browsing the xiyao the on the ao3 but if you /don't/ add otp: true to the search results you get some truly ridiculous stuff all over the place—so much past abusive JGY xiyao, for example. Which is a) nonsense and b) tagged with xiyao in relationships instead of additional tags why exactly?
I think....part of it is that people can sense CQL is incomplete, and they want to fill in those gaps. Which is fine and great!!! But they want to fill them in with like—oh, very much Evil JGY and Righteous NMJ, and so forth, and I think that's a bad extrapolation from CQL canon (people really have a hard time remembering that NMJ is against the Wen, yes even in CQL) and often it's just really not supported by MDZS. Which—I mean, complications of 'sometimes you have to read MDZS in to CQL to make it make any sense' and 'almost everyone does some reading in' aside, you certainly don't have to, but I think people...like, fill in JGY mistreating LXC and then treat is as the One True Canon.
Which I mean. I don't mean to imply you don't get some truly awful takes from novel people, too. *bitter laughter* The takes I have seen.... I don't want to get too specific and vague people but yeah I've seen some truly awful purely novel-based takes, too.
Oh and then there's fucking Fatal Journey. If you have been around you probably know my opinion on Fatal Journey. I really do not like it and I think the degree to which it wildly misrepresents the characters and their situations is...not appreciated. I'll tell you this, when I watched it I spent a lot of time exclaiming so that's where that totally unsupported idea comes from! E.g. the idea that the music was supposed to entirely cure NMJ.... Every time I see a post that's just like "and JGY decides not to kill NMJ, so he survives!!!" it's very....sigh. I mean, even aside from the thing where JGS and JGY's circumstances are being completely ignored.
I think there's also something where like....people really REALLY want the ending to be about, you know, people getting their just deserts. WWX got a happy ending because he is morally correct in such-and-such a fashion! JGY got his bad one because he's evil!!!! Etc.
And beyond that people...want it to just be a happier ending than it actually is. I think part of it is CQL's ending...and part of the problem I have there is that if one man interested in good at the top can fix things, which seems to be like the emotional implication, then it's a pretty straightforward inference that JGY wasn't interested in good...but some of it is just people. But JGY's downfall is bad, actually!! Even just—well, consider this bit from the Iron Hook extra, from ch 123:
The guard didn’t report to the real sect leader at all, but instead to another senior of the LanlingJin Sect’s. When the senior heard, he was infuriated by the fact that such an ordinary merchant would dare step on the golden stairs of the LanlingJin Sect’s, ordering him to chase the visitor out. Yet, it was interrupted by Jin Ling, who was just about to head to the hunting grounds.
Jin Ling knew that these seniors of the sect were all quite full of pride, believing that they were a sect hundreds of years old. No matter what, they definitely couldn’t lower their prestige, refusing to welcome anyone who wasn’t of eminent personage. First of all, he’d always abhorred such a way of doing things; second of all, he was mad that the guard reported to somebody else directly, ignoring him completely; and third of all, he remembered that when Jin GuangYao was still here, no disciples of even guest cultivators dared to take bribery so easily.
This is very much the opposite of what people want to be true about JGY!!! I'm just over here like...look, I'm certainly not going to tell you you have to stick with canon, but if it offends you so profoundly I.... really don't know what to tell you....
(wanting it to be happier than it actually is is part of why people also have really weird takes about LXC post-canon, I think.)
Honestly it's really exhausting!!! People absolutely post in the JGY tag to just. Talk about how much they hate him. Talk about other characters hating him. "Jokes" that are just oooh, NMJ is going to do so much violence to him. Suggesting that he's inherently evil. Suggesting that he's inherently evil because he chooses JGS over his many many options including the people who love him, NMJ and LXC.... Which, you know, even aside from the many many problems with that analysis, even if it were true wanting your dad to love you is like. Not actually pure evil. And also it's a shitty analysis of his situation! So hey.
I've mentioned before the way people seem to want the cultivation world to be not only way better and more progressive and safe and so forth than it actually is, but way better and more progressive and safe and etc than the modern States! It's really something.
Also a whole bunch of vibes that are like, ngl, how /dare/ JGY want to improve his position in the world, how dare he want to be anything other than a servant, doesn't he know his place.... funnnnnn times.
Oh and of course people taking the Empathy framing uncritically—in CQL the straight-up different version of events, in MDZS the way it's interpreted through NMJ's anger which WWX can also feel... Like, look at this section from chapter 50:
Jin GuangYao was, at the moment, complaining to Lan XiChen, yet just last night he had been all soft and innocent as he talked with Nie MingJue, playing the guqin. Hearing how Jin GuangYao spoke ill of him behind his back, Nie MingJue burned with anger and kicked the door open. The raging flames within his head traveled throughout the entirety of his body. A thunder-like roar exploded in the air, “How dare you!”
People will read this and conclude JGY was in the wrong and NMJ was totally reasonable in his anger here. I?????? Like. He is literally about to try and kill JGY on the spot, to be clear. Also the last time JGY talked back to him he also tried to kill him. I just. What. Framing is framing but please think about this for like five seconds.
Anyway yeah it's exhausting and it sucks :( I think a lot of us pro-JGY people don't even post in the tags....man.
My position is that JGY is amazing, actually, and that it's best not only for him but for the people around him that he becomes Jin-zongzhu and Jin-xiandu 🥰 Seriously he's fantastic, no one else does what he does or would even think to try.
#also sorry for taking so long to get back to you!!!#i've been on and off sick and also very busy at work so I haven't been writing as much#but I think I am managing to ginger tea the sick into submission 💪#more than one tag could contain#I love him....
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Fic: All we do is think about the feelings that we hide
Fandom: The Old Guard (2020)
Pairing: Booker x Joe x Nicky, Booker x Nicky, Booker & Nile, mention of Andy x Quynh
Tags: Secret Relationship, Established Relationship, Angst, Booker’s Self-Worth Issues, Mentions of Double Penetration, Otherwise no graphic sex in this fic
A/N: For the always darling @bewires who is a delight and a gem. I made this more Booker x Nicky focused coz... My brain needed some streamlining and so here it is? I hope you’ll like it nonetheless x
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When they walk together, Joe and Nicky take the lead up front while Nile hooks an arm around Booker’s. He is careful to keep his eyes from following them when they move through the crowds of locals and tourists alike that pack the Christmas market and doubly more deliberate in his attempts to cajole Nile into trying a sausage or a cup of mulled wine, or what about that shop with those knick knacks?
If her indulgent smile is anything to be judged by, Booker thinks it’s not working.
Coming to the Christmas market had been Joe’s idea. A chance for them to spend some time together. The exact thing Booker had been wanting to avoid at all cost. Since his return, Joe, Nicky, and himself had taken a weekend off to have the screaming and sparring and sex sessions that resulted in a mutual agreement to take things slower this time. As if everything they’d done prior to his exile had been wrong footed and untrue. Desperate with want - which in fairness, he had had Nicky’s cock in his ass and Joe’s waiting to press up against it at the time - Booker had agreed to it.
“-buy as Christmas gifts?”
Nile’s question hangs in the winter air between them before Booker inelegantly mumbles a, “Hm?” to her incredulous amusement. “I was just asking what Joe and Nicky would buy as Christmas gifts?” She repeats, bumping their shoulders together. He had been infinitely grateful that when Joe posited the trip to the Christmas market, Nile had piped up and said it was a great idea. At least he wouldn’t have to walk alone while Joe and Nicky held hands and strolled through the crowd together.
“They usually try to make things for other people during Christmas. One year, Joe painted Nicky in that pose that Kate Winslet did in Titanic. I think it’s still hanging in their house in Malta,” Booker says with a fond smile as the memory comes to him. “You should visit them there when you have a chance to.”
“Have you ever been to Malta?”
“A few times,” Booker hedges carefully, guiding her towards a stall that is selling some Christmas candy.
“How many times is a few times?” Nile asks, completely undettered. God, he should’ve known she would have latched on to that little tidbit.
“I’ve known them almost the entirety of my immortal life, Nile,” He says with a careful smile while he picks up a bag of chocolate peppermint sticks and pays for it. “It would be only natural for me to know how their favourite safehouse looks like.”
Nile frowns but doesn’t continue that thread of thought because Joe is cutting through to them with a glint of unholy glee as he declares that they’ve found an ice-rink.
-
The thing is, when Joe, Nicky, and Booker agreed to take this relationship slowly, only Booker was paying attention to the rules of the game. The agreement to try was still fresh and Booker can still feels the phantom weight of their cocks in him as they came, filling him up in this covenant they’d made.
He’d been beyond relieved and grateful that they’d even wanted to try at all that he knew that he would have rather died a true death than allow himself to fuck it all up again. Booker had barely survived that first heartache of being sent away. He knows he won’t a second time.
So, he plays a game with himself; how many times can he stop himself from looking at them? How many times can he resist from reaching out them and asking for some reassurance or comfort? To fall easily against them on the sofa and tangle their limbs together? To have the simple pleasures that comes with being in a relationship with another party; to know their kisses, their hands in his own, the weight of their embraces, their laughters and gazes. Booker packs all his yearning and focuses on maintaining the facade that for anyone who cared to look, it was Joe and Nicky and no one else.
When he had gone through this the first time around, he knows or at least had the suspicion that Andy knew why he’d always slept close to Joe and Nicky, or why there had been a fair few times when they’d gone out together as a foursome and disappeared together as a three. She’d never spoken to him about it. Booker misses her for that.
With Nile, that bag of rules went out the window the moment he had a second to truly know his sister.
Now that Andy was off galivanting the world with Quynh on some long, protracted second honeymoon, they’re lucky to get her on the phone for more than 15 minutes sometimes. But she is happy, and they will see each other again. This left Nile in charge and she takes to it like a duck to water. Which is perhaps the reason why she clings to Booker and tugs him to the ice where a slew of laughing and screaming people are having their wintertime fun out on the town square.
“Nile, leave him be,” Nicky says with a gentle smile, prying her away from Booker.
Joe suitably distracts her by pulling her to join the line for the skate rentals. “Thanks,” He says, tucking his hands into his coat pockets, carefully angling his body away from the ice. “You should go join them. Have a bit of fun. I’ll just get myself a hot drink and wait for you somewhere nearby, okay?”
Nicky shakes his head, still smiling. “Ah, I don’t feel up for it. I think I’ll stay with you.”
“But you like ice-skating,” Booker replies with a frown. “Andy and I had to convince you not to make a bid for the Winter Olympics, remember?”
“I remember, yes. You always had a good memory for things like that, Basti,” Nicky laughs fondly. Taking him by the elbow, he guides them both to the nearest hot chocolate stand. “Perhaps I want to spend some time with you instead, hm? Joe had been a bit upset that Nile wanted to join us. He’d been talking about how romantic it would be to visit the Christmas market with us both.”
Booker orders their drinks and does his damndest not to look at Nicky when he says, “That’s very nice of him to want that but wouldn’t coming here with you suit him better?”
Nicky doesn’t say a thing to that and they wait for their drinks, absconding to find a free bench to wait for Joe and Nile. “Sometimes just when I think we’re alright, you say things like that that make me think that we’re stil back at square one.” He shrugs when Booker turns to him. “I think we’re okay and then you... Avoid Joe and I. Turn away from our kisses, look away when we catch you looking, hide your hands when all I want to do is hold them and kiss them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” Nicky asks, eyes clear and devoid of judgement. “Basti, we love you so much. We are ready to shout it from the rooftops and scream it to anyone who would care to listen, but everytime we think you are ready for that, you seem to shy away from us.”
“It’s just easier,” Booker breathes, exhalation coiling in the cold air between them to mingle with the steam rising from their hot chocolate.
“Easier for who?”
“For all of us. I-I... I want to be loved, I do. But for so long now I have found myself not being worthy of you and after London,” He pauses. “After London, I believed I had lost any hope of being with both of you. Then, we had that weekend away and we said we would try, that we would do this differently. So, I tried.”
“Oh, Booker,” Nicky sighs.
He sets his drink down by his feet, swallowing tightly. Nicky does the same after a moment and takes Booker’s hand in between his own. Keeping his gaze fixed on their palms pressed together, he glavanises himself to speak.
“The first time we got together, you never asked me for any intimacy when we were in public, and I was alright with that. It had been just the both of you for so long, of course it would feel weird with a third. It was okay. Now, this time round, I taught myself not to want it because...”
“Because?” Nicky urges him on, shuffling closer.
“Because I don’t think I can survive being sent away by you again,” The truth tumbles forth in a whisper. “Because I drank myself to death twice before Quynh showed up and I know if I have to leave you again, I won’t survive a third.”
Nicky leans in, wrapping him in an embrace that Booker accepts with his arms around Nicky’s waist. He buries his nose in his scarf, trying to stop the shaking of his limbs.
“I love you both so much, but I’m scared. All the time. What if I kiss you and Joe, and I’m turned away? I know you love me, but will you love me if I make a mistake again? Because I will, you know I will. I don’t think I can do this if I fuck this up again.”
Careful fingers curl through the back of his head, keeping his face tucked to Nicky’s shoulder. After a beat, he speaks. “Do you trust me? Do you trust Joe?”
“With my life.”
“Then, trust me when I say that we’re never going to give you up,” Nicky says, turning his lips to the shell of Booker’s ear as he continues. “Never gonna run around and desert you, never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye-”
“Oh, fuck off,” Booker gasps, choking on a wet laugh as he pulls away only to be dragged back into a quick press of a kiss tinged with happiness.
“Hey, I want a kiss, too!”
Booker startles and makes to jump apart at the sound of Joe’s voice but Nicky holds firm. “Well darling, take a number,” He says sweetly, turning Booker’s attention back to him and sliding their mouths into another kiss that leaves him melting into Nicky’s arms.
He can’t see it but he hears the absolute triumph in Nile’s voice when she says, “Oh my god, Andy owes me 500 euros.”
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A Deadly Gift
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x enhanced(female!)reader
Summary: You and Bucky play your yearly game of hide and seek.
Word count: 3400-ish.
Warnings: +18 SMUT (don’t read if you’re a minor), blood (knife play, gun play), gore, rough sex at its finest, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)
A/N: this is a lot. I don’t know where it came from, but here it is. Might be a little (or a lot) AU for Bucky’s character, but whatever. I’m crazy and this was hella fun to write.
Your heart was beating so fast you were convinced you were gonna have a fucking heart attack. You’d been on the run for at least four hours now, trying your hardest to keep as much distance between you and him as humanly possible. The only problem? He was known as the Winter Soldier, a man who wouldn’t stop until he completed his missions whatever the cost and right now, the only thing on his mind was your immediate capture.
Sure, he wasn’t under HYDRA’s mind control anymore, but he still possessed the deadly qualities of his former alter ego. He was incredibly fast on his feet, insanely stealthy and extremely deadly, and no matter how far away from him you thought you might’ve gotten, the chances of him sneaking up on you remained, lingering like a mist that clouded your common sense and rational thinking processes.
Bucky Barnes had been gracious enough to give you a fairly large lead, allowing you a two-hour head start before he’d come chasing after you with everything he had. You didn’t waste any time after the clock began to run, slamming the door shut in his face before you took off in a blind sprint for the woods behind the house you rented just for the occasion. That was so long ago that it was starting to get dark. This was an advantage for him with his heightened sight, hearing, and sense of smell, but not for you. You weren’t a super soldier, nor were you Daredevil.
You purposefully didn’t put on perfume or body lotion and you hadn’t washed your hair in a few days, afraid your signature scent would be a dead giveaway to your whereabouts. Over the years, you’d grown smarter, making the game harder for him each time it was his turn. Still, it thrilled him to chase you down, and you were a great location scout.
You sat still for a moment, straining your ears in an attempt to focus on the sound of his combat boots on the soil or the gears in his metal arm twisting and turning with low hums. It was hard for you, nearly impossible to distinguish the sound of animals rustling between the trees and a deadly assassin on the hunt for you. You knew had to slow down your breathing to a controlled speed as fast as possible, afraid he might be able to hear the pounding against your chest in the deafening silence of the northern forest. You took five minutes, that was all you allowed yourself to calm down and take a breather. He could be miles off for all you knew, but he could be watching you as well from just beyond your view, waiting to pounce until he’d driven you into a corner like a lion did on a wounded animal. It made you dizzy.
When you thought back on how your relationship started, you couldn’t help but snort in irony. You hated him at first, treated him like the enemy even after he’d been accepted into the team with open arms because of Steve. You didn’t trust him, even after he went to Wakanda to get that mind control shit extracted from his brain. You didn’t like the way he would sneak up on you when you were making pancakes for breakfast, or the way he’d look at you for minutes on end without blinking during three-hour long mission debriefings.
You were sick of the way he’d stare at you while you were running miles on the treadmill, always looking at your ass in tight Gymshark leggings but never saying a word to you. So, you decided to confront him, to tell him to fuck right off and mind his own goddamn business or else.
It only took for him to say one word before you were on your knees in the changing room, sloppily sucking on and licking down his beautiful cock until he came down your throat. It wasn’t the word itself that made you so angry you wanted him to fuck the rage out of you. It was the way he smirked slyly when he said it. Sorry.
It took you two nearly a year for your relationship status to change from fuckbuddies to boyfriend and girlfriend. Everybody knew it coming except for you, you’d never been interested in a relationship before him. You didn’t know what it was about him that drew you in, but he was like a drug you’d never be able to quit. He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man and everything you didn’t know you wanted. If there was such a thing as soulmates, you were convinced he was yours.
Of course, the former iron fist of HYDRA came with baggage. He’d wake up in the middle of the night screaming sometimes, drenched in his own sweat. One time, he’d tried to murder you in your sleep. Still, you stuck with him, offering him a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on when he needed it. He loved you, you could tell from the way he’d glance at you while you checked your phone first thing in the morning and the way he cherished and worshiped your entire body from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head. He was gentle with you, making sure to always put your needs above his own, a true 1940′s gentleman. He held doors open for you, held an umbrella over your head when it rained, carried you to bed when you were too damn tired to move another muscle after sparring and he’d take you out to dinner at least twice a week. He was sweet, soft when you were alone with him and he cared about you so much it nearly gave you cold feet once. Bucky Barnes was almost too sweet.
He knew you were close by. He’d heard your exasperated breathing an hour ago to his east, after which he decided to grant himself a break. He didn’t want the game to end so soon. The more he allowed you to think you were in control, the more worked up you’d be. The wetter you’d be for him.
He sniffed the air after being seated on a dead tree trunk in the middle of nowhere for almost thirty minutes. Your scent, naturally sweet and powdery, stuck to the leaves you’d swatted out of your face with your hand while trying to run through them. No perfume indeed, he applauded you for that, but he could still smell you in the sea of pine needles and dirt. You were getting further away from him, almost too far, so he began to jog, placing his feet on the ground so softly he looked and sounded like a ghost. Right now, he was your biggest nightmare.
You panted harshly, leaning against a tree with your hands on your knees. You hadn’t heard a single sound except for a howling owl in the past hour and were confident in the distance you managed to create between you and James. You knew it couldn’t last forever, that he’d find you sooner or later, but it was that exact knowledge that caused your belly to tighten and your heart rate to speed up to an almost uncontrollable speed. You clenched your thighs together and smiled in the darkness while you explored your surroundings, already excited at the thought of it being your turn next time. You were thinking the Amazon, or maybe Egypt. Not a lot of cover in the desert, though, but that was his problem.
He knew he had you right where he wanted you when he heard the sickening crunch of a twig breaking under the ball of your left foot. He had better senses than you, but you clouded him nearly as much as he did you, causing him too to step on a twig, its sound ringing through the trees until it reached your heaving form.
“Shit,” you cursed under your breath, earning a loud laugh to escape his lips. The sound echoed through the trees, making a chill run along the entirety of your spine.
“Come on out, baby doll,” he taunted, “There’s nowhere left to run.”
You could hear the sound of a blade unsheathing and quickly followed his action, grabbing your knife from your boot and gripping it tightly in your hand as a form of protection. He was stomping now, not giving a flying fuck whether you heard him or not. The game was up, he was going to win. He won every time, although this was the longest you’d ever gone without being caught.
“I’m going to find you,” he continued, “and you won’t like what happens to you when I do.”
You took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from your brow. Then, you launched yourself at him. He chuckled when he saw you emerge from between the trees, easily blocking the first jab you threw at him. The black mask that covered his mouth obscured his voice somewhat, but you could still hear him laughing loud and clear. He toyed with you when he easily tossed his knife in the air, catching in his other hand without even looking at where it landed.
Fucking hell, that turned you on.
He grabbed your arm and twisted it, forcing you down on your knees with the push of his foot on your back before the fight had even had a chance to get started.
“Told you I’d find you,” he smirked.
You turned your head around and spat in his face, saliva dripping down his cheek and wetting the mask, “fuck you.”
It didn’t take much for you to break free from his grasp. After all, he was the one who taught you how to do it. You hooked your leg under his own, sending him flying to the dirt. He landed on his back with a thud, but before you could run away again, he was already back on his feet. The knife in his hand found its way in your shoulder, sinking deep into you. You cried out in pain, screaming when he pulled it back out in a fluid motion before he tossed it to the side. If he needed another knife, he’d take yours.
“I said, fuck you!” You shouted again, kicking back your leg into his left thigh.
“Oh baby,” he said quietly as he wiped the spit from his cheek, “that’s exactly what I intend to do to you.”
You ran away, but he was much faster. In less than ten seconds, he had you on the ground with a thud, gasping for air while he began to drag you back to your previous spot by your ankles. You screamed and tried to kick him, but he pulled your legs apart, holding them in a grip so tight you felt like you could never break free. Instead, you twisted your torso in a half sit-up, taking your knife and plunging it into his calf. It pierced his skin and flesh, but he didn’t say a word, even as you retrieved it with a twist that sent blood gushing down his pant leg.
He grabbed your knees next, pulling you closer to him with a hard yank. You flailed your legs and punched him wherever you could hit him, but he only held you tighter, creating marks on your skin that would surely bruise even when he heard his bones crack under the force of your fists connecting with his body.
You slashed his arm, breaking the fabric of his tactile suit and exposing his skin. The blade connected with his flesh and drew blood that dripped down his arm and into the soil beneath. You momentarily managed to break from his grasp and punched him in the face, sending it flying to the side. Another punch, bruising his cheekbone and another, splitting his lip underneath the mask. He took the knife from you with a growl and tossed it into the darkness, adrenaline overpowering the feeling of his burning leg.
You grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, allowing you to free yourself from his hold. Instead of running, you got up to fight, wiping dirt from your cheek before hurling your fist at him. He barely managed to dodge the attack, grabbing your arm as it flew passed his face and twisted it painfully behind your back.
You were on the floor again in under a minute.
“You like hurting me, don’tcha?” he grinned, straddling your waist and grabbing hold of your wrists.
You looked up at him through damp lashes, unaware of the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. You hardly recognized him hovering above you, eyes so black they looked like obsidian. You tried to wiggle out from underneath him, a moan escaping your lips when his hard cock came in contact with your clothed core.
“Bucky,” you mewled, shutting your eyes, “shit.”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” he ordered, “Or I’ll shoot you in the face.”
He began to pull a gun from the waistband of his trousers and proceeded to cock the safety and pointed it straight at your face. You kicked your legs wildly, straining against his metal hand around your wrists with all your might. He didn’t budge, not even as you stared down the barrel of the Glock. The fear of dying to the hands of the man you loved caused your entire body to vibrate.
“Sarge,” you bucked your hips into his, “Sergeant fucking Barnes.”
He pushed the gun into your temple, cold iron chilling you to the bone. Then, he lowered his head, pressing a rough kiss to your open mouth through his mask. You could taste the fabric on your tongue, mixed with blood, his blood.
“Shut the fuck up,” he barked, “this is your fault, not mine. So easy to find. You’re gonna have to blindfold me next time. Maybe then it’ll finally take some effort.”
“I’ll gouge your eyes out with my nails instead,” you snarled.
His mouth met yours again, but instead of kissing him back like before, you headbutted him. Your forehead connected with his nose, sending blood squirting in your eyes and face. He cursed this time, almost removing his grip from your wrists out of reflex, but ignored the burning sensation in his nose and the heat of streaming blood down his face.
He hovered over you for a moment, taking in the sight of you, lying under him with his blood coating your scowling face. Your hair, long and messy, had fallen from the ribbon you’d used to secure it in place and your chest heaved up and down. With a grunt, he placed the gun back in his waistband with the safety back on. You ripped off his mask, crashing your lips to his in a kiss so heated you could set the forest aflame. Teeth, lips, and tongues collided painfully, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat so wonderful Bucky’s dick twitched in his pants.
He grabbed the nearly forgotten butterfly knife hidden inside his shoe and used it to slice open the front of your t-shirt. You had goosebumps all over your skin when the blade dragged across your naked skin. With the flick of his wrist, Bucky sliced your bra from your chest, exposing your already peaking nipples to his wanting eyes. The knife quickly disappeared from view again, but the thought of him pulling it out again had you squirming under him in anticipation. He undid your pants next, forcing them down to your ankles before finally undoing his own.
The sight of his cock, long and hard and dripping with pre-cum as it sprung free from his boxers drove you up the fucking wall.
“I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t breathe,” he smiled, “gonna fuck you so hard I’m gonna have to drag you back home by your ankles.”
The weight of his body on top of you, his heavy breathing in your ear, the way he bit at the exposed skin on your neck, all of it combined had you soaking wet for him in seconds. He found out soon enough because his metal fingers found your folds seconds after your pants were around your ankles. He rubbed your clit in slow motions, drawing a moan so delicious from your mouth he wanted to cum then and there.
“Gonna get you ready for my cock now. You’ll take it like a good girl.”
A gasp left your mouth when three of his fingers plunged inside of your already soaking pussy. He didn’t waste any time, pumping into you at a fast speed until your pussy was sopping wet.
“So fucking wet,” he smirked, “every. Damn. Time.”
His fingers left you far too soon. You whined, the need for him to fill you up rising with each passing second. He licked his fingers, savoring the sweet flavor of your slick on his taste buds.
“You’re gonna be on top,” he said, “get on my fucking dick and don’t get off until you make me cum.”
You nodded quickly, wincing when he squeezed your wrists before letting you go. He sank down on the soil, grabbing you under your arms and hoisting you on top of him with a hard yank.
You lowered yourself down on him, inhaling sharply at the sensation of his dick stretching your pussy. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to his size. His hands gripped your ass, his metal hand and his flesh one offering a delicious contrast that sent sparks flying before your eyes. Then, you began to ride him, slow at first, pushing down on him until he bottomed out inside you. He hit your most sensitive spot, nearly sending your senses into overdrive.
With a wicked grin on your flawless face, you reached behind you. You dug your finger into the stab wound on his calf, causing his eyes to screw shut and a loud groan to spill from his lips.
“You like that, don’t you?” You asked, pressing harder into the wound you’d created moments before.
He reached behind him, pulling the gun from behind his back. He pushed it into your side, nudging for you to move faster. You complied instantly, picking up the pace on top of him.
You nearly came when he pressed the cold metal against your clit, using the barrel of the gun to rub aggravated circles against the sensitive bud.
“Good girl,” he panted, “make yourself cum on my cock.”
You gripped his shoulders, arching your back to create selfish pressure against your g-spot. You rocked your hips back and forth while he twisted and flicked your nipple. You kissed him again, eliciting a nasty moan into his mouth.
You came hard, so fucking hard your vision blurred. He shoved the gun in your hand and forced his hands on your hips, pushing you faster up and down his dick until he came as well, cum shooting in spurts against your clenching walls.
You collapsed on top of him, panting and gasping for air while his head collided with the earth. You laid there for God knows how long, one of his hands rubbing circles on your back as the other caressed your cheek. Finally, he took off his jacket, hanging it over your shoulders to keep you warm.
“Sorry I broke your nose,” you mumbled before kissing him gently, “you’re still handsome, though.”
He smiled, “Be good as new in a week, baby. You went soft on me. I expected more of a struggle.”
You felt his hand travel under the jacket over the spot where he stabbed you and hissed in pain, “sorry bout that.”
“It’s okay,” you smiled softly, “be good as new tomorrow.”
You may not have been a super soldier, but you healed fast.
He offered his hand, placing the gun back in the waistband of his trousers.
“We have a long way back ahead of us,” he smirked, “You came a long way this time. No helicopter though, thank God. That was annoying as hell.”
You nodded, biting your lip as you began to follow him through the trees. He walked with a limp, but he was fine. The serum never failed him.
“Hey, James?” You asked as you tried hard not to trip over the bed of leaves and twigs below your feet, “shoot me next time, will you?”
“Sure thing baby,” he said, kissing you softly on the temple, “happy anniversary.”
Yeah, you sure as fuck were going to have fun chasing him next year.
#james barnes fic#bucky barnes fic#james barnes imagine#bucky barnes imagine#james barnes smut#bucky barnes smut#marvel fic#marvel smut#marvel imagine#avengers smut#avengers fic#avengers imagine#winter soldier fic#winter soldier imagine#winter soldier smut#bucky barnes x reader#winter soldier x reader#james barnes x reader#marvel x reader#jammywrites
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war nymph | bucky barnes ♡
request: ooo write something of bucky and an asgardian reader (who’s thor and loki’s sister) and is the goddess of war. and like they just came back from a mission or something like that. the reader shows off her skills/powers and bucky gets turn on? make it rough and kinky 😳
note: the title is inspired by grimes’ creation called “war nymph”, that’s also yn’s avenger name/goddess name. i know a nymph isn’t the same as a goddess buttt idc! quickly (kind of) written, straight to the point! also i love the idea of an asgardian goddess who’s loki & thor’s sister (we not talking ab hela but i love her too LOL). def would write drabbles/headcanons ab this character if y’all want that. lmk!
word count: 2.6k exactly!
warnings: smut, nsfw, slight voyeurism kink, rough, cute trash talk, both reader and bucky have dom energy? which is fun
here we go!!
"She does it again," Thor praised you, smothering you as he placed his arm around your shoulder.
You, Thor, and Bucky were all getting on the Quinjet, joining a few of the others - that included Steve, Natasha, and Sam. You had just completed another mission in which you were to find and possibly disarm an 0-8-4. You came to find out the weapon originated from a Hydra base, and it was mostly with your help that the weapon was able to be disarmed, and that you were able to escape the Hydra members who tried to stop you from doing just that.
Thor and Bucky weren't completely useless, of course, but this was a time when your abilities as a war goddess of Asgardia shone. You could quickly disarm weapons and multitask by beating the shit out of someone at once, whether it be with your brute strength of through the use of a weapon. You were familiar with every weapon there was, and incredibly skilled in many fighting tactics. If there ever were a mission for you, it was this one. They called you War Nymph, a title no one dared to challenge.
"Get off me, you big slob," you grimaced, wriggling away from your brother Thor's grasp. You'd grown up with Thor on Asgard - you were an Asgardian first, and an Avenger second. Your family, specifically your brothers Thor and Loki, always came first. You were always respected on Asgard for your abilities — now they were being put to further use on the Avengers team.
"And to think I was complimenting you," Thor scoffed, being dramatic as usual.
"You're not wrong to. What would you ever do without me?" you teased, prompting Bucky to chime in.
"She's right. I gotta say, I'm impressed."
Bucky Barnes — where to start with him? Sergeant turned Winter Soldier turned Avenger turned... boy toy? You didn't know how exactly your relationship with Bucky was to be defined, but it was definitely physical. Around others, you communicated through mostly sarcastic remarks, but away from the others, it was a different story - still sarcastic remarks, except during your sexual encounters.
So, true to your nature, you quickly quipped,
"I gotta say, I can't say the same to you, Barnes."
"Oh, really?" Bucky raised his brows with a playful smirk.
"Easy," Natasha intervened, gearing up the Quinjet. "We don't need a repeat of what happened last time you two started with the sarcastic remarks."
"Oh, you can say that again," Steve scoffed, settling into the seat next to Natasha while you and Bucky leaned against the walls opposite each other, smirking knowingly at each other.
"It wasn't that bad," you rolled your eyes.
"We all almost died," Sam snapped.
Last time you and Bucky had your gos at each other, you ended up "play fighting", in the meeting room. But "play fighting" between a war goddess with multiple superpowers, including telekinesis and super strength, and an advanced combatant with super strength, wasn't your typical idea of a play fight. Of course when the rest of the team broke it up, you continued in private... but maybe "fighting" wasn't the right word to use.
"Oh, don't be such a baby, Sam," Thor smiled. He was well versed in play fighting with you and Loki as a youth on Asgard, and even he had been at the bad end of your powers.
You on the other hand had moved on from the conversation, more interested in sharpening just one of your many knives.
"Really though. I'm very impressed, War Nymph. You never fail to impress me more and more every single time," Bucky said, and unbeknownst to the others, in his voice there was a secret tone, one only you could decipher - he would be showing his appreciation greatly when you landed. It was so clear to see. The more you showcased your powers, the more you proved your many abilities, the more Bucky wanted you, the more he admired you.
Your knife made a sharp "shing" noise and you smirked, Bucky's needy eyes traveling to the source of the sound - ogling your trusty hands.
"I'm sure," you winked.
By the time you got home, Bucky was desperate, trailing behind your feet like a lost, yet murderous puppy. He wanted you, and he wanted you now. He made that known, whispering in your ear, his lips far too close to your neck to just be work-related chatter. Still you kept things under wraps, promising him "soon, soldier." The entirety of your debrief meeting was spent with a frustrated Bucky glaring at you with a dead face, but you knew behind his expression lurked a fire.
When it was all over, you and Bucky were the last two in the room.
"Meet in my room?" you asked, but Bucky was silent.
He shook his head slowly, approaching you with a stern look on his face.
"No. Let's just do this here."
"Here?" you laughed, looking around the deserted meeting room, which had glass panels that could easily be walked past and seen through. "You can't be serious-"
But apparently he was, because he had you pushed against the wall, lips pressed against yours, cutting you off and silencing you with ease. So all that need in his eyes hadn't been just for show, and you felt it through his pants as well. The kiss became passionate and sloppy, burning with desire. You moaned into his mouth, making him even harder, and started feeling the tell tale signs of arousal - your beating heart to match your other beating heart.
"Bucky-" you panted, the minute his lips detached from yours, breathless. His hands ran along your body and tugged at your clothing, wanting every bit of it off. "Someone could see-"
You were grasping on to every bit of logic that you had left, and there wasn't much. Bucky made you delirious with desire, made your heart race like no other, and you had the same effect on him. Logic wasn't necessarily winning here. You wanted him, and you wanted him now. And he had made it very clear that he didn't care where he had you.
He smirked, looking into your eyes with a mischievous glint in his own,
"You act like that's such a bad thing."
You rolled your eyes, pulling him back in - he had you all figured out. The idea of someone seeing the two of you, though horrifying, was also incredibly arousing. Whatever it was, it got adrenaline pumping through your veins like nobody's business. You didn't really care, who were you fooling?
"Just fuck me," you murmured against the hot skin of his neck, guiding his hand into your pants, feeling the cool metal of his prosthetic hand against your wet pussy, gliding back and forth against your slick folds.
"Are you bossing me around?" Bucky teased, grinding his hips against you so you felt the outline of his cock against your core.
"Yes," you retorted. "And that's an order."
It wasn't long before both your uniforms were off, and you both did this quickly, your nimble fingers working to complete the task. You needed to make this quick, and if that meant it was rough, then so be it. You weren't usually gentle, anyways. But Bucky took his time going down on you anyway, kneeling on the floor and kissing hot, wet kisses against your stomach and thighs as he went down, your hand tugging at his long, black hair. You domineered him as he buried his head between your thighs, sucking and kissing at your clit while his tongue worked your slit. You raised up one of your legs and settling your foot on his shoulder so he had easier access to you.
"Look at me," you forced his head up, hand tugging harshly at his hair, and he moaned into your throbbing core as you made intense eye contact with each other. You couldn't help but sigh in pleasure, leaning your head back against the wall. You had forgotten the dangers of doing this long ago, now you were lost in satisfaction. "Fuck, Bucky, you eat it so good," you moaned precariously, making his dick twitch in his boxers.
He wanted to make you come two ways - on his face and with his cock inside you, and he would work to ensure that it happened. When it came to sex with Bucky, you were both competing with each other to give the other the most pleasure, to be the most dominant. You were the perfect mix, two competitive assholes with superpowers.
He kitten licked up from your entrance to your clit, all the while rubbing his fingers in circular motions against your clit, sure to use the hand with the metal arm, which you loved so much. Your hips bucked against his tongue and you began to roll your hips up and down against his face, moaning and whimpering at the access he had to you. He let you do this for a while before pulling back and instead pushing two cold fingers in, making your hips twitch at the unexpected sensation. He curved his fingers upwards and had you hooked, fucking down on his fingers, to his astonishment.
"That's it baby, fuck my fingers," he praised you, and attached his lips to your clit again, sucking and licking. "Am I good for you? Good enough to make you come?"
You gasped out the words,
"Yes, Bucky, fuck. So good for me, baby, I'm gonna cum."
"Go ahead," he started thrusting his fingers in and out faster, harder, feeling his knuckles bottom out against your skin, which was glazed over with your arousal and his spit. He watched as his fingers disappeared inside of you, still aiming his tongue just above his fingers so he could taste you when you finished. He always wanted to taste you, to feel you in your entirety - there was something about an Asgardian war goddess that was irresistible.
You came with a cry of shock, and slowly rolled your hips around Bucky's fingers as he pressed his tongue against you to taste you.
"Fuck," you sighed, licking your lips and breathing harshly.
"Taste yourself," Bucky insisted, rising to his feet and pressing his lips against yours, initiating a long and needy kiss. You palmed him through his boxers, feeling his hard cock in your hands, before slowly bringing him out, stroking him softly and tugging at him. He chuckled darkly. "You're playing a dangerous game."
"They call me War Nymph. I'm always playing dangerous," you smirked, locking eyes with him.
He hummed, nodding almost understandingly.
"Hmm. I'm not quite done with you yet."
"I was hoping that wasn't your A-game," you teased.
"Oh, far from it," Bucky quipped back, smiling playfully, until all playfulness was over and he had you turned around, his hand pressing down into your back. "Fucking bend over," he leaned over you and whispered in your ear.
You whimpered at the command and did as you were told, supporting yourself with your hands against the wall and arching your back. Bucky found no use in waiting, and you felt the tip of his cock toying at your entrance at record speed, slicking himself in your arousal and watching as he teased your folds.
"Fuck," he whispered, his jaw clenching hard.
"It can be yours, soldier. You just have to earn it," you panted out, glancing over your shoulders to get a good look at him.
You knew that would motivate him, and it did more than that. He slammed into you with no regards, making your whole body lurch forward. You both let out obscene moans at the feeling of his sudden entrance. You felt his cock stretch you out, filling you up amazingly, and he felt the stretch of your walls around him, a reminder of his size.
"You like when I stretch you out?" Bucky prompted, and you moaned quietly in response, only making him buck his hips harder into you, in search of a proper answer. Again that metal arm came in contact with your warm skin, only this time his hand was wrapped around your neck, forcing you to look up, almost at him, while he fucked into you from behind. "I asked a question."
You moaned, your voice ragged and breathless in addition to the hand over your throat,
"Fuck, yes, Bucky. It's so fucking good."
"Yeah? Is it mine? Did I earn it?" he panted, slowing his thrusts and rolling his hips in so he fucked deep inside of you, so you felt it in your stomach, your walls clenching around him.
You nearly cried out,
"Yes, yes you earned it, it's your pussy, Bucky, make it yours."
"Mhm," he moaned, his breaths unstable. He slid in and out of you slowly and gently, going as deep as he could, silencing himself just to hear your moans and pants. Then he got an idea, sliding almost all the way out. "Fuck yourself, YN."
You moaned at the delicious thought, whimpering as you moved your hips back on him while he stood still, cherishing the feeling of his cock gliding against your walls, wanting to savor every part of him. He was big, and thick, and you could tell as you fucked back onto him. You started out slow, until Bucky brought his hand on the small of your back and started to guide you, slowly but surely, until you were moving faster, making little moans escape from your lips each time your ass met his thighs. It was rough and hard, the way he fucked you, his hand making you move faster each time.
"So good, baby," Bucky moaned, almost whining, and watched as your body followed his lead with ease. "I'm close."
"Oh god, me too," you panted, and he started to slam into you to get you to that point, listening to the pretty moans and practical screams that left your mouth at that point. If it weren't for the fact that the meeting room was sound proof, by now everyone would've heard you, and it was just pure luck that no one had walked past yet.
But when you came, it was explosive, and Bucky's orgasm followed soon after, your orgasms falling on top of one another's, colliding in such a divine way. You kept your hips rocking back on his, wanted to stay there until the sound of footsteps reminded you that such a thing would be irresponsible. You got dressed in record speed, practically throwing Bucky's clothes out of the way. You had your needs, but you were still a goddess. You wouldn't be caught slipping, even if this wasn't a bad way to "slip." You adjusted yourself, back to normal by the time Scott walked past and waved mindlessly, with no clue of what you and Bucky had just been up to.
"'It's your pussy'?" Bucky repeated, quoting you with a knowing smile on his lips as he cocked his head.
You scoffed,
"Don't get too ahead of yourself, Barnes. I was only saying that so you would fuck me for real. You've done better."
"Oh yeah?" Bucky grinned, matching your playful insults easily.
"Oh yeah, much better. But this wasn't half bad," you smirked, running your hand along his face. You gave his cheek a gentle slap. "Ok! I'll see you."
"See you," Bucky replied.
As you walked away, you turned to note,
"You should appreciate my skills more often. You know, if it's going to lead to this."
"Sure thing."
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes imagine#marvel#marvel smut#marvel imagine#orbitariums#smut
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why rayllum is a MASTERPIECE part 3
*RUBS MY CLAWS TOGETHER* IT IS SEASON 3 TIME BITCHES AND H O L Y S H I T I LOVE THIS SEASON SO MUCH
i even rewatched it for this!
this time i’ll try to have SOME order, and go by episode. this will however still include unintelligible screaming
1. DAMN THESE FUCKERS BE PINING MORE THAN A PINE TREE FOREST!
first off, affectionate eye rolling, nose boop, and head bonk is the best thing.
second, IF SOMEONE SAYS THAT DURING WHEN CALLUM WAS HELPING RAYLA PUT ON HIS SCARF AND THEY J STARED AT EACHOTHER FOR A BIT BEFORE RAYLA TURNED AWAY THAT HE WAS N O T LOST IN HER EYES? they’re wrong. this is fact now.
third, their teamwork and decision making is excellent. they agree to try and sneak past sol regem, and when that fails try talking to him and then decide to simply trick his senses with the scarf. and instead of rayla shooting down callum’s “smelltriloquism” idea, she simply adds onto it! LOVE HEALTHY FRIENDSHIPS
“i think it’s good luck!” YES IT IS RAY THAT’S UR BOYFRIENDS SCARF
also, here you go. you’re welcome.
2. STILL PINING. GOD DAMN.
first, CALLUM BEING SO EXCITED BY ALL THE MAGIC IN XADIA IS S O CUTE! MY SON. this might turn into an overrall review of s3. o well
second. FLUSTERED RAYLA AND FLUSTERED CALLUM. Y E S
third, THE ADORABURR FIELD! their smiles were so fond and soft and A. they make me cry of joy.
an overall look on it, i like how this episode really shows their feelings clearly. no “will they won’t they”, at least for rayla. it’s clear she has feelings.
3. AH FUCK. ANGST.
first i love how when rayla mentions that she’s excited and happy but also terrified, callum tries to comfort her. good boi. best boi.
second, elf callum. i love that scene so much even if the second-hand embarrassment kills me, and rayla is j like “why the fuck do i love you. im gonna kill him.”
third, DANCE! callum not being rude and saying her home is “modest” before rayla explains it’s an illusion, his BLUSH WHEN SHE HELPS HIM, and the softness in general. rayla’s excitement that she’s home and talks abt that she can show callum where she went to school, the best moonberry surprise place, until...
fourth, AH FUCK. A N G S T T I M E. rayla being crest-fallen before callum says that it must’ve been a mistake, and she realizes that ethari would probably understand!
and then CONFIRMED GAYS. YES.
rayla realizing ethari ghosted her too and then callum GOING O F F. he angy and when rayla runs out callum IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWS (like in a later episode) and comforts her again.
when ethari comes down and breaks the spell and says to callum “trees to meet you too” and rayla’s like “don’t encourage him”
also callum trying to get on the shadowpaw and ethari being Concerned is AMAZING. concerned dad content
i’ll talk more about ezran/ruthari/the dark magic trio in a later ted talk
4. H E R E W E G O
first, rayla clearly being sad and callum picking up on that quickly (he even seems to be almost falling on purpose, perhaps to make her smile?) and asking if she’s ok before being shot down by rayla insisting she is fine. GOD DAMN. THAT HURTS.
second, their interaction with nyx is so amazing. rayla being protective of zym and callum being a DORK is awesome, but also their decision making.
after rayla reluctantly decides that they can go see how nyx could get them across the desert so quickly, they see the ambler and then their reasoning is amazing.
“what do you think?”
“the dragon queen is dying.” and then i forget the rest of the exact quote but they give a subtle nod to eachother. they make their decisions TOGETHER. AS A TEAM. AND THAT’S ON HEALTHY FRIENDSHIPS X2!
third, callum continuing to gently press for rayla to express her emotions. he doesn’t pressure her, but seems to simply let her know that if she needs to talk (when she insists she’s fine), he is there.
four, MORE FLUSTERED RAYLLUM. YES. TY NYX but also fuck u for taking zym but also ur hot- A N Y W A Y
five. OOOOOOH. MY FAVORITE SCENE.
rayla’s crying and callum tries to reassure her. nyx is plotting, while rayla runs away and callum follows. Y E S.
rayla talks about how there’s nobody left that cares about her and she lost everything.. and then the SPEECH. i have this speech memorized i’ve watched this scene so many times
"JUST SHUT UP, YOU'RE TALKING CRAZY. JUST, LISTEN TO ME. YOU'RE TOO GOOD TO FEEL THIS BAD ABOUT YOURSELF. I KNOW THAT, AND YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT. YOU HAVE TRUE COURAGE, AND A BIG HEART! I'VE SEEN YOU GET KNOCKED DOWN SO MANY TIMES AND EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. YOU GET UP AGAIN. THAT'S REAL STRENGTH. AND.. AND YOU'RE TEN TIMES FUNNIER THAN ANY HUMAN I KNOW! chuckle SEE? SEE YOU KNOW YOU'RE AMAZING. YOU'RE SMART AND FAST AND BEAUTIFUL. RAYLA YOU'RE THE MOST AMAZING PERSON I'VE EVER MET."
LOVE THEMMM
and then rayla kisses him and that’s all that happened. callum was not a dumbass. right? RIGHT???
5. MY FAVORITE EPISODE!
first, rayla saving callum from the soulfang serpents and callum helping her get up is AMAZING, LOVE THAT.
second, callum tryna get a good position and rayla j saying to hold onto her and callum GETTING FLUSTERED. BOY IS PINING also he didn’t have to hold her that close.
“I DON’T THINK OF HER THAT WAY” “YOU AND I DON’T HAVE THAT YET” LIAR.
three, THEM JUMPING OFF THE AMBLER AND. THAT WHOLE MOMENT? THE ROMANTIC TENSION IS KILLING ME
four. DAMN CALLUM RLLY DO BE HAVING HEART EYES @ RAYLA WHILE SHE KILLS LIKE 80 SOULFANGS HE IS PINING PART 2
five. THE SPEECH. THE SOFTNESS. THE KISSES. GOD DAMN. FAVORITE SCENE OUT OF THE ENTIRETY OF TDP. LOVE THEM.
also here you go again
what can i say except YOU’RE WELCOME
6. ANGST BUT ALSO FLUFF ALSO REUNION
once again won’t b talking abt ezran specifically but there’s some passing mentions of him from now on
first, rayla and callum reaching the stone thunder and callum asking “is it... a statue?” and rayla sadly saying “no. it’s not a statue” A. I CRI.
1.5 ayla and callum best dragon parents
i’ll get to an actual analysis later
second, THIS MOMENT IS UNDERRATED EVEN THO IT’S ONE OF MY FAVS why has nobody mentioned the lil tender moment where ezran is by phoe-phoe and rayla puts her hand on callum’s shoulder AND CALLUM PUTS HIS HAND ON HERS. SO SWEET.
third, OK I’LL STOP MOST OF MY UNINTELLIGIBLE SHRIEKS AND ACTUALLY ANALYZE THIS.
callum is upset because of thunder and rayla sympathizes immediately. this is similar to how callum lets rayla let out her own emotions, and rayla is doing the same. he explains how he feels angry, upset, confused, sad, and rayla quickly empathizes. he keeps on venting, not knowing whether to feel regretful, or glad, and how he’s confused because that’s sarai’s spear. he feels sorry that all this happened, but rayla reassures him that zym and ezran are going to break the cycle! that’s hope! and then they hold hands and i screech
AND THAT’S SO FUCKING HEALTHY AND I LOVE IT. THEY RLLY BREAK ALL BAD HET RELATIONSHIP STEREOTYPES (coughbutistillheadcanonthembothasbiandcallumistransilldieonthishillcough)
7. angst but not rayllum angst so its ok
first, they begin to go up the storm spire and i really love their banter. “and i’m guessing the dragon queen didn’t make her den at a nice, halfway kinda place?” “nope. tiptop!”
cuties.
second, ASSDHFNF THE FACT THEY M O C K THE IDEA OF A FORBIDDEN RELATIONSHIP. THEY’RE IN LOVE AND THE WORLD CAN DEAL WITH IT. LOVE THAT FOR THEM
third, RAYLA CATCHING CALLUM. IT’S. NOT RLLY BIG I JUST LIKE IT AND THINK IT’S CUTE HOW EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS ALSO OUT OF BREATH SHE RAN UP TO CATCH HIM.
four, AHSDHGDHFG THEY DEADASS FORGOT EZRAN WAS THERE. more flustered rayllum i love that
8. FUCK IT’S RAYLLUM ANGST NOOOO
one, ibis is j a good boi. back to rayla and callum
two, rayla going in to see the dragon queen and when she runs out callum QUICKLY FOLLOWS to see if she’s ok. asks her if she’s ok, and she OPENS UP!! CHARACTER GROWTH BABY!!! and then they hold hands and i once again shriek
three, AH. HELLO ANGST.
before we go to the actual angst, can i say that THE LAUGH AFTER RAYLA SAID “STORM SNEEZE” IS SO CUTE. CALLUMS IN LOVE. MY SON.
oh no.
*bonks rayla on the head* nO SELF SACRIFICING!!
although their fight is super angsty and i hate it, it does provide some conflict and more plot because it gives callum a reason to want to find out the truth about rayla’s parents. and then he does! people argue that this fight was unnecessary or that callum was a jerk, but this was needed i think. he did let his worry become a bit of anger, and that was not a nice move, but he knows he fucked up and fixes it!
and then we get soft rayllum this is fine
9. AND YOU THOUGHT LAST EPISODE WAS BAD N O *CRYING*
there’s not much rayllum featured in this ep, but the amount we do get is 80 PERCENT ANGST AND I WASN’T OK WITH IT
first, the fluff! callum trying to do the wing spell and rayla teasing “did you pull a muscle in the middle of a jumping jack?” is so cute. i LOVE THEM. also they hold hands and i SH RIEK again.
also soren how dare you interrupt callum he was abt to confess
second, callum when he’s explaining the battle plan and his ZAP HAND. rayla is j watching him like “yep. that is my dork.”
and CALLUM SEEMS SO FOND WHEN JANAI CALLS RAYLA THE LAST DRAGONGUARD. PERHAPS I SOB
skipping forward in time a bit for the angst oh no
third, callum going up to the storm spire after ez encouraging him to go to rayla. love that soft brotherly relationship. and we think “oh, soft rayllum, right?”
NO. VIREN’S UP THERE.
fourth, THEY DIDN’T NEED ME TO BE ROLLING ON THE FLOOR WTF. the fact that rayla’s blade went right in front of callum and he looks up and sees zym in danger, viren is there, and RAYLA is there, p a n i k.
and then rayla jumps and the entire rayllum fandom SC REAMS after callum’s “no!” before she jumps and “no, no, no, RAYLA!”
fifth, CALLUM NO WHY ARE YOU JUMPING TOO- oh wait its ok he did the wings and im still crying fuck
THAT CONFESSION THO- i cri tears of joy now. they’re in love
sixth, I J WANNA KNOW WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT BEFORE EZRAN SHOWED UP. like it’s clear that they’re talking or something, but abt what is the question. also yes they hug and raylas fond
seventh, THEY HOLD HANDS!! soft bbs,,,
AAAND IM DONE! this is. quite long so if you read all of this i hope u have a good day and thnx for listening to me ramble with some coherent thoughts
#rayla#callum#rayllum#rambling#thanks for reading#ezran#tdp season three#tdp s3#soren#the dragon prince zym#tdp
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Fire and Rain || Part 4
A/N: part four!! I had so much fun wiring this because its chock full of sarcasm. As always, I'd love comments or feedback or whatever - don't be shy!!
Rating: T
Warning:; Bad words
Summary: The landing was disastrous and the sarcasm between you and Poe rises
Part 3 🔥
You could smell the smoke before you opened your eyes, felt the heat of fire on your skin as you eyelids fluttered open. You groaned, head pounding as the scene around you came slowly into focus. Dazed with pain, the entire planet seemingly spinning, you forced yourself to sit up. You clamped your teeth together, vomit rising steadily in your throat, and swallowed thickly.
The ship was ablaze.
Rings of smoke curled towards the inky sky, flames touching the tips of the stars. Your hands grabbed at the sand underneath you and you clawed yourself away from the explosion, breath shaking with every move. Your body was on fire, every single cell in your body aching and burning as you forced yourself to your feet. You couldn’t tell where you’d landed or what system you were in, let alone the planet you were on. The fire crackled, orange embers licking the ship as you scanned the crash for anything you could use. Poe must’ve pulled off the best emergency landing for you to be alive—
Poe.
Your heart skipped a beat, and another as panic exploded across your mind. There was no way he survived if he was still in that ship. Judging from the charred remains that you could see, the ship had been on fire for at least an two hours and you’d been unconscious for the entirety of that time. Your mind reeled, tears of desperate hope springing to your eyes. Maybe he’d been thrown from the crash, maybe he’d cleared it once the ship was on the ground. There were a million possibilities yet the only one you could think of was Poe dead inside the fire.
“Poe?” His name left your lips in a broken beg, your voice hoarse. “Poe?” You struggled across the sand back towards the flames, desperation overtaking all sense of sanity and reason.
The sand around the ship was hot, burning to touch and you fought to stay on your feet. There was no logical way you could see into the flames, there was. O way you could get into the ship at all but Poe had to be somewhere. He had to tap you on the shoulder and give you that stupid smirk just one more time. He had to make you laugh with more stupid jokes, he had to be there. Cheeks wet and stained with tears, you listened for any sign of life, any sign of him. Instead, the ship creaked and the flames spat and the force of another blast knocked you clean off your feet and sent you flying back into the sand as the ship finally exploded.
“POE!” Your scream ricocheted across the desert as a sob tore through your body. “Poe.”
🔥
When you heard your name on his lips, you thought you were dreaming.
It was soft at first, so soft that you almost didn’t hear him. It was only when his voice grew louder and he shook your shoulders that your eyes flew open and you jumped up and into his arms.
“Poe!” You clung onto his shoulders as he laughed into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped tightly around you. “What happened? I though you were dead.”
“I got thrown from the crash.” You shoulders heaved in relief and you grinned. You stepped back, trying to calm your racing heart as he grinned at you. “You were worried about me?”
You shoved him so hard that he fell back into the sand, fury dancing in your eyes. “Fuck off.”
“Sweetheart,” he dusted himself off, catching up to you easily as you stormed across the sand. “He caught you arm, his touch making your breath hitch and you gasped softly, “What’s wrong?”
You couldn’t explain it. You didn’t know why you’d been so panicked. Yes, he was your friend, your colleague, but the feeling that had bloomed in your chest when you thought he was dead wasn’t something you could put into words. Even if you could, it wouldn’t matter. Poe had a rotating door when it came to the girls at the base and you were damned if you were going to be just another conquest for him. Besides, you’d told him not to take the ship without at least letting you look at it and if he hadn’t needed to jump in and be the hero so quickly, you wouldn’t be stranded in the middle of a desert.
“I told you we couldn’t take this ship,” you said finally, stopping to glare at Poe. “I told you it wouldn’t work but you had to jump in, just like always.”
He gave an indignant frown, “What?”
“I’m serious! You never think things through, your answer to eveything is get in that stupid X-wing and blow shit up!” You turned, defiantly meeting his eyes.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“What’s wrong with that! How many times have I had to fix your ship after you’ve done something insanely stupid?” You crossed your arms, letting him think before he shook his head.
“That’s not the point-“
You scoffed, cutting him off. “Not the point? That’s exactly the point! You never think and if you had just listened to me—“
“Listen to you?” You raised an eyebrow as Poe’s eyes darkened with anger. “Why would I listen to you? You’ve been off the base twice, both times with me and—“
“This isn’t about my life experience, Poe!” You shouted over him, “This is about you, not knowing when to fucking quit or just listen to something that isn’t your inner monologue.”
Poe nodded, pressing his lips together, “You think I’ve got an inner monologue—“
“I know you do.”
“Wow,” he scoffed, “you cant even let me finish a sentence because you know I’ll bring up a valid point and destroy your whole fucking argument.”
“It isn’t an argument if I’m pointing out facts.” You replied, fixing him with the sarcastic smile you knew he hated.
“That’s the definition of an argument!”
“Oh, so now you know about definitions?”
Poe sighed, running a hand through his curls and looked you up and down, “Okay, let’s just table this for now and...” his voice faded as you swayed a little on your feet, your head spinning ever so slightly. “Sweetheart,” he took a step forward, running his fingertips gently along your abdomen, “what happened? You’re bleeding.”
“I...” the corner of your vision was darkening quicker than you liked and Poe’s face was shifting in and out of focus. Your knees buckled and you fell forward into Poe as he caught you with a soft grunt. “Poe...” you whispered, eyelids fluttering closed as crimson bloomed across your shirt.
“Sweetheart?” You let your eyes finally close, holding on to the sound of his voice until it was the last thing to fade away and you plunged into an inky blackness, dreaming of the flame touched stars.
#star wars#Star Wars Fic#star wars imagine#poe dameron#poe dameron fic#poe dameron x reader#poe dameron angst#poe dameron fanfiction#the last jedi#The Force Awakens#the rise of skywalker#Fic#fanfic#series#fire and rain
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moon and old stars - chapter 4
edited because i CAN be arsed apparently
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
----------------------------------------
It was a setup.
Fennec had picked up a coded Imperial signal that mentioned a location and the blood-chilling phrase “terminal location of the asset.”
They managed to splice a little into the feed before they moved out of back-range, but they had something they didn’t before, and in the moment of panicked uncertainty, the four agreed to steer Slave I there.
It was a moon of Lothal, and mostly made up of vast colonies of feral Loth-cats. The tourism industry on Lothal had been branching out to the creepy little fuckers, but Din seemed to like them, carefully side-stepping tails and paws and not-so-subtly petting one when he “dropped something” while passing by. Cara and Fennec said nothing, and Fett just kept watch while Din allowed himself this.
When they’d come out of hyperspace and woken from their nap, Din had been shy. Fett had expected this, but didn’t fault him. Din had a few questions, just to clarify things, spoken in a raspy voice that meant he hadn’t recovered entirely from blowing Fett just a few hours prior. He was calm after the questions were answered, and no longer felt on the back foot.
The moment he had his beskar back on, Din had said, “Don’t you dare try to drag me by my helmet again.”
Fett laughed, loud and amused. “Don’t give me a reason to, then.”
Okay, that was fair.
When they cut through a dense forest to the Imperial facility they located on the trackers, something uneasy crept into Din’s gut. He was sure the others felt it too, though none of them spoke in the dense silence, no one wanting to put a name to the dark feeling.
The facility looked well-disguised. There were no patrols skulking around, all the ships looked like they’d been deserted after the Empire fell, it was a ghost town.
Cara took a step toward the fence line.
Din noticed it through a thermal sensor - a tripwire. “No!” He shouted, surging forward to pull Cara back. She stumbled, caught off guard, and Din’s center of gravity wobbled on one foot before he fell backwards.
Instantly, he was swept up in to the trees in a net of wire, connected at the cross-points by small discs. He thrashed against the trap, while the others below shouted for him. He grunted and tried to get at his knife, something to pull him free, cut an opening, anything. The others were saying something but his pounding heart was too loud in his ears for him to understand.
The only thing he could understand was that this had been a trap. The kid was still out there, and they were chasing smoke. He was never going to get his kid back, never going to hold him or make him laugh. It made his thrashing that much more frantic.
And then the beskar gauntlet clicked against one of the discs.
Electric shocks, powerful and terrible, met between the plates of beskar. This trap had been laid for him. He heard himself screaming at the top of his lungs, his helmet connecting with one of the discs and doubling—no, tripling the pain. He felt his muscles spasm down his neck, shoulders, spine. He thought he could feel it arc between his fingertips. The display on his helmet was fried, all he could see was just that terrible blue light and the tunneling darkness with it.
Then.
There was green.
And Din was falling.
Idly, he felt himself caught, but the rest of his limbs were still lightly sparking and twitching. He’d at least stopped screaming, but the blood gushing down his chin told him he must have bitten some part of his mouth - his cheeks, his lips, his tongue. It was true that the body didn’t remember pain, and Din felt this, and the weight of his failure, in its entirety.
Whoever it was that carried him through the air set him on the forest floor some space away. The plates of beskar were ripped from him, releasing him from any remnant static. Footsteps approached, running. His rescuer barked, “TURN AWAY,” before Din’s helmet was pulled off.
Even the dimmed light through the boughs was too bright, and Din closed his eyes to it. “I know, I know, where’s it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” Din sobbed out, hands clenching and unclenching to distract himself. His breath was coming in fast, shallow pants, and he knew he’d pass out if he didn’t stop.
Warm, calloused hands touched his face, wiped away blood from his ears and nose and mouth, tugged his lips and mouth open to look inside. Fingers walked over his body, just a little too rough, poking where he was hurt.
It was like his soft and secret fantasy had been poisoned and laid bare at his feet to die. Din couldn’t help the sob that came to his throat. “Shh, shh, I’ve got you. Gotta get you back to the ship. Here.”
“Helmet…” Din moaned as he was picked up again, arms behind his back and under his knees.
“Shorted out, still sparking. We’ll sort it out. Gotta get you checked.” His head was hidden carefully by the frayed fabric of Din’s cape. The reduction in light and the familiar weave over his face calmed him greatly, and he heard the sound of beskar being stacked on itself. “Don’t you forget a single piece,” his rescuer said, not to Din but to the others there. “I’m flying on ahead. When you get in, get us off of this kriffing planet as fast as possible.”
He was barely finished speaking before he was back up in the air, the lift of the jet pack just a little whiny at the extra weight. Din clutched at what he could with his useless, spasming arms, and tried steadying his breathing.
“Almost there, jat’ika.”
Oh.
Oh.
Boba Fett had saved his life. Again. And he was calling him things in Mando’a. Again. Emotions surged through Din’s blood like the shocks had before, but there was nowhere to ground his feelings to. He pressed his face to the chest plate, and just held on. They landed in a run, Fett rushing up the entrance to get Din laid out somewhere for triage.
The familiar shape of Fett’s berthing came into Din’s bleary view. Fett had a whole medbay onboard, why not there? The answer came to him as Fett tore the rest of Din’s armor off, including the cape.
Din lay bare on the sheets, burns from the edges of the beskar plates seared through his clothes and into his skin. He wouldn’t be able to stay in the medbay if Cara and Fennec were coming; Din didn’t know if he cared.
He had failed the kid, again. First at that stupid temple, and again here, not seeing the forest for the traps. How many more times could he fuck this whole thing up before the kid was lost to him forever? In the few seconds between Fett setting him down in bed and when he’d returned to bring what looked like half the medbay, Din had broken.
He’d been alone in his entire fucking life. He’d been chasing ghosts of affection wherever he could since becoming a foundling, and the kid was the first real right thing he had in his life. Due to his own stupid incompetence, he’d lost that one good thing, that he’d been trusted with. Clan of two. The kid didn’t deserve that.
The kid didn’t deserve Din.
“Hey, hey hey hey. What’d I miss.” Fett sealed the door, confident he’d grabbed enough supplies and that the others would do as told. He came onto the bed with Din, hovering over him, still in all his armor and weaponry, Din helpless as he’s never been.
Din could only shake his head and shudder through his tears. He didn’t see Fett’s face tighten in sadness, but he felt a cool sting of bacta spray along his arm, over his chest, his thigh. His fingertips were an angry purple, so Fett took his time there. “Gotta jab you.”
Din made no protest, but gasped sharply when his body was turned over. A hypo pressed into the meat of his shoulder, and the bacta spread an unnatural numbness to the abused muscle. More bacta and burn patches were applied to his back before he was turned over again. He was still a bit bleary from the pain, what it’d taken out of him.
Fett patched him up good, efficient and thorough as he would’ve been on himself. There was no use in denying injury, to him. He only had one of himself, despite there being hundreds of thousands of himself in the past, technically. He couldn’t get that legendary status as the Boba Fett without learning to be self-sufficient, either. Din was rolled onto his back, eyes still glazed over in pain.
This, Fett knew, could not be fixed by a bacta hypo. His heart lurched when the ship started to move, but remembered it was just Fennec and Cara. “How many systems we putting between here and ourselves?” A voice crackled through the intercom.
“Got a safehouse in the Hosnian system,” Fett said into the receiver.
“For real? You in the Core Worlds?”
“It’s not uncommon. Tell the ship to go to Point 4B.”
“How’s Mando?” Cara’s voice.
“Some burns. Might be a bit. We have what we need.” Din met Fett’s eyes at that. “You two handle yourselves.”
“Always do.” The comm cut off, and Fett locked its volume down. Din watched him with a wary look. He was completely bare while Fett was still mostly covered, but with the bacta in his blood, the boiling sensation receding from his brain, and the heartbreak still clear as day, Din couldn’t care.
Fett still stripped off his armor methodically, and didn’t speak. When he was down to a pair of skin-layers, he came up on the bed with a few more supplies. “You’re a biter,” he said, putting Din’s head in his lap. Din told himself he didn’t deserve to enjoy it, but from the first gentle touch of the damp cloth to the drying blood on his face, he melted.
“I don’t try to be,” Din said. A cut (bite) on his lip got some balm, and the bridge of his nose where it’d jammed against the fizzling beskar helmet.
A hand pet through his hair. He was sure it looked absolutely crazy, what with being electrocuted and the general insanity it already was. Din almost shook it off.
“Almost done, then you can rest.”
“Gotta find the kid,” Din said. “Can’t be caught off-guard like that again.” He tried to sit, but a firm hand at his neck, ready to pinch that bundle of nerves every Mandalorian knew about, made him freeze, and his breath with it.
“You are going to rest.” It was slowly-said and serious, and Din felt heady just from the order.
“But I failed.”
“We all failed. You’re just the one who had to pay for it. Jat’ika,” Fett said, and Din shivered. “Let me take care of you.”
Din turned his face, pressing it into Fett’s thigh again. Would be he able to relax? Allow this distraction? No, what was it Fett had called it?
A solution.
“Just til I’m better?”
“We’ll cross that bridge later.”
It was still a very long time before Din spoke, though Fett knew every moment was spent turning over the thoughts in his head like it was an old stone on a riverbank. Over and over, finding the best angle out of all the others.
“Okay,” Din whispered. “Okay, daddy.” Those fingers surged back into his hair, and may as well have been digging into his heart and soul. Din whimpered, and tried to relax his body some. “What do you want me to do?”
Fett stilled a little, thinking. They couldn’t get up to much physical activity, unfortunately, but Fett knew if he played his cards right, his boy wouldn’t be so wound up by the time he recovered. Maybe he’d be wound up in a different way.
And then they’d have some real fun.
“I don’t want you to leave this room. Better yet, this bed. If you need something you ask. If you want something you ask. Are you cold?” It had been raining on the Lothal moon.
Din almost shook his head no, but reconsidered, focusing on his body instead of his failures and shame. He was cold.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you come up here with me, then. I can warm you up better than a blanket can.” Fett helped him into the position he wanted, curled on his side and facing Fett. He was right, of course. The warmth bled into his bones almost instantly, one of Fett’s hands stroking up and down his back while the other stayed in his hair. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Din breathed. This close, he could feel the rumble of his voice through his chest. “Yes, daddy.”
Fett gave an amused huff and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Din’s forehead. At the sharp inhale he gave, Fett would have assumed he had touched on a wound Din hadn’t disclosed, but the arch in his spine and the rapid pulse against his thumb told Fett all he needed to know.
“You like when daddy gives you kisses?” Fett asked, voice dropping low.
Din’s wide eyes met his from below, full of emotion and curiosity. He gave a small nod.
“Have you ever been kissed before?”
A blush. A shake of the head.
“Do you want to be kissed? You have quite the pretty mouth for it.”
A deeper blush. Din hid in the crook of Fett’s neck for a bit while he continued to stroke his back.
Then, a voice.
“Yes, please.”
Fett wasted no time, moving his head out from his hiding spot and kissing from his forehead to his temples to his cheeks, to the tip of his nose, which made Din actually giggle and grin a bit. It was a beautiful sound, and a beautiful smile, two things Fett didn’t think he could go another second without indulging.
The kiss was soft and not as deep as Fett would have liked, but it made Din whimper into his mouth all the same, soft and hungry for more. Fett kept kissing him, over and over until he got the hang of it. We’re they standing, Din would have swooned, knees buckled like a newborn foal.
“There we are,” Fett said, pulling away with reluctance. Din was kind of wrecked, honestly. Fett’s hands had done a number on his hair, and he must have been extremely thorough in his job, because Din’s lips were swollen into a beautiful pout. “Did you like that, jat’ika?”
Din’s eyes fluttered shut at the name. Fett already knew how much Din liked it, but there was something else to be said about the little thrill he got when Din said, “Yes, daddy, I did.”
No, Din wasn’t going to leave this bed for awhile yet.
Read on AO3. | Part 5
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The vision of your happiness - Billy Hargrove
This is my entry for @lets-hargroove‘s Valentine’s Day writing challenge.
I chose “Are you wearing that for me” as my prompt.
This is pure fluff. I hope you guys enjoy & happy belated V-day.
A crisp layer of frost lays upon the grounds, covers the hills and the valleys and wraps the entirety of Hawkins in a sparkling blanket of ice.
It’s february and it’s freezing and (Y/N) wishes herself back to warmer days. To skin glistening in the sun. To the scent of heat and sunscreen. To hanging out by the pool. Watching him. Waiting. Counting down the minutes until it was time for him to clock out.
To fucking in the showers, trying not to get caught. To summer and pleasure and excitement.
It all seemed to exhilarating then. The keeping things hush hush. The sneaking around. It was their secret then and keeping it was an adventure. It was bold and daring and fun.
But summer soon gave way for the fall and then the cold winds of winter. And with the snow and the cold, came the realisation that whatever it is they have — is an eternal “almost”.
With the pool being closed until may, the two of them had eventually been forced to relocate their tête-à-tête to another place. Gone are the days of spending what felt like an eternity underneath the warm spray of the shower. Nowadays he picks her up somewhere, they drive out to lovers lake. They park somewhere a bit off the path — to make sure their secret stays their secret. They kiss. They make out. They fuck. And once the fogged up windows clear up again, they get out. They share a cigarette. Sometimes they talk.
And then they let the realistation settle deep inside them. They let it consume them. From their hearts outwards. To their brains. Their lungs. Their bones. The realisation that this is just a temporary fix. That what they have is everything and nothing all at once. It’s halfway something. Halfway in love. Halfway happy.
She thinks that’s what hurts the most. The knowledge that there is something there, it’s just not enough for him. If this was just sex, if it was nothing more, it would be so easy. But there’s a palpable tension between them. A certain kind of connection. A tingling in the air.
Yet there’s a big cloud that seems to follow them around constantly, hanging above their heads heavy with rain about to pour down on them. She knows what the cloud is made of. Billy knows it too. It’s the knowledge that he hates it here, that he 100% wants to go back to California. It’s made of fears and doubts and the absolute horror that comes with thinking about the future.
And the biggest part of it all, is the fact that Billy Hargrove doesn’t do relationships.
So they stay there, on that line of being halfway something.
Billy is leaning against the Camaro, cigarette dangling from his lips making him look so effortlessly cool it’s almost unfair. His hair sticks to his skin from their earlier workout, she thinks it makes him look like James Dean. That thought scares her. Billy, and this has to be blatantly obvious to him too, is a vision of all things gorgeous in this world. He’s soft golden curls and sharp jawline. He’s wicked grin and sparkling blue eyes.
He’s an amalgamation of all things beautiful in the world. And (Y/N) is — well, she’s (Y/N). She knows she should be happy about things being the way they are. If sex, and friendship, is all she’s gonna get from him — she should be thankful about that. To even have that is more than she ever deemed possible.
But it doesn’t make her happy. Not all the way. Only ever halfway.
“ You going to the Valentine’s dance thing on friday ? “ Billy murmures around his cigarette.
“ Nope. “
“ Why not ? You got something better to do ? A hot date ? “
If only, she thinks, if only there was someone else. Maybe things would be easier than. Maybe it would be easier to let go of Billy. Alas there is no one else. Just him.
“ No. No one’s asked me and I think it would be kinda shit to go by myself. I mean, it’s a Valentine’s Day dance so showing up alone is social suicide. “
For a moment, a spark of hope flickers inside of her. Like maybe this is the moment he’s gonna take the next step with her. Pull them out of the shadows, out of the deserted dressing rooms and fogged up cars and into the light. So that anyone can see. And she’s not asking for a love confession or anything. It’s just that dancing along the line of being something and being nothing is awfully exhausting and absolutely confusing.
“ Well, Valentine’s is dumb anyway.”
Just like that, the flicker is gone. The hope is gone. All that is left is painful emptiness.
It’s not exactly the truth, per say. Someone has asked her but that person is Michael O’Hara and though he’s a nice enough guy, he’s not Billy. In fact, Billy detests him. He’s fairly well off, his dad owns a construction company, his mom does charity work. They have a nice house and a big garden and a golden retriever. They are everything personified that Billy resents. She didn’t tell him no. She didn’t tell him yes either.
How was she expected to give Michael a proper answer if her heart was all over the place ?
“ Well you sound like a romantic. “
“ It’s all bullshit. “
“ You telling me you don’t believe in love ? “
Billy takes another drag from his cigarette, the muscles in his jaw straining as he inhales. If god ever came close to creating perfection, Billy was it, (Y/N) thought.
“ You telling me you do ? Tell me one couple that makes you believe in it ? My parents hate each other. Your parents hardly acknowledge each other. Outlook’s not so good if you ask me. “
He has a point, (Y/N) has to give him that. None of the adult relationships in their lives seem to work out too well. If love had ever been there in the first place, it is gone by now. And yet, to give up on it entirely seems foolish. If you can’t believe in love what else is there to believe in ?
And what if the one person you love most, thinks it’s but a stupid fantasy.
“ So you don’t ever wanna like — fall in love ? Get married ? “
Billy regards her for a moment, barely letting his eyes travel towards her but she can see him glance through the corner of his eyes. “ Waste of time. “
It’s like a dagger straight to her heart. Waste of time. Waste of time. It repeats like a mantra in her mind. Over and over again.
“ That’s good to know. “
“ Mmh “.
A silence settles upon them and even though they often find themselves in a situation much like this one, it feel different now. As if the world has somehow shifted, lost the gravity that previously held it all together. Now they’re floating in a limbo. Drifting further and further away. And for the first time in a while (Y/N) doesn’t know how much longer she can hold onto him.
“ What are you doing tomorrow night ? “ Billy asks, dropping his cigarette bud on the ground before facing her properly for the first time since they’ve gotten out of the car. His eyes are intense and sometimes she thinks she can see something in them. Something more. Something that’s certain. Something that’s a definitely, not an almost.
But as soon as it flashed up, its gone again, making her wonder if it’s just a case of wishful thinking.
“ Work. You know the diner goes all out for Valentine’s week. “
Billy knows this. In fact it was Valentine’s week last year that the two of them properly met for the first time.
Billy was bitter, about his move to Hawkins, about the situation with his dad, about life in general.
And to top it all off, Hawkins Indiana seemed to have been captured by
the greeting card industry. There were dances and parties themed after Valentine’s and paper hearts in every shop window. It felt like the world was mocking him.
The boy was hasn’t even been loved surrounded by an abundance of superficial displays of affection.
So he ended up at the diner, hoping for some peace and quiet — and some chili cheese fries.
What he go instead, was a diner looking as if Cupid himself had thrown up in there, a jukebox playing 1950s love songs and her.
Her smiling. Her laughing. Her looking at him, eyes full of wonder and excitement and joy. Her.
Her dressed as a — heart ?
“ Hi, welcome to Stella’s and happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N), I am your waitress today. Can I start you off with some drinks ? “
There was something about her then. About the bliss in her voice. The smile on her face. about how she looked absolutely ridiculous in the foam heart costume that gave her very little room to move her arms. Ridiculous. But also fucking adorable.
“ Are you wearing that for me ? “
He expected her to react like all the other Hawkins girls did whenever he paid them even the smallest amount of attention. Blush and get flustered and wrap herself around his finger.
She didn’t though. She smirked and said “ I might be” and winked and then asked for his order of drink again.
And for the first time in his life he thought that Valentine’s maybe wasn’t all that bad.
“ Hmm… I might pop round then. Get some chili fries. Grace you with my company. “
She hates that this makes her heart flutter. It shouldn’t but it does. It also comes with a bitter aftertaste though. Because this affection is only reserved for when they are alone or in the company of people they don’t know all too well. She knows that as soon as one of their classmates shows up, he’s gonna recoil. Pretend like she’s just another girl. Someone he almost knows, but doesn’t.
It hurts. God does it hurt.
And yet she smiles and nods and says “ sure “ and kisses him like she’s not desperately trying to hold together the pieces of her heart slowly crumbling.
Earth Angel by the penguins is blasting from the jukebox and Billy enters the diner. The bell above the door chimes up and alarms (Y/N) of a new customer.
As soon as he catches sight of her, Billy thinks his heart might give out. She’s not a heart this time. She’s an angel. Maybe a cupid. He’s not sure. She’s in a red tulle skirt, a white shirt with a red heart on it. Red angel wings are strapped to her back and she’s glued little red sequin hearts to her cheeks, just below her eyes.
But her lips. God, her lips are what really make him feel some kind of way. Red and glossy and like they might taste of cherries or strawberries or candy apples.
“ Hi “ she chirps as she approaches him, a bounce in her step “ Happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N) and I am your waitress today. Can I start you off with some drinks ? “
He smiles back, a smile that he actually means, one he feels in his heart. Which is fucking terrifying honestly.
“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ he asks, slightly tugging at a feather of her wings.
And just like the first time, she smirks, directs him to a table, winks and says “ I might be. “
And just like the first time, his heart starts beating just a little faster.
Things seem to go so well, until they don’t.
For almost two hours, Billy sits in his booth, eating chili cheese fries, watching (Y/N) move around the diner. Every once in a while she comes over, steals a fry, leaves a kiss on his lips. It all feels so so gentle, so sweet. So right.
And then — reality settled back in.
(Y/N)’s heart drops as soon as she bell chimes up and she catches sight of who it is that has just entered.
Tommy and Carol are loud. They are obnoxious. They are exhausting. But that’s not the reason why she’s dreading their company. It’s the influence they have on Billy.
All the softness and the affection vanished in the matter of a heartbeat. He’s back to being bitter and stoic and cold. And it hurts.
There’s no smiles from him as she approaches his table, the one they have just invited themselves to.
“ Hi, happy Valentine’s week. My name is (Y/N) and I am your waitress can I get you something to drink ? “
Carol only musters her with a mix of amusement and ridicule. Tommy though, loudmouth he is, laughs at her. Not a funny, radiant, charming laugh. A mean one.
“ Look at you ! I hope they pay you a bunch for putting you into that stupid get-up. “
It doesn’t hurt. In fact, she doesn’t give a single fuck about what Tommy thinks.
What hurts, is Billy. Billy laughing along. Not a charming laugh either. Not the laugh she loves. A mean one. A ridiculing one.
What hurts is the way he looks at her then, as if she’s a stranger. As if he hasn’t been inside of her just last night. As if he hadn’t been placing soft kisses along her neck, whispering sweet nothings against her skin.
What hurts is when he scoffs and says “ She’s a waitress, Tommy. How much are they possibly paying her ? Not enough to wear that ridiculous shit. “
That’s what hurts. So damn much.
(Y/N) hopes he can see it in her eyes when they lock with his. That it breaks her. That it hurts her so much. She hopes he can see it, she hopes that he knows. She hopes that a little part of him, even if it’s teeny tiny, she hopes that part hurts too.
“ They pay alright actually. “ she responds, wiping the table clean once again and pulling out her notepad.
“ Are you coming to the dance, (Y/N) ? “ Carol chimes up before ordering a diet coke.
“ Actually, I am “
It’s then, that Billy’s eyes snap up. They hold something else now, something she’s not familiar with. If she didn’t know better she’d say it’s jealousy. She does know better though. Billy isn’t jealous. You have to care to be jealous. And Billy obviously doesn’t care. At least not about her.
“ Really ? Who are you going with ? “ Carol inquires.
“ Michael O’Hara “
She tries to see something in Billy’s reaction though he stays still. As if the frost from outside has suddenly taken over his body as well, freezing him in place.
“ Oh, “ Carol says “ he’s a sweet guy. Good for you. “
It’s strange but she sounds almost sincere. As sincere as Carol can sound. And that, is maybe a tiny flicker or joy in this god awful situation.
“ Yeah, he really is a sweet guy. There’s very few of them.” (Y/N) replies before walking towards the counter to get their drinks, not granting Billy as much as another glance.
It’s a while later, Carol and Tommy long gone, that Billy walks up to the register. There’s the usual suaveness about him. He looks so effortlessly cool. But where he usually seems unbothered, something doesn’t seem right in that moment.
“ You just gonna ignore me for the rest of the night ? “
“ Oh I’m sorry, I’m busy trying to make a living on my silly little waitress job. “
Billy scoffs and it makes her angry. He’s so smug, so complacent. “ God, you can’t seriously be pissed because of that comment. It was a dumb joke, (Y/N). “
“ Jokes are meant to be funny. “
“ And it was. “
“ Not to me, it wasn’t. “
He shakes his head in a dismissive motion. As if she has no right to be offended. No right to feel hurt.
“ You said you didn’t have a date for the dance, now suddenly you’re going with Michael O’Hara. Pretty boy Mike ? He’s not even your type. “
“ How the fuck would you know that ? “
“ I know you. “
“ You don’t know shit, Billy. “
“ I know what you like and it’s not guys like him. “
“ Oh really ? Do you ? If you knew me that well you’d know that the way you’re treating me when your friends are around, that hurts Billy. If you don’t want them to know that we’re fucking, that’s fine with me. I just don’t understand why you have to be such an asshole when they are around. Why can’t they know that we’re friends at least ? Am I really that embarrassing ? Are you really that ashamed of me ? “
Billy combs his fingers through his curls in the same way he always does when he’s aggravated, when he’s annoyed, when he’s frustrated. She hates that she can tell
his moves and gestures so clearly. Hates that she knows him so well when he seems to know absolutely nothing about her. If only she didn’t love him so much, life could be so easy. So simple.
So painless.
“ It’s not like that “ he tries to explain.
“ Then what is it like ? Explain it to me, Billy. Because quite frankly I don’t understand it. “
Time seems to slow down as she’s waiting for him to reply. To give her an explanation, and apology, anything.
What she gets, is silence. Thick with words unspoken. Thick with tension. With pain. With heartbreak.
“ Yeah that’s what I thought. Go fuck yourself, Billy. “
She disappears through the swinging doors and enters the break room, just about holding it together. That’s until she hears the bell above the door chime up once again, then the door slam, then the unmistakable sound of the camaro starting.
Then, and only then, does she allow herself to fall apart. Slide down the wall, sit on the floor. And cry. And feel. And cry some more.
Until eventually she’s all out of tears and all that’s left is a feeling of overwhelming emptiness.
Michael is a nice guy. He’s attentive and sweet and a real gentleman. He’s picked her up at 6 sharp, he’s been extremely charming when meeting her parents, he’s wearing a gorgeous suede suit. Everything about him should make her swoon. He’s the guy her heart should be longing for.
Only love doesn’t know no rules nor guidelines. It doesn’t operate on rational thoughts.
The heart wants what it wants and, no matter how much she tries to fool herself into believing there’s anything she can do about it if only she tries hard enough, (Y/N) heart doesn’t want Michael.
She has to admit that simple fact to herself as she’s clutching a cup of spiked punch in her hand as Michael sits next to her rambling about some topic or another. He’s such a nice dude and deserves better. Better than a girl who’s heart is somewhere completely else.
The gym suddenly feels stuffy, like the walls are closing in and the room is getting smaller and smaller. There’s too many people here, too much noise. She needs a breather. A second to catch herself. To soften the inevitable fall.
“ Hey, Mike. I’ll go catch some air real quick, “ she announces, softly squeezing his arm in a friendly way. He’s so nice. He’s too nice.
“ Oh sure, d’you want me to come ? “
“ No. No you enjoy yourself. I uh — I’ll be fine. “
And he doesn’t complain or object and, when their eyes meet, she can see it all as clear as day. The defeat. The disappointment. The sadness. The gratefulness that it’s ending before it’s properly begun, before too many feelings got involved.
He knows, as well as she does, that this ain’t working. This isn’t even an almost and though the outcome isn’t what either of them had desired for it to be, a definite nothing is quite a lot better than an uncertain almost.
“ Alright. Let me know if you need me. “
She nods, then pushes through the crowd of dancing teenagers, sweaty, sticky, unruly. The cold february air hits her skin as she steps outside, goosebumps are rising all over. Her fingers are itching for a cigarette but she’s shared the last cigarette from her package with Billy the other day and hasn’t gotten around to buy a new one.
So she rests her back against the cold concrete wall of the school building and looks up into the sky. The stars twinkle back at her like tiny rhinestones on a veil of dark blue fabric. It all seems so vast right then, like she’s but a tiny speck of dust on the grand scheme of things. It’s both, scary and insanely exciting.
“ You got a smoke ? “
His voice sends involuntary chills down her spine. It’s like golden honey melting in a cup of warm milk. Thick and rich and warm and homey.
His voice sounds like home, when it definitely shouldn’t. It does anyway.
“ What are you doing out here, Michael not bring it ? “
“ Look if you’re here to make fun o — oh wow. “
He’s in a suit. Not a uber fancy one that one would wear to a wedding, but a suit nonetheless. There’s no bow, no tie, no cummerbund. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned. He’s still wearing his biker boots and the silver earring is dangling from his earlobe.
If there was ever a person who looked out of place, it’s Billy in this moment.
“ I’m not here to make fun of you. “
The sincerity in his voice is overwhelming. Like nothing she’s ever heard before. Especially not from him. “ I’m sorry. “
It’s two word. Two simple fucking words. And yet they hold the meaning of a lifetime. It seems that once he’s spoken them, her world gains back a bit of gravity. That with accepting his own faults he is pushing her world back into the right position. Slowly. Carefully. But he’s doing it nonetheless.
“ You’re wearing a suit. “
“ It’s a dance, it’s mandatory. “
“ Why are you at the dance ? Thought you didn’t believe in love. “
“ It’s not that I don’t believe in love, “ Billy confesses “ It’s just that I was never shown how it’s supposed to feel or work. I wasn’t loved in a long time so the way we feel about each other is making me freak the fuck out. Because I’ve not felt like this in a long time, if ever. I don’t know how to deal with it so I sabotage myself. You are not embarrassing though and neither is your job. You are far from it. You are way too good for my dumb ass. “
“ What are you saying, Billy ? “
“ I’m falling in love with you and it terrifies me. I’m so scared of fucking it up that I ruin things before it can get that far. But then I — I realised that I could lose you. And the Michael O-fucking-Hara of all people. And that thought is honestly way worse. Because when I’m with you I have good moments, and I don’t have a lot of those in my everyday life but with you — with you there are so many. So I realised I have to stop being such a pussy and actually get off my ass and tell you how I feel even if it’s scary. You’re allowed to stop me any second by the way, talking about my feeling makes me feel icky but I’ll do it anyway if it means you’ll forgive me. “
“ Billy. “
“ Because I am falling in love with you and I don’t care who knows or doesn’t know. I just need you to know. That’s all that matters. “
If there was ever a moment to be soft, to be kind, to be forgiving — it is tonight. Underneath a thousand sparkling stars, as a lovesong plays from the inside of the gym. As he looks at her with eyes filled with adoration and passion and — .
She takes his face in between hers and for a second, all she does is look into his eyes. Maybe she’ll regret this one day. Failure is always a possibility. But so is success. So is the prospect of a loving relationship. A romance that will defy the odds. That will be so different to the examples their parents have set.
Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, so gentle it’s hardly there at all. And yet he feels it all over. In his head, his heart. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes.
“ Sometimes good things are scary, Billy. Like Rollercoasters or Horror Movies, or love. “
He kisses her again, takes her breath away. But she thinks if this is how it goes, she’ll gladly do without oxygen.
“ Hey Billy, I got a question. “
“ What’s that ? “
She looks him up and down, then smiles. A smile so radiant it can rival the stars.
“ Are you wearing that for me ? “ she asks and tugs on the bottom of his suit jacket.
And Billy ? He kisses her again, then smiles and replies. “ I might be. “
#billy hargrove fanfic#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove imagine#billy hargrove imagines#billy hargrove fanfiction#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things imagines#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfic
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Prompt~ since the crush-reveal nott has been watching more closely and can see the cracks in beau’s facade (Also sidenote love love love your work mate sending good vibes from across the ditch ☺️)
ay mate, all good vibes yeah? how’s it hangin?
//
‘that went well, i think!’
jester. nott would’ve guessed it came from her even if the words hadn’t been so distinctively painted by her accent. they’re not just optimistic, cheerful; in the face of the absolute shit show - literally - that just went down here in the sewers beneath the city, it’s borderline pathological to be so optimistic. unless, of course, the person were jester and they were lying through their teeth in an effort to cheer up their friends.
‘yeah,’ beau calls from where she’s leaned against the slimed walls. she doesn’t seem to notice the slime, or maybe it just doesn’t matter when she’s already kinda coated in shit. ‘definitely could’ve gone worse.’
‘how?’ fjord groans.
‘one of us could’ve died.’
‘okay, good point, fair point. help me up?’
it’s hard to hear over fjord’s whining, but nott thinks she hears a wheeze, a stifled little something from beau when she offers him a hand, hauls him to his feet.
‘you good?’
‘no need for the tone,’ fjord grumbles, drops her hand, wiping the slime onto slime covered pants. ‘i didn’t see you half drowned to distract the fucking thing.’
beau grins a crooked grin, red staining between her teeth. ‘it had two heads, fjord. you know that, right?’
his shoulders slump. ‘so i didn’t even distract it. great.’
‘i mean. you distracted half of it,’
‘super. super great. just what i wanted to hear. great. count on you, beau,’ he says with a mocking little wag of his finger, ‘to give it to me honestly. nothing but blunt fucking honesty from you, eh?’
if she weren’t watching as closely as she is, nott would miss the flash of guilt and confusion and, so so fast nott almost think she imagines it, hurt. and then beau is shaking her head, clapping him on the shoulder.
‘shut the fuck up,’ she laughs. ‘un-poison yourself, oh paladin. cad looks like he’s two seconds from begging to heal you, go on.’
‘huh? oh—hey caduceus, would you?’
with jester tending to caleb and yasha, and caduceus with fjord, nott sidles up beside beau.
‘he didn’t mean it,’ she finds herself saying.
‘huh?’
‘fjord. that whole honesty thing,’
‘yeah he did.’ beau doesn’t look upset that nott was trying to lie; if anything, she looks amused. ‘it’s fine, it’s whatever. he’s not wrong.’
‘hmm.’
‘what hmm?’
‘nothing, nothing.’
beau sighs. ‘i’m not in the mood for guessing games. say what you wanna say or go fawn over caleb.’
‘i’ll go make sure he’s okay, definitely,’ nott corrects her.
‘great. go on.’
‘in a moment. are you okay?’
‘i’m fine,’ beau lies. she shifts. hisses. clutches to her side and as the fabric shifts, nott can see the great claw marks in her flesh.
it’s strange, to be privy to beau’s weakness. not that being injured is a weakness, gods know every one of them has been close to or over that line before. but beau never shows it if she can help it. it almost fills nott with a weird sense of pride, knowing that beau sort of trusts her of all people; and then it makes nott’s stomach drop down down down so fast she’s sick with it and her hands come up, to defend, to fight, to fix whatever she can.
‘holy shit! beau,’
‘it’s fine,’
‘no it’s not! that’s the opposite of fine!’ nott shrieks.
beau clamps a hand over nott’s mouth, careful of the teeth. ‘shut up! do you want to attract more of those things?’
nott shakes her off. pitches her voice low again. ‘you’re fully two centimetres from being fully gutted! that’s not fine! that’s like saying a cyclone is fine weather! that’s like saying avantika was pleasant! that’s like-‘ beau waits for a third analogy, vaguely expectant and even more vaguely amused. ‘you need to get that healed.’
‘it’s fine,’ beau insists. ‘i’m still on my feet, aren’t i?’ she takes a few steps, hands spread wide as if to say, see? ‘besides, cad does his best healing when we’re unconcious.’
‘so you’re, what? just gonna wait until something knocks you down?’
‘i mean,’ beau shrugs. ‘yeah.’
‘that’s stupid.’
‘gee.’
‘no, i mean it, that’s a terrible idea.’ judging from the way beau’s eyes slide away to the side, away from nott’s prying stare, she knows it too. ‘are you punishing yourself for som-‘
‘no,’ beau snaps.
nott squints and stares and slowly nods. ‘alright. i believe that. then why?’
her cheek ticks, jaw clenching. when it happens again, nott realises that the girl is chewing on the inside of her cheek. it’s weird for that to be the thing that does it but the gesture is oddly familiar, reminds her of a young and nervous veth, and staring up at this girl literally covered in shit and blood, face pale beneath the muck, nott realises again that beau is all of twenty something and, as far as she knows, has had shit all in her life until the nein came along. nott can understand that, to a degree, but she at least had had her family and her husband until the goblins took her away.
‘they’ve got limited spells,’ beau says. ‘i keep track of this shit. tactics, y’know.’
‘so you’re playing the sacrificial knight, are you?’
‘i don’t intend to die,’ beau scoffs. ‘i’m just making sure that when we actually need a heal, there’s one for us.’
nott narrows her eyes. ‘you’re worth a heal, beau.’
‘that’d be a first.’ beau didn’t mean to say it. nott can tell by the way she flinches, then winces. she reaches toward nott. ‘don’t - you can’t - i didn’t mean that,’
‘i won’t tell a soul,’ nott promises. ‘if you ask her to heal you right now.’
‘nott,’
‘you’re of no use to us dead. go on now. shoo, shoo,’
//
she’d nearly forgotten about the shit monster and her sudden shitty understanding of the girl a few weeks later when it became increasingly clear they would have to head to kamordah.
beau had disappeared partway through the revelry of another job well done for a lovely amount of coin, and it isn’t until the wee hours that she returns, a fat lip and bloody knuckles the only sign of what she might’ve been up to.
nott sets her tankard down with a thump, watches as beau’s human eyes try to peer through the darkness to find her.
‘have fun, did you?’
‘nott.’
‘detective nott brenatto,’
‘that’s new,’
‘trying it out,’ nott tells her, words and fear of it mellowed a little by the sweet and very ineffective mead she’s been drinking. ‘get it all out of your system?’
beau slides onto the stool next to her. presses a brutal thumb to the split skin on her first knuckle. ‘most of it.’
‘wanna talk about it?’
‘nothing to talk about.’
‘wow. wow. lying to your best friend. i get it. wow.’ nott allows herself a small victory smile when the comment makes beau snort. ‘kamordah, huh.’
beau goes still as a statue. casts a sideways look nott’s way, who catches it, a raised brow her only reply.
‘i’m scared,’ she says.
nott barely contains a flinch. seeing it, knowing it, is one thing. beau saying it is quite another. ‘i’ll kill him for you, if you want. just say the word.’
beau snorts again. reaches over the bar top for a mug—not seeming to care whether it’s clean or dirty—and from a wine skin on her hip she pours herself a glass. it smells like the worst wine, a copper a barrel type casked wine, and beau drinks it down like it’s fresh water in a desert.
when she speaks, her voice is a little hoarse and nott doesn’t know whether that’s from the wine only a step above acid, or because she really doesn’t want to say what she’s saying.
‘it’s not him. it’s me.’
‘right. i’ll believe that never.’
beau treats her to one of those rare smiles, the actual nice ones. not the ones she practices with fjord but the real ones. a little awkward, a little crooked. jester smiles, nott has been thinking of them as, since she only smiles like that for jester. nott’s eyes gleam as she takes in the rarity, tucks it away mentally with the rest of her treasured items.
‘i don’t mean he’s not an asshole. he is. i’m just—‘ she swipes her fingers in a ring of whatever liquor has been left on the counter, drags the circle outwards into two horns and a little tail. ‘i’ve been trying really fuckin’ hard to be better or whatever, leave every place better than we found it, and—‘
‘you don’t think you can do that there.’
beau shrugs. ‘i don’t want to.’
nott hums in sympathy. ducks a little to take in the entirety of beau’s scowl. ‘that doesn’t make you an asshole, you realise.’
‘kinda does. if i’m picking and choosing the places i get to leave better.’
nott considers that for a minute. then sighs, reaches up to pat beau’s shoulder. ‘mollymauk was a lot of things,’ she says, ‘and he talked a lot of shit. but he was a good guy.’
‘yeah. he was.’
‘and i think if he were here, and listening to this, he’d say fuck that place.’ her vehemence startles a laugh out of beau, brings a little glint to clouded eyes. ‘fuck that place, fuck thoreau, and fuck kamordah. you’re one of the mighty fucking nein! you’re the only thing in kamordah worth a damn thing! and if you want us to burn the place to the ground, we’ll fuckin’ do it!’
‘the wine is actually really good, and pretty expensive,’
‘okay, well, steal the wine first and then burn it to the ground. i can improvise, i can adapt.’
beau shakes her head, laughs again. it’s a snotty laugh and nott doesnt bring attention to it, or her suspiciously wet eyes.
‘thanks. i’ll keep it in mind.’
‘you do that.’ nott pats her hand. jumps down off her stool. ‘see you in the morning.’
‘yeah. see you.’
#cr tag#prompt fill#tagging my stories#not rly anything abt beaujester exactly#just sort of a nott & beau are actually p good friends#sorry if this jsnt so good it is nearly 11 i am a bit tired i tried my best
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Dream A Little Dream of Me
Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)
Warnings: *inhales* my death by some of you
Word Count: You know those winter rains? When it trickles and the air suddenly is all chilly, giving you goosebumps before pushing you inside your duvets so you can keep yourself warm? And the same weather is all gloomy and kinda makes you wonder what the fuck are you doing? Yeah, that kinda weather is what I am experiencing right this moment. Other than that I had quite a fun day! :D I know. Surprising. But I liked it. Not to mention I’m driving (without any judgy eyes hovering beside me) these days which feels quite therapeutic, though not when the car shuts off in the middle of the road because your best friend appreciated your driving saying she didn’t wanna jinx it. *shrugs* And to think I was scared of driving. My dad always laughs with delight when I come back home because I had this freaking HUGE grin smacked on my face ‘because I drove!’ :D
MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)
It was a dream.
He knew it was a dream. Which was why he was a little irritated on the inside that it was not real.
That your being- alluring in the afternoon sun with the purest smile on your face as you watched him with your head supported by your palms- lay on your stomach in his bed over the mess of sheets.
He was trying to be enraged at the thought of your smell- a hint of citrus with soothing sweet floral tones- not being real. But the sensation of breathing you in seemed too real. How?!
"Loki?" You tilted your head in question, your eyes looking at him, calling him to you. Why you are worse than witches! He stirred at your voice, leaning closer to you, hesitant in bringing himself forward for he might come too close to the sun and make himself blind; to force you to disappear; to break this fantasy if he did something you didn't like.
And yet, you stayed there, turning onto your stomach as he shifted on his elbow to come and let his face hover over yours.
Ah, Valhalla! Even his home did not shine with such allure in the light of the stars as did your eyes. The flowers in the royal garden didn't have as much grace and lusciousness as your lips. No touch-me-not had the sensitivity to his touch as you- when his fingers brushed off those mischievous strands of your hair which tried to hide you from his gaze.
Your skin smooth, shuddering with a delicious shiver under his touch seemed to crave more of him, your hand moving those silky raven strands away so you could see the sun hit his smaragdines- a brilliant pool of green in an ocean that had seen lifetimes and yet this was the one that mattered. The only one that mattered.
The shiver and sparkles than ran through him on the touch of your fingers as they traced a path behind his ears and down his neck were new. New as a newborn phoenix, rising from the ashes, purified by a wave that went through and through by your touch; something he would wonder when his head was clear and his eyes away from you- how strong an influence you had on him.
So, like a thirsty nomad lost in the desert who had just tasted the sweet waters- your knowing touch- now wanted more.
So. Much. More.
The back of his fingers stroked your cheek, going down your jaw, feeling strings break into a tune when he watched you smile and close your eyes.
She trusts me.
It was almost brought a painful sting in his chest. Sweet sweet pain. He both hated and loved that he could read you; that you wanted to be read. And he wanted to test the waters with you.
At first, it was a stroke of his fingers on your lips, his eyes hovering over them, asking for permission. You seemed like you knew what he wanted, for your hands snaked his neck, bringing him closer to you, letting his lips land on yours.
It was a mutual trust affair- where the eyes closed to look at the personal galaxies inside them light up with the touch and taste that had been craved for so long. The breaths paused to savour the moment of those entirely different universes colliding at the touch of tongues, the intermingling of fingers, hungry brush of the bodies against one another.
Once the sway was started, the dance began on its own. With his leg parting your thighs, you felt your body rise to come by the doors of Valhalla, your core brushing against his thigh, asking for more.
You both have decided to lift the anchor and go out with the first tide that has risen from the ocean of endless mystery of love for the other. Still, he tried to part from you- almost making you rise for more of those tender yet demanding lips- to let him take you in.
His accelerated heartbeat wanted to make sure it was you. And when he looked at you, the unquestionable truth seemed like the strokes of paint in his grey life finally making sense.
For him, you were the human form of peace. His peace. All his meandering thoughts were at a standstill in your vicinity. All doubts were washed away by the glow you brought in the room. All worries seemed microscopic when you were with him.
You were what love was supposed to look like.
And love, you are. My love. All. Mine.
The lips came back, this time tasting you with the feeling of belonging with you. For you.
Hands roamed over the breathy cotton you wore- memorising the map to the temple he was going to pray to for the rest of his life- till they found the end, letting the fingers find the skin they were lucky to adorn, forcing a welcoming gasp out of you. The fingers rose farther up the thigh, teasing and massaging your needy skin till they reached your folds.
"Loki," your lips moaned in his ears, sending a strong flutter slithering down his entirety right when he felt his eyes open to the daylight entering his room in the Avengers facility, leaving him numb for the next minute as he questioned what had just happened.
A dream. He cursed internally, rubbing his hand over his face, trying to break the veil of slumber resting over his trance-filled eyes.
The morning sun directly hit his face and bare chest, making him groan and turn the other to find himself facing your face resting on your fist as you lay beside him
"Hi."
The soft morning greeting sent him flying back and down, his ass landing on the cold hard floor- forcing a curse-filled groan out of him.
"Ooh-" he heard the sound of second-hand embarrassment come out of you before he saw your face peep from over the bed to whisper- "sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
"What the Hel are you doing in my room?" He tried to sound pissed but the dream still fresh inside his mind was making it difficult to look at you, let alone be mad at you.
He tried to get up, realising all that covered him was the sheet he was currently wrapped in. Carefully keeping it tangled all around him, he stood up, making sure it had no way to escape. Though he did make the mistake of looking back at you lying on your stomach, the light hitting just like it did in his dream.
Oh, come on! He begged his neurons to stop. They only grew more sensitive when you bit your lip and raised your legs behind you, swinging them without a care in the world.
"You told me to wake you up to embarrass you in front of everyone if Scott woke up at five for the camping trip," you answered and tilted your head just a little, resting it in your palms.
"Stop," he said under his breath with his eyes closed. It was not only the issue of the sheet wrapped around him. It was also about what it was trying to hide.
"Oh, I'm not gonna stop," you spoke softly, giving him a smirk as he looked down at you from under his lashes, "not until you give me those fifty dollars you owe me."
He lowered his head where he stood to get a good look at you and give you one that screamed a huge 'really?' in a neon sign. "Do I look like I have fifty dollars on me?" He tried to open one arm to gesture at himself before quickly grabbing the side of the sheet that had started to slip.
Your legs kept swinging, your eyes slowly swirling with some intentions that seemed dark. "Hmm...I think another fifteen minutes like this would be worth those fifty dollars."
Loki gasped at your audacity, his outside showing he had been utterly offended. His insides, on the other hand, were celebrating the big bang.
"I think you should go."
Go before something inside me stops you and pins you right here.
"Why?" You asked while turning on your back, your head now looking at him upside down. "Having boy problems?" You winked and chuckled.
Oh, you crazy little minx, you.
"Y/N," his inside growled slightly.
"Okay, okay," you snickered, getting up facing the other side, letting his gaze catch your bare shoulders supporting your tank top, memorising those freckles, spots, and moles marring your skin. "Damn, must have been one sexy dream you were having."
Oh, only if you knew, he smirked internally before questioning if you'd find it inappropriate. Him dreaming of you this way, that is.
You walked till the door, stepping out, pausing, turning back to smile at him.
"I wonder who’s this person who's got you all-" you let your eyes go down his chest till you were made him conscious of the boner he was trying to hide- "hot and bothered."
His gaping lips closed and his brows arched at you.
"They really seem to have done a number on you, Loki," you called out as you walked away into the corridor.
He sighed and rolled his eyes before finding himself chuckling to himself.
Only if you knew, darling.
"Hey, you owe me fifty." He heard Scott's voice call out from the door. And there was Scott with puffy, sleep-deprived eyes and a huge smile on that goofy face that was all geared up for the trip.
"Oh sweet Val- DO I LOOK I HAVE MON-"
#loki#loki odinson#loki x reader#loki x you#loki x y/n#loki x ofc#loki x oc#Loki Laufeyson#marvel loki#loki smut#loki fluff#loki fanfiction#LOKI SPEAKS#smut#fluff#marvel smut#marvel fluff#marvel#loki marvel#mcu smut#mcu fluff#marvel fanfic#marvel fics#MCU#Marvel MCU#MCU fanfiction#loki god of mischief#loki imagine#loki friggason#loki fanfic
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For sentence prompts: "I'll always be on your team" starker 😊
I’ll Get You Up On Your Feet
Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker)
Rating: General (G)
Word Count: ~2.5k
Notes: I’m not the biggest Noah Cyrus fan, but I thought of her song Team almost instantly. I kind of went from there - I hope you enjoy the cheeky fluffiness, nonnie!
Warnings: None, it’s saccharine sweet, y’all.
Summary:
Tony is used to the media blowing his name up. He’s dealt with it his entire life. Peter, on the other hand, is still adjusting. A nasty comment on a special picture gives Tony insight on Peter that he never had before.
do the thing, send in all the prompts
For the most part, Tony didn’t mind being a household name.
A lot of years, his name had a negative connotation connected with it – whether it was because of his weapons industry monopoly or the playboy portion of his notorious nickname, people turned their noses up at his name in the headlines.
His stint in the desert changed not only his perspective, but the general public’s, too. Everyone loved a good sob story, even if it came at the price of a bit of Tony’s sanity and the inherent safety he felt up until that point. Though the Iron Man suit brought him positive notoriety, Tony pursued the good he could do with it for purely selfish reasons. He survived the miserable conditions and all odds bet against him for a reason. That guided his moral compass.
Then, he met Peter Parker. At first, his interests were strictly on Spider-Man and the brilliance that Peter could create when behind the mask. Even in pajamas and pool goggles, he moved marvelously and got the job done without any hesitation. It became abundantly clear that with a good support system, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man could easily be a hero that the world needed.
Try as he might, Tony did not possess the strength to keep Peter away from the dangerous situations. Besides the fact that they needed the skill and intelligence he possessed, Tony was acutely aware of the truth that Peter did belong amongst them and his youth was not an exclusionary criterion. It couldn’t be – not when Peter understood what it was like to carry the world on his shoulders.
After Thanos, there wasn’t denying anyone’s worth – the entirety of the Avenger’s collective put everything they had into the plan, execution, and inevitable defeat of the biggest foe the world took on to date. From that point on, there was no point in trying to deny anything – especially when it came to Peter. The boy he met in the small apartment in Queens was no longer the youth Tony forced himself to categorize him as. It was easier to think of him as a kid than admit that so many things he saw in Peter were exactly what he was looking for.
Even though the realization came, Tony still felt a little hesitant. He offered Peter a position in his lab that equated to something full time in R&D while he went to school, so they were always around each other. There seemed to always be a power balance between them – one that, when the media got a whiff of, would be the highlight of the story; not the relationship that Tony knew they could have. Though, the more he thought about it, the easier it was to see that any relationship with Peter would be scrutinized – their history together was too deep.
Peter did not have the same qualms, however. Tony noticed the flirting when he first started working in the lab. It wasn’t subtle, though, he didn’t think Peter was trying to be. At 20, Tony remembered the ruthless way he went after the things he wanted – he recognized the hunger for that in Peter’s eyes almost instantly. Tony tried to resist it for as long as he could, but the siren call of a connection that just made sense couldn’t be fought. Especially when, in most circumstances, Tony was a hopeless mess that never picked the right fights.
At least Tony felt the satisfaction of finally making the first move. It was only a matter of time, the two of them were dancing around each other – Tony let himself lean into Peter’s touches more and when the dam broke, he pulled him in by the hips and pressed their lips together so tenderly. Peter’s gasp gave him just enough room to deepen it; and suddenly, the line was crossed.
Most of the people around them took to their relationship pretty easily. Of course, the team had a few reservations about objectivity, but with the way Tony was trying to take a step back from the actual battle part of the Avenger gig, it wasn’t too difficult to reassure everyone that missions would come first. When it was reasonable, at least. Though, Tony didn’t voice that to anyone but Peter. May wasn’t hard to convince once Peter was able to make her understand that the move was recent and that at 20, he was more than capable of making his own choices.
For the sake of actually enjoying things between them without the world’s opinion, Tony and Peter spent the first 2 years of their relationship keeping it on the way down low. They were plenty open in front of the team and around Happy and Pepper who were surprisingly supportive of the whole thing – but in public, Tony tried to keep the dopey smile off his face and worked exceedingly hard not to touch Peter, no matter how much he wanted to.
When Peter graduated college, Tony took things one step further between them and got down on one knee in the comfort of the sleek kitchen of Stark Tower. The dark tungsten of the ring looked good on Peter’s skin and immediately drew media attention when it was in pictures the very next day. It seemed like a good time to finally let the world know about the love that ran so deeply between them.
Of course, Tony’s worst fears showed their ugly head almost immediately. Every media outlet that ever wanted to say something bad about Tony decided to pick apart the entirety of their relationship – starting when Spider-Man joined the Avengers. It was a rough blow to the wall he created around the precious thing between him and Peter. They’d been in the dark hiding for so long, it took him a little while to adjust to the bright light of unrelenting cameras flashing and rumors being created just because.
He figured that letting a news outlet like People take care of the photography for their wedding would calm the craziness down a little bit. The entire thing was understated and highlighted who they were together as a couple. Peter smashed cake in his face, and they ended the night with the cheesiest walk under sparklers that were some of the hardest things to procure out of all the wedding supplies that ended up being necessary.
The photos were beautiful and the write up that went with it actually did justice to the sincerity of the relationship between him and Peter. It took the heat off of them for a little while – the cuteness and novelty of two of the world’s superheroes getting hitched sparked an entirely different discussion than the age different between two consenting adults.
That’s what he thought, anyway.
A couple weeks after coming back from their honeymoon, Tony found Peter on the couch looking at his phone with the grumpiest expression. The ache to rub the crease between his brows away settled in the tip of his fingers, but he ignored it, sitting on the cushion next to him instead. “What’s up, Pete?” Tony asked as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to his husband’s temple.
“Pepper told me not to ever look at the comments when I first joined up, you know?” Peter mumbled, his voice a little hoarse from the obvious emotion coursing through him. The question was rhetorical – that was rule number one when trying to keep ahold of sanity while constantly under public scrutiny. Peter knew that, too – but sometimes desire easily bypassed rational thinking.
“I put up the most beautiful picture from our wedding. The one where you’re gazing at me like I’m the greatest gift to the world. And I forgot – just for a second. That people suck.” Peter shrugged, the defeated gesture making his heart pang.
For the longest time, Peter didn’t want to sit in the limelight – Tony and the rest of the crew did what they could to make sure Peter’s identity remained a secret. It was enough to get him through high school and then another year or two through college before it got too hard to hide. Tony remembered the conversation they had about Peter taking the last step out of the dark vividly – even then, he’d been apprehensive. More than anything, Tony understood the mourning of his private life.
Wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, Tony pulled him tightly against him, the shininess of the ring on Peter’s finger catching his eye – he still got a little giddy thinking about the look on his face when Carol pronounced them husbands. He grabbed up that hand and pressed a kiss to the ring and the knuckles surrounding it.
“It sucks, doesn’t it? Being under the microscope of people that don’t know you or anything about you or your life. The judgement of a populace that only gets news presented to them by people that have an agenda.” He bite down on all the other comparisons that wanted to flow out of his mouth – Peter got the point, he could see it in his eyes.
“What doesn’t suck, though, is the fact that you’re mine. Or the fact that despite what people want to believe, our relationship is built on a foundation that is unshakable and as pure as the carnality of a marriage can be. Fuck them, Pete. If I’ve learned anything, that’s all the really matters. We didn’t save the world to live within it half-assed. I love you. No one gets to take that away from me – or us.”
Peter leaned into him; the frantic nodding of his head felt against the solid part of Tony’s chest. He recognized strong arms circling around his middle, crushing him against Peter in a way that he’d grown familiar with over the years. His husband was so incredibly cognizant of the truth of his statements – Tony could tell by the silence that engulfed them, and the way he merely squeezed him tightly.
“You’re right, Tones. You’re right. It just got under my skin – the way people decided to disregard something that’s so real and pure and honest. I always want to defend you. Your character shouldn’t suffer because love for you came in the package of someone that’s younger. It’s grossly unfair,” Peter retorted, the huff in his breath making his voice come off pouty and the slightest bit childish.
It warmed Tony’s heart.
“Pete, the fact that you’re on my team is more than enough. I’m used to the outlandish things people want to paint me with. You’re all I need. Knowing that you don’t think those things, is the easiest way for me to stay firm and not care about what people think.” Turning a little, Tony grabbed Peter’s cheeks softly, his thumbs tracing the seam of Peter’s lips.
“I’ll always be on your team,” Peter whispered, his lips kissing at Tony’s thumb with every pass of the digit. “I love you, Tony.”
Tony leaned forward and pressed their lips together then, his eyes closing when Peter wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled him in closer. He still needed to go back to the lab and finish the latest experiment they were working on, but in that moment, it felt more important to keep Peter close and enjoy the fact that his husband loved him so damn much. Enough to be offended by the shit people said about him, to want to stand up and defend him for all he’s worth.
The unfortunate truth of the matter was, Peter would have to get used to it – Tony couldn’t escape his past or the fact that the people believed that he owed them a piece of himself. Of course, Tony didn’t need to throw that in his young husband’s face just yet; there’d be more than enough time for that learning lesson. Instead, he let Peter lead them through a deep kiss, their lips kiss swollen when the need to breath pulled them away from each other.
“I love you too, Pete,” Tony muttered against Peter’s lips, “but, I know you knew that already.” He pulled back and tossed Pete a beaming smile. A moment later, an idea slipped across the front of his mind and made the look on his face transform quickly from affection to mischief.
“Want to really say fuck ‘em?” he asked, getting up off the couch and pulling Peter with him.
He walked them down the hallway until they were outside of their bedroom – Peter quirked a brow at him but didn’t say a thing. Tony walked them forward until he was kicking off his shoes and crawling into the middle of the bed. “Come on,” Tony beckoned, his back flat against the mattress and arm spread open wide for Peter to settle in against his chest.
Peter, being the beaming baby that he was, didn’t hesitate to crawl into the space Tony left for him, his face settling into the nook of his husband’s shoulder. Tony wrapped his arm around Peter’s wide shoulders and pulled him close.
Getting his phone out of his pocket took a bit of maneuvering, but he finally did and fucked around with it until the camera was facing them. “Be extra cute, Petey,” Tony said, his voice soft as he lifted the camera above them. Wrapping Peter up and turning his head, Tony snapped a few shots – his thumb hitting the button over and over again.
Greedy hands took his phone from him before Tony could swipe through the different pictures he’d taken. It was all well and good – he and Peter both looked amazing in any pictures they ever took of each other or together. The prints from their wedding they decided to have put up a couple of days ago were proof of that.
A soft rush of air leaving Peter’s lips had Tony looking over, his eyes softening when he saw the picture that Peter was looking at. Tony’s lips were spread in a smile against Peter’s forehead. Peter’s eyes were closed and the expression on his face was absolutely blissful. His hand was on Tony’s cheek where the gleaming wedding ring was abundantly obvious. The natural way they fit together came through in the picture – there was no deny it.
“Put that one up. Force those shitty people to see just how good we are together.”
The vibration in his pocket a little while later had him pulling his phone out. Grinning when he saw the @PeteParkerStark Instagram notification and quickly went about pulling the post up. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh when he saw it – the little reminders of why Peter Parker Stark was his husband never failed to blow him away.
There, under the picture they’d just taken, was a caption that read – ‘fuck ‘em <3’.
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fox rain | one
→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.
→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. seokjin)
→ genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst
→ warnings: none unless you count overly graphic descriptions of how stupid seokjin is (i’m sorry for always making him so dumb)
→ words: 10.4K
→ a/n: i know i say this a lot, but this literally the STUPIDEST thing i’ve ever written in my life. i’ve lost maybe ten braincells per word in this fic, and i’m proud of it gdi!! some of my best jokes are in this mess, and that’s saying a lot considering my whole life is a joke. also: check bio for the chapter links for now!
— • masterlist | prev | one | next • —
When you feel yourself awakening, for a moment, you think you might have been hungover. The usual disembodiment you feel after a night out of drinking is what greets you when the last dredges of sleep start to fade out of your periphery, added with the insatiable urge to piss the equivalent of the volume of the Atlantic Ocean. There are weights over your eyes, you surmise, because there is no way you will be able to open them long enough to see whether you were actually dead.
But of course, you are still subjected to the curse of human curiosity, which allows you to gather enough strength to squint blearily and access your current surroundings.
You are greeted by the sight of unfamiliar overhead lights and sterile white walls. The window just to your left shows the darkened sky, the moon creeping just behind the evergreen trees. Groaning slightly, you push yourself into a sitting position, a sudden wave of vertigo slamming into you like a supernova. As you survey the room some more, you notice the sound of muffled conversation going on behind the nearby sheer curtain, and the smell of antiseptic wafts its way into your nostrils. You’re in the nurse’s office, you realize belatedly, grasping the threadbare sheets of your university’s barebones version of a hospital bed.
You put your head into your hands, breathing deeply as you try to remember the last thing that happened to you.
Yoongi’s dick. The stupid e-mail. The poem. The conspiracy group. Seokjin on a pedestal giving a TedTalk about himself. Yoongi’s dick. Namboob. Fainting in the utility closet. Yoongi’s dick.
The mental gymnastics that your brain is currently undergoing elicits a sound akin to a dying squirrel from your open mouth, and it must have sounded terribly loud and unnerving because the nurse bursts into the room just a few seconds after. The nurse, who must have been an underpaid med student by the looks of the designer purple handbags decorating her sullen cheeks, looks at you with less genuine concern and more acute abhorrence.
In your drowsiness, you don’t realize that your throat had somehow converted into the Sahara desert when you had fainted, so you are just as surprised as the nurse when you start doing a wonderful impersonation of Sadako instead.
“Hoo bwat meh hey?” you articulate, your tongue feeling like an oversized fist trying to work its way from out of your larynx. At the very least, no one can blame you for not trying your best to sound coherent. Seeing your struggle, the apathetic nurse has the decency to reach behind one of the shelves and hand you a cup of water. You grab it from her, gulping the entire thing in one go all while you proceed to not care about the rivulets of water and drool trailing down your chin and onto your crotch.
“Sorry,” you say, not really knowing why you were apologizing in the first place. Perhaps for existing? “I was trying to ask who brought me here.”
The nurse, unsurprisingly, only gives you an indifferent shrug of her shoulders. “I don’t know. Some gray-haired twink came in with you on his back. Apparently, you fainted in front of him for no reason, and when we checked your vitals, everything seemed to be fine.” She gestures at your ragged form, almost as if she didn’t believe that they hadn’t found anything wrong with you. You are obliged to share her sentiments.
“You’re free to leave whenever you want. Just make sure to sleep more and eat. University is tough on kids like you,” she says, turning to leave without another look in your direction. Somehow, you feel insulted even though the nurse hadn’t really done anything to you. Perhaps her lack of concern for your mental wellness and the fact that your newly acquired PTSD after today’s events only warranted “a good night’s sleep” as a form of treatment. Ah, the woes of having zero healthcare. Regardless, you decide to take her up on her advice and head home in hopes of acquiring some semblance of sleep after today’s traumatic episode.
Exiting the clinic, you find that almost no one is left on campus, save for the occasional student on their way to their evening classes. Being at your university during the evening had always been an odd sensation for you, as it reminds you of all the nighttime finals you have had to take in the past. Whenever the sun set and darkness enveloped the campus, it is always a given that you would be able to hear someone shouting obscenities from somewhere in the distance, especially since your university is well-known for the bars and clubs that litter its outskirts. Nonetheless, you hopelessly pray that you won’t pass by any drunk college kids, especially on this Friday night.
Just as you are about to cross the street to get to your bus stop, you notice a familiar face waiting by the entrance of the clinic. You backtrack, staring at the back of her head as she inconspicuously tries to peer into the curtained windows like some sort of pervert. Knowing her, your assumption probably isn’t that far off.
You approach her quietly, carrying your footsteps so that she doesn’t hear you until you place your mouth just beside her ear. Even at this proximity, she is none the wiser to your presence. You blow gently against her neck, whispering, “Sera. What the hell are you doing?”
As expected, she shrieks at you in surprise, almost landing a karate-chop on your face but you are saved by the fact that she had as much hand-eye coordination as a dead man in a coffin. You step back as you watch her slice through the air for another few seconds, her gaze wild before they finally land on your smirking face. Realizing that she had overreacted, she straightens up in a huff, glaring at you with as much annoyance as she can muster (but really, who can stay angry at your cute face for long?)
“Trying to look for that hot doctor again?” You joke, peering inquisitively at her hunched form. You wouldn’t be surprised to find a pair of binoculars behind her back at this point, given by how many times you’ve caught her “observing” potential boyfriends.
“How dare––!” She splutters, ears turning red from your accusation. When she shifts slightly, you notice a black object passing through her hands and trying to covertly slip into her bag. Ah. The binoculars.
“How dare I what? Accuse you of stalking a poor med student who is probably overdosing on Adderall as we speak? Oh, sorry for overstepping my boundaries,” you drawl, grinning at her affronted expression. “Unless, of course, you happened to hear about me fainting this afternoon and you wanted to offer me a ride home? Since you’re such a good friend, after all?
She looks at you, alarmed. “You fainted? When? How?”
“Oh, so now you’re concerned. I could’ve died with the image of Min Yoongi’s penis tattooed under the backs of my eyelids, and my best friend never would’ve known… Who, then, would avenge me and clear my name? Who, then, would take care of my growing collection of scantily clad women figurines––?”
“Did you just say you saw Min Yoongi’s penis? Holy shit!” Sera shrieks, eyes bugging out of their sockets. You are sure everyone within a 5 mile radius must’ve heard her, but you didn’t even have the energy to be mortified. Death always did sound like a great vacation idea, anyway.
“Sure, just scream it out for everyone to hear. Maybe we can get him to come back and do it again so you won’t think I’m crazy,” you mutter, grabbing Sera by the sleeve and tugging her towards the parking lot. “You brought your car, right? Bring me home.”
“Jeez, you drop this major bomb on me as if you were just talking about your cat taking a shit on your bed or something, and now you’re ordering me to bring you home? Cheeky,” Sera huffs, but she lets you drag her regardless.
Luckily, her car is parked relatively close because you honestly don’t know how much longer you can take before your knees give out from under you. It seems that despite the little nap you had at the nurse’s clinic, you hardly feel refreshed at all. All you want is to pass out on your comfortable bed for an indefinite period of time and pray for the demon under your bed to drag you to its depths and skin you alive. Knowing your luck, even the demon wouldn’t be that merciful towards a gremlin like yourself.
Sera begins backing up the car, stealing looks at you as you slowly became one with the car seat. You clench your eyelids shut, hoping that Sera would have the decency to respect your space for now and save the questioning for later. That pipe dream is immediately dashed, however, when she starts speeding down the empty streets and opens her big fucking mouth, her shrill voice reverberating in the small sedan.
“Don’t you dare sleep on me now, young miss! You have an entire weekend to hibernate so crank up that brain of yours for two more minutes and tell me what the fuck happened,” she says, nearly crashing over a trash bin in her haste to interrogate you.
“My brain? What’s that? Pretty sure that old thing disintegrated months ago. I think I shat it out when we had Taco Tuesday that one time in November,” you say, missing the way she snorts back in response. When Sera pinches your side to force you to face forward, your fatigue addled consciousness doesn’t even register the pain until a few seconds later.
“Ow,” you whine lamely.
“That literally took you five seconds to react,” Sera whistles, running over a child’s bike in the process. Neither of you look back to check the damage. “Damn, Min Yoongi’s penis must’ve been hella impressive if you’re this mindfucked. Are the rumors true? He must be packing down there, am I right?”
“Please stop saying the word penis. I’m getting triggered again,” you groan, slapping her lightly. She guffaws loudly, shoulders shaking at your misery.
“Sorry, can’t help being a horny bastard. But seriously, what’s the context? I wasn’t even aware you still talked to him after first year. He was your RA at your freshman dorm, right?”
“I don’t talk to him,” you say. You fidget in your seat, hands twisting and turning on your lap. “I mean. We were never close or anything.”
“Then care to explain how you managed to stand in the presence of Min Yoongi junior and behold his glory? Were you guys about to fuck before you realized his penis probably isn’t going to fit? Or, holy shit… Is he actually fun-sized like the rest of his body is?”
“Shut the fuck up, Sera.”
“Oh my god, he’s totally fun-sized!” She gasps, snatching up her phone while you two waited at a stoplight. “Wait ‘til Cassandra hears about this––”
Despite your diminished motor skills, you manage to grab her phone away from her before she can spread any misinformation to the rest of the student body. Min Yoongi’s penis is his business, and consequently, it seems to have become your business as well. Cue existential dread.
“Will you shut up for two seconds and let me explain? No, he is not fun-sized. I will not divulge any more information regarding that subject,” you say. Sera deflates noticeably beside you. “And no, we were not about to fuck. I just happened upon him while he was… in the midst of some recreational activities.”
“Oh, he’s into that type of shit. Understandable,” Sera nods, sagely. You have no idea what her tone might be implying, but honestly at that point you were too scared to ask. “How’d you find him like that, then? Did you hear him tugging his meat and decide to join in? Because honestly, big mood.”
“No!” you exclaim hotly, slapping her once again. “I’m not like your perverted ass! I was just––” You halt in the middle of your sentence, recollections of the past hours swimming through your mind and the fear and anxiety that had taken over you this afternoon starts to consume you once more.
“Hey, you alright? You got pale all of a sudden,” Sera notes, slowing down in her driving as she makes her way to park in front of your apartment. The two of you can see the lights of your crotchety landlord’s living room are still on, and you hope to God that he isn’t peering outside his windows and preparing to call the police on your friend (again).
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just,” you sigh, staring ahead of you and into the empty street. You don’t know why you’re hesitant to tell her what had happened earlier today. Normally, you would be exploding at the seams right now, weeping in despair at the sorry state of your existence. Then again, you’re not sure if you’re ready to go through the agony of reexperiencing the worst 12 hours of your life. Also, you just wanted to go pass out in your bed and never wake up.
In the end, you decide to tell her. Maybe she could offer a comforting shoulder to cry on. “Okay, so don’t laugh but… You remember the poem that got posted on the CCU Love Letters Facebook page this morning?”
Sera nods, confused. “Yeah? What about it?”
You take a deep breath, feeling your palms begin to sweat as hot licks of shame run down your back. You whisper, “Well. Yeah. I’m the author.”
There is a tangible silence inside the car. You’re afraid to look at Sera, dreading what sort of expression might appear on her face. Disdain? Pity? Mirth? Whatever it is, her quietness makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in alarm. You’re about to book it out of her car and make some shitty excuse about needing to feed your goldfish when you hear the locks of the cardoors click shut. You whip your head towards her, eyes widening when you saw the smug look on her face.
Not a good sign. At all.
“Do my ears deceive me? Is Miss ‘i’m-never-going-to-date-because-romance-is-dead’ Y/N really the author of the sweetest and most romantic poem of the century?” she singsongs, her smirk growing with each word that leaves her lips.
“Who ever said I was against romance?” You retort, cheeks flushing so hotly that you’re sure there is steam coming out of your ears. Sera cackles loudly, slamming her hand so hard into the car horn that it causes one of the wandering cats to jump up high into the air. You are half concerned when you don’t see the poor cat come back down.
“Oh please! When was the last time you dated anyone? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you date anyone the entire time we’ve known each other!”
“We met in freshman year. You didn’t know how I was in high school,” you pout, huffing crossly. “And besides. I write romantic poems sometimes. You’ve read my blog posts.”
“Yeah, I know but,” Sera giggles once more, switching her phone on to search for something. When she finds what she is looking for, her eyes light up as she shows you the damned poem that got you into this mess in the first place. “You literally wrote ‘how wonderful is it to find that the dips in your hands look awfully lonely without mine in them?’ and you’re telling me that you wrote that?”
You push the phone away, groaning into your hands when you happen to glance at the number of likes on the post. “Fucking 2000 likes? Really? I’m gonna commit seppuku with your 13-inch dildo, I swear.”
As you let yourself descend into madness once more, you feel Sera’s hand pat your back comfortingly, though you can still hear her stifled giggles. “Okay. To be honest, I kind of knew it was you. No one else can write sappy lovesick bullshit like that and be sincere about it. Who the fuck compares skin to moonlight anymore? Are we in the 16th century?”
“You just said you didn’t believe that I’d write it,” you say. “I need people to not think it’s me. It’s so embarrassing as it is!”
“Don’t worry, I don’t think people are gonna think it’s you. There are a bunch of people in our Creative Writing class. It could be anyone,” Sera says, pinching your cheek lightly.
“You really think so?”
“Yeah, probably.” Sera hums, her thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. She pauses, chuckling lightly at something. “Though, I must say. You’re incredibly lucky. If you had used your actual e-mail address instead of your… burner one, you would have been found out immediately.”
“Little victories,” you say, wondering if the prepubescent version of yourself would have known that creating [email protected] would eventually save your life 10 years later in the future. Probably not, but you’ll take it all the same. “Will you unlock the doors now, please? I’m gonna sleep the trauma away and hopefully not be alive by Monday, but if I am… then I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
“Hold on sister,” she says, restraining you back into your seat with her arm. You cough in surprise, shooting a glare back her way as she keeps you away from your bed longer than you would already like. “If you’re the author of the poem… Then can you tell me who the muse of the poem is? And more importantly, is it someone I know?”
Judging by the salacious look on her face, you know it would be a bad idea telling her. Not that you wouldn’t trust Sera with your life, but––actually, you really would not trust her with anything. Now that you think about it, telling Sera would be the equivalent of giving Kim Seokjin full access to your internet search history, and you have enough brain cells in your inventory to know that some things are worse than death.
“Ugh, can we just drop the subject, please? I really don’t want to have an aneurysm inside your car right now. I can see Mr. Park staring at us through his living room window and we both know you can’t afford bail for the third time this year.”
“Oh shit, you’re right,” she sighs, relinquishing her hold on you and allowing you to unlock the door. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting this go! You’re telling me everything when we see each other on Tuesday, understand?”
“I’d rather die, thanks!” You call out, slamming the door shut. “And besides, I’m gonna try to kill the rumors as quickly as possible before someone figures it out.”
“How are you gonna do that? Don’t tell me you’re going to go to each of the guys and explain? Maybe tell them it’s a misunderstanding?” Sera asks, watching you curiously. The very thought of doing that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. You gaze downwards at the wet pavement, the feeling of impending doom rapidly becoming familiar.
"That would mean outing myself as the author, so that's definitely a hard pass."
"Suit yourself." Sera shrugs, already beginning to pull away from the driveway. She waves lazily at you, before driving away into the night. You stand outside for a moment longer, sighing deeply as you resign yourself to your new life filled with tomfoolery and bullshittery.
At the very least, there is no where to go but up, right?
[Life Lesson #1: It's important never to test fate with foolish declarations of optimism such as this. It only tempts whatever sadistic force that controls your pathetic human life to do their worst. So of course, it gets worse.]
To your credit, you don't spend your entire weekend wallowing in self-pity and despairing at your current situation. You only spend maybe 90% of it doing just that. The other 10% is used to plan your next plan of action.
Like an idiot, you fill yourself with too much misplaced confidence and Flamin' Hot Cheetos. You think to yourself, "Man! I have the whole weekend to think of something to do! Surely my brain will be able to make some sort of plan by the time Monday comes!"
It is a wonder that you are still somehow standing, in a state that some might say resembles being "alive," with how bad your forward thinking is. As it turns out, the weekend slips past you before you know it, with no more than a seedling of a plan than you did during the peak of your mental breakdown.
Suffice to say, you're in deep shit.
Monday comes just as surely as the sun rises from the east, which is to say that time continues to pass despite how much you'd be willing to pay for it to stop. You could live with one kidney, right? (Fate is probably more of a vegan, you surmise.)
Even when the world is ending all around you, it seems that your 8AM music composition class will wait for no one. And so, there you are: dragging your feet to what is usually one of your favorite classes, but with the added bonus of death clinging to your elbows. Perhaps your cosplay of a corpse is a bit too convincing, because most passersby are quick to step around you. Honestly, this is probably for the best, as you aren't sure what type of state your human compassion is at the moment, should someone dare disturb your "peace."
But of course, there is always that one idiot who manages to ruin your day––for the sole reason that he exists, much to your disappointment and chagrin. Hell, even his voice is enough to make your hairs bristle from just how he lilts his words ever so slightly. It is an absolute shame that the shortest route to your class is past his hair salon, so you can only imagine the speed at which your blood pressure rises when you hear him say––
“Miss Park, your split ends! Oh my word, Miss Park! Whatever shall we do but snip, snip, snip all those wretches out of your life, just like how I snip up all my haters! Aha, this is your cue to laugh by the way!” Kim Seokjin guffaws, his stupid voice unable to be muted by ten inches of concrete. Through the hair salon’s windowpane, you can see Seokjin’s hands make quick work of an elderly woman’s hair, his eyes in crescent moons with how loud he laughs. You mentally make a sign of the cross for the disaster that will soon befall that poor woman’s head.
Now, normally you would make haste to your class, with head bowed and shoulders hunched in hopes of that fool-mouthed ninny from seeing you and engaging in some of his usual buffoonery. For whatever brain cells he lacked, Seokjin always seems to have the ability to rope you into his many harebrained discussions, with topics ranging from “how often do you think people think of sleeping with me?” to “do you think if plants could dream, would they dream of sleeping with me?”
You know. The works.
As it is, today is not an ordinary day, and encountering Seokjin has only made you recall the distressing events from Friday. From your panic induced haze, you can only remember murky images of him holding court amongst a crowd of people, telling them how he must be the muse of your damned poem. The faint memory fills you with abject horror as you are reminded, not for the first time, how big his terribly well-sculpted mouth can be and how he will stop at nothing to make sure that everyone believes what he wants. (Despite how horrendous he is as an organism of this earth, you would be a fool to call his looks anything but mediocre. But that’s as far as anything worth praising concerns the likes of him.)
Something takes over you in that moment, something animalistic. As if your dumb monkey brain is going “hoo hoo eek eek… must… eliminate… AWOOGA… BIG THREAT…” and your sensible and empathetic sides are consequently forced to lie dormant in the meantime.
Hence how you find yourself bursting through Spick and Spock Hair Salon, with no plan whatsoever. All you can think of is Seokjin hanging from his balls on the school’s flagpole, and honestly you weren’t all that concerned with how Point A was going to reach Point B(alls). But we’ll deal with that later.
“What was that?” Miss Park hums, her hearing aid somewhat short-circuited with the sensory abuse it has already had to undergo. To Seokjin’s credit, his hands do not falter despite your loud entrance; however, that could mostly be explained by how much louder his own voice is in comparison, but that’s just your humble onion.
“––and basically, Miss Park, there is this poor soul out there who must be dying with embarrassment because their love poem has been exposed to the world without their consent! Now, I may be Aphrodite incarnate, but I am also a gentleman, and so I do not condone force of any kind,” Seokjin drawls, incognizant of the world around him. He continues to apply the perm solution on Miss Park’s curls, the precision at how he works almost impressive if not for the fact that he was entirely abhorrent.
“That’s nice, Jinnie, but will you please shut up? I’m two steps away from turning off my hearing aid, you know,” Miss Park says cheerily.
“STOP WHERE YOU ARE, KIM SEOKJIN! STOP FEEDING LIES TO THE ELDERLY!” You cry, filled with the same type of distress that a young peasant might feel from their first licks of capitalism. Seokjin, the wicked businessman in this terrible analogy, is the one selling his counterfeit goods to the unsuspecting innocent.
Miss Park gasps, turning to Seokjin with betrayal in her eyes. “Oh, I knew it! My perm does make me look older! Just give me the pink highlights like I told you, Jinnie. I saw the youngsters doing it on Facebook,” she says.
Seokjin turns his head towards you in slow-motion, like an ass, and even takes the care to flick his beautifully styled bangs away from his forehead so he can gaze upon you with faux interest. “Oh? Miss Y/N? In my salon? I knew you’d be back here soon enough, especially with those roots… Come, take a seat. Let me bump your sorry 2/10 looking ass to a 2.5/10 at least.”
“If it were not for the laws of this land,” you seethe, cursing him through gritted teeth. You stalk towards him, rolling up your sleeves to show that you mean Business. (Funnily enough, you were wearing a tank top that day.) “I can’t believe you’re even being considered a suspect of the poem’s muse in the first place!”
Seokjin fakes a contemplative look. “Isn’t it because of my moon-like radiance? People have told me that I glow like a newborn babe.”
“You sure have the brains of one,” you retort.
“I heard from my niece that it was because he was an extra in a play as a moon or something,” Miss Park quips helpfully. Seokjin makes an affronted noise, but does not reject her claim.
“You were, like, a prop?” You snicker, forgetting for a moment what you were doing. You watch with wicked fascination as his ears turn red.
“Everyone has to start from somewhere! And so what? I had to hang ten feet in the air with a wedgie the entire time! My battle scars are what make me stronger.” He sniffs, upturned nose and all. You and Miss Park snort, not at all inconspicuously.
He pours the remainder of the solution all over Miss Park’s head and slaps her not-too gently on the back, clasping his hands together gleefully. “Well! That should do the trick. Relax, Miss Park, and let the chemicals do all the talking or whatever.” You take mental note to never come back to his establishment ever again so long as you live.
“Ma’am, if you’d like to save yourself from listening to the avalanche of anger that I’m about to unleash, I would suggest turning off your hearing aid for a moment,” you say.
She shrugs her shoulders, reclining further into her seat and resting her legs on a nearby bench. “Sure. YOLO, as the kids say.”
At her consent, you promptly slap the hearing aid out of her ear so you can scream at Seokjin in relative privacy. Miss Park doesn’t even seem to notice, and this should’ve been an indicator of how fucked up Seokjin’s salon is if she didn’t even seem slightly shocked by your actions. (How could she, when Seokjin literally just dumped fucking chemicals all over her scalp? Isn’t that illegal?)
“I’m going to sensibly reason with you first,” you scream and jab at his chest, being unreasonable.
“Okay, sounds believable,” Seokjin replies, raising a brow. He gestures for you to follow him to where the cashier is supposed to be, except that it is so early in the morning that the other employee that works with him isn’t even in at the moment. You still have yet to know why Seokjin opens the shop at 8AM in the first place.
“Why the hell are you spreading misinformation to random people like that? You know damn well that the poem isn’t about you,” you huff, crossing your arms. Seokjin, the ever-loving twat that he is, matches your pose to mock you. He even juts out his hip the way that you do.
“Of course it’s about me! How could it not be about me? Did you not read the part about how the author looks at the moon and thinks about my skin? Everyone knows that Etude House is dying to have me as their face mask model!”
The prickling urge to strangle him strengthens. “Listen,” you say, teeth gnashing from the effort of keeping yourself from leaping and ending it all. “For once in your life, is it really that hard to believe that the world doesn’t revolve around you?”
“Oh, you’re one of those heliocentric believers? Jincentric is where it’s at, Miss Y/N!” He laughs, slapping his knee at the pure hilarity of his joke. He does not pause once at your disdainful visage.
“Fine! Believe what you want! But I need you to stop telling everyone that you’re the muse of that poem. The rumor won’t die if you keep stoking the flame with your inflamed ego.”
Seokjin ponders your words for a second, looking at you with a contemplative stare. He does not speak for so long that you’re almost willing to let yourself hope that he has acquiesced, until––”When have you ever done anything for me?”
You gape at his sudden accusation. “Excuse me? I’ve done a lot for you!”
“Like?”
You pause, racking your brain. “Uh. I haven’t killed you?”
“Fair,” he nods, stroking his chin. “But that won’t be enough to stop me. I love being admired, so fuck you for even assuming that I would stop talking about myself. However, I’ll do it for a price.”
“Price?” You groan, fixing him with a glare. “You know damn well that I’m poor, but name it and I’ll try to pay it as soon as you can.”
Seokjin grins, his pearly whites much too incandescent with how dark his soul is. “Invest in my JiHope t-shirt business. I need, like, $500 left to reach the first goal of my kickstarter.”
You stare at him, completely baffled. Is this dude for real, or is he just a caricature turned to life? “You’re a heathen, do you know that?” you say, disgust oozing from every orifice of your body.
“I am feeling quite heathen-ish today, thanks for noticing,” he replies, somber. “Does that mean you accept my proposal?”
You hate how his voice sounds even the slightest bit optimistic, because that means he really does think you’re as stupid as he is. “Can you be serious for once? And before you say it, don’t fucking pull a dad joke on me and say some shit like ‘how can I be serious if I’m Jin?’ because I will not hesitate to bite two inches off your dick.”
“That would still leave 13-inches, so to be honest I should be thanking you.” He shrugs his shoulders, unashamed of existing in this day and age. “And no, I can’t be serious. It goes against my brand.”
“Your brand of being a fucking menace to society?” you grouse.
“Exactly.”
You are seriously ready to explode, and it isn’t going to be pretty. Lord knows that Seokjin would hate having your guts splattered on his overpriced Gucci slides. “Please, can you just stop talking about the poem? It’s bad enough that the original post is getting hundreds of likes by the hour, and if I know one thing, it’s probably mostly from your own influence.”
With a hundred thousand followers under his belt, it probably isn’t that much of a stretch. As much as he is the spawn of Satan, he is rather popular among your peers. Not that popularity has ever been a good measure of compassion. Case in point:
Seokjin grins, misleadingly angelic. “Aw, are you calling me an influencer? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“You’re insufferable!” you yell, glowering at the overly-smug theatre student. You stomp your foot on the ground, pointing a finger in his direction as your nostrils flare in annoyance. Like hell that you’re going to let this shithead make you his bitch! “If you’re not going to do as I say, then I’m going to pester you throughout your entire shift and follow you to class if I have to!”
Big words from such a weak-willed person such as yourself. It does not take you long to realize how fatal of a mistake it is to make such a promise, because you never really stopped to think about the actual logistics of such a stunt (i.e. having to be around Seokjin for longer than your recommended daily dose). You can only imagine what such an experience would entail.
After a 3-hours of watching a buffoon salvaging humanity’s hair-do’s and don’ts (his words not yours), you feel as if his very demonic energy was sucking your life force with a curly straw. You fear that when you close your eyes tonight, you will be haunted by images of his Pacific-wide shoulders and his head tilted back in maniacal laughter as he snips away with less care than a toddler. Well, at least that’s what he appears to be doing, because occasionally you will zone out but then return to the sight of a fairly satisfied customer with glossy looking locks, so perhaps he isn’t as inept as you had imagined.
Your amazement is short-lived, however, when he opens his mouth and the cycle begins anew.
After finishing his last client for the morning, he makes his way to his first class of the day. You are reminded of the fact that you are missing your own morning classes as a result, but you know that you cannot afford to let him off your sight, lest he make a bigger fool of himself (and consequently, make your life a bigger hell than it already is).
You trudge behind him, ensuring that he never strays further than three feet away from you. It’s pretty easy to keep up with him, due to the fact that he always makes a point to pause whenever he sees his own reflection (in windows, shiny surfaces, some poor boy’s bicycle helmet––his narcissism knows no bounds.)
When he finally makes a full stop outside one of the lecture halls, he intentionally sidesteps in front of you. The suddenness of it causes you to bump against his steely back, bruising your nose enough to make you yelp in pain. You’re just about to cuss him out when he turns to face you, uncharacteristically serious.
“Now Y/N, I need you to stay out here in the corridor like a good girl, okay? There’s a strict rule of having no pets allowed,” he coos, making the fatal mistake of trying to stroke your head. He shrieks when your teeth meets his palm, but you are unrepentant.
When you let go, he tries to appear unfazed, blowing you a kiss instead as he saunters off into the lecture hall. Not wanting to disturb the class anyway, you decide to heed his words and squat outside in the hallway, occasionally looking through the small window to glare menacingly at the pink-haired bastard. Despite the holes you wish you were burning into the back of his skull, he remains aloof to your imaginary death ray as he continues to take studious notes of whatever his professor is saying.
On the other hand, his classmates are a different story. They send each other wary looks, wondering why the hell this random person was doing a Jack Torrance impression. When the clock strikes, they all make a beeline for the exit, clearly avoiding looking you in the eye as they speedwalk to their next classes. Seokjin makes it out last, his gait the picture of perfect nonchalance. He has the audacity to look surprised to see you there, like you were an old friend he had not expected to meet until you both reached the pearly gates (or fiery pits, but that’s unimportant right now).
“You’re still here, Miss Golum? Have you been good? I’m honestly surprised that you are as stubborn as I am.” He whistles lowly, shouldering his backpack with a smirk. He walks down the hall towards the exit, not checking to see if you were keeping up or not.
You proceed to bite his penis in half to keep him in place. Okay, not really, but you know… one can dream.
What you actually do is follow him as he heads to the cafeteria, presumably to sustain the mortal body he has chosen to possess. It takes him an agonizing thirty minutes to decide what he wants to eat for lunch, and another thirty minutes to say his extensive list of food products that he will most likely be consuming within the next hour or so. You’ve never seen a fast food worker look so dead before, and you’re sure the poor college student behind the counter had zoned out after Seokjin ordered his tenth happy meal.
As the two of you stand to the side to wait for his order, he turns to you expectantly. “So,” he begins.
“Fa,” you retort, followed by a gasp of shock from the elder.
“Do my ears deceive me? Your first dad joke… And to think, all it took was for you to hang out with me for four hours to initiate you as an apprentice.” He weeps loudly, faking tears in an impressively short amount of time. That doesn’t stop you from kicking him in the shin, though.
“Don’t worry, I’m already dead inside. There’s no soul left for you to consume,” you reply dryly. He tuts, shaking his head.
“Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was just about to ask… As much as I have enjoyed our quality bonding time together––”
“I’ll gladly piss on your grave, don’t forget,” you interject.
“––I was wondering why you’re so adamant to dispel the rumors about the poem? You don’t seem like the type to engage in campus gossip.”
Oh shit. Perhaps there is something more than hot air in that tiny head of his.
You flounder about like a fish for a bit, your mouth opening and closing as you think of an explanation that wouldn’t out yourself in the process. You feel your cheeks reddening, only two seconds away from steam whistling out of your eardrums. Broken stammers are all you can manage as he waits expectantly, but luckily, you don’t have to think of a response when a nearby commotion forces the two of you to back away from each other.
A gaggle of freshmen storm through from out of nowhere, forcing the both of you to be swept away as they all made their way towards a pop-up stand in the middle of the court. Accustomed to the borderline cringey overexcitement of the youngest students in the university, you are quick to dismiss their behavior and decide to search for Seokjin, until you hear one of the little freshmen say something that catches your attention.
"You think the t-shirts are still available? Chaeyeon said the hoodies sold out this morning, so I'm scared that we'll be too late," a young girl says, her hands clutched to her chest as she tries to tiptoe over the crowd to survey the state of the merchants just up ahead.
Her friend pats her back assuringly. "Don't worry. The announcement on the page said they're bringing in the reserve stocks from the backroom, which is probably why everyone's here. We just have to get there first." They proceed to elbow their way through the throng of people, and completely disappear from your view. Where they stood, more people soon took their place until a sizeable swarm has taken over half the area of the floor.
Now, this exchange isn't necessarily a red flag to most people, since many clubs and organizations at your university often sold different types of goods to raise funds for their projects. However, given the circumstances that you have become entrenched in the last few days, you can never be too cautious of innocent utterances such as this.
You take a few steps back, trying your best to see over the heads of the crowd that is steadily growing larger. After a few minutes of fruitless attempts to squeeze through sweaty pits and cacophonous teenagers, you are ready to just give up and let it go when the same pair of girls from earlier exit from the side, with numerous folded up shirts in their arms.
You hasten towards them, barely being able to latch onto their shoulders to stop them from escaping. The shorter of the girls squeals in surprise, dropping her prized possessions onto the floor. She turns to you, anger ready to burst forth from her tongue when she looks you in the face. She softens almost immediately, wrath evaporating in the wind. Confused, you're just about to ask her if she knows you from somewhere when her friend cuts you to the chase.
"Oh my God! It's her!" she squeals, reaching for your hand and shaking it so vigorously that you swear you hear your shoulder bones pop out of its socket. The girl who had dropped her shirts just continues to stare at you in awe, her mouth agape as she remains speechless, apparently from your presence alone.
You feel the dread begin to build in the pits of your stomach. "It's me?" you say, pointing to yourself with your free hand.
"Yes! Miss Y/N, you have no idea how happy I am to meet you! We are big fans of your work on the CCU Pen Blog! Your short story about the talking brick wall honestly brought me to tears," she gasps out, eyes twinkling with unrestrained reverence. Judging from the death grip she has on your hand, you can certainly say that this girl isn't lying.
While you are aware of the small following that you've accumulated over the past two years as one of the top contributors in your university's open writing forum, that isn't to say that you have ever met a fan as fervent as the two before you. Still on edge from everything that has been going on, you still can't let your guard down around them.
After a bit of effort on your part, you are finally able to pry yourself away from the girl's tight hold. Coughing lightly into your abused fist, you fix them with a wary glance. They return it with unnervingly excited stares of their own.
"Um. Thank you very much, ladies. I just wanted to ask you about the function going on over there?" you ask, pointing over at the still bustling shop booth. At your query, the girls actually look confused, as if you are the weird one in this interaction.
"You don't know? I thought you of all people should know about the merch sale happening right now," the quieter girl speaks up, bewildered. She bends down to pick up the shirts she had dropped, turning it over to show you the design that you had previously failed to notice. What a terrible mistake you have committed.
(Was the mistake looking at the t-shirt? Was it waking up today? Was it deciding to live after your mother conceived you in the womb? Truly, where does the blame game truly end in this foul existence that you call your own?)
The scream that is elicited from your throat cannot be described as anything from this world, because you are sure everyone in the vicinity might have stopped breathing for a few seconds after hearing it. The macabre quality of your voice even caused the two girls in front of you to flee in fright, leaving you with the wretched t-shirt in your trembling palms.
There, printed on the t-shirt, right in front of your mortal eyes, is an image you would rather that you had not seen even if it meant having to suckle from Kim Seokjin's teets for all eternity.
In all its poorly printed glory, your face is plain as day. Anyone would be able to recognize that it was you: in the middle of chewing what appears to be a whole turkey leg.
There you were, with ketchup dripping down your cheek, sitting just outside the Fine Arts building as you scarfed down the poor piece of poultry because you had been too lazy to cut up into smaller, more refined chunks. Like the fucking caveman that you are, you had held the leg like a police baton, mouth open so wide that you'd think you might have unhinged your jaw to get the entire thing to fit in there.
You think that's all? It gets worse.
Somehow, the perpetrator of this terrible t-shirt just has to make you look even less attractive than humanly possible. Superimposed beside your sauce-stained self is none other than a PNG image of Jeon Jungkook in his prime. With his sleek black hair pushed back to reveal his forehead, you are sure that this photo is the same one that everyone on campus had swooned over just a few weeks prior, when he had been chosen to model in an advertisement for some club's fundraising event. He is the picture of quiet confidence, which might make you laugh on any other day, since the boy is anything but that in his day to day life. You only ever interact with him when you see him manning the front desk of the library, and he always has his head bowed over a book, unaware of the stares of his many admirers.
Clearly, the injustice of having a literal god beside your hulk-ish photo is downright cruel, but this optical torment does not stop there.
Underneath the photos of the two of you, there is a short line of text that is honestly the worst part of the entire thing. In bold, sans serif font, it reads “Y/NKOOK SUPPORTERS INITIATIVE” with a copious amount of black heart emojis tacked on. In a smaller, but similarly visible manner, it also reads “The Moon Poem is about them and I will stand on this rock until I die!” There are also numerous 100 and fire emojis scattered around the entire shirt.
It’s terrible. It’s downright despicable. It’s the worst thing to ever grace your vision, and that’s saying something, considering that you’ve met your fair share of delusional graphic designers.
Another scream rips from your throat––more livid, this time.
It is at that moment when you realize that maybe Thanos was right––maybe some people really do deserve to die for the betterment of civilization.
Perhaps the crowd of eagerly waiting customers can sense the heat from your unfathomable anger, because they quickly part like the Red Sea as you stomp over to the front of the lines where you will likely find the perpetrator of this heinous crime.
There is a young boy with droopy eyes standing by the tables of merchandise, his hands quickly counting wads of bills as he jams them haphazardly into his pink Hello Kitty fanny pack. He doesn't even bother looking up when you approach him, still busy with his profits, when you clear your throat to catch his attention.
"Are you the one in charge of this fucking circus?" You snarl, fists itching to come into contact with his cheeks. He hums disinterestedly, zipping up his gaudy fanny pack with a tired sigh.
"No, ma'am. I'm just the hired help," he drawls, turning away from you as he gestures vaguely at the mountains of goods still left for purchase. "Are you interested in something or what? There are still 30 people waiting to buy, so I'd rather you not back up the line please."
At the end of your patience, you admit that perhaps grabbing the poor boy by the collar might have been a bit drastic. Still, you're itching to know who the source of all this madness is, so you don't feel all that guilty when he makes a choking sound from your act of brute force. Despite your strong grip on his windpipe, his dead fish-eyes do not disappear. In fact, he looks exasperated more than anything.
"Listen lady, are you going to buy something or what? Who even the fuck are you?"
You splutter, staring incredulously at the younger. Who the fuck are you? You aren't the type to expect people to know who you are but you can at least expect that the person selling goods with your face on it would know who you are! Like, how the hell does he not know that you were the same person on the damned picket fans and keychains?
"I don't––what the hell––" you stammer, speechless for the first time in a while.
"OWO what's this? Is this a new campus couple shipping booth that just opened? Do you guys sell JiHope versions too?" Just in time to witness your second mental breakdown of the day, Seokjin makes his convenient re-entrance as he sidles up beside you. He has two burgers in hand, one of which he is halfway done eating.
You gape at him. "Did you buy a burger for me?"
Seokjin snorts, stuffing the entire remainder of the sandwich into his unfathomably large mouth. "No, you idiot. They’re both for me," he replies, with surprising coherency despite the dribbles of meat and bread product spilling onto his chin. You swear you can see him unhinge his jaw just the slightest bit.
He bends down to pick up one of the fallen pins from the floor, groaning at the sound of his back cracking. "Oh shit, that hurt!"
Unable to help yourself despite still having a freshman in a chokehold, you quip automatically "Yikes, that sounds like a couple of dinosaur bones creaking. You alright?"
Not missing a beat, Seokjin replies "Nah. I just can’t help having a bad back with how big my dick is."
The young boy taps you on the shoulder, reminding you once more of the situation you are in. "Can you let go? My shift is over so you can interrogate the next dude instead," he drawls, having the audacity to yawn at you.
Taking pity on him, you do as he asks. He straightens up, pulling his rumpled collar down before unclasping the fanny pack from around his waist. Another similarly dead-eyed young boy (who was incredibly tall, much to your chagrin––obnoxiously tall young men ALWAYS had agendas, take Seokjin for example) takes the bag from him. He gives you a short once over, no signs of recognition present in his expression at all. When he sees Seokjin, however, his reaction is a lot more than you expected.
"Oh my God, Seokjin? Holy shit, I'm a big fan!" The new boy gasps, pushing aside a customer in favor of reaching over to shake Seokjin's hand. Ever the slut for praise and appreciation, Seokjin shakes his hands with the ease of a seasoned politician.
"Aren't we all?" he laughs, haughty. The other boy laughs too, his eyes sparkling with unrestrained admiration. You sneer in disgust at the hearts visibly emanating from his body.
"My name is Soobin, and I just love your performance in last week's production at the Campus Theatre! Would you mind signing my assh––"
"Hold on," you interrupt, glaring daggers at Seokjin. "Did you fucking do this? Did you make this fucking merch booth of me and Jungkook?"
Seokjin frowns, annoyed that you had been impetuous enough to stop this spontaneous meet and greet session between him and his loyal fan. "No, of course not. Who even the fuck is Dungcock, or whatever the hell that dude's name is."
"You fucking dumb piece of shit––" you say, about to bite off his balls for real when your phone begins to ring, saving Seokjin for the time being. You recognize the ringtone to be the one you set for your alarms, and you realize that after all the commotion from this morning, you have forgotten about the tutoring session you are supposed to have with Hoseok today. Since you had cancelled last Friday's session after your spectacular psychotic meltdown, you know that you couldn't possibly skip this one as well.
Shutting your phone off, you groan, fixing Seokjin with your most solemn gaze. "Listen, I don't have a lot of time. I have to go tutor Hoseok soon, and I've already skipped all my classes today by trying to convince your imbecilic ass to be empathetic for once in your miserable life so I'm begging you for the last time––please stop spreading the rumors about the poem," you finish, tears welling up as you finally register the fatigue weighing down your bones. It's only Monday, and you can't wait for the sweet release of death.
Seokjin is silent the entire while. The merchandise boy, Soobin, has already left the two of you alone, becoming disinterested the moment you uttered the word "listen." You're breathing heavily, bracing yourself for the inevitable sound of his windshield wiper-esque laughter. To your complete and utter surprise, his mocking does not come.
Instead, he puts down his second burger, stuffing it inside his back pocket (presumably for safekeeping). He wipes his hands on his shirt, smearing ketchup sauce on it before levelling you with his gaze. He appears like he is about to acquiesce to your demands.
Is this it? Will you allow yourself to hope? Has Kim Seokjin actually developed compassion during the last 20 seconds of your heartfelt plea? Are you finally going to lay to rest the rumor that he does not actually have a second stomach where his heart should be?
Then, "Okay Y/N. I'll do it."
Hope rises just beyond the horizon.
He raises a finger, "But––"
And just like that, hope takes a pounding to the ass (lubelessly) and dies before it even has the chance to break past the peaks of your mountain of crushed dreams.
"––you have to admit that you're the author of the poem and then I'll stop exacerbating the rumors."
You can feel the demon living inside you just itching to climb its way out of your ass and circle its hands around Seokjin's larynx. Hell, you can't say you wouldn't do it yourself. "WHAT? NO!! THAT'S LITERALLY––I'M NOT EVEN––" you scream, shocked and enraged at the same time.
Seokjin rolls his eyes, placing his perfectly manicured hand on his hip. "Save it, babe. I know you're the author. As annoying and stupid as you are––"
"Hey!"
"––you've always been a pretty good writer and I would recognize your writing style anywhere. Not to say that I read your works religiously or anything, but I mean... I see your writing on the newspapers that I use to pick up my dog's shits, so I guess I read them sometimes," he says, not looking you in the eyes. The tips of his ears are turning red, but you hardly notice his embarrassment when you're more amazed that he even acknowledged your talent in the first place. You guys aren't even friends!
"Wow. I don't even know what to say."
"Just admit you're the author and we're good." Seokjin smirks, patting you lightly on the shoulder.
You frown. "Isn't that counterproductive? I want the rumors to stop, not for them to be related to me."
"Which is a sentiment that I cannot fathom at all, since I crave the attention." He sniffs, glowering at you. "You can imagine the sacrifice I am bestowing upon you by having to relinquish this newfound fame just so your little crush stays hidden."
"How benevolent of you," you deadpan.
"And since you didn't deny it, I'm assuming that you are the author after all. Besides, I just wanted you to tell me the truth, mostly so I can bully you for writing sickly sweet love poems about yours truly."
"Okay, I'll admit. I am the author. You got me," you grunt, rubbing your temples. "But there is no way in HELL that I wrote Moonlight Sonata for you. I'd rather eat my own intestines than write anything remotely flattering about you."
"That's what they all say," Seokjin says, sighing dreamily. "To be honest, I knew you were the author from the beginning and I just wanted to annoy you until you caved. I didn't think you would be that stressed over the stupid poem enough to follow me around for an entire day. That crush must be embarrassing, huh?"
"It's not!" you exclaim hotly. You clear your throat, forcing the blush around your cheeks to die down. "It's just... It was supposed to be private." Your voice breaks off into a whisper, vulnerability lacing your words.
It's true––the only reason you wanted all of this to be over was because it was never even supposed to have happened in the first place. Your words and stories were always open to the public eye. You gave and you gave and you gave, although that has never been a problem. You loved sharing your thoughts and feelings; it was one of the greatest things about being writer. You enjoyed hearing how people related to your experiences because it made you feel seen, it made you feel known. You were not alone in this journey, and that had made all the difference.
This time, however, you had preferred to go through this alone. Mostly because even you were not sure what it was that you were going through. How were you supposed to share this part of yourself with others when you did not even know what it was that you were feeling? You had poured every inch of your soul onto those pages, and to have yourself completely barren to the world like it was nothing––
That had been catastrophic to you. But at the end of the day, there was nothing you can do except to try and silence it.
Seokjin considers your sad form, watching you until a small secretive smile inches its way on his lips. You scowl, not liking the way he looks like he knows something that you don't.
"What are you smiling at?"
"Oh, nothing," Seokjin whistles, winking provokingly. He laughs obnoxiously, not faltering even when you kick him in the sin. "Just that I know you have a crush on me and you're just embarrassed to admit it. Thank God that I'm a great actor, so I guess I'll pretend for your sake."
"You're not my––" you start, before giving up mid-sentence. Was there truly any use to arguing with Seokjin? You'd rather not waste any more saliva than you already have. "Whatever. Believe what you want. All that matters is that you do what I asked you to do."
"Sure thing, Shakespeare," Seokjin scoffs, flicking you lightly on the forehead. "Also, in payment for my services, you are required to watch my next play AND attend at least three of my rehearsals and cheer for me every time I appear in a scene. I require a bouquet of flowers at every appearance."
You're about to argue, (fruitlessly, you might add), when a barrage of buzzes coming from your back pocket stops you in your tracks. You slip out your phone, and you see dozens of texts from a worried Hoseok asking where you are. You reply a quick "otw" to him before focusing back on Seokjin.
"Fine. Whatever. I'll fucking kill you the next time I see you, but... thank you. I know it's hard for you to be kind to anything other than your reflection." You take a deep breath, furrowing your brows. Saying thank you to a troglodyte is harder than it seems. "And thanks for reading my works. We're still not friends or anything, by the way. Hope you remember that."
"Wouldn't dream of forgetting," Seokjin chuckles. "Me? Friends with you? A 10 walking around with a negative 1? Fat chance." He waves goodbye, blowing you an obnoxiously loud kiss before stalking off away from you. The bulge of his smooshed burger has left an unsightly grease stain all over the back of his jeans.
Before you turn to go to the exit, you pass by Soobin who was still busy with customers. You slip a few bills into his pocket, tiptoeing to whisper into his ear. "Here's twenty bucks. Go kick Seokjin in the balls for me."
When the double doors slam behind you, the beautiful sound of Seokjin's pained howl bids you the cheery farewell that you deserve.
#networkbangtan#armiesnet#bts scenarios#bts fanfiction#bts#bts imagines#bts scenario#kim seokjin#seokjin scenarios#jin scenarios#seokjin imagines#jin imagines#seokjin fluff#jin fluff#bts fluff#bts crack#bangtan#bts fanfic#ANYWAY.... this was dumb thanks for going thru All That#time to hibernate lol
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Things you said with clenched fists / Things you said over the phone
requested by and ft. @katarinadvpont
I. 2014
They’re back in Libya, of course. Sometimes he feels like he’s never fucking left this place, like he never will. Blue skies above, with that scorching hot sun that always leaves him casting his gaze around for some shade when the clock hits about noon. Pale sand that gets into all the creases on his body, fills his shoes and his socks. Another civil war, the second in three years, orchestrated by the powers that be for… what, oil? He’s not sure he even knows anymore, which side he’s supposed to be spilling blood for. On base, his hand never seems to stray very far from the scar cut across his abdomen, because more than enough of the blood he’d spilled the last time he was in this country was his own.
They have a new Carabinieri attache-- she’s almost eye-searingly blonde and lily-skinned in the bright sunlight, he can’t help but wonder how she keeps from turning as red as a lobster. The military police are hardly ever well-liked among the rank and file, seen as fun-killers at best and crooked at worst, but… Tahan thinks she’s probably alright, if only by virtue of the fact that one Capitano Daniel Lombardi hates her. He watches the pair of them from the shade of the MRAP that the late afternoon provides, his legs outstretched in the dirt before him, arms crossed over his rifle. Lombardi is bristling, trying to loom over her like his scant few centimeters he has on the woman affords him any kind of advantage in the face of her icy calm. Yeah, Tahan thinks, he likes her just fine. She’s got a spine of steel, at least, glaring Lombardi down and snapping back at him.
DuPont, he thinks her name is. He’s never spoken to her directly, just the occasional respectful nod as they pass each other on base, or when he and Rossi are bent over a map, heads bowed together as they work on planning operations, and she sweeps into the room. Right now, she looks like she’s going to choke Lombardi. He thinks he might like to see it-- Rossi’s toe nudges his thigh, and when he tips his head back to squint at him, the younger man gestures silently toward the pair. His meaning is more than obvious: end that before it really starts.
Ah, well. He really would have put money on the Carabinieri, the way her face has clouded. Tahan stands with a long sigh, and then stalks forward on cat-quiet feet, his rifle slung back over his shoulder. It’s so hot when he gets out of the shade that he almost immediately starts to sweat-- how can these two bicker like this? How do they have the energy?
He catches the tail end of their conversation, Lombardi hissing out a quiet, “You don’t know what you’re messing with, DuPont--” before he interrupts by clearing his throat. Lombardi cuts himself off and turns his baleful glare onto Tahan, and DuPont takes a moment to try and smooth the anger out of her features. She mostly fails. Her fists are still bunched, the lines of her shoulders and her mouth pulled taut. Before Lombardi can bark out a ‘what’, Tahan snaps out a frankly disrespectful salute to him and then speaks.
“Maggiore Romano is looking for you, DuPont.” His voice is flat, and he keeps his bored gaze focused on a point between them. It’s a calculated risk-- the Major outranks Lombardi, so the Captain can’t do anything but let her go, and the pair gets along even more poorly than it seems he and DuPont do, so it’s not terribly likely Lombardi will ask. Not terribly likely, but the man trusts Tahan about as much as Tahan trusts him, so it’s still possible. Not that he’d get in all that much trouble. Lombardi opens his fat mouth to say something, but Tahan doesn’t give him the chance, sweeping his arm out in an ‘after you’ gesture for her, with a quiet offer: “I’ll walk you there.”
The flat line of her mouth turns furious once more, but thankfully she holds her tongue until they’re out of earshot, not even bothering to say goodbye to Lombardi. They walk together in silence until they round a corner, and then she whirls on him, fists curled like she’s thinking about striking him. At least she hasn’t gone for her gun. “Are you insane?” She demands, her voice ringing out of her like thunder. DuPont steps forward, one of her hands gesturing broadly toward the rest of the base. “Does the Maggiore actually need me, or did you make that up?”
Tahan rocks back on his heels, biting back a smile. He has the feeling his amusement would only serve to act as gasoline on the fire of her fury, so he simply gives her a one shouldered shrug. “Sometimes, and no. Are you?” She stills, high spots of color creeping into her cheeks. “Insane, I mean.”
“No,” the answer cracks out of her like a whip this time, waspish and ice cold. “I’m beginning to suspect that everyone else here is, though-- you know you’re supposed to be working with the United Nations on all of your operations, don’t you?”
God. He rummages around in his pockets and pulls out his pack of cigarettes, offering her one as he lights his own. The look she gives him is venomous, but she takes one and he lights that one for her as well. “I’m aware--” Her brows furrow, and she opens her mouth to say something, but he holds up his hand. The gesture is enough to silence her for a half second, if only because she didn’t expect it, and that half second is all he needs. “Listen to me, picking a fight with that fuck Lombardi isn’t going to get you anywhere good.”
DuPont exhales smoke harshly, staring hard off into the camp. “All this-- all this fucking--” He snorts, taken almost aback by the curse falling out of such an angelic face, and she snaps her electric eyes to him. “This cowboy bullshit. There’s a system in place to make sure everything is done by the book, and done well, and to keep casualties at a minimum, and it seems like nobody cares.”
Nobody does care. He manages to keep from saying it, but only barely, instead he watches her, brows furrowed. Her fists are still clenched at her sides, like she actually cares. Maybe she does-- he’d heard she’s fresh out of the academy. Hasn’t had any time to let the world tint her idealism into something darker, yet. He doesn’t want to be the one to break it to her. Another long sigh rolls out of him as he turns to watch the walls of their base camp. “There’s something you need to understand about Lombardi.” He stops, there, and when he glances back at her he can see her eyes trained on the side of his face. “He’s gotten away with a lot of shit. He’s been allowed to get away with a lot of shit. And you’re a threat to that-- a threat to him.”
“Good--” she sneers.
“Bad,” he replies, cutting her off. “Because do you know what Lombardi does to people that threaten him? He eliminates the threat. Like he was trained to do.” She draws away, and he can see he’s losing her, so he gestures out to the camp. “I’m not saying do nothing. You can report him to our superiors until you’re blue in the face. I’m just telling you now, it’s not likely they’ll do anything. We’re a black operation unit, and we… unofficially play by different rules. But if you keep running your mouth off to him, he’s going to start thinking maybe you’ll actually get something done.” A pause, for effect. Her eyes are almost, almost wide. “And then he’ll just make you disappear.”
The blonde’s jaw is so tight he could almost swear he can hear her teeth grinding. “He can try.”
“He can succeed. That prick has been here for fifteen years, and if we’re unlucky he’ll be here for fifteen more.” Tahan is agitated, he’s already burned through the entirety of his cigarette. He puts the butt out against the bottom of his boot, and tucks it back into the pack, unwilling to start another. “I’m not saying do nothing. I’m saying keep quiet about it until you’re far the fuck away from here. You understand?”
Her eyes, her face is grim. She nods, finally. He turns away before he can determine if she means to actually follow his advice or not.
ii. 2016
Her mouth runs just as hot in Verona as it did in the desert two years ago, he thinks with no small amount of amusement. The leaves are starting to turn on the trees, and a cold wind creeps in between the cramped, ancient buildings of the city. Every time he sees her, she looks like she’s bundled for arctic weather, and she undoubtedly notices how drawn he looks, the faint tremble to his fingers. He feels half-mad, some days, mourning something he’ll never be able to put words to, all the things and the days he’s buried deep. She calls him, maybe once a week, and he tries to be good company.
The days pass in anniversaries, marked permanently in his mind. One year since Rana slipped headfirst into that ditch. One year since Rossi pulled that bullet out of that corpse for evidence. One year since, once year since, one year si--
His phone is ringing. He’d forgotten it was ringing when he saw who it was that was calling him, staring at the screen until it rang out to voicemail. She’s calling him again. Battista wonders what’s got her… what, concerned? Angry? Enough to call him twice in a row. He answers.
Katarina DuPont’s voice rings tinnily on the line. “Oh, good. You’re alive.” Her voice is almost totally flat, like she’s pissed she felt like she had to call again. He stares out over the Adige, sluggishly moving along.
“Don’t sound so excited about it,” is his dry answer. “Did you need something?”
The line is silent for a minute. He thinks about sinking into the cold water in October of 2009, getting dragged out by the strap of his rifle. The shock that had come after. Leans against the railing, and peers down into the muddy brown river below. Her voice startles him out of his reverie. “No, I don’t need anything, you-- Have you eaten anything today?”
Battista’s brows shoot up on his forehead, and he allows it because there’s nobody around to see. He leans his chin on his hand, his elbow resting against cold stone and supporting most of his weight. It takes him a moment to think. Has he? He can hardly remember, it seems. He doesn’t think so. His hands feel a little weak, he’s tired. “Yes,” he responds softly. The water churning below looks cold. He pulls away from the edge and starts walking away. “Did you call just to ask me if I’d eaten anything?”
“No.” Katarina’s voice… he can tell the amusement in his question rankled her, in some way or another. “Do you need anything?”
He wonders when she’s going to work up to asking if he’s been taking his meds-- probably soon. She’s not one to mince words. He lifts a hand to wipe the half-smile off his face and pauses, wondering if the faint smudge of crusted blood under his nails is real or imagined. Looking away from his hand won’t keep him from obsessing, but it will keep him from seeing.
Does he need anything? He doesn’t know. He can’t stop thinking about Rossi, the Captain. That whole mess. He can’t stop thinking about the heroin, or the pink jacket. He can’t stop thinking about how Bianchi had leaned so close to him, his grip hard enough to bruise his collarbone, and the acid that had poured out of his mouth. And perhaps this is all loyalty will ever buy him, in a world so deprived of goodness and warmth and light. A world deprived of love. It buys him pain. In the night, in the day. A great screaming void. Death at his master’s door.
For a moment, a mad moment, he lets himself feel a spark of… of something. Maybe he wants more than that. Maybe he wants justice. Maybe he thinks she can help, or offer advice, or maybe he just wants to talk about it. So he opens his mouth, and his voice is raspy when it rolls out of him, like he’s parched. “Have you ever heard of--” Bianchi, he doesn’t finish the sentence. She may have met him in Libya, might even remember him. But he doesn’t know how, or perhaps can’t, ask for help. The two extremes: she won’t care at all. He didn’t know her two years ago, and he hardly knows her now, except for the fact that she feels obligated to reach out to him occasionally. Or she could get herself killed, looking into it. He’s not sure he could articulate how dangerous it is. He’s pretty sure he could never choke out all of what happened, either. “Never mind,” he finishes, softer than before. Battista glances around and finds he’s back at the river, and this time when he turns his back on it, he tells himself it’s for good. “I don’t need anything, DuPont. Listen, I have to go.” There’s a long silence on her end, and he adds, “I’ll talk to you later.”
Apparently that’s enough of a promise for her. At her loaded “Goodbye, then,” he snaps the phone shut, and slips it into his pocket.
#/ / DRABBLES .#tw ptsd#tw drug mention#tw suicidal ideation#super vague on the last one but just to be safe#those are just in the second half. the first half is only discussion of murder
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