#scrolled so far through a brick wall of text that I had to go back up and just send it away from my dash | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

calculated iii, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You wanted to say that you were able to control yourself around him and not to have wild sex at school. But this is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking about. And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets. You wore that pencil skirt for a reason, after all.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; intense smut (fem reader, semi-public sex, dirty talk, nipple play, choking, m-receiving oral, gagging, pussy spanking, fingering, penetrative sex); fluff; non-idol!AU - university!AU; dom!Jungkook x sub!noona!reader, ft Jimin once again, lol

–

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

Career Week was somewhat of a nightmare.

So much running around, prepping tables, setting up presentations, helping the guests with their computers before their seminars, and you had to be dressed professionally too. Not just ‘nice’ clothes, but white dress shirt, slim black tie, tailored black vest, and matching fitted black slacks. It had to be monotone, it had to be hyper professional, and you had to wear heels.

Why had you agreed to this again?

Oh, yes, Kim Namjoon on his knees begging for help because he was overworked and they needed volunteers. And you, being far too responsible, accepted.

Not only were you also overworked, but Jeon Jungkook was staring at you across the auditorium.

In all-black – leather jacket, high-necked shirt, slim-fit jeans. Sharp jawline, tanned high cheekbones, piercing dark brown eyes, his black hair pushed back with a few strands on his forehead, revealing his clean undercut.

And he was smirking at you.

You highly doubted he was here to investigate prospective career paths. Actually, you were a hundred-and-ten percent positive that that was not the reason he was here and the soreness between your inner thighs proved it. You were willing to bet Park Jimin’s right nutsack.

Yeah, sorry Jimin, but you needed all your body parts.

For one reason, really, and that reason was staring you right now.

Who was going to hire him when he was dressed like that anyway? You certainly wouldn’t. Mostly because it was distracting. No one could work with Jeon Jungkook looking like that. You couldn’t, anyway. Well, maybe if his work was wrecking your–

Get back to your damn task, you scolded yourself.

You were setting up chairs for the cardiologist that was arriving soon. All the doctors always had tons of students listening, so the administration instructed you to pack as many seats that could be crammed into the space without causing a fire hazard. You unfolded the metal chairs, arranging them neatly, already knowing they would be an incomprehensible mess when the students left and that you would be the one cleaning up after them.

Sigh.

Come to think of it, it was all Park Jimin’s fault that you were being violently undressed by Jungkook’s eyes right now. If he had kept his trap shut and let you live in blissful ignorance, maybe you wouldn’t be trying to hide your wincing every time you bent over. You snuck a glance at Jungkook.

He cocked an eyebrow, highly amused.

Never mind, you probably still would have been accosted at Calculus I office hours, except instead of the door being closed and locked and having Jimin’s warning texts, you two probably would have been caught and expelled.

You grumbled and slid a chair into place, taking back your former thoughts and thanking Jimin in your mind. He wasn’t even here to witness your inner struggle.

Jimin probably would have found it funny.

You went back to your chairs, not addressing Jeon Jungkook’s presence anymore because if you looked at him again, you probably would have abandoned your post. And he knew it.

The next day, you already knew Jungkook would show up again. Mostly because he texted you a winking face of a semicolon and parenthesis, to which you didn’t respond, because you would probably get roped into phone sex in under twenty seconds, and you had to help this extremely riveting lawyer set up his laptop for the projector.

As in, you were ready to tape his mouth shut as he blabbed on and on about his work and how important it was to society, which it was, because defense attorneys were very important, but this guy’s laptop was a fucking hot mess of icons all over his desktop. This was a personal pet peeve of yours, as you liked to be neat and organized, with everything clearly labeled with dates. You didn’t care about most people’s personal habits, but it was annoying when you were trying to assist and the owner of said laptop was not shutting up and demanding noises of affirmation that you were listening.

If it wasn’t Jungkook demanding you to swallow his cock, you honestly couldn’t give a single shit–

You finally got his PowerPoint working and had him scroll through the slides to make sure it was the correct one. He thanked you and you realized the older man was looking at you up and down, the same way Jungkook usually did, except in this case you were not even remotely interested.

Guess everyone had the right to get a good look before they die.

You were wearing a white chiffon blouse with a black silk neck scarf, with a tight knee-length black pencil skirt, sheer tights and sleek black heels. You knew how good your ass looked in this skirt and you had worn it for a specific purpose.

“We will be letting the students in five minutes early to get settled,” you stated briskly, cutting the older man from his daydreams. “You will have forty-five minutes for your presentation, and then we’ll have a fifteen-minute question session, led by my associate, Kim Namjoon here.”

As if on cue, Namjoon appeared, cheerful smile with cute dimples, handing the lawyer a mic.

“Let’s test the microphone and the backup to make sure you don’t have any hiccups,” Namjoon instructed merrily, instantly captivating the man’s attention and diverting it from you.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ behind the man’s back and Namjoon gave you the tiniest of nods as you excused yourself. Hmph. You knew people would notice – you were wearing makeup for once and would be around students and professionals all day, after all – but to be so shameless and gawk like that was annoying. Plus, the guy probably had a wife and kids.

You made your way to the bathroom to check your appearance. Maybe your makeup was a bit off or something. You had Jimin check you over this morning. Surprisingly, he knew a lot about cosmetics and how to look good in all lighting. Must be a dance major thing.

Ah, the door to the women’s bathroom. You hiked your skirt up a bit do you could use your damn knees to walk, because they had been suffocating for the past two hours–

Long fingers suddenly gripped your upper arm and yanked you around the corner, slamming you into a muscular body and black biker jacket. You nearly stumbled in your heels, but a second hand came to practically lift you off the floor and shove you into the wall.

“Good afternoon, noona.”

A clear, silvery voice.

You couldn’t possibly guess who it was.

“Why, fancy seeing you here, Jung–”

You were abruptly cut off by his lips crashing into yours, one hand grabbing the back of your head and disturbing your perfect bun. You whimpered, feeling him shove you into the wall again, your shoulder blades hitting the painted brick. His tongue slid into your mouth, exhaling into your throat and forcing you swallow his breath. Your hands clutched your skirt, moaning as his hard body pressed yours against the wall.

Jungkook drew back, panting a little. Looking so handsome with his slightly slicked-back hair, black strands around his right eye, chiseled jawline, silver hoops glinting in the hall light. He arched a sculpted eyebrow at you, smirking. His pink lips had a little red on them from kissing you.

“Now, you know you can’t be looking so delicious and not expect me to want to eat you up,” he purred, licking your lips. Your breathing hitched at the touch, unlocking your death grip on your skirt.

“What are you talking about?” you answered evenly despite your panties literally turning into Niagara Falls with the way he was looking at you like a carnivore at an all-meat buffet. “I have to dress like this for Career Week. Everyone has to dress professionally.”

Jungkook nodded, not believing a single word coming out of your mouth. His right hand came up, ink black tattoos against tan skin, and reached around to your bun, slowly pulling the hairpins out. Your skin tingled at the sensation of your hair gradually unravelling.

“A professional that I would hire to sit on my dick,” he mused.

You raised an eyebrow at him, your hair tumbling around your shoulders. “Subtle.”

Jungkook showed you the removed hairpins, opened his jacket, and tucked them in his inner pocket.

“I wouldn’t work for you anyway,” you added haughtily.

With each passing moment, Jungkook was becoming increasingly amused and aroused. You could tell by the way he was shoving his crotch into your thigh and by how wide his smirk was getting. The slacks he was wearing did nothing to hide his erection and you had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t care.

“Oh? Why not?”

“I don’t know if I could trust someone younger than me to do a good job.”

He was unbuttoning your chiffon blouse now, humming. “I’m good at many things.” His dark eyes flickered to yours. “I think you would know.”

Your hands grabbed his despite him already having all the visible buttons completely open. Cold air drifted onto your heaving chest and white lace bra.

“Jungkook, we’re in a public place, again,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t recall that being a problem,” he drawled, removing his hands from yours and squeezing your ass. “I’m beginning to think you like it.”

You sucked in a breath as his strong hands kneaded you through your skirt. Your hormones would absolutely let Jungkook rip off your clothes right here and let him fuck you, but the sliver of your brain that had any sense at all reminded you that you had to find a closed space. Jungkook slapped your ass, loudly, the sound echoing across the empty hallway. You nearly moaned, but bit your tongue, glaring at him.

“I have to get back,” you snapped. “And look presentable.”

Jungkook licked his teeth. “Hm. You have an hour before you have to appear to the public eye.”

Who the heck told him that? He smirked slyly at you as he saw your reaction.

“I could drag you to the bathroom–”

“At least give me more class than the woman’s bathroom,” you interrupted.

Jungkook looked annoyed that you had cut him off and also looked like he was going to remind you later. His fingers dug into your hips sharply and you gasped, back pressed flat against the wall. He inhaled a deep breath and began again, voice dangerously low.

“As I was saying,” he continued. “I’m going to take you into this classroom that I stole the key for.”

You frowned as Jungkook hoisted you up swiftly, princess-style, shirt still wide open. Fuck, what was he so strong for? He carried you down the hallway to the classrooms. You tried to close your shirt, but he growled at you, so you rolled your eyes and pushed the sides open, letting your bra-covered tits hang out. He seemed satisfied about this.

“Why would you steal a key?” you muttered as he deftly kicked the door open.

Jungkook slid through the door sideways. “So I could fuck you, of course.”

He dropped you and you had to catch yourself on your heels before you broke an ankle and ate shit. Half the lights turned on. You could hear him locking the door as you smoothed your skirt.

You turned to face him, saying, “You shouldn’t be a thief just because you’re horny, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turned around slowly from the now locked door. You were about to say something else, but your words died in your throat as you witnessed the overwhelming lust in his dark piercing eyes.

“I would be a thief, a murderer, and evade taxes for your body,” he snarled, advancing on you.

You pulled your blouse out of your skirt so he wouldn’t rip it, backing up into the desks. “You’ll get caught with the last one,” you said quietly, already removing your blouse and letting it fall onto a spare seat. “First two are acceptable.”

Jungkook grinned devilishly, licking his pink lips.

“Come here.”

You chewed on your lower lip, staring at his beautiful eyes, finding yourself already walking to him, heels clicking loudly in the empty room, but it didn’t matter, because he was the master now and you were the willing servant. Or slave.

Take your pick.

He smirked at your obedience, placing his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. His dark orbs lingered down your body, focusing on all his favorite spots, pressing his fingertips into your skin.

“One day,” you said quietly. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

Jungkook’s powerful dark orbs shifted upwards, capturing yours. Time slowed down. You stared into his dark brown eyes, unable to look away, your heart beating in time with his words.

“You’re already in trouble.”

Voice haunting you, teasing smirk on his lips, and perfectly in command.

“From the second you let me have my hands on you.”

You gasped as his nails dug into your skin, scratching down your collarbones, leaving red marks. He snapped the straps of your bra, hard, and you whined, eyes pleading for him to take it off. His palms pressed into the lace cups, squeezing them roughly. Tongue dancing in between his lips as he felt your nipples harden, barely covered by the lace.

“You’re so dirty, noona,” he purred, lowering his palms and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric, smirking at your wanton moan. “Wearing such slutty underwear under these professional clothes.”

You whimpered as he tugged on them. “No one’s going to see them but you, Jungkook.”

He clamped your nipples between his thumbs and knuckles, dragging you to him. You sank your teeth into your lower lip, pussy throbbing as you collided with his firm chest. His breath was scorching hot against your skin, making you shiver.

“What if someone finds out? Some idiot like a perverted old man staring at your ass in this skirt?”

You snorted. “I’ll rip his head off.”

Jungkook snickered, flicking your nipples with your answer. “You wouldn’t let me do it for you?”

Your hips rolled into his, hands on his waist to keep yourself up as he played with you. “I’ll reattach it for you so you can do the same.”

He laughed, almost a little too jovially for the part he was playing, but then he was back, tipping his head close to yours, blowing soft air onto your lips. You frowned, glaring at him for the lack of kiss.

“If possible, you’re even hotter dressed like this,” Jungkook murmured, his forehead against yours. “So prim and proper, even with a cute gag tied around your neck,” he added, playing with the ends of your neck scarf. “You could be a CEO, and I could be the janitor fucking you on your penthouse-floor desk.” He was undoing your scarf now, teasing it apart, making you breathless. “Maybe fuck you against the window so everyone can see how good I make you feel, noona.”

“Give yourself a little more credit than a janitor,” you muttered, stiffening as Jungkook ran his fingertips over your throat, nails grazing your skin.

“True, I would rather be your secretary so I can follow you around and stare at your ass in this skirt,” he chuckled, lacing his fingers around your neck. Thumb under your ear, the other four fingers under your other ear. You made eye contact with him. He looked almost bored, one of his eyebrows raised, but he was watching you, predatory and attentive.

“I know what I’m doing.”

His whisper was so soft that you barely heard it, but the words were there.

His grip tightened around your throat.

You gasped, feeling the blood flow thinning, hazing your mind. Jungkook watched your expression, reaching around with the hand that was holding your scarf, unclasping your lace bra. You could feel it fall down your arms, but your thoughts were rapidly being clouded by lightheadedness and lust, Jungkook smirking at you as he lifted the silk scarf into your vision.

“J… Jungkook…” you choked out.

The mole underneath his lower lip winked at you as he grinned, brushing the silk against your hard, abused nipples, touch so light, and yet it made your whine, wanting more stimulation but unable to ask because you knew he was toying with you.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook taunted. “Not intense enough for my naughty noona?”

He choked you harder and you couldn’t respond, eyes rolling back into your head as black spots danced in your vision, the sensation intensifying but still not enough, not enough, and you shoved your hips into his repeatedly, whimpering, hands clutching his black shirt, nails digging into his abs.

“So needy for me,” he breathed, feathery touches of silk against your nipples. “Are you only mine?”

He leaned forward, loosening his grip a little. The blood violently rushed back into your head and all you could hear Jungkook’s cruel whisper of your name, tearing a moan from your lips, a raspy yes, yes, fuck, Jungkook, I’m only yours.

He chuckled darkly.

Then he forced you to your knees, tits bouncing uncomfortably as you slid on your heels, knees hitting the tile floor. You clutched his clothed legs, panting, brain only half-functioning due to the lack of blood and the relentless teasing. You lifted your head back up to look at him, panting hard.

Jungkook cracked his neck sharply, a harsh pop. “I want to believe you, noona, but you’re dressed so fucking sexy that I can’t.” His dark eyes bore into you, tearing you up, and you were dripping onto your inner thighs. He emphasized his words with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Letting other people fantasize about this body that belongs to me isn’t acceptable.”

His hands reached down, fingers of his right hand playing with the button of his pants, tattoos dancing with his movement. He smirked as you watched him, eyes darting from his face to his hands. Shit, you were nearly drooling with anticipation. You swallowed as he teased the button free.

“You gonna show me that you remember who you belong to?”

You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, but it was doomed now anyway because Jungkook was lowering the zipper, pushing down his pants and underwear, past his muscular thighs. It was obvious this was getting him off as much as it was getting you off, because he was rock-hard, leaking, tip already a dark red. Jungkook grabbed the back of your head and shoved his hips into your cheek, smearing his pre-cum onto your skin, all the way up to your cheekbone. He hissed, using his hand to press the head against your temple, nearly into your hair.

Fuck, he was so fucking close to your mouth, but he wasn’t letting you have it.

Damnnit.

Your tongue snaked out and softly licked his balls, eyes on his face, watching him tip his head back and moan. You licked more, creeping your head closer, pressing your lips against his hot skin. He was letting you do it, holding his cock out of the way as you wrapped your lips around his balls and sucked, pushing them around with your tongue, pleading noises in your throat, begging him for his cock as you bobbed your head up and down under his hips.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shifted down to you, triumphant grin on his lips.

“You want to swallow my cock, noona?” he teased, smacking it against your face, leaving a string of pre-cum connecting your cheek to his cock. You narrowed your eyes at him, as if to say, no fucking shit, you punk ass bitch, and he chuckled deep in his chest. He looked past your head, down your back.

“Such a nice ass.”

You smacked his leg, aware that he was doing it on purpose to piss you off. He smirked knowingly, placing his palm on your forehead and pushing you off his balls.

“Swallow it all and don’t choke,” Jungkook snarled, shoving his cock into your open mouth.

Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, relaxing your throat muscles as Jungkook forcefully pushed into your lips, sighing with satisfaction as he buried himself to the hilt, his strong fingers tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, so good,” he moaned, making his cock throb into the roof of your mouth. You whined, hands on his hips, waiting for him to let you move. “Your throat feels so fucking good, noona. If only they knew how good you are, how perfectly slutty you are for me.” He snickered, releasing his hand, glaring down into your eyes.

“But they’re never going to know, because you’ll never service another cock ever again.”

You whimpered, nails digging into his thighs.

He ticked his chin at you. “Go on, noona. Show me how much you love my cock.”

You began to move, pressing your tongue against the bottom as you slid up and down his length, moaning at his taste. So good. You generated more saliva and ran it all over the head, sucking hard. He inhaled sharply as you teased the sensitive underside, tongue against the opening.

“That’s it,” Jungkook breathed. “Give it to me like you mean it.”

You gripped his thighs and began to bob your head back and forth, ramming the head into the back of your throat and squeezing it before arching your neck so it ran across the roof of your mouth and then back down so it hit your throat again. Was this going to make you hoarse? Probably, but you didn’t a single shit, because Jungkook moaning for you and telling you how good you were was much more important. The pace was slow at first, but you went faster and faster, tighter, your breasts bouncing with every movement, eyes closed to savor his taste and steel your concentration of not gagging because Jungkook was so big, so thick, so perfectly rough, and your tongue could feel him throbbing inside your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled above you, nearly feral with desire. “Fuck, I’m going to cum down that perfect throat of yours, noona.”

His thighs tensed under your hands and you knew he was close. You increased the intensity, neck straining, already aching with how fast you were going.

“Drink it all and don’t fucking waste it.”

Jungkook grabbed you by your hair and thrusted his hips into your face, moaning lustfully as he shot into your mouth, hot creamy strings into your throat. You swallowed fast to avoid choking, gulping loudly as he gave you more, more, fuck it was so delicious that you gasped, swirling your tongue around his jerking cock and lapping it all up. Whimpering, you wrapped your lips around the head and milked it dry, rubbing your lips against the skin where the head and length connected.

“You’re so fucking good,” Jungkook sighed, running his fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face. “So messy and dirty. I love it, noona.” He pressed your mouth down his entire length and held you there.

Your name drifted out of his lips, a sweet exhale.

He kept you there. You felt some of your spit drip down your chin and hit your breasts. You flinched at the coldness, still holding onto his hips. Jungkook finally looked down at you, chest heaving, panting. He looked like he wanted to say something. You shot him a questioning look, unable to respond, mouth still full of his cock.

He released your head, untangling his fingers from your hair. You drew your mouth back, rubbing your jaw and throat a little. Jungkook had a strange expression, lips parted, brows furrowed, the muscles in his neck tensed. He seemed a bit spaced out. You tilted your head.

Something felt off.

You stood up with as much grace as you could, knees aching, heels snapping to the tile floor. He still wasn’t looking at you. You backed up, to the desks, finding a study one.

“Jungkook.”

You smacked the wood loudly with your flat palm.

He whipped his head towards you, dark eyes flashing. Perfect. You smirked, placing your hands on your pencil skirt. Sank your fingers in, gripping the fabric. Jungkook’s voracious eyes watched your movement, each hike revealing more and more of your legs. A slow smirk formed on his lips. You yanked your skirt all the way up to your waist, revealing your white lace panties and sheer pantyhose, black fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook reached down and pulled his pants up, raising his eyebrows as he walked over, lower lip in between his teeth as he grinned at you.

“That’s a dangerous position to be in, noona,” he purred. “You know I love fucking you on a desk.”

You bounced your ass up onto the table, closing your legs, knees together. Placed your hands on your lap, pushing your tits together. Jungkook licked his lips, the predatory glint back in his eye. You kept your tone stern, with a hint if disapproval.

“Really? Because for a second there, I was beginning to think you lost your nerve.”

The menace in his eyes made your shiver with anticipation. You could tell Jungkook liked it too, your word selection, your tone, your defiance. He shrugged out of his leather jacket, and it fell to the floor with an oppressive thump. You sucked in a tight breath. The shirt was short sleeved, exposing his tattooed right forearm and his equally beautiful tanned left one. Some of his long black hair was falling down, brushing against his right cheekbone.

His eyes were so dark that you felt like they were devouring you.

Jungkook placed his large hands on your knees and vehemently shoved them apart, spreading your legs wide. He gave you a cold, expressionless stare as he placed a hand on your stomach, putting you onto your elbows, hips tipped up towards him. You were embarrassingly wet, juices soaked into your inner thighs, lace panties already molded to your soaked folds, the sheer pantyhose doing nothing to protect you from him and his hungry eyes. His voice was icy, making your pussy throb with need.

“Noona, if you close your legs, I’m going to punish you,” Jungkook warned.

Part of you wanted to know what the punishment was, but the other part of you really wanted to orgasm, so kept your snide remark to yourself and simply nodded.

Jungkook removed his hands from your knees and placed them on your shuddering breasts. Fuck. You hadn’t realized you were so horny until Jungkook touched you. A pained whimper strained in your throat.

The side of his lips curved upwards.

“Does my dirty, slutty noona want to be fucked?” His nails sank down, digging into your skin. “Do you want to be used by me, your tight little pussy stretched out and pleading for more?” Jungkook leaned forward, breathing into your face, growling whisper against your lips. He pinched your nipples and you moaned, wanting to kiss him, but knowing he wasn’t going to let you. He chuckled darkly, seeing your desperation.

“Do you want to be a slave for Jungkookie’s cock, noona?”

Fuuuuuuuck.

Your heart was beating so fast that your breathing was coming out in little gasps as he twisted your nipples harshly, rubbing the tips with his thumb. Your legs shook, threatening to close because the lack of friction was killing you.

“Y-yes, Jungkook, fuck yes.”

He yanked on your nipples and slapped them, making you hiss with pain, flinching as the sting shot up your chest. Jungkook reached into his back pocket and produced the silk neck scarf.

“Keep quiet for me noona or everyone will know how much of a slut you are for me.”

And then he shoved your own scarf into your parted lips, gagging you. Not a second too soon, because, without warning, Jungkook immediately spanked your barely clothed clit. You yelped around the silk, thighs quivering. He gripped one of your thighs, digging his nails into it, tearing the sheer pantyhose a little.

“Don’t move and take it,” he snarled.

Your back arched as Jungkook began to slap your pussy, hard, unforgiving, loud, and making you wetter and wetter, so much so his hand was slipping a little with each smack. You screamed around the scarf, hips trembling as they rose to meet each hit, flaring pain in between your thighs but so, so good. He clenched his jaw, dark eyes on your quickly reddening pussy lips that were sucking your panties deeper and deeper into your slit.

“Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, you’re so hot and so fucking perfect for me.”

He removed his hand from your thigh and ripped the center seam of your pantyhose apart.

You started, eyes widening as you watched him tear through it, yelling at him through the scarf. You still needed to wear those! The small tears were one thing, but a full-on giant rip at the crotch was not going to be comfortable to wear for the rest of the day.

Jungkook smirked, raising a hand to his ear. “What’s that? Can’t hear you.”

You glared at him and was about to remove the scarf from your mouth to scold him, but his smirk turned into a roguish grin.

“Hm? Slap you harder and abuse your clit?”

You paled.

“My pleasure.”

You threw you head back as Jungkook mercilessly spanked your now only lace-covered clit, impossibly fast, towering over you and hooking his arm under your back, dragging you to him, arching your spine more, more, so your tits were straight up, bouncing right in his face as he changed from smacking your clit to rubbing it just as fast, rougher, so intense you were hoarsely wailing into the gag.

All of a sudden, your orgasm violently rammed into you, pleasure racking your entire body, amplified by stinging pain. Your pussy clenched around nothing, wetly squelching as Jungkook breathed hotly down on your nipples, still rubbing you through your orgasm, not letting up. You shook your head furiously, trying to tell him it was too much, that you were too sensitive, but you didn’t lift your hands to stop him, only spreading your fingers against the table, palms flat as your hips raised to his fingers.

You felt his hair brush against your nipples as he licked your cleavage, smirking up at your face.

“One more and then I’ll fuck you the way I want to, noona.”

Your legs were losing feeling from how hard you were locking them in place as you felt Jungkook pry your lace panties out of your pussy, shoving them to one side. Oh shit. You moaned as you felt him shove two fingers into you, eyes squeezing shut as he added a third, scissoring them as he smiled cruelly at you, eagerly watching your reaction.

“Such a greedy pussy, sucking in my fingers like this,” Jungkook drawled, your walls clenching around them, feeling every callus and every joint, all the way to his knuckles. “All mine, my beautiful, slutty noona.”

You would have asked Jungkook what the time was if your brain could still function, but your brain timed itself out, because Jungkook was thrusting his fingers into you now, filling you up, and feeding your need and desperation, assaulting your pussy with pleasure. The pain of your stinging, puffy lips rubbing against his hand added to the ecstasy, heightening it, your moaning now unintelligible behind the silk scarf that was saturated with your saliva. The sound was obscene, sloppy smacking sounds of your drenched hole getting pounded into the desk.

You threw your head back and choked out his name around the makeshift gag, throbbing pussy clamping down on his fingers. Thick, viscous liquid gushed out onto his palm, the back of his hand, dripping down to his wrist. It was so intense that your entire body jerked up into Jungkook’s face, hitting him with your tits.

If Jungkook was mad about it, he didn’t show it. He wrenched his slick fingers out and you whined, watching him with glazed eyes as licked them off, ferally growling at your taste. He released your back from his arm and you slid down, laying against the desk, panting.

“You taste extra delicious today, noona,” he chuckled. “Candy always tastes better in cute packaging.”

You barely had time to register that Jungkook had just compared you to a fucking convenience store snack before he yanked down his pants again, whipping out a foil packet and ripping it open. Less than a second and the condom was on, and then Jungkook shoved his cock into you, a startled gasp dying in your very over-used throat.

Jungkook moaned your name above you, softly and lustfully, pulling your hips closer to him so he was all the way inside you. You clenched around his length and he sighed, small smirk on his pink lips, eyelids fluttering.

“You’re going to kill me one day with how perfectly tight you are for me,” he mumbled.

Your eyes found his and he grinned, looking down at you through his lashes, his hair obscuring half his face.

Fuck, you could stare at him all day.

Jungkook placed your legs around his waist, finally letting them rest from the forced spreading. He roughly jerked his hips into yours and you whimpered, nails clawing into the desk. His fingers dug into your hips and he set his jaw, beginning a hard, fast pace, slapping your hips together, fucking you into the desk. It scraped noisily into the floor, but neither of you cared, you abused pussy lips rubbing against his crotch every time his hips met yours, carried to new heights of pain and pleasure, loving every second, every moment of Jungkook using you to chase his own orgasm, his cock swelling and dragging against your tight walls. So much. So full.

You could never be satisfied with another cock.

“Fuck.”

Jungkook hissed, grip on your hips tightening, bruising you with his fingertips.

“Fuck, noona, I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

And then your orgasm crashed down, overtaking you completely, your head smacking the desk and seeing stars, clenching around Jungkook’s cock and pulsating violently around his length, soaking his thighs with your juices, scent so strong you were sure whatever class that was going to use this lecture hall next was going to smell your cum splattering to the floor.

Jungkook gritted his teeth and rammed his hips into you, dragging you down to meet every thrust, intensifying your orgasm, ripping your pantyhose even more. Once, twice, three times, and he groaned, shuddering as he spilled into the condom, cock shivering inside you as he came. You could feel how much it was, pressing against your walls.

His long hair was all over his face, black strands clinging to his tan skin, sweat dripping off his chin, pink lips quivering, dark eyes roaming over your fucked-out form. Panting hard, matching your heavy, grating breaths behind your now saliva-drenched neck scarf. After a long moment, Jungkook reached down and held onto the condom, slowly pulling out of you.

Holy fuck.

You reached up with a shaking hand, pulling the silk out of your mouth. It came out in a long strip of fabric, smacking against your cheek as your removed it from your lips.

Holy.

Fuck.

You sat up, your body screaming at you, seeing Jungkook breathing hard, tying up the condom.

“Did you just tell me you love me?”

Jungkook’s ears turned bright red. He chewed on his lip, biting it hard before facing you. Dark brown eyes suddenly vulnerable, scared. It was the most uncharacteristic expression you had ever witnessed on Jeon Jungkook’s chiseled, handsome face.

“Uh… yeah.”

There was a moment where you realized both you two were mostly naked in a random classroom, clothes thrown everywhere, having made a mess once again.

“Sorry,” Jungkook added quickly. “It slipped out.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you apologizing?”

He rubbed his nose, looking away.

“Well… aren’t you just fucking me because you like to be dominated?”

You frowned. “No, I’m fucking you because I’m in love with you.”

You saw Jungkook freeze. He turned his head robotically, eyes wide and doe-like. “R-really?”

You looked down to notice that your heels were on the tile floor. When had you lost those? You grumbled, trying to straighten out your panties and the remains of your pantyhose. It was doomed. You shrugged, dangling your legs over the edge of the desk as you looked back at Jungkook and his surprised expression. You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you really that much of an idiot?” you muttered, your own cheeks burning, letting out a puff of annoyed air. “Yes, I love you. Why else would I tolerate you staring at me like I’m some kind of zoo animal? Why else would I risk getting in trouble by running around like this? Why else would I let you fuck me at school, in the middle of the damn day, again?”

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. “Erm… because I’m hot?”

You rubbed your forehead and sighed exasperatedly, standing up, instantly wincing. Jungkook took a step forward to catch you, but he almost tripped on his pants down his ankles. You caught yourself against the desk and raised a hand, shaking your head.

“Pack your damn dick,” you muttered. You yanked your tights down your legs, removing them and balling them up. They were useless now anyway. You found your bra and put it back on as you eyed your chiffon blouse. Good thing it wasn’t ripped. It only took you a moment to slip it back on, rebuttoning it and tucking it into your skirt. You pulled your pencil skirt back down, straightening it, thighs immediately sticking together from your own fluids.

Yup, still no more comfortable than yanking your pants back on after a session with Jungkook.

You noticed him putting his leather jacket back on and picking up the condom wrapper. He took the silk scarf from the table and shoved it in his back pocket. You went back to him to gather your shoes, but he knelt down, holding out your black heels as if you were Cinderella.

“I can just–”

“Step.”

His tone was sharp and you immediately obeyed, raising your foot and stepping into your shoe. First one, then the other. Jungkook stood back up, exhaling a little. You looked up at him. His chocolate eyes flitted about tensely. He opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you… uh…”

You cut him off. “Jungkook, if you cheat on me, I will personally castrate you with a spoon.”

He cringed. “Ouch.”

You took the used condom and the wrapper bits from him, shoving them into your balled-up pantyhose. You marched towards the door confidently, pain shooting throughout your body with every step. Jungkook called after you.

“Your hairpins.”

You turned your head back a little.

“You can drop them off at my apartment later.”

And then you unlocked the door and stepped out of the classroom.

Park Jimin waved at you, grinning. Plump lips curved into a mischievous smile, wearing a denim jacket and jeans. You almost jumped seeing him standing there. What the fuck is with this guy’s timing? He eyed your hand holding your ruined pantyhose and you put it behind your back, glaring at him.

“I told Namjoon you had a lady emergency.” Jimin wiggled his eyebrows at you before holding up your phone and black purse, the belongings you had left in the back room. “You took longer than you should have.”

You felt your ears burn. “Shit. I need to get back.”

“To Jungkook, yeah,” Jimin chimed teasingly, making you glower at him.

Of course. Jungkook had turned Jimin into his scout for your escapades. Fantastic. You suddenly felt a strong presence behind you. The door had opened and Jungkook’s arm snaked around your waist, yanking you possessively to his side. He placed his chin on top of your head, inhaling the scent of your hair.

“You wanna go on a date, noona?” Jungkook purred, his free hand playing with the ends of your disheveled hair.

You pursed your lips. “I have to get back and help Namjoon.”

Jimin waved a hand. “He’ll be fine for one day. Plus, you’re being kidnapped.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Jungkook slapped his hand over your lips, marching you in the opposite direction of Career Week, Jimin skipping behind you two, cheerfully humming.

part iv

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic

764 notes · View notes

imaginesfora3 · 3 years

Note

If you're ask box is still open for those prompts, could you do 20 or 21 for Azami? Thank you so much!!! ♥

Izumida Azami:

“You said you didn’t have feelings for me.”

The silence that followed was more painful than the harsh words he had said to you only a week before; you had wanted him to deny it, to say he had just said that because he didn’t want to admit to them. But from how things were appearing, it really did seem like Azami was trying to let you down easy and you had simply pushed him too far, not picking up on the hints he was giving out. It made you feel even worse for putting him in this situation in the first place, knowing how hard it must be for him to be direct with his feelings when he had tried to hide the truth from you from the start.

“It’s okay, Azami. I get it.” He’s still not talking, still not responding, and you were losing the will to continue this conversation. You had asked to see him, and he had agreed, you had thought that might mean something but… You were met with silence. A brick wall. Not a single clue on how Azami was feeling, his expression as blank as his emotions. “I’m, uh, just gonna go?”

And you do go.

And he doesn’t stop you.

You’re curled up in bed at home, tear-stained cheeks leading to a tear-stained pillow, when your phone lit up the darkened room. You don’t have the energy to answer anyone right now, leaving it be, trying to think about anything other than your crushing defeat. You had wished you just kept your mouth shut, you wished you’d done a million different things differently but, in the end, there was no way to go back in time. You were stuck trying to imagine a world where you could still be friends with Azami, knowing that you could never quite return to what you once had with him, not now. There were plenty of fish in the sea but you likened Azami to a shark, so beautiful when looked at from afar but dangerous up close and personal.

He would’ve laughed if you heard him compare him to a shark, telling you it was stupid, that he was nothing like a shark (and since you couldn’t wear makeup underwater, it would be a miserable life for him).

The light in your room was a little more incessant than it should be and with a frustrated groan you grabbed your phone, scrolling through the long list of texts from worried friends. You considered responding but it took too much energy to type out what happened, to explain to them your emotions, it was easier to just… not. You nearly missed his text because your attention span was waning but it was sent hours before, an hour after you had met up with him.

‘I’m sorry.’

Like that made it better?! Like his apology was what you wanted?! You couldn’t get the response you wanted which made you feel even angrier, even stupider, and you have half a mind to toss your phone across the room so you don’t have to look at it anymore. It wasn’t his fault, the rational part of your brain accepted that you couldn’t manipulate someone’s feelings and make them love you, you wouldn’t want that anyway. But how were you supposed to come to terms with it? The humiliation, the guilt, the sadness, the defeat.

‘Thanks’

You erased it.

‘Why would you bother messaging me now?’

You erased that message too.

You really didn’t have much to say to him, not words that he deserved to hear, anyway. You wanted to hurt him like he had hurt you but it wouldn’t be fair, it was taking all the self-control you had now to hold back your venomous words. You finally decided to not respond, to put your phone on silent and turn over in your bed to continue the pity party until you had worked out more of your emotions. As much as it killed you and as much as you wanted to talk to him, nothing good would come out of texting.

You didn’t feel good enough to go to school the next day and told your mother as such; sensing it was a situation that she should wait for you to approach her on she nodded, saying you were absolutely going tomorrow and leaving it at that. A day alone worked well for you, the ability to watch whatever movie you want and listen to music as loud as you needed to. You were already feeling better even if there was a painful stabbing in your chest when you imagined Azami’s face, knowing it would be like that for quite a while. But you didn’t feel as terrible, as anxious or worked up, so it was better.

It was hard to leave your phone alone but looking at it would do no good, plus, you still weren’t in the mood to talk. You trailed around the apartment doing chores for your mom, a subtle little thank you for her allowing you to stay home without questioning it. You’re still in the zone, spaced out, in imagination land where life is a little easier and much happier when there’s knocking on your door. At first you think it’s your mom but realize there’d be no reason to knock, then you assume a friend but with a quick glance at the clock, you see that school wasn’t over yet.

So, who the hell was it?

You can’t explain how surprised you are to see Azami on the other side of the door, red-faced and panting like he’d just run a marathon. You considered not opening it but when he pounded on the door again, you felt like it was probably best to just… get whatever was about to happen over with. You opened the door and the look of relief is instantaneous, you moving out of the way and motioning for Azami to come inside. He wasn’t exactly supposed to be here, both by your own parents’ rule and the fact he was surely supposed to be in school right now.

“Why are you here?”

“You haven’t responded to anyone since yesterday!” Azami is back to being irritated, his glare quite icy; you had never been on the receiving end of it but you could see why the people at school were afraid of him, “What are you thinking?! What if- I thought something happened to you! On the way back from…”

So, Azami had gone around school questioning others about you when you hadn’t responded to him? How out of character, or at least you thought so. He seemed to let most things be but it didn’t look like this was how he felt today, felt about you, because he had even broken the rules by leaving which would surely land him in hot water. You weren’t sure how to take this information, you didn’t want to fill yourself with false hope because you knew Azami wasn’t a terrible person. Him showing you any sort of care didn’t mean he returned your feelings, especially not after that display yesterday.

“I didn’t really… Feel like talking. I haven’t charged or looked at it all day.”

“Well…!” Azami doesn’t have anything else to say about it, you know he can’t exactly fault you for wanting to be left alone, but it’s still frustrating. “I wanted to talk.”

“I think we’ve done enough of that, Azami. We should just… leave it be, you know?”

“…I can’t. I didn’t know how to explain myself, how to explain that I just…” Azami is frustrated, he hated dealing with his feelings when he was younger and he hated dealing with them now just as much, “I have feelings for you. I wanted them to come out in a better way than at school, in front of your friends. I didn’t want them speaking for you.”

“They weren’t… Well, I guess I can see why you’d think that but they weren’t. Those were… my own words, things I’ve said to them, they were probably just sick of me saying it to them and not to you…” Your brain short-circuited after you did a full review of what he just said to you, cutting you off mid-way through your thoughts. “I. Uh. What?”

Azami’s face is bright red, unable to meet your eye now that you’ve put him back on the spot.

“I have…feelings for you, okay?! Don’t make me say it again it’s…” It’s so goddamn embarrassing but it’s a better feeling than knowing he had let you down, knowing he had lied about something that was important. He was old-fashioned, likely due to who he was raised by, and he wanted things to be better. He wanted to actually court you, wanted to confess to you himself, wanted to do it all properly.

“I… I think we do have to talk more. About this and uh, uh, us? B-but my mom is probably gonna be home soon and I don’t think she’d be happy that we’re in here alone.”

“W-We’re alone?!” Azami looked like he might faint, looking around the apartment. “I… I have to apologize to your mom. For being here without permission. For being alone… with you…”

“I think we should not tell her I had a boy alone with me in our house, actually!” You placed your hands on his chest and started to push him backwards, something that seemed to make him turn even redder than he already was. “Go! Go back to school or… Somewhere else! And call me later.”

“I want to talk in person. I don’t want things to get confused again, like they did before.”

“O-okay, we can meet up somewhere later then.”

Azami nodded, whipping around and leaving your house as quickly as he could, nervously glancing around like he was some type of criminal.

You really hoped your neighbors weren’t being nosy today, you couldn’t handle being grounded when things were finally going in your favor.

#Izumida Azami #Azami Izumida #A3 #A3!#A3 Imagines #A3 x Reader #A3! Imagines #A3! x Reader #act! addict! actors!#a3! act! addict! actors!#a3 act addict actors #izumida azami x reader #a3 azami x reader #azami izumida x reader #scenario #prompt list

142 notes · View notes

starryse · 3 years

Text

New Beginnings & “Suite” Memories

Soonyoung x Reader

Fluff, crack, pg-13 (no sex scenes, but what leads up to it), best friends to lovers!hoshi

2.2k words

Summary: The one where feelings are confessed in an unusual way thanks to your back problems

You were blessed, you had to say. Most people who crush on someone hardly ever get the opportunity to first of all, confess, and second of all, talk to them. Unlike those who aren’t so lucky enough to do such things, you were. Of course, it had to come with the price of it being on your best friend, although you did get to talk to him so you could suppose it wasn’t as bad as you would think.

Kwon Soonyoung made it awfully easy to crush on him, so really it was his fault you happened to have fallen in love with him along the few years you’ve been friends. Not that you minded, really, if there was anyone you’d want to love with every ounce of you, it’d be him.

He was sweet, an absolute cheeseball with insane levels of energy, not to mention unbelievably gorgeous, and he had managed to be the only constant support you’ve ever had. To you, Kwon Soonyoung was all you ever needed to be yourself, to be happy, and to be loved.

And to everybody but the man himself, your growing crush was as obvious as your need to breathe oxygen to survive. It’s not like you hadn’t made several hints at it; you compliment him nearly everyday, are always the first person to be there when he needs someone, etc. But much like you, and probably why you’re such close friends, Kwon Soonyoung was denser than a brick wall. And even as you’re told you’d be staying together in a one bedroom suite on a separate floor than the rest of your crew so you can have quality time, the blonde really had heard that as they had just forgotten to buy the extra room near them, completely tuning out the “quality time” part. You were at a loss of words when it came to the notorious Hoshi, as smart as he truly was, he was probably the most thick-skulled man you knew. Fortunately, you had the tools to break through his thick interior, and much sooner than you had originally planned.

“Sooo,” Soonyoung plopped onto the bed, claiming dibs on the side closest to the door, “whatcha wanna do?” He slipped his bright red tennis shoes off, kicking his feet up onto the comforter to stretch his feet after sitting in the car all day.

You shrugged as you followed suit, tossing yours, as well as Hoshi’s scrambled shoes, into the closet next to the bathroom. You wandered around the room, finding out where all of the appliances and such were while Soonyoung mindlessly scrolled through the group chat as the boys texted their plans for the night.

“Joshua said that him, Vernon and Seokmin were going down to the gym. I dunno about that though, I’m feeling lazy”

Your head turned over your shoulder to look at him, you snorting at his excuse to not workout. At least he was honest, and quite frankly, you couldn’t blame him- a 6 hour car ride was far too long to have enough energy to do such an activity, “yeah I’d rather not workout right now,” you continued to aimlessly walk around the suite, which was much larger compared to what you were used to- but then again, this wasn’t exactly a hotel, think of it more as a resort, “I kinda just wanted to unpack our stuff and chill until we meet the boys at that diner tomorrow morning”

Soonyoung agreed, praising you for your smart idea with an approving nod of his head, “I like the way ya think, let’s do that”

And that you did. Except it was more you putting away your stuff, Soonyoung complaining he was too tired to do his so he’d beg you to do it for him (which you did, you simp). After an hour or so of organizing the suite for the week, taking a trip down to the convenience store the floor below you so you could stock snacks and drinks into your compartments, and bickering over the male being too lazy to put away his own things

“Soonyoung you have like 5 shirts just put them away”

“Nope sorry cannot do that, my arms said no”

“Hoshi-“

You were finally able to collapse next to Soonyoung on the bed.

You moaned as you sunk deeper into the mattress for extra comfort, your sore back feeling much better after sitting down in a cramped car for hours and then putting together the room. Your hand massaged your lower back, kneading the knot that had only gotten worse throughout the day.

Soonyoung looked over at you, his obviously not so pure mind being intrigued at the noises of content you had let out next to him, “whatcha doooin?”

“Mmm massaging my back, it’s been a pain in my ass today” you mumbled, too focused on easing the tensed muscles your fingers were rubbing against.

“Want me to do it?”

Now. Normally you’re absolutely fine when it comes to staying calm and collected around Soonyoung, you felt no need to let your silly little crush on him come between your friendship. But the idea of him massaging your back when you just know you won’t be able to keep certain pleasurable noises to yourself? You’d rather jump off a cliff; or even better, have soonyoung push you off himself.

A hand waved in front of your face, tan skin covering your unfocused sight, “hm sorry?” Your eyes blinked open a few times as you gazed over at Soonyoung for a few seconds, unaware you had completely zoned out and didn’t hear what he had just said.

He gave you an unimpressed look for not hearing him the first time, which you simply waved off because he had most definitely done that to you many times before, “I said flip over, lay on your stomach-“ he placed a hand on your side before gently flipping you 180 so your face was against the pillow, “-and relax, I’ll give you the Horanghae massage special”

Your face contorted in uncertainty, not quite understanding what the hell he was talking about, “Hosh what’re you-“ you tried to lift your head to see him, but you were soon met back against the plush pillow instead.

A sudden weight was draped over each of your thighs, warming your body from the contact. Soonyoung was currently straddling the back of your thighs, your legs pressed together down between his as he leaned forward to press his hands against your back.

“Didn’t I say shush?” Soonyoung’s question sounded more like a statement, his tone more assertive than usual.

You tried telling him no, but the words came out muffled thanks to your mouth being completely engulfed by the pillow. Though judging by the shut up he sassed back, you’d say he heard you just fine.

Soonyoung, unbeknownst to you, was in the mindset of hyping himself because dear God his confidence was going very very low right now because hello?? He was on top of you?? He could literally feel the heat on your body against him?? Focus soonyoung, you’ve got this he tried to encourage himself as he ever so slowly tucked his fingers underneath the hem of your long sleeve, hiking up the material until it met your lower shoulder blades by your bra strap. He was going to panic, he was very much so indeed about to shrivel up in a corner; until your muffled voice unexpectedly spoke up from below him,

“Please start doing whatever it is you’re going to do, my backs freezing thanks”.

His face flushed in embarrassment as he quietly muttered “sorry”.

He sucked in a breath, puffing his cheeks for a second while bringing his hands palm flat against your exposed back. Waiting for any signs of disproval, Soonyoung began to move his hands once there was none. His fingers folded into your skin, rubbing gentle motions onto your back as deep as he could to really help relieve the tension.

The touch of his hands pressing firmly against your bare back was enough to melt alone, but the way his hands moved ever so slowly and with so much delicance up and down your sides and onto the inner parts of your waist, oh you were past melting, you were disintegrated by now.

“How’s that?” Soonyoung cut the silence, words coming out quiet and gentle much like the way his hands moved down your body.

You hummed in response, not sure if your words would be good enough to use right now considering your brain was desperately trying to get you to tell him to just fuck you in the shower-

“Good, your muscles were really tight”

Dear God, why did God hate you?

Soonyoung knew what he was doing, he was as devilish as his older friend Jeonghan, even if it may not show most times. If he could just get you to show some kind of reaction that you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you, he’d have you flipped around hips flush against his in a heartbeat. But seeing it as you reacted by not saying anything at all, he was dejected. Time to amp up the big guns.

The stealthy boy smirked, watching two of his fingers and his thumb trail down the side of your waist, down your hip, and just above the flimsy band of your shorts. The goosebumps rising on your skin and the shaky breath you sucked in had him feeling utterly victorious now, boosting his ego just a tad that his idea was starting to work.

So he continued, this time with his index and pointer fingers dipped just below your shorts band, the rough padding on his fingers getting caught up on your underwear for a quick minute before he retracted it just as fast you could say holy shit. Which you did.

“Soonyoung,” you slowly spoke, lips parting just enough to let the words through.

You could see the smugness on his face he hummed in acknowledgment of the call of his name, waiting for your next words.

“Just fuck me already”

And that he did.

—————————-

Both of your breaths were rigid, chests heaving up and down in an attempt to regain your energy.

Soonyoungs voice was gravelly, though the giant shit-eating grin on his face expressed differently, “that-“ he sucked in a breath, “-was amazing, you’re amazing”

You giggled at that, shaking your head in response. You poked his chest a few times, him smiling down at your in utter adoration.

“We should go shower”

Soonyoung’s eyes went wide, “l-like together?” He stuttered out.

You laughed at his nervousness, “did we not just have sex? Is showering together too scary for you, hmm?” You reached up to pinch one of his cheeks as you pecked his pouting lips a few times.

Soonyoung huffed, untangling his arms around you before leaping up from the bed and trudging through the suite to the master bath. He yelled at you to hurry your cute ass up before shutting the door when you excitedly ran through to meet his awaiting arms.

The shower was drastically different compared to the previous activity you had just spent quiteee some time doing *cough, each other*. Rather than groans and sighs of pleasure, bantering and giggles was the only thing heard from your bathroom shower.

“Let me wash your hair, i've always wanted to do this” Soonyoung pleaded at you, his eyes casting hopeful glances into yours as you finished rinsing his chest off.

You quirked an eyebrow at that, “you’ve always wanted to wash my hair?”

“Yes! I’ve always played with your hair and I just always thought it’d be fun to wash it too!” Soonyoung was getting ansy at the thought, his grin widening and his words rushing together. So you turned around facing the water with your back nearly touching his chest so he could “fulfill his dreams”.

All was going well, he remembered your words when you said to only put the shampoo on your scalp and the conditioner on your roots. He was thorough in making sure he got every single piece of hair covered in soap, rubbing the lather in extra to make mini Mohawk’s on your head (he may have then quickly ran butt naked, soaking wet with water dripping everywhere, to the night table beside the bed just so he could take a picture of his masterpiece).

And then he began to rinse. Which was fine, he was so nearly done. And then came the bubbles that seeped down your forehead into your innocent bystander eyes.

“Ah- ow- Soonyoung my eyes?” Your eyes squeezed shut automatically at the stinging sensation, your hands trying to viscously wipe away the soap suds.

Soonyoung became quickly alarmed at the sound of your whines of pain, spinning you around rather fast and nearly causing the both of you to slip. He shoved your body under the water, joining you in wiping away the soap from your eyes. You sputtered out the water that had slipped into your mouth from the sudden push under the faucet, right onto the sheepishly smiling male in front of you.

“Hehe, sorry?”

136 notes · View notes

underragingwaves · 3 years

Text

The impossible has happened: I wrote readerfic? 😳 Not sure how I got from a to b here, but well.. this particular AU seemed to beg me to take a reader’s POV on the whole thing.

Basically, this is the “Ubbe and Hvitserk and Ivar own and run a bar”-AU nobody really asked for. Exactly 5k in length. Only shippy if you squint particularly hard. You’re welcome. 😂💕

Shield Wall

You check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time. Look up only to find that, yes, you are in the right street, and no, you still aren’t any closer to discovering where the bar is located.

“Between the red-bricked wall,” you mutter, “and the yoga studio?” You squint at the nearby windows and walls. Curse as you realize that there is more than one red wall in this particular area and no yoga studio in sight. “Sigurd, you little shit..”

Sigurd Ragnarsson had texted you in a blind panic earlier. I’m going out on a DATE, he’d written, capitalizing the event as if he was still in disbelief over how that happened, and now my stupid brother wants me to take a shift at his bar because they’re swamped tonight. Bail me out?!

You hiss as you scroll through the text conversation. You’d been parked on the couch, perfectly content to curl up with Netflix and a warm blanket, and it’d taken Sigurd some uncharacteristic begging until he’d finally resorted to a full-on bribe. I’ll give you two hundred just for showing up, he’d texted, and another five if you work the whole shift. You’d smirked as you’d texted still no concept of money, huh back before finally saying yes.

Sigurd is one of those guys who’re rich without actually knowing it – throwing cash around like it’s nothing, puzzled at working to make ends meet – and you would’ve probably hated him on sight if he didn’t constantly course-correct your more atrocious college essays. The seven hundred that is on offer here is more money than you make waiting tables in a week’s time, and that had been before he’d added the extra hundred if you survive Ivar.

You’d heard the complaints about Ivar. Actually, anyone who vaguely knew Sigurd knew about Ivar by sheer osmosis. Ivar, the kid brother who was apparently far from little and twice as obnoxious as your regular kid brother would be. Ivar, the good-for-nothing demon spawn who’d always gotten everything from their mother and had been their father’s favorite. Ivar, the wheelchair-bound nuisance who seemed determined to make Sigurd’s life a living hell. You’d withstood many a complaint about Ivar, but you’d never actually met him. Sigurd seemed to think this would change tonight, though right now you’re not so sure.

Just as you tap the message box, determined to give Sigurd a piece of your mind about sending you out here without any clear directions, the slam of a door against a wall and the ensuing racket of sound gives you pause. There’s a commotion happening almost right in front of you, with two men exiting the nearest building in a hurry, and the other noises that escape the building seem to befit those of a hole-in-the-wall bar the likes of which Sigurd had attempted and failed to properly describe to you.

“And you fucking stay out!” comes the roar from a wiry-built man as he throws the remainder of a pint into another man’s face. “Cops might not enforce it” – another snarl that makes the other man back away in a hurry – “but come near that girl again and you’re gonna wish they had.”

You quirk a brow as you look at the hurriedly retreating man and then at the red-bricked wall beside the door. Music spills out from the illuminated space behind the first man – you recognize the dragging, swaying notes of a classic rock tune – and you take a step closer to him now that his fist relaxes and he rakes a hand through his rather disheveled hair. Laughter spills out from him in such a way that at first you think he is utterly drunk, but then he turns on his heel and walks back to the door in a too-straight line.

“Wait!”

“What?” He turns his head. A frown creases his face as he looks at you. He snorts out another, rather ugly-sounding laugh moments later. “Please tell me you’re not gonna read me the riot act.”

“Why would I?” You shrug as you take in his cut lip and the fact that he seems to favor his left arm ever so slightly. “Bar brawls happen all the time.”

His answering smile glitters in the light. “Never a brawl with me. More like re-education.”

“Right.”

“Nobody wins a fight from me,” he nods to your rather deadpan expression. His hands deftly pull his long hair back and tie it into a bun at the back of his head. “You gonna come in for drinks, or you gonna stay out?”

“Actually,” you hum, “I’m here only because Sigurd asked. Something about a shift that needed taking?”

“Smokes, you’re fast. Ubbe got his text only minutes ago. Said he wasn’t able to make it or some shit like that, but had gotten us someone else. Guess that’s you, huh. Well, uh, come on in? Welcome to the Shield Wall.”

“Shield Wall?” you question as you follow in his loping footsteps.

“My kid brother Ivar named it,” he shrugs as he glances at you. “He’s nuts about history and old battle tactics and all that. We got this place when Ubbe was feuding with a few jocks from Dane College whose daddies had bought them one of those fancy uptown bars.” Another laugh, some jostling past haphazardly-hung coats and burly individuals, and you’re struggling to keep up with his easy gait as he picks his way across the corridor toward a set of double doors. “Uptown bar lasted three months before they got busted by the cops for peddling drugs. Shield Wall’s been ours for about five years now, so not too bad huh.”

“Not too bad at all,” you agree readily. There’s a slightly proud glimmer to his smile that speaks volumes about how he feels about this space. You take a deep breath before you hazard a semi-educated guess as to his identity in your attempt to recall the names of Sigurd’s many siblings. “You’re.. Hvitserk?”

“Yup! And you’re..?”

You offer your name with a smile just as you walk into the bar’s main area. Hvitserk shoves his hands into his pockets. Has the audacity to smirk at you when you gaze around the room and almost feel your jaw drop.

Sigurd hadn’t been lying when he said they’re swamped. The booths on both ends of the walls are filled to the brim with people laughing, drinking, and eating. Crowded are the pool tables to your right, even more crowded is the open floor to your left that seems to consist of a rather strange mix of darts games and dancing people. The music shifts from the dragging kick of the rock song to a jazzy little number, while some raucously sing another tune altogether.

“How come,” you frown at him, “I’ve never even heard of this place and yet –”

“We’re busy? Word of mouth.”

Hvitserk’s arm comes to rest in the crook of your elbow as he expertly picks his way through the crowd. You can’t help but raise your brow at how easily people move out of the way for you as he steers you toward the large bar at the far right end of the room. It seems that Hvitserk’s presence is enough to make just about anyone veer out of your path in a hurry. He gently shoves his way past a particularly large crowd, which is met with some irritation from these men until he catches their eye in turn.

If you already thought Hvitserk commands the room, it’s nothing compared to the easy sway the bartender has over people.

“–had enough, don’t you think?” is the first thing you hear as you come into earshot, spoken in a deep and rather amused-sounding voice. The bartender in question is leaning toward a slightly swaying, vastly inebriated young man and simultaneously removing any shot glasses in reach. “You go sit over there, my friend. Let us get you some food, huh?”

“Ubbe!” cries Hvitserk as the young man drunkenly stumbles back into the waiting arms of his friends. “Sigurd’s help arrived.”

Blue eyes crinkle into a smile as the bartender turns toward you. “Welcome,” he booms, gesturing at the bar with all the air of a man who owns the place. “You know how to tap a beer?”

“Uh, yeah?” you hedge, though it’s been some time since you last did. “Can mix simple drinks, too.”

“Yo, Am,” shouts Ubbe over his shoulder, “help’s here! Knows enough to be without a babysitter, too.”

“That’s Amma,” supplies Hvitserk helpfully as the girl behind the bar raises both thumbs up in approval. Her dark hair is mixed with varying shades of blue. “She’s a total fucking saint for putting up with my brother.”

“Hey,” grins Ubbe as he taps two beers at once, “she has to put up with you vaulting over the bar and punching guys in the face all the time. I’m much more mild-mannered.”

You snort out a laugh as Hvitserk’s face turns outraged and his counterarguments start to rise swiftly. “– needed stitches in three places, including your ass” – is the loudest of the lot, spoken to a roll of Ubbe’s eyes and general laughter from the crowd – “and that’s not the worst –” Hvitserk continues to gesture, to great hilarity, and you smile as you move behind the bar. You miss a part of the argument as you start taking orders and setting drinks in front of waiting people, though you tune back in just in time to hear Ubbe’s booming laugh as Hvitserk finishes a retelling. “And that, my friends, is how Ubbe lost a fight with a priest-in-training!”

“Ah, but you punched his lights out for me,” says Ubbe, wrapping an arm around Hvitserk’s shoulder and leaning against him a moment. “My brother. The great big hero.”

“Shove the fuck off!”

“Hah! See what I’m dealing with here? All my brothers mean to kill me!”

“That says something about you!” calls Amma, grin quick and hands even quicker as she shoves drinks at a group of giggling girls. “Common denominator and all that.”

Ubbe staggers back from the bar as if wounded. Clutches his chest a moment in vast drama as he looks the pierced, tattooed woman up and down with a huge frown on his face. Amma smiles back, entirely undeterred by the affront that’s written all over his face, and it isn’t long before Ubbe lets out another loud laugh.

“Where’s your bedside manner, little nurse?”

“In the hospital, avoiding what’s left of your ass,” snarks Amma as she brushes past you. “Even the kids I work with there are better behaved than you.”

You raise an eyebrow as Ubbe’s hand lands in Amma’s neck and he pulls her in close. There’s a low-voiced conversation between them, too quiet in the absolute din of sound you’re facing with orders being shouted at you, and a slight frown creases her features before she offers him a weak-looking smile. You almost miss the touch that passes between their hands, though Ubbe’s hand lingers on her wrist a while. She hurries past Hvitserk moments after and vanishes through another set of double doors.

“Kitchen duty,” offers Ubbe by means of explanation.

“Ubbe gets distracted by her,” says Hvitserk moments later, sotto voce, as he helps you remember how to mix one particular drink by offering you the ingredients in quick succession. “There’s a bet on them. Bar-wide bet.”

“About..?”

“When he’s finally going to make a move. His track record ain’t too great,” hums Hvitserk, “what with the vapid blonde and our half-brother’s ex-wife and some other unmentionables..”

You stare at him. Echo the standout thing about that explanation. “His half-brother’s ex-wife?”

Hvitserk actually shudders at that. “The sound of her name makes me break out in hives, is that enough answer for you?” he asks, grinning all the while. “Ubbe’s fucking stupid with women. So’s Ivar. Latter’s the reason why I can no longer do any kind of yoga.”

“You.. did yoga.”

“Yeah. I like my chi aligned with me,” quips Hvitserk as he taps a beer and attempts to work the cash register simultaneously. “But then Ivar fucking took up with this starry-eyed chick who practiced all sorts of asinine be-your-own-god bullshit” – he grunts out, displeasure written all over his face – “and if I have to listen to her high-pitched voice telling me I’m doing downward dog wrong one more fucking time I’m going to commit an act of violence. They broke up last month though and she vacated next door in a hurry, so..”

“You might get your chi aligned again,” you hum. “How the fuck can you do downward dog wrong, though?”

“No, no,” says Ubbe, shoving Hvitserk away from the register in a hurry, “you don’t work the money and you do not talk about yoga in front of me.”

“Ubbe has bad memories of seeing his next-door neighbor in tights,” stage-whispers Hvitserk. “Poor Alfred just wanted –”

“Serk, thin fucking ice.”

“Too soon for the ice threat, brother, too soon.”

“It’s been twenty years?”

“I almost died.”

“So did I, now shut up and go see if Thora needs more help.”

“Thora?” you inquire as Hvitserk grumbles something to himself and stalks off toward the same double doors you saw Amma disappear through earlier. “Who’s..?”

“Serk’s half in love with her because she makes the best pancakes in town. Also keeps people coming back here. Best hangover food you’ve ever had.”

“Pancakes for a hangover?”

“Don’t knock it,” grins Ubbe, though the smile is quick to slip off his face as he’s confronted with a patron who bursts out in tears over the drink he sets in front of her. “Ah, fuck me,” he frowns, already reaching for a tissue box he keeps under the counter, “there you go, love, just cry it out, there’s a good girl.” He pats the girl’s head a little awkwardly, then leans over the counter. “Bad breakup or something I need to get Serk for?”

“Th-th-the f-first,” sniffles the girl.

“Ah, yeah. Cry it out, huh. And go easy on those drinks!”

“Why would you need to get Serk?” you inquire as the immediate crush of orders begins to die down slightly. Your back is to the crowd as you work another mixed drink in quick movements. “For that girl?”

“Serk doesn’t take well to anyone harassing someone. He vaulted over the bar earlier tonight, fucked his arm up again,” hums Ubbe as he comes to stand beside you. “Didn’t you catch him right as he threw that guy out?”

“Oh, yeah, I did.”

“There you go.”

Now that the crowd is thinning somewhat and orders slow, you’re able to take an earnest look at the bar. You spot Amma weaving her way through the crowd with stacked plates of pancakes, while Ubbe seems to be able to carry on several conversations at once. You catch him laughing one second and creasing his brow in emphatic concern the next, which somehow never strikes you as dishonest because his attention is always square on the person in front of him at the time. The sound of his voice going “hey!” over the crowd is enough to break up the small fight that breaks out near one of the darts boards, too, and there’s a natural command to his presence that lets people listen to him.

You make a mental note about asking Hvitserk more about that betting pool when Amma sways back to the bar, leans atop it, and whispers something into Ubbe’s ear that makes his eyes glimmer in the light. The quirk of her lips as she pulls away and walks off again is something that could tell a story, if you were inclined to be curious enough to ask.

Falling back into bartending is something that comes easier to you than you thought it might. You enjoy hearing the scattered stories from customers, now that you’re not too busy to lean in and ask how they’re doing, and there’s something charming about the groups of friends that come back for another beer haul before they move to a game of darts again. Their throws aren’t straight by any means, but their laughter fills the bar.

Hvitserk, freshly returned from the kitchen, wolfs down a stack of pancakes faster than you can blink. His contented hum beside you is that of someone who’ll eat anything, but takes special pleasure in indulging in actual good food. Sigurd had complained about Hvitserk’s appetite more than once, alluding to it stretching beyond food and into all sorts of proclivities, but you don’t frown at it until he tilts his head and leans against his older brother again. Ubbe’s hands remain steady, but his huff of breath isn’t.

You blink in the next moment as Ubbe lets out a very firm “no, no!” and actually slaps the top of the tap with no great amount of restraint. The shot glasses atop the bar rattle. “Get out from behind the bar!” comes the demand, authoritarian as anything, and for a moment you think it’s meant for Hvitserk before Ubbe’s glare intensifies. “We don’t need your help, Ivar.”

You whirl around, only to find intense blue eyes studying you from a rather comfortably seated position. He perches in his wheelchair the way a king would reside upon a throne, somehow looking down at you even as he has to gaze up to meet your eyes.

“Of course you don’t,” agrees Ivar, “but you made this ramp for a reason.”

“Yeah, to make rolling the kegs easier,” mutters Ubbe.

“Yeah, so don’t you go feel special or anything. You’re like a keg, brother,” quips Hvitserk as he moves to clap Ivar on the shoulder, “except way less fun.”

Ivar bats his hand away with a rather irritated air. “Who’s this?”

“Helping hand.” Hvitserk offers your name moments after. “Be nice, huh?”

“Did Sigurd arrange this? Do you go to school with him? Where is he?”

“Yes, yes, not here,” you grunt as you start tapping a round of beers for a couple of waiting men.

“You’re in business school?”

“Yeeees,” you drawl as you shoot Ivar another glance. You’re not surprised to find that his glare has intensified. “What, does that offend whatever delicate sensibility you have about who’s allowed to tap beer in this place?”

“No,” he scoffs, “but it explains why you’re doing it wrong.”

You scoff back. “It’s beer, not rocket science.”

“And clearly your calculations for both would be off.”

“Beer doesn’t need to be calculated,” you say as Ubbe’s resounding slap lands on the back of Ivar’s head in passing. “It just needs to be drunk, am I right?”

A hefty cheer from your customers drowns out the scowling, vicious mutter Ivar directs at you. You have half a mind to challenge him on it – what the fuck is his problem? – but you recall Sigurd’s text just in time. Extra hundred if you survive Ivar. It flashes across your mind as you set the final beer down in front of your customers and turn to face the wheelchair-bound nuisance.

“I’m sure the rest of your two hundred questions can wait until after I’m done with my shift,” you tell him with slightly more confidence than you actually feel.

“Yeah, brother, roll your keg to the nearest booth and set yourself to scaring people into going home on time,” laughs Hvitserk as he ruffles Ivar’s long hair that’s only haphazardly pulled back into a bun at the nape of his neck. There’s something of shared mischief in the look they share, though Hvitserk is quick to pull back when Ubbe returns. “We’re doing one more round and then everybody’s gonna be shit outta luck.”

Final call at the bar means you completely lose track of anything other than which drinks you’re pouring and how much money passes through your hands. You’re surprised to find that Hvitserk finds the space to laugh as Ubbe disappears to help Amma clear the tables. Hvitserk works under pressure the way other people work regular jobs, or so it seems when his assured hands find the time to guide yours through a last-ditch drink you have trouble recalling the appropriate mix for. His eyes are focused on the crowd as a whole, picking out names and orders and other things in a heartbeat, though his tongue darts out to lick at the remaining injury on his lower lip more often than not.

Between the two of you and Ubbe’s return to the bar, you make quick work of final call. You’re surprised to find that Amma is best at clearing the stragglers in the crowd, using a voice that Hvitserk calls ‘the nurse voice’ on even the most difficult of customers, and the riotous laughter when she clears a particular customer out the door – “no, Magnus, final call is final even for good little altar boys like you” – speaks volumes about how well-liked the slip of a girl is here.

As the crowd thins, you can practically sense Ivar’s glare burning into your back. He’s taken up residence at the nearest booth, where the seat has been adjusted to accommodate his wheelchair, and seems wholly content to spend the entirety of final call staring at you.

“He makes me break out in hives,” you hum to Hvitserk, echoing his earlier words about his half-brother’s ex-wife. “The fuck’s his problem?”

“The world is his problem,” mutters Hvitserk, chancing a glance at his younger brother. “I can ask him to stop, but not sure he’d listen.”

“He wouldn’t,” asserts Ubbe, on your other side, before he nudges you. “Go hand him a drink, maybe that’ll calm him down some. And tell him you’re not close to Sigurd, eh?”

You frown. “Who told you that?”

Ubbe holds his phone up. “All my brothers are shit liars,” he says with no small degree of relish. “Sigurd says he helps you with homework but you never hang out otherwise. Which makes sense, because Sigurd doesn’t really do the friendship thing. Trust issues.”

“Yeah, between us and Ivar.. Recipe for disaster at the dinner table.”

“Serk,” warns Ubbe, low-voiced. “No.”

“What, no family therapy session? Got it. Hey, Amma, do you have–?”

Hvitserk bounces off to swing an arm around Amma’s shoulders as he inquires after something or other. You catch the rather indulgent smile on Ubbe’s face before he schools his features into something calmer. There’s affection in his gaze even now – warm for Amma, who now smiles and gestures, but warmer still for Hvitserk – and you laugh as you remember what Sigurd had said. He’s the dad of the family. More than our real father ever was.

“Look.” Ubbe’s calm voice stops your movements. “Ivar’s.. He’s a lot. Been through a lot.” His mouth twitches as he strokes his beard. “He likes his tortured artist air.”

“Artist?”

Ubbe unlocks his phone. You catch a photo of himself and Hvitserk mugging off at the camera before he clicks an app and swipes through his photo albums at break-neck speed. He hums contently to himself as he hits the one he’s looking for.

Bright colors flash across his phone display in sweeping, graceful motions. There are jagged black lines, too, as he scrolls through wordlessly, and more than enough dark patches that seem to arc and weave into nightmare fuel as abstract figures give way to meticulously drawn creatures. Endless wings and eyes flutter past on-screen as Ubbe’s movements slow enough to allow you to drink some of the details in.

“He made these,” says the eldest brother, then, and there’s an unmistakable note of pride in his voice now. “Ivar.. He never shared them with us, until his work hung in a gallery. Serk took these photos. I bought two paintings.” A smile curves the corner of his mouth up as he speaks. “We never told Sigurd about it. Don’t let Sigurd’s opinion tell you shit about Ivar, all right?”

“He sort of confirmed Sigurd’s opinion, earlier,” you mutter.

“Yeah, well, that’s Ivar. At war with the world, as usual.” Ubbe holds out two glasses and a bottle. Nudges you again. “Up to us to make peace, huh. To try.”

You remain motionless. “Ubbe, I..”

“Yeah. I know. Thing is, he’s been moping around since his break-up. His ex wrecked half his paintings, took the cat he was crazy about, then had her twin sister play some kind of fucking mindgame with him.” Ubbe’s voice lowers in barely contained anger. “His exchange with you earlier was the most life I’ve heard coming from him since he blew up at Serk two days ago. Just..”

You sigh. Take the proffered glasses and bottle. “Fine.”

The colors of the paintings flash across your mind as you stalk toward the booth where Ivar’s glare has now shifted over to the table. Your eyes travel to his legs, thinner and much more frail-looking than his muscled arms, and the meaning of the myriad of wings almost slaps you in the face moments after. Give these clay feet wings to fly, you nearly murmur aloud. You sharply set the glasses down in front of him. Pour him a drink, then pour yourself one. He doesn’t look up from the table.

“I don’t want a drink.”

“Tough,” you tell him as you slide into the booth opposite him. “I need one if I’m going to deal with your crossfire.”

“You’re going to need more than one.”

“Depends on how shit your questions are gonna be,” you snort as you take a sip. Your nose wrinkles as the taste hits your tongue. Curse Ubbe for picking a particularly strong one. “Start asking before I’m drunk.”

Ivar’s eyes gleam as he finally raises his head. “Why are you in school with Sigurd?”

“Because I have to make something of myself,” you echo hollowly, having heard so many people parrot that exact argument at you. You amend your words with a sigh, remembering Ubbe’s advice just in time. “Sigurd checks my essays and calls me stupid in the meantime. We’re not friends.”

“But you came here because he asked.”

“I came because it’s good money. More than I make in a week.” You shrug. Tip the drink back until it burns your throat. “Not all of us can be trust fund babies.”

“How much is he paying you?”

“I’m starting to think not enough,” you warn him as you pour yourself a second drink. You don’t like the way his eyes have narrowed, nor the way he seems to be calculating something in his head. “He promised me extra if I survived you.”

“How much am I worth, hm?”

“A hundred,” you grin.

Ivar’s knocked his drink back before you can blink. “He’s such a fucking cheap louse,” he grouches as he wrangles the bottle out of your grasp and tips more liquid into his glass than should strictly be there. “A hundred. A fucking hundred. I’ll double that if you go back and punch him in the face.”

“Why the fuck would I punch Sigurd?”

“Because,” Ivar drawls, so slowly that it seems as though he thinks you quite dim-witted, “it’s Sigurd.”

“Do you always get other people to fight your battles for you?”

“No.” He pauses. Chances a glance at the rest of the bar. “I get Serk to do it.”

“And Serk.. does it?”

“Most of the time.” Ivar’s smile is feral as he sips his drink. “He likes a brawl. Never loses, but that’s because Ubbe saves him before anything bad can happen.”

“Oh, is that why,” you snort, unable to contain your laugh as you remember your earliest conversation with Hvitserk tonight. “Sounds like you need to talk Serk into punching Sigurd, because I’m not about to.”

Ivar’s hum is non-committal. His eyes blaze over the rim of his glass. You try to shift your gaze, but there’s something about the weight of his look that pins you firmly in place. You can’t tell if your stomach is squirming in discomfort or fluttering something far more annoying deep inside of your belly. When he speaks again, his voice is a languid thing that pools liquid heat into you.

“How much is he paying you, surviving me included?”

“Eight. Two for showing up, five for the shift..”

“And one for me.” Ivar nods. Leans back in his wheelchair as he observes you. “I’ll triple it.”

You almost choke on your drink. Splutter out a “what?” that’s got the corner of his mouth lifting up before he can school his features.

“Tripled. Twenty-four. Only one catch.”

“What’s that?”

“You leave those heinous shoes at the door and come shopping with me.”

“What?” You laugh as the remainder of your drink scorches your throat. “A, there’s nothing wrong with my shoes. B, why would I?”

“Because you’ve got a new job,” he preens. “You work here now.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes you. “Do you always bully people into hanging out with you?”

“Yes,” comes the quick response. Ivar tilts his head. “Is it working?”

You contemplate him. Let your eyes stray to the bar, where Hvitserk’s head has come to rest against Ubbe’s back while the eldest brother counts the cash register. Let your eyes stray to the double doors, where Amma’s having a low-voiced conversation with a rather sweet-faced girl. You can’t help the smile that works its way onto your face. You like this place. Shield Wall, Hvitserk had called it, and a shelter’s precisely how it feels.

Ivar’s eyes are like a storm that’s about to strike when you meet his gaze again.

“You’re going to wish you hadn’t asked,” you finally chuckle as you nod your head. Yes. “I’m not easily bullied.”

His smile is a warning in itself. “I have all the time in the world.”

You smile back. Accept the challenge with a nod and the clink of your glass against his.

“So do I.”

#vikings #hvitserk ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson #ubbe ragnarsson #amma #urwfic

77 notes · View notes

realcube · 3 years

Text

LEAVING MIDORIYA

part one (nsfw) | part two

tw// mentions of toxic relationships, drinking & mention of a bombing

honestly, if you were given enough time you probably could’ve figured it out on your own — without the assistance of a psychiatrist — but exactly one appointment later, you were left with the disheartening realisation that you weren’t having ‘bad dreams’ and the marks on your body weren’t inflicted by yourself during slumber. eventually, the fact set in that it was your sweet, gentle fiancée who was the cause of all these things.

this whole time, you were under the impression that you were the problem, that there was a malicious part of you that wanted to paint deku out to be some sort of villain; and now you were finally made aware that a villain is exactly what he is.

it was a hard conclusion to come to but the initial wave of relief you felt was enough to make you act on it quickly, as the more you waited around and let the fact sink in, the more you doubted whether or not to take action. but reasoning isn’t what you need right now, you just need to get away from him.

where will you go? you had no idea, but any where away from him is good enough.

midoriya didn’t even get enough time to try fill your head with even more lies. you came marching into the apartment with the intention of ignoring everything he says and simply pack your stuff so you can leave. no matter how much he screamed, begged or yelled, it was like trying to hold a conversation with a brick wall hence he eventually gave in, leaving you to collect your things in peace as there was clearly no way he was going to get through to you.

you left without another word — not even a goodbye — and you were sure to sneak your engagement ring out with you. although it made you sick to look at, realistically you might need the cash since as soon as you stepped outside your shared apartment with your shit in bags, you were officially homeless.

no need to worry though, you had arranged to stay the night at a friend’s house until tomorrow morning, then you could catch the train to your parent’s. from there, you’d stay with them until you manage to find a new apartment within your price range.

one problem; your friend just texted you saying that they have to retract their offer because their landlord doesn’t allow over two people to sleep in the same dorm, and they already have a roommate. very unfortunate but hey, what can you do? plus, they apologised and offered to pay for your hotel but you reassured them that their money wouldn’t be necessary.

now sitting outside your old apartment complex, scrolling through your phone looking for the nearest hotel. since both you and deku were well-paid pro-heroes and bought a penthouse in a rather affluent area, it was no surprise that most of the hotels that were reasonably close were from 4-5 stars.

although a 5-star hotel room for one night really wasn’t necessary, the post-breakup adrenaline was telling you otherwise. it also told you that treating yourself to a shopping spree, getting wine drunk at a bar and then shuffling back to the hotel with mcdonald’s take-out was a great idea!

those emotional discussions you had with complete strangers must’ve really gotten to you because when you opened your front camera to take some pictures, you immediately grimaced at the sight of your mascara staining your cheeks. you were lazing around in the hotel lobby surrounded by name brand gift bags — waiting for your room key — looking like that? how embarrassing.

quickly wiping away your tears, you put on a pair of designer sunglasses you brought earlier to shield your smudged eye-makeup from the world. not that you cared what anyone in this damn lobby thought of you anyway, you were only going to be here for one night, after that you would never see most of these people again. or at least, that is what you thought.

out of the corner of your eye, you saw flashing lights which prompted you to take out your earbuds but once you did, you instantly regretted it as all you heard was screaming and yelling from the entrance. looking up, you noticed an average-looking guy wearing a skull tank top resembling the fashion sense of a middle schooler, being followed by a mob of screaming fans, paparazzi and gossip channel reporters.

“dynamight! thank you for everything!”

“you deserve to be number one!”

“we are here at scene, pro-hero dynamight has just been seen entering what appears to be his five star accommodation, wearing his signature blac--”

the loud noises were suddenly muffled as the doorman shut the entrance behind him, leaving things just as they were, except now there was a muscular blond man encircled by bodyguards staring daggers at you.

in any other situation, you would’ve just tried your best to ignore him but some of that liquid courage was beginning to get to you, so your reaction was to snarl right back at him, yelling across the hall, “take a picture, why don’t ya? it’ll last longer.”

only upon processing your reply did the man finally snap out of his trance and storm up to, being hastily followed by his guards who looked as though they were ready to throw down at any given moment, so of course you cowered back in your seat, apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill until his face was hovering centimetres away from yours.

your throat ran dry at his unexpected action, your eyes scanning over his chiselled features through the tint of your glasses. in a turn of events, you were now the one speechlessly staring at him. then, a deep chuckle erupted from his throat, causing the shock to show on your expression.

“i knew i recognised you! you’re stupid deku’s girlfriend- fiancée or whatever; i saw the invite for your wedding in my mail and i just got a look at your face before i threw it away. small world.” the blond continued to laugh, talking to you as if you were an old friend of his despite the fact you’ve never seen him before in your life, “anyway, you like a hot fuckin’ mess. where’s deku?”

why was he talking to you so casually? and how dare he say that!

“first of all,” you started, peering over your glasses to gaze at his face without the rose tint but to no avail, you still had no idea who this man is. using the soles of your palm, you pushed him away by the shoulders as he was a bit too close for comfort, but that resulted in all his guard looking at you with murderous glints in their eyes. “deku and i broke up--”

“when?” he cut you off

“let me finish.” you glared at him, fixing your sunglasses, “we broke up this morning. secondly, who the fuck are you?”

the man looked like he was ready to burst out laughing once again until he had a visible realisation, “eh, well, we’ve never met before but i’m sure deku has told you about me. if not, you’ve probably seen me in the news; i saved around a thousa--”

“no, i’ve not watched the news for, like, the past six months.” this time, you cut him off with a mischievous smirk which you tried your best to conceal.

“bitch! let me fuckin’ finish!” he barked, then had a sudden change in demeanour as he let out a sigh, momentarily silent as he scanned the surrounding area, “i’m bakugo. kastuki.”

your reply of a blank stare spoke a thousand words.

“y’know, dynamight.”

who?

“the number two hero!”

nothing.

“the one who saved that whole airline from blowing up just a week ago! c’mon, it was all over the fuckin’ news!”

“you look like a hotter version of my old maths teacher. oh, and i’m (y/n) (l/n).” was the only verbal response he was able to get out of you, even after all his explaining.

“why do you i feel like you are sayin’ that just to piss me off?” he muttered to himself through gritted teeth, followed by a sharp inhale which you assumed was an attempt to calm himself down. his carnelian eyes darted around the room, halting once he raised his arm to view his watch. his brows knitted together as he read the time, forming a concentrated look which was short-lived as his face was quick to relax, emphasised by a slight shrug as if to say ‘i’ve got time’, before slumping down on the couch next to you.

“so why did you and shitty deku break up?”

“i may be a bit tipsy but i’m not just gonna tell that sorta stuff to a complete stranger.” each syllable felt like it had to be forced out one at a time, but you’d rather that than slur you speech as bakugo seemed like the type to poke fun at you for it.

“i just wanna know how badly he fucked up this time.” bakugo smirked, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch to turn and look at you, “eh, i don’t think we’ll be strangers for long.”

there was a certain purr in this voice which sent blood rushing to your cheeks as you never expect someone like him to come on so strong. not that you were complaining, i mean, being in his presence during a time like this felt like a gift from god but you weren’t going to let him know that. it’d only add to his already massive ego so you decided to ignore his suggestive behaviour, opting to show disinterest instead, “hm, you think?”

it was almost comical how fast bakugo’s cocky smirk fell into a frown. honestly, he wasn’t used to people that he flirts with rejecting him, considering that he rarely ever makes moves on anyone. so, now what did he do? due to the foreign nature of this situation, bakugo felt as though he was left with no choice but to bargain, since he’s far from a quitter, “oi, what that supposed to mean?”

you shrug.

bakugo clicked his tongue along with a roll of his eyes before he said, “how ‘bout this; i pay for your room tonight and in exchange we can get to know each other tomorrow.”

“i can pay for my own room though.”

bakugo deadpanned, he honestly thought he had won but apparently not. perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to hit on someone who had just gotten out of a relationship but whatever. “you’re impossible.” he spat, getting up from the couch and marching away, presumably to his room.

he tried to brush off the encounter like it never happened, reassuring himself that he didn’t have to think much of it as he could get with anyone else. plus, you’d probably come crawling back to him, begging to fuck once you get over deku anyway.

and he was half right.

eventually, you came to the realisation that both you and bakugo have one thing in common — a hatred for deku. and as it turns out, hatred provides a good groundwork for friendship.

#deku angst #izuku angst #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #midoriya angst #👾angst #i'll probably have to make a part 4 for this to make sense

113 notes · View notes

dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

BTS Reaction || Apartment Hunting [Request]

[BTS X Gender Neutral Reader]

Seokjin:

This was the 13th apartment that you'd been to and that was just today, the week before you'd been to 25 but neither you nor Jin liked the placed you were being shown. Nothing felt like it was going to be the right place for you, you both wanted it to be perfect but nothing ever felt like it.

"This is a fixer-upper, you have to imagine what it will look like when you do the things you want to it." The real-estate agent said as she pushed the door open allowing you to walk inside. You were met by a burnt down apartment, walls were falling in and there was a huge hole in the staircase that leads up to the second floor.

"Is this a joke?" Jin asked but he couldn't see what you could, you were already picturing what it would look like when you fixed it up. Where everything would go and how perfect it would look when it was finished,

"Jin, come here." You whispered pulling him to where you were imagining the living room going, you smiled as he stared at you wondering what was going through your head.

"Imagine it, white walls? The fireplace with bricks above it? But it connects right to the kitchen so we have an open space." You whispered already knowing the flooring you wanted to go there.

"We can make it exactly how we want it." You breathed to him and he looked at the excited look on your face,

"We'll take it." He didn't even need to think about it, if it made you this happy by imagining it he couldn't wait to see what would happen when you have it finished.

Yoongi:

Yoongi hadn't let you look at any of the apartments because he was convinced he would be able to find the perfect place without you, you knew he was trying to save you from the pain of going through trying to find a place but it as supposed to be a joint effort.

"You're finally let me see a place and I'm blindfolded?" You laughed as he walked you through a doorway and into a living room, his hands were over the blindfold he had you wearing so there was no chance of you seeing where he was taking you.

"Just trust me." He whispered in your ear before moving his hands away and untying the back of the blindfold from your head, as soon as your eyes adjusted to the bright light you looked around. The apartment was everything you'd been dreaming off but not in the ''everything I dreamed it would be'' no, it was everything you'd ever described to Yoongi of what your dream home would look like.

"You...You-" He showed you a notebook as you continued to stumble over your words, the notebook was full of everything you'd ever said about what your dream home would look like. Even down to the wall and skirting board colours.

"Yoongi this is-"

"It's why I didn't want you to come, I wanted it to be a surprise." You threw your arms around him and hugged him as tightly as you could.

Hoseok:

You and Hoseok had been excited to go apartment hunting since the moment he asked you to move in with him, you'd been hunting around for months trying to find the right place but nothing ever felt right about one place.

"Hobi?" You asked as you came down from the staircase in the apartment you were viewing together, the moment you'd walked through the door the place felt like home to you but you didn't want your view on it to influence Hoseok's in any way.

"What are you thinking?" You questioning going up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist. He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen and it was as if he could see everything unfolding right in front of him,

"I'm thinking I can't wait to cook you pancakes in this kitchen and stand like this in the mornings." You smiled brightly as he looked down at you lovingly, it was clear that you were both in love with the small apartment right on the edge of town. It was secluded enough that you wouldn't have to worry about neighbours complaining about Hoseok's dancing at all hours and you would have privacy to give him goodbye kisses in the mornings before he drove to work.

"I love it." You whispered to him before he kissed you sweetly.

Namjoon:

You were positive that the boys were only trying to help you and Namjoon so much was to get you out of the dorms faster, not you personally but Namjoon. His habit of breaking things around the dorms had increased when you moved in, Jimin was convinced it was because he was so nervous around you while Jin was just trying to focus on making sure nothing important got broken.

"It's perfect!" Jin yelled showing you an apartment that was far from perfect, in fact, it looked like a crack den that had just had a fresh coat of paint splashed up the walls... No seriously splashed, like someone had dropped a paint tint and splashed it everywhere.

"Jin. It looks like someone was making meth there." You groaned pushing the laptop he was holding out of your face and going back to looking at the apartments Namjoon had been showing you.

"See now this!" Jimin handed you his laptop with an apartment on the screen, it was everything you and Namjoon had been looking for, it was perfect,

"It's great-" You cut yourself off when you saw how far away from the studios and dorms it was. Namjoon had expressed wanting to stay close to the boys.

"You're just being mean, he's not even that bad-" A crashing interrupted you so you took the laptop back.

"Maybe we'll go and look at it." You mumbled.

Jimin:

You were sitting in a meeting at work when your phone began to go off multiple times in a row, everyone that was in the meeting turned to face you as you said sorry and took out your phone to check that everything was okay at the dorms. That was where you were staying until you and Jimin could find a place together, but nothing seemed to be right for the both of you. You groaned looking at the flowing texts that were still continuing to come through from Jimin, all of them apartment listings from various parts of the city, all within walking distance of your workplace and his.

"Is it of important Y/n?" You locked your phone and went back to the meeting, ignoring the constant buzzing that was happening in your pocket.

You got back to the dorms that night and stared at Jimin as you dropped your work bag onto the floor,

"I found it! I found it!" He yelled bounding over to you and ignoring the death glare he was getting, nothing was going to ruin his mood of finding the perfect place for both of you.

"You got me in trouble at the meeting," You whined falling onto the sofa and taking the phone from him, the anger you were feeling towards him vanished the moment you saw the apartment he was so excited about, it was everything both of you had been dreaming of.

Taehyung:

You'd been hunting for months and nothing was right, there was nothing that appealed to both you and Taehyung, he wanted to find something big enough for the both of you but not too big because it was just a starter apartment. You were eventually going to move into a house together when things finally got to that point, but then you wanted to contribute to the rent so he was trying to find something within your budget.

"You know what," You looked up from your laptop to see Taehyung walking over to the closet and pulling out a sledgehammer.

"We're not moving out." You stared at him as he lifted the hammer onto his shoulder,

"What are you going to do? Murder me so we don't have to?" You joked while laughing a little too hard but he walked over to one of the walls in the living room and swung the sledgehammer into it causing you to scream loudly.

"TAE!" You panicked getting up from the sofa and rushed to his side, he smiled looking at the giant hole in the wall that he had just created.

"We'll just renovate this place." You smiled at him, you must admit you did love the apartment you were living in now but it was just too small, but that problem was going to be solved now there was a giant hole in the wall.

"We'll hire builders." He put his arm around your shoulder and smiled at you, giving you a kiss on the cheek before going to find his phone.

Jungkook:

The boys had already begun their work the moment you told them that you and Jungkook had found the perfect place together, it started with simple comments which no one noticed until it slowly began to grow.

"Where did you say it was again?" Yoongi questioned scrolling through his phone while he waited for Jungkook to reply, you already knew what they were trying to do so you kept your mouth shut as you continued packing up the box of clothes.

"Right down the road from work, why?" Jungkook looked up from the box he was packing to see Yoongi who had a scared expression across his face,

"The one with the yellow door?" You nodded playing along to what he was doing when he came over in a panic, shaking his head and showing Jungkook the fake article that was in his hand.

"You can't move in there Jungkook," You stared at the article that you'd seen Jimin making that morning and you bit down on your lip and stared at Yoongi who winked.

"Haunted? Guys come on, we're adults we all know that ghosts aren't real." Jungkook handed him the phone back. It continued like that for weeks until you finally moved in, but even then it continued. The boys would move something when Jungkook was out of the room and you'd claim that they'd been with you the entire time, you were sure they'd stop sooner or later but it was sure scaring Jungkook who wouldn't stay in the apartment alone and would never let you be alone when you were home and he was at the studio.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @snowy-meowl @jooniesdarlingdimples @lynnthevirgo @lyoongx @callingmyangel @rjsmochii @mitzwinchester @fan-ati--c @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie @innersooya

408 notes · View notes

impalas-r-important · 3 years

Text

Love of my Life - (8) Decapitation is usually a cure-all

Summary: Sam, Dean and Y/N travel to Idaho to help out a friend.

Warnings: Show level violence.

A/N: I'm trying my hardest to get the chapters I already have written published quickly. I have a final coming up that I'll have to take a few days to study for before I can get back to this story.

Series Masterlist

You were the first to wake in the morning, probably because you slept on a couch made of bricks. You stood up and stretched your sore back, looking over at the boys sleeping soundly and feeling a pang of jealousy at their comfort. Grabbing your bag, you quietly went into the bathroom and closed the door then started up the shower. By the time you were cleaned up and ready, the boys were awake and shoving clothes into their bags.

“Mornin’ sunshine.” Dean beamed at you.

“Hey yourself. You guys ready to go?”

“Almost.” Sam grumbled and rubbed his hands over his face. “I dibs the bathroom next.” He grabbed a small black toiletry bag and yawned as he shut the door behind him.

Dean was wearing a dark green henley and you couldn’t help but stare at the man as his muscles bugled through the thin fabric while he packed his things.

Don’t fall for Dean Winchester, you idiot!

“So, who’s the hunter we’re helping out? Maybe I know him.” Dean looked over to you and zipped up his bag, tossing it by the door.

“You know Mitch Miller?” You neatly folded your pajamas and placed them in your duffel.

Dean thought for a moment before answering. “The name sounds kind of familiar, but I can’t place him. Maybe I’ll remember him once I see him. Any details on what’s going on?” He walked over and sat on the couch where you were packing.

“Nothing so far, he just said he couldn’t figure out what he was dealing with and would fill me in on the rest when we got there.” You could feel Dean’s eyes on you and met his gaze, feeling your stomach flutter when he smiled softly at you. As you finished gathering your things and pulled your bag over your shoulder, you felt a tug that jerked you backwards. Dean had pulled your bag from your grasp, leaving you dangerously close to him.

“Why don’t you let me take your bag to the car?” Dean insisted, just inches away from you.

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” He spoke gently as his eyes traced your lips then looked up to meet your gaze. Were you really about to do something as stupid as kissing the man that people had warned you about? Both of you stood silent for a moment before Dean slowly leaned down, almost touching his lips to yours before the bathroom door slammed open and pulled you two apart.

“Let’s get out of here, there were four spiders in the shower.” Sam complained as he shook his hair dry and tossed his bag by the door with Dean’s. “You riding with us or driving, Y/N?”

“Driving, I guess.” You looked at Dean with a longing glance which he returned. Maybe it was for the best that you don��t explore that avenue of a relationship with this well-known womanizer, but all you could think about was kissing him.

The drive was short, and you made good time following Dean in the impala. The man had a lead foot. Mitch had asked you to meet him at his motel room, and you pulled into the parking lot in the early afternoon.

“So, some guy wants you to meet him at his motel room, and that doesn’t sound sketchy to you?” Dean questioned as you stepped out of your car.

“Oh, no, I’m actually meeting my bookie here. You guys want to wait in the car for like five minutes?” You rolled your eyes. The frown on Dean’s face was quickly followed by an amused smirk. He appreciated when a girl was fluent in sarcasm.

“You know what I mean. I don’t trust this guy yet.”

“Do you trust me?”

Dean seemed surprised by your question but was quick to answer. “Yes.”

“Then come on.” You nodded towards the motel and Dean followed, draping his arm around your shoulder.

The two of you followed Sam to room seventeen and knocked. Mitch answered with a smile. “Y/N!” He looked at the two brothers standing behind you and his smile turned into a questioning frown.

“Hey, Mitch. Do you know Sam and Dean Winchester?” You pointed to the boys.

“I’ve heard of them. Never met before though.” Mitch hesitated for a moment as he saw Dean’s hand placed protectively on your shoulder. “Come on in.” He stepped aside and you entered first, followed closely by Dean and then Sam.

“So, what do you have?” You asked as you looked at the newspaper clippings and maps that were hung on the wall.

“Three women dead. Each of them drowned in their sleep, nowhere near any kind of water.”

“What the hell?” Sam muttered as he read through a case file.

“Witch?” You and Dean say at the same time, exchanging a proud glance.

“I didn’t find any kind of hex bags.” Mitch countered.

“Not all witches use hex bags.” Dean argued, glaring at Mitch. You couldn’t help but notice the crusty looks exchanged between the two.

“Get this,” Sam spread some pictures out on the bed, “all the victims have the same pictures in their house.” He pointed out identical pictures in the background of each crime scene, just hidden enough that the average eye wouldn’t find it.

“Good catch. Let’s figure out who that is and go from there.” You suggested and the three boys nodded.

“I’ll hit the internet.” Sam declared as he sat down at the desk and pulled out his laptop.

“We’ll go back to the crime scenes one more time. See if we can get a closer look at those pictures?” Dean suggested. Mitch nodded and they headed for the door. Dean paused when he saw you hesitate. “You coming, Y/N?”

“Nah, I’ll stay behind and help Sam. We don’t need three of us looking at a picture.” Dean sent a betrayed look your way when he realized he would be partnered up with Mitch. You sent a snarky smirk back his way. Mitch huffed as he opened the door and stomped out.

“Play nice.” You instructed Dean with a wink.

“You owe me one!” He pointed in your direction sternly, but the light in his eyes told you he was just playing around.

You pulled out your laptop and sat across from Sam.

“You know, you could have gone with Dean.” Sam looked up from his screen.

“I know, but what do you think Dean would have hated more? Staying behind and helping you with research or going out alone with Mitch? Those two have some kind of seriously misplaced testosterone battle going on.”

Sam chuckled and answered with confidence, “Definitely going with Mitch.”

“That’s what I thought! He was getting too comfortable around me anyway. I gotta keep him on his toes somehow.” You shrugged and sent a playful grin Sam’s way. He gave you an approving nod, knowing full well that he had found an ally to mess with Dean when the opportunity presented itself.

An hour had gone by when you found something that sparked your interest.

“Sam, check this out.” He leaned back in his chair, listening intently as you read. “Known throughout Africa and the African Atlantic, Mami Wata embodies the spirit of water. Much like the ocean, she can be volatile and dangerous. She brings good financial fortune and also governs water sprites.” You scrolled down the page and stopped on a picture that looked identical to the ones from the crime scenes. You spun your computer around to show Sam.

“Good work, Y/N. That’s gotta be record time. Sounds like it could be our mystery monster. I’ll call Dean and let him know.”

You pulled out your phone and called Bobby for any info he might have on how to kill the thing. He told you he’d do some looking. You and Sam continued your research for a few more hours when the grumble of his stomach interrupted your reading.

“Come on,” you shut your computer, “let’s go find some food. We can take our stuff with us and keep looking but I have to get out of this creepy motel room.” You looked around, referring to the wallpaper that you were sure had been in at least a few horror movies.

“Agreed. I’m starving.”

There was a cute mom and pop restaurant down the street from the motel where you and Sam decided to set up shop. You sent Dean a quick text letting him know to meet you there when they were done. You ordered drinks and some appetizers to hold you over until the other two joined you. You were flipping through a book about African culture that you checked out of the library and Sam was still online, both of you searching for a way to kill this water spirit.

“Hey, Y/N,” Sam began, “I just wanna say thanks.” You shot him a confused look. “We’ve have had a rough time lately between Dad dying and Dean going to hell and coming back. It’s really taken a toll on him, but he’s been different since we met you. The past few days, he’s the almost fun Dean that he used to be.” He shut his computer and sat it on the bench next to him. “I know you’ve probably heard stories about him being a lady’s man and normally I’d be telling girls to run for the hills, but he’s smitten with you. I can see it in the way he looks at you and talks about you.” The waitress brought the drinks and onion rings over and Sam paused.

“Sam Winchester, are you being a wing man for your brother?” You joked as you took a bite.

“I guess I am. Which I never thought I would ever do.” Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “But I mean it when I say that he’s different with you. It might take him a little while to admit it, but he’s a better person when you’re around.” Sam took a big drink before adding, “Plus, I think he’s a little scared of you, so I doubt he’d try any kind of funny business.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s honesty. You should be focused on the case but your mind was on Dean. It was rare that you ever felt so at ease with someone so quickly. Although you had never known what a true home felt like, you imagined the comfort that you felt with him was as close as you’d ever get.

You spent the next while talking with Sam about himself and how he had tried a different path at Stanford. You were genuinely intrigued to know about college. Maybe in a different life you would have gone, and you soaked up every word he told you about a life so foreign to yours. Dean and Mitch arrived soon after. Dean was clearly annoyed and walked a few paces ahead as Mitch babbled on about something. Dean plopped down next to you and put his arm on the back of the booth. You instinctively scooted closer to him.

“How’d it go, boys?” You asked and slid the basket of onion rings closer to them. It was obvious the two hadn’t cleared any of the ridiculous tension between them. Neither answered and Mitch glared at Dean who had a mouthful and was looking out the window.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” Mitch grumbled.

You waited until he was out of sight, then you and Sam both turned to Dean with judgmental faces. He slowly caught on and looked between the two of you, midchew.

“What?” Dean tried to play innocent.

“Why is Mitch so pissed?” Sam interrogated.

“Because he’s a baby? Why the hell would I know?” Dean answered straight. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Well, did you find anything at the crime scenes?” You looked up into his eyes, realizing you missed him more than you should have for him being gone just a few hours. Dean pulled out a coin with a water serpent on it and set it down on the table.

“Found these behind each picture on the wall along with a photograph of the victims.”

“Great, so we know who this thing is after next?” You were happy to catch a break seeing as there was only one person left in the photo who hadn’t been killed. “Maybe we set a trap?”

“We gotta move fast though. Someone has died every night and it’s almost six already.” Sam added.

“We still don’t know why she’s here, either.” Dean interjected as he finished off the appetizers. “Let’s order. I can’t hunt on an empty stomach.” He grabbed the menu and waived the waiter over.

That night, the team had gone over to the next victim’s house on the list. She was clearly scared and easily believed you when you told her what was happening. She explained that she and the other four victims were in water aerobics together and had read online that if you summon her with those weird coins and enslave this Mami Wata, that she would make you rich. So, they did. Idiots. But soon after, the water spirit became angry at being held captive and turned on them. Lucky for you, Bobby came in clutch and had found that stabbing it in the heart with a blade forged with African ore would kill it. Unluckily for you, you had nothing like that and no chance of finding something like it this late at night. So, you would have to try and make do. It was a stupid plan, but the only one you had.

You instructed the woman to lay on her bed like she was going to sleep, while you, Sam, Dean and Mitch hid, waiting for her to show up. You had an arrangement of weapons, hoping something would work. Hours passed, and it was getting late. You felt your eyelids began to droop, but a sudden clang from the bathroom woke you right up. You were in the closet and peaked though the crack to see water overflowing from the tub and into the bedroom, soaking the carpet. You waited a few moments more to see a horrific serpent woman crawling from the bathroom, slowly slithering her way towards her next victim, leaving a trail of slime in her path. You couldn't help but subconsciously pull a disgusted face.

Mitch was the first to jump out from his hiding place just outside the door. Mami Wata quickly tuned her head and held her arm out, throwing him across the room, his body going limp as he surely was knocked unconscious. Sam and Dean were next. Dean shot at the monster while Sam stabbed her with a silver blade. Both taking a toll, but neither doing much damage to her. She stood up tall on her tail and threw Dean up against the wall, holding him by his neck. You sprang into action, using a long blade to chop her head off. Her body stayed writing for a few moments, but eventually stopped.

Dean rubbed his neck and caught his breath. “How’d you know that would work?”

You gave an innocent shrug. “I didn’t. Decapitation is usually a cure all.”

“We should burn the body just to be safe, Sam added.” You and Dean nodded in agreement.

You pulled Mitch from his unconscious state and after the woman you had saved thanked you profusely, you left with the body in your trunk, finding a remote location to burn it. It was almost eight in the morning by the time you were finished and were pulling into town, heading back to the motel. You went and got a room for you, Sam and Dean and all four of you went to go sleep off the post-hunt exhaustion.

Sam was the first to pass out. He hadn’t gotten very dirty and was sprawled out diagonally, face down across the mattress. You and Dean both had blood stains and slime on your clothes. He let you use the shower first, then took a quick one when you were done. You pulled on a comfortable t-shirt and some shorts, then began to set up your bed on the couch. Dean grabbed your hand and stopped you from laying a blanket down.

“Nope, you need to actually sleep. Come on.” He pulled the blanket from the couch, wrapped it around you and led you over to the bed. “You can share with me.”

“Are you asking me to sleep with you?” You asked in an accusing tone of voice and kept a serious face before slowly letting it turn to a small laugh. Dean turned bright red and swallowed hard. It was fun to mess with him. You laid next to him and he pulled you close.

“Thanks for saving me. Again.” Dean whispered in your ear. You turned to face him.

“I’m not going to let some creepy ass mermaid kill you. That’s not a very ‘blaze-of-glory’ way to go out.”

“What makes you think that’s how I want to go out?”

“Sam told me when we were talking earlier.”

Dean smiled and kissed you on the forehead. “Get some sleep, Y/N/N.”

Little did you know, Dean wasn’t planning on going out in a blaze of glory at all anymore. He was planning on retiring with you by his side, holding you close just like he was now. You drifted off to sleep to the sound of Dean’s steady breathing. For the first time since you could remember, you slept peacefully without waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares. You knew you had someone there to protect you. Someone who you fully trusted, and someone who made you feel like you belonged.

Chapter 9

Tags:

@panicking-outside-the-disco

@vicmc624

#dean winchester #dean x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fic #destiel

47 notes · View notes

bcbdrums · 3 years

Text

A Day in the Life of Bonnie Rockwaller

What, not a Drakgo fic!? No...no it is not. This one is all about Bonnie.

A girl only really seen through one lens on the show, perhaps misunderstood... A cheerleader, twelve-years a ballerina, a good student, the youngest in her family, and dating a football star. The "mean girl."

What is her life really like?

Happy (belated) birthday to the amazing @sharperthewriter!

FFn AO3

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

A Day in the Life of Bonnie Rockwaller

The alarm clock went off too soon for Bonnie Rockwaller on that Thursday morning. With a groan she reached over and slapped the device until the beeping stopped, and then blinked at the bright sunlight creating a glow at the edge of her teal curtains.

She didn't want to get up. But winners didn't sleep in.

She rolled out of bed, untwisting her dark red leopard print pajama bottoms and spaghetti strap top from where they had shifted in her restless sleep. She hadn't slept well, again.

She slipped her feet into her fuzzy slippers that matched the pajama set and grabbed her phone off her nightstand, unplugging it as she hastily flipped it open to check her messages.

There weren't any.

She pushed down the pang that tried to creep into her chest, and instead turned to her wall calendar next to her desk. She paused for a moment to look in the bright mirror above the desk, tousling her hair with one hand and giving a half-grin at the way it fell over her shoulders. She looked incredible even straight out of bed.

The pang tried to enter her heart again, and she frowned and turned to the calendar, confirming the day's events with what she already had in her phone planner. After cheer practice she planned to go to the boutique for the final fitting of her homecoming dress, and that night she had ballet.

After nodding to herself that all was correct, she flipped over to her text messages out of habit. Her thumb hovered over the message at the top that hadn't been replied to from the night before as she considered sending another. But then with a scowl and another pang she closed the phone and tossed it onto her unmade bed.

She stepped over to the barre that her parents had had installed in her room and began her routine of ballet stretches. She forced the distracting thoughts about the lack of message reply away and started going over the new Mad Dogs cheer routine in her head. Ever since she and Kim had become co-captains of the squad, she couldn't help but admit...the routines had gotten better. And harder.

Bonnie sighed.

After finishing the stretches she changed into her black leggings, blue sports bra, socks, and running shoes. With the workout she knew she was going to get after school, she needed to get plenty warmed up ahead of time. Plus, she was worried she might have gained a few pounds in the last month and might not fit into her gown.

After tying her shoes, she grabbed her mp3 player and set it on her workout playlist, which included her favorite upbeat songs by Britina, MC Honey, the Oh Boyz, SmashMouth, and more. She also had some strange rap song that she'd seen once on American Starmaker that had topped the charts, but she could never remember the name of the artist.

She popped her earbuds in and hurried past the bedrooms of her siblings, hurrying out the door of the split-level home into the crisp, cool morning air. She set her stopwatch for seven and a half minutes and began jogging down the sidewalk, the golden light of the sunrise beginning to warm her skin within minutes.

Against her will, her mind fell back to the unanswered text from the night before. It wasn't that Brick hadn't been slow to reply in the past... In fact, his replies were coming slower and slower lately.

Bonnie couldn't ignore the pang in her chest that time, and she took a deep breath and ran faster. There were plenty of logical reasons her boyfriend might not be answering her texts. He was in college, after all. He had homework...which...he had never really done much of in high school, but the fact that he'd made it through one semester of college so far meant he must be doing at least some now.

She told herself again she was worrying over nothing. He had always been confused about things that were important to her, and to girls in general. He would read her text that day and confirm about the dance, and then she would send him a picture of her gown so he could buy the matching corsages.

The alarm on her stopwatch went off, and she turned around and started jogging back in the direction of home at a faster pace than she'd begun. As she felt the adrenaline pump through her from the run, she got an idea. She didn't need to wait for Brick to reply... She could just send the picture of the dress after she tried it on. That would give him the hint. He had probably just forgotten to reply anyway...

Bonnie finished her run with confidence, and when she returned home she hurried past her siblings in the kitchen, grateful for the loud hip-hop music currently playing in her ears so she wouldn't have to hear anything they might say to her. Though it was unlikely they would.

Her older brother by one year, Jonny, was sitting on the kitchen counter with his dirty sock-clad feet on the refrigerator door, playing some hand-held video game. Her even older sisters, Connie and Lonnie, were seated at the kitchen table leaning over a fashion magazine and a laptop computer, shopping online she assumed. They would curb the behavior when their parents came out for the 'family breakfast' they insisted on each day, before each family member would vanish to their various obligations.

Bonnie wasn't upset about family breakfasts really; ever since her dad bought her a car, she barely saw her family, since each member in turn had previously driven her everywhere she needed to go—her siblings with complaints, of course. Now she was wholly independent, so the breakfasts held more meaning to her.

After returning to her room, she glanced at her phone still on the bed. She thought about her plan to text Brick later after she picked up her dress...which would be in about nine hours.

The pang of worry hit her chest again.

She grabbed the phone along with her bathrobe as she went back down the hall to take a shower. She opened the phone and looked at the text she had sent the prior evening before dinner that remained unanswered.

*You're still free next Saturday for the homecoming dance, right?*

Still breathless from the run and with sweat irritating the center of her back, she started the shower and then scrolled through the prior texts between she and Brick over the past couple of weeks, noting the slow times between his responses compared to her quick ones, and his lack of many words. After a moment of tense indecision, she fired off another quick text.

*I'll send you a photo of my gown after school!*

She set the phone down and grimaced as she started to undress. A lack of words wasn't anything new, and she was stunned as she realized she was telling herself not to worry. Why should she worry? She shouldn't even have let that thought in her head.

She frowned and leaned over the counter, staring at her face in the mirror as it started to become fogged with steam.

"I have nothing to worry about," she reassured herself out loud, and after giving herself a crisp nod, she adjusted the water temperature and made haste to shower.

She thought about Brick's class and football schedules, which...she'd had to badger him for back in the fall. They weren't consistent day to day, and he even had night classes a couple of days a week. These offered plenty of reasons why he might not have replied to her text messages. A college boy was busy.

After another swath of reassuring thoughts she felt her confidence returning. And then just as she switched the shower off, she heard the telltale beep of her phone indicating a message received.

She nearly slipped on the tile as she hurried to the phone, only half-drying her hands before flipping it open. The text was from Brick.

*Call me later.*

Bonnie read the words five times as her heart began to race, and then she mentally shook herself and quickly dried the phone off before drying off herself and putting on her bathrobe.

The text was a positive. He wanted to talk to her. Right...? Usually it was she who called him, and he only answered half of the time anyway... Come to think of it, he never said much over the phone. He just hummed responses to what she said to him.

Bonnie frowned into the fogged-up mirror as she began to blow-dry her hair. She didn't need to read any more into the text than was there. He probably wanted to talk about logistics for the dance.

She let the sound of the blow dryer drown out her thoughts, and as soon as her hair was no longer damp at the roots she unplugged the blow dryer and set the appliance on the counter before snatching up her phone again and storming down the hall back to her bedroom.

When she stepped through the door, she hit her ankle hard on something and tripped, plummeting forward with a gasp. Her phone flew out of her hand and was forgotten as she tucked into a somersault and came out of the fall safely and on her feet. She took hardly a second to catch her breath before whirling around and pushing her hair out of her eyes as she scowled. Her full laundry basket on the floor was the culprit, but her eyes narrowed as she realized it was the load she had put in the night before...and it wasn't clean nor dry.

"Lonnie!" she shouted before even leaving her room, turning the short distance down the hall to her older sister's room. "Why aren't my clothes clean? And why did you put dirty clothes back in my room!?"

She had just reached the door when it opened a sliver, and she could just see her sister's blonde hair and smirk.

"Oh sorry B, forgot to tell you I took your clothes out last night to do mine," Lonnie said, her tone rife with sarcasm. "Needed my intimates done before my date later."

"You could have waited your turn! Why didn't you tell me last night?" Bonnie said through gritted teeth, her hands in fists at her sides as she seethed.

"Mmh, guess it slipped my mind. Sorry, B..." she answered as she pushed the door closed, drawing out the 'sorry' in an all too familiar way.

"Rrrgh!" Bonnie snarled, hitting the closed door with a flat palm before turning on her heel to head back to her room.

"Sheesh, Bonnie, take a chill pill."

Bonnie blinked and saw Jonny leaning against the wall, not looking up from his video game.

"Quiet, nerdlinger!"

"Hmph," was Jonny's only reply, said through a smirk with a shrug.

"I have nothing to wear now!"

"Wow, nothing," he replied flatly, clearly disbelieving and disinterested.

Bonnie took a sharp breath in through her nose and was about to retort when Connie poked her head out of her own doorway.

"Nothing that'll help, anyway," she said with a slight giggle and smirk, giving Bonnie a once-over.

"Connie!"

Her eldest sister disappeared into her bedroom, and the sound of another door closing was her alert that her brother had departed too. Bonnie stood alone in the hallway for a moment, seething and feeling irrationally like she might cry before she shoved the emotion away and stalked back to her room.

Winners didn't cry.

She glanced into the laundry basket, noting all of her favorites wrinkled and wet from half a wash cycle, including her planned outfit for that day. She sighed and stepped to the closet, looking at the variety of things she didn't often choose because they were old, out of style, or weren't appropriate for school for one reason or another.

After several minutes pushing through every item and muttering about things being out of season, she grabbed an old favorite crop top she'd forgotten about and probably hadn't worn since freshman year. After scanning the array of bottoms in her closet and not finding a suitable match, she reached into the far corner and grabbed the old, baggy Club Banana overalls she'd used to wear with that top all the time.

When she got dressed she realized two things quickly: first, that sleeveless purple and teal tie dye racer-back crop top was quite snug, rode up higher than it used to, and showed her bra under her arms; second, that the overalls were also just a touch too small. They hugged her hips and her rear in a way she actually found attractive as she spun in front of the mirror, but the straps weren't fitting entirely over her shoulders and even hurt a little.

She frowned slightly as she unbuckled one strap and let it fall over her back, and the bib ever so slightly forward. It relieved enough pressure from the garment that she felt comfortable in the choice, and after looking at the very obvious sides of her bra showing under her arms, she unhooked the undergarment at the back, pulled off the straps, and then took the garment off through one of the arm holes in the style of Raquel Spring from "Pals." She dropped it in the laundry basket with a frown, determining then and there she would have to get back at Lonnie for potentially ruining her wardrobe.

After another quick spin in the mirror and deciding she looked good enough, Bonnie put on her socks and shoes and hurried back to the bathroom to quickly do her hair and makeup. Her parents would be upset, but she wasn't sure if she'd have time for breakfast anymore. The clothing problem had slowed her down, plus she suddenly remembered some math homework she'd left unfinished the night before in favor of working on memorizing the latest ballet routine.

Her focus fell to the unfinished math word problems—why were word problems so hard?—as she fixed her hair with the blow dryer and a round brush into its usual style, and then hurriedly put on her makeup.

After giving a satisfied nod to her appearance, she hurried back to her bedroom again. She closed her homework into her math book and shoved it in her backpack, knowing she'd have a better chance of getting it done and being on time if she did it after she arrived at school, maybe during her first class. It was with that somewhat shaky resolution that she threw her backpack over her shoulder and then grabbed up the laundry basket and headed down the hall.

She ignored the smirks of her siblings as she strode past them and quickly got the load of laundry started. Her mom didn't have to work for a couple of hours yet...

When she returned to the kitchen, she noted her three older siblings expressions had sobered as they sat dutifully around the table eating their usual breakfast meals, and her parents with them. Bonnie took a deep breath.

"Mom, when my laundry finishes can you put it in the dryer? And hang up the other things?"

Her mother looked up from her dish in confusion.

"I thought you did laundry last night?"

"I started to, but somebody decided theirs was more important," Bonnie said, hands on her hips as she glared at her older sister.

Veronica Rockwaller gave a disapproving frown toward the blonde-haired young woman, who merely shrugged.

"She didn't come back to dry it anyway," Lonnie said.

"I fell asleep doing homework!"

Bonnie's father, who until that point had been invisible behind his newspaper, cleared his throat.

"Bonnie..."

Bonnie groaned and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know I'm supposed to sleep at least seven hours each night. I got them," she assured him. She didn't think it important to add they'd been spent tossing and turning, worrying about Brick. And that the same worry was what kept her from finishing the homework.

She turned to the cupboard and took out a protein bar before spinning around and heading for the front door.

"Bonnie!" her mother sang in a disappointed tone as she walked past. Her father looked up from his paper and coffee again with a raised brow.

"Sorry Mom, sorry Dad, I have just enough time to finish my homework if I leave now," she said by way of excuse.

"But Bon-Bon!"

Bonnie looked from her mother's disappointed face to her father's. Donald 'Donny' Rockwaller lifted his hand in a vague gesture that she could leave, and she grinned and flipped her hair with one hand as she turned to hide her relief.

"Now Ronnie, schoolwork comes first. At least she won't miss dinner," her father said pointedly. "Especially since it'll be the last family dinner before our trip this weekend."

Bonnie froze at the tone in her father's voice and glanced back over her shoulder. He was staring at her over his newspaper.

"Of course not!" she said with a broad, innocent smile. She thought a moment. "...But I do need to pick up my homecoming dress after cheer practice today."

"Oh, I can come with you!" her mother said brightly.

Bonnie's smile faded to a panicked frown and she started waving her hand in a stopping motion. But her attention shifted suddenly as her sisters spoke.

"You mean they found a dress to actually fit that shape?" Connie said.

"Clearly nothing else does," Lonnie said, giving a disgusted look at Bonnie's current attire.

"Ladies," their father admonished, and Bonnie turned to leave in a hurry amid her mother's scolding of her older sisters and her brother's snickering. She wasn't about to let her mother come along to the dress fitting, or anywhere else where they could be seen together by people she knew—not since the ski trip incident.

In the driveway, she dropped her backpack on the passenger seat of her white convertible and sighed as she sank into the tan leather driver's seat. After tuning the radio to her favorite hip-hop station and cranking the volume, she began the drive to school, letting the sound of the wind and the music carry her thoughts away.

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

When Bonnie walked through the halls of the school and saw Kim Possible standing in front of her open locker, she actually perked up. She needed to talk to Kim about the complexity of the final sequence in the new cheer routine before practice. She began quickening her pace, but stopped short when Kim's locker was pushed closed by a confidently grinning Ron Stoppable, dressed uncharacteristically in his football jersey.

Bonnie stopped and took a step nearer the other wall of lockers as if it could hide her while the...the loser of a held-back senior Kim now called 'boyfriend' leaned over the red-head at her locker and set his hand on her waist, kissing her in a very suave move. Bonnie blinked at the scene in shock, feeling a sinking in her stomach and an actual camaraderie with Stoppable's hairless pet which was scrubbing at its eyes from the football star's pocket.

'Football star...'

"Whoa, put out the fire you two!" was the declaration of Kim's other best friend, Monique, who Bonnie could find no fault with except for choosing the other two as companions. The girl was confident, trendy, smart, and someone she could have called 'friend' herself. But apparently Kim had gotten to her first.

Bonnie passed the trio without a word as they began chatting and hurried to what was their joint homeroom. She needed to finish that math homework and would need a seat in the back if she was to avoid Mr. Barkin's watchful gaze. And the last thing she wanted right then was to hear about how great life was the world-famous world-saving cheerleader.

She remembered Brick's text and reached in her pocket for her phone, and then froze.

It wasn't there.

She remembered with a fury that she had dropped it earlier that morning when she tripped on the laundry basket, and she mentally swore further revenge against all of her siblings for the crime. They deserved it for the years of tormenting her anyway.

She dropped her math book heavily on the too-small desk and leaned over the homework paper, one hand on her forehead to hide her face as she stared down at the problems in the book.

She stared at the words and numbers while her classmates gradually filed in and took their seats around her. She barely acknowledged Tara's cheery 'good morning' as she read over the first word problem again and again, unable to focus long enough to finish it, and she tuned out the tardy bell and Mr. Barkin's gruff greeting to the class.

All she could think about was Brick's text. She couldn't remember another time he had asked her to call. In fact, their phone conversations usually ended with him interrupting whatever she was talking about and asking if he could call her back another time...which...he never did.

A telltale buzzing made her reach instinctively for her phone, and she frowned when it wasn't there. She glanced over at Tara in the next desk, who was grinning down at her phone in her lap.

Tara saw her friend's attention and after a moment and a glance at Mr. Barkin who was writing on the chalkboard, she passed the cell phone to Bonnie.

Bonnie smirked as she saw it was an update to Stoppable's blog, and she glanced to where the blond-haired boy sat next to Kim in the front row. He had his phone in his lap, and he seemed to be typing blindly with one thumb while his hairless pink pet typed at the same time. She frowned and shook her head in confusion as she looked back to Tara's phone for the latest gossip.

*A reliable source has reported that Dr. Drakken and Shego have been looking at real estate in Tahiti. Is it a new lair, or a romantic vacation home?*

Bonnie rolled her eyes and passed the phone back to Tara. While that pair of villains were among the most interesting, she was tired of the 'are they or aren't they?' that Stoppable kept spinning to keep interest in the blog.

"Well?" whispered Tara, and Bonnie looked at her while keeping one eye on Mr. Barkin. "What do you think?"

"I don't think it matters where they do it?" Bonnie whispered back.

"They're totally a couple!" Tara said with a small giggle, scrolling through the other posts on the blog.

Bonnie shook her head and looked down at her math book again, feeling like she might be able to focus at last. As she finally began writing figures on the paper to solve the first word problem, she realized she'd wasted most of homeroom and hadn't heard even a word of Mr. Barkin's lecture. She tried to tune into it as she wrote, ignoring the giggles off to her right and the grin of her cheer co-captain a few rows ahead.

It was bad enough she had to watch Kim and Ron making out in the hallway. The last thing she needed was to think about happy villain couples too, when she couldn't hardly remember the last time she'd had Brick's arm around her.

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

"And five, six, seven, eight and aerial...three...down...V...and left, right, left, right and to-the-base!" Kim called out the beats of the cheer routine, watching with arms crossed in front of the bleachers.

Bonnie, up in front and with the mirrored role to Kim's, had the most difficult steps and was trying to complete her moves while also listening to Kim's commands to the rest of the squad for her timing. It was going well, exactly like she'd practiced in her bedroom the night before. They had collaborated on this routine and were sure it could win the next competition, but of course, they all had to start somewhere in learning it.

As she felt sweat beginning to form on her brow she remembered the competition last year, when Brick had sat in the front row cheering her on. She'd gotten a major thrill bragging about him to the girls from other squads, who had all been envious of her gorgeous, all-American boyfriend.

"And liberty...to scorpion... Bonnie!"

Bonnie felt the weight shift from Tara below who was her base, and realized she'd failed to shift into the scorpion pose. Which meant when Hope next to her, standing in for Kim, had nowhere to place her foot for the next move when their feet were supposed to touch. She watched in a mixture of annoyance, fear, and embarrassment as Hope went down despite Crystal's efforts, and she quickly lost balance too, landing in a forward lunge when her feet finally hit the gym floor.

When she righted herself she found every member of the squad staring at her. It wasn't often she found herself in this position, as it was usually her leading the glares toward Kim who was often distracted by her 'missions' and more recently, her steady boyfriend.

The heat came to Bonnie's cheeks and she crossed her arms and turned away with a frown.

"I didn't have the balance for scorpion, it would have been worse if I'd tried," she said by way of excuse.

"Maybe if you'd lose a few pounds," Tanzy said not entirely under her breath, earning a few gasps from the long-time members of the squad.

"Why, you—!"

"O-kay," Kim said with authority. "Bonnie, let's swap. You call the routine and I'll hop in."

Bonnie was torn in that moment between arguing that she wouldn't mess up again and taking the pass and actually watching the routine as she called it. She wanted to watch it again anyway, but she was uncertain in the moment which was the less embarrassing of the two options.

As Kim raised a questioning and slightly impatient brow in her direction, she rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"Fine, get up there."

Bonnie watched as Hope and Jessica swapped places, Jessica being Bonnie's stand-in as Hope was Kim's. Then when everyone was back in place in the starting positions, she began calling the counts and moves.

She was glad she'd made that choice, because she had no choice but to focus and for at least the rest of practice, Brick didn't enter her mind at all. Not even when they had played the music and she and Kim had both operated in their regular positions. She hated to admit it, but they were a good team as co-captains.

It wasn't until later after showering in the locker room and waiting for Tara to finish fixing her hair that Bonnie began to dwell on the situation with Brick again. She was also worried that he might have sent her another message while her phone was at home, somewhere on her bedroom floor. What if he had tried to call, and her lack of response made him think she was ignoring him? What if he'd wanted her to call right after school, or after cheer practice?

"What's wrong, Bonnie?"

Bonnie startled from her thoughts and realized her brow had been twisted in so much worry, that it hurt. She uncrossed her arms and pushed off of the wall in the girl's locker room where she'd been leaning.

"Nothing, you ready to go?" she asked Tara, who was fluffing her golden, wavy hair.

"You bet! I can't wait to see your gown! And guess what, the boutique left me a voicemail during practice. Mine came in today too!"

"Yeah that's great. I need to run home first, that all right?"

"Oh...sure, what for?" Tara asked, hurrying behind Bonnie who had slung her backpack on her back and started out of the locker room.

"For my phone," Bonnie answered somewhat impatiently.

"Ohhh right... Do you think Brick might have messaged you?"

Bonnie felt that pang in her chest again and increased her pace. She had confided to Tara about her missing phone, but hadn't fully admitted her fears that Brick was losing interest in her.

"Maybe. He usually waits for me to reply, unless he's asking for homework help."

Tara continued talking, but Bonnie barely listened until they reached her convertible in the parking lot. They tossed their backpacks in the trunk and then Bonnie sat heavily in the driver's seat with a sigh. The fall earlier during practice, though she had landed fine, had definitely been a shock to her system.

"Bonnie?"

"Hmm?"

"I said, do you think the hot pink will be too much?"

"I've been telling you for years to let go of the green."

"Well it's a kind of a—"

"Never-mind, I'll see it when we get there," Bonnie said as she started the car.

She stared straight ahead, ignoring the concerned and confused look she knew Tara was giving her. She grabbed her sunglasses off the car's sun visor and hid her eyes behind them.

She couldn't focus on the conversation about gowns with the possibility of a missed call from Brick swirling around in her head. Not to mention the sudden increased concern that her gown wouldn't fit after Tanzy's comment at practice.

Back in the locker room she had direly wanted to ask Kim if she had gained weight, knowing the red-head would be honest, but she hadn't. Now she wanted to ask Tara, but she wasn't sure if her friend wouldn't sugar-coat the answer just to please her.

Bonnie flipped the radio station to pop, Tara's favorite, and gave her a half-smile that seemed to assuage any concerns her friend may have had. She turned the music up higher to avoid any possibility of conversation and drove the familiar route back home, unable to deny the anxiety now coursing through her as the promise of getting to her phone was near.

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

Bonnie parked her car near the house after driving perhaps too quickly up her family's long driveway, if Tara's slightly startled expression was any indication. She kept her sunglasses on to hide her slightly guilty expression as she grabbed her backpack from the trunk and hurried up the steps.

"If my sibs aren't around you can help yourself to anything in the fridge," Bonnie called over her shoulder as Tara hurried behind her.

She didn't feel like stopping at Bueno Nacho or anywhere else on the way to the boutique, but it had definitely been too long since lunch.

The house, gratefully, seemed empty when they went inside, and Bonnie nodded toward the fridge before heading down the hall to her room. It was just a quick stop for her phone and a snack before they would head back to try on their gowns.

In her room, Bonnie took her planner and the books for that night's homework out of her backpack and placed them on her desk, knowing she might forget otherwise after ballet later that night. She glanced at her watch as she dropped her backpack and began calculating how much time she would have, and then frowned. There was really only time to try on the dresses, make the final payment if they fit, and then drive Tara home. Then she would barely make it home through rush hour traffic in time for the family dinner, and then she would have to hurry off to ballet.

She wouldn't be able to start her homework until after eight thirty that night. Or call Brick.

A quick search of the room revealed her phone on the floor near the barre, and she flipped it open to find six missed text messages. Two were from Tara that morning, the second of which asking why she wasn't answering texts. Bonnie rolled her eyes.

She cringed at the text from Kim asking why she was late for practice, and it was with dismay she saw that the other three were from Liz, Crystal, and Hope. Brick hadn't sent any other messages, and there were no missed calls.

Bonnie put the phone in the hip pocket of her overalls, frowning at the discomfort it gave her since the older garment was slightly too snug.

'Or maybe you've just put on a few pounds...'

She shook that thought from her head as she fished in her backpack for her wallet. She glanced at the math book at the top of the pile of homework on her desk and frowned at the memory of turning in an incomplete paper earlier that day, and then she looked up at the mirror. Her hair was more limp for the rigor of cheer practice, but there wasn't time to do anything with it.

Bonnie chose a teal purse from the several she had hanging behind her door and shouldered it after putting her phone and wallet inside. She hurried back to the kitchen where she found Tara eating a pudding cup.

"Those are Jonny's," Bonnie commented, knowing her brother would be upset. Not that she cared... She just knew she would probably take the heat for it.

"Oh, sorry," Tara said with a small giggle as she licked the butterscotch from her lips.

Bonnie opened the fridge and after a sad perusal, she grabbed one of her brother's pudding cups too. She plopped down on the bar stool next to Tara and opened the cup, staring blankly at the cabinets opposite as she dug her spoon in.

"...Did Brick call?" Tara asked after a moment of silence.

"No," Bonnie said, then spooning a larger bite into her mouth. While she could no longer ignore the growing concern that Brick was losing interest in her, she still didn't want to talk about it. Because if Brick was in fact losing interest...she didn't want to think forward to what would come after that conversation.

"Ryan left me a message during practice," Tara commented.

Bonnie nodded approvingly as she licked her spoon.

"Status."

"But he was always trying to cop a feel," Tara continued with a frown.

Bonnie smirked. "And you care?"

Tara's frown deepened.

"Right, I get it. You're waiting for 'love'," Bonnie said, drawing out the last word sarcastically.

"So are you," Tara retorted, "unless something's changed?"

"Nothing's changed," Bonnie said, glancing back at the cabinets and letting her vision blur as she took another bite.

"Look, I like making out but Ryan just doesn't understand where the line is," Tara said thoughtfully.

Bonnie silently ate her pudding as she thought about her physical relationship with Brick. He was a good kisser, and she always felt a sense of pride curled up under his arm, whether they were at the movies or at a party after a game. He'd never given her any indications he wanted more, so they'd never talked about it. But what if...that was part of why he was losing interest now? Had he met someone else who gave him more?

Bonnie considered their on-again, off-again relationship over the past three and a half years. It was always she who had broken up with him when they were 'off,' due to his lack of attention or some rude comment he had made. She'd always just assumed he would be there when she had cooled down, and he was. Even the time he'd seemed interested in Kim during sophomore year, she hadn't worried, because she knew he wasn't Kim's type.

'Her loss!'

As she thought about it further, she realized that the last few times they'd broken up...she couldn't remember Brick protesting. Or even seeming that upset. Or...happy when she'd declared they were back together.

The pang in her chest turned to a swirling unease in her stomach, and she glanced to the side to see that Tara had just finished her pudding. She grabbed the small plastic cup and spoon out her hands, earning a surprised squeak, and carried them and her own unfinished pudding around to the sink where she dropped the spoons in and then tossed the pudding cups in the trash.

"Come on," Bonnie said abruptly, shifting her purse to her other shoulder. It had been on the one with the overall strap, and she realized the garment was a bit uncomfortable over her shoulder after all.

"What'd I say?" Tara questioned. "Look, I'm over that Ryan is a celebrity... Jason's never tried to push the boundaries, and that matters more to me."

"Fine, whatever," Bonnie said as she headed back out the door. "Long as he's got the cash."

"We go out," Tara defended her own on-and-off boyfriend.

"To places other than Bueno Nacho?" Bonnie accused as they got back into the car.

"Yes," Tara said emphatically, sounding almost hurt. "And he even told me he'll take me to Chez Couteaux before homecoming."

"How do you know he's not gonna turn out like Ryan did?" Bonnie retorted as she started the car.

"Bonnie!"

"Just saying," Bonnie responded with a shrug and a frown.

She turned the music back on as she backed the car out of the driveway. The conversation had only increased her worries about Brick to the point she didn't even bother denying them anymore. What if that was the reason he was distant from her? What if he had in fact found someone else who was more the kind of girl he wanted?

What...what was the kind of girl Brick wanted? Bonnie felt the uneasy feeling in her stomach intensify as she suddenly worried that she wasn't it...

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

"I've been telling you for years Tara, jewel tones," Bonnie said, watching Tara look uncertainly at the gown she wore that in Bonnie's opinion was a dream come true.

Tara's choice that year was a dark hot pink strapless mermaid gown, satin until the mermaid flare at the bottom where the material was tulle. The bust was covered in tiny rhinestones that faded away down the bodice, which Bonnie thought were a great compliment to her figure.

"Are you sure?"

"Sometimes your favorite colors just aren't ones you can wear," Bonnie said, leaning back on the bench and crossing her legs again. "With your hair, eyes, and complexion... Jewel tones, Tara."

Tara's expression brightened at Bonnie's reassurance, though her brow still showed uncertainty.

"Look, it's perfect. Just take it off and I'll put mine on," Bonnie said, rising from the bench and moving into the adjacent fitting room. She quickly divested herself of her shoes, overalls, and tank top and then carefully removed her gown from its hanger.

As she stepped into the dress and slipped the straps up over her shoulders, she felt a comfortable, familiar confidence settle over her that she'd lacked that day—the confidence of looking good.

She zipped up the black dress and adjusted the raspberry colored chiffon sash at the waist which folded and had a panel that draped down the front nearly to the floor. The dress had two high slits up each side and a deep V-neck, with straps that thinned over the shoulders. She smiled as she mentally pictured the way it would look with her hair and makeup done to perfection, and black heels to match. Ruby earrings would complete the look...

She straightened up in front of the fitting room mirror as a vision entered her mind of Brick standing at her side wearing a black tuxedo, with a cummerbund and bow-tie to match her sash. They would have to be dyed of course, along with roses for the corsages, but there was still plenty of time.

The excitement that had bubbled up in her chest at how great she and Brick would look walking into the homecoming dance together burst suddenly as all of her insecurities about their relationship suddenly came back. She felt in her purse for her phone and after pulling it out flipped it open. There had been no messages or missed calls in the time she and Tara and been out so far.

She turned to face the mirror again, posed and grinned, and then moved her phone around in one hand trying to get the best angle and also capture the entire dress. It took three tries, but she finally got an image she was okay with and sent it in a message to Brick.

*Match everything to the sash.*

As she looked at the image once more before pushing send she felt her confidence returning. She was the hottest girl at Middleton High, and Brick had never looked at anyone else in the almost three years they had been together. She had nothing to worry about.

She sent the text, put her phone back in her purse, and then exited the fitting room. Tara was dressed in her school clothes again and seated on the bench Bonnie had previously occupied, her folded hands atop the knee of her crossed leg which she was swinging as she smiled and waited patiently. When she focused her attention on Bonnie, her mouth fell open in a gasp.

"Oh, Bonnie that's gorgeous!"

"I know. Doesn't it just scream 'me'?" she said with a grin, slowly spinning and then striking a pose.

"It's perfect!"

"Like I said. Me."

Just then, a wolf-whistle startled them and drew both of their attentions to where about ten feet away a vaguely familiar red-headed teen boy stood. Bonnie realized in a moment it was one of their classmates, but she wasn't entirely sure of his name. She couldn't recall ever actually speaking to him.

"Smokin'!" he said, giving her a thumbs up and a grin that revealed less than perfect teeth.

Bonnie recoiled in mild disgust, though she couldn't argue with the compliment.

"Yeah, way too hot for you," Bonnie said in retort. She meant it derisively, but the look Tara gave her made her wonder if it had accidentally come off as flirty.

The guy continued looking her over without any pretense, and Bonnie racked her brain for his name. All she could really recall about him was that his tired, baggy eyes were always staring at a computer screen and that he had never once been in gym class.

"So, got a date for the homecoming dance?" he asked, his look becoming practically lascivious.

The boy's name finally registered in Bonnie's mind.

"Uh, yeah. And if you come with twenty feet of me at the dance Reiger, I'll tell my boyfriend Brick that you asked me out."

Ronald Reiger seemed to snap out of his hormone-motivated stupor, but it didn't last long as a devious smirk returned to his face.

"I didn't think Flagg liked his babes with so much junk in the trunk. But I sure do," Reiger said, wagging his eyebrows knowingly.

Bonnie sputtered incoherently for a moment before a shrill scream left her throat. Every face in the boutique suddenly turned to look at her, and Bonnie's face reddened in both anger and embarrassment as Reiger left the store laughing.

Bonnie's hands were clenched in fists at her sides as she seethed, the conversation already replaying in her mind. So focused was she on the horrible things Reiger had said, that she didn't notice Tara had been speaking to her until she felt her friend's hand on her shoulder.

"He never even goes to the dances. Just ignore him."

Bonnie took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but she still felt the sting of embarrassment as multiple eyes continued to watch her.

"Tara," she began, not liking how pathetic her voice sounded, "have I gained weight?"

"No! If anything you're slimmer," Tara said, her usual happy-go-lucky smile back on her face.

"Really?" Bonnie asked, starting to straighten up from the hunch she'd not realized she'd fallen into.

"Oh yeah. You look great! Especially in the varsity cheer uniform. You rock it!"

Bonnie looked straight into Tara's eyes and saw the sincerity; she wasn't just trying to butter her up.

She pushed her hair back and fought the twisting of emotions in her chest, glancing away when she finally said a quiet, "Thanks."

"Besides, Reiger's been crushing on you since middle school," Tara continued thoughtfully, "but I've never seen him with anyone. He's probably got his own issues."

Bonnie looked up in surprise. "Since middle school!?"

Tara looked confused. "Yeah. I thought you knew."

"Ew! No, that's the first time I've ever acknowledged that loser's existence!"

Tara looked confused again. "Don't you remember he asked you to dance in seventh grade, at the welcome back dance?"

Bonnie blinked at her. "I thought you said he never goes to dances."

"Not since that one. He asked you to dance and you said no."

Bonnie searched her memory, but all she could recall of that first dance in seventh grade was how hot she had looked in her black and white leopard print skirt and hot pink blouse with the matching collar.

"Ugh, let's just pay for the gowns and get out of here before some other loser shows up."

"Hey," Tara said, and Bonnie felt a hand on her shoulder again, "this was fun. We barely hang out anymore. I'm glad we could fit this in."

"Yeah," Bonnie said with a quick smile before hurrying back into her fitting room.

As she changed back into her crop top and overalls she thought about Tara's words. It was true, they hadn't been hanging out as much since Tara had finally given up on that loser Stoppable part-way through junior year. Once she had stopped pining over him she found she enjoyed dating around, which meant less time for friends. And of course, varsity cheer took up more of both of their free time. They hardly saw each other outside of school activities anymore.

Bonnie considered the things in her own life that were keeping her busy. Ballet was four nights a week now that she was in the highest level, and for the past month she had spent all of her free time...worrying about Brick's diminishing communication. They had only been out on a date once in the last three weeks, but she realized she had been purposely keeping her evenings free just in case he wanted to see her. He was only going to the University of Lowerton after all, so it wasn't that far a drive.

But he hadn't mentioned going out once since their last date. He only responded to her messages, and barely at that...

Bonnie scowled as her mood soured again, but she didn't let it impact her carefully hanging the gown back on its hanger. The boost she had gotten from trying it on had already faded, and she was eager to get home so she could hopefully have a chance to call Brick in between dinner and ballet. A glance at her phone showed he hadn't replied to her message with the photo of the dress.

The overall strap on her shoulder was suddenly bothering her, and after a very brief moment she unhooked it and let the bib fall fully down and the strap down her back, a moment later looping both straps through the belt loops on the garment so they wouldn't flop too much. As she looked at her reflection in the mirror she reconsidered the decision for a moment, noting just how much of her midriff was showing due to the high crop top and how low the overalls fell. But she shook her head and shouldered her purse and turned away from her reflection. Because despite herself, she couldn't even distract herself thinking about Tara's compliment because she was no longer able to hide the worry in her eyes.

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

Bonnie shut off the car and then sank low into the leather seat, exhausted as she stared at the reflection of the golden sunset off her dash. She ran her mind back over the day's events, each recollection interrupted by the harsh, stabbing worry about Brick's text.

She felt a small measure of calm as she remembered how Tara had leaned down into the car to hug her when she had dropped her off at her home. Her friend had thanked her for a fun afternoon and promised to see her the next day with her usual bright smile and wave as she left.

Why couldn't Brick be more like Tara? Bonnie never had to worry that Tara wouldn't answer a text, or be less than honest about their friendship. If Tara was upset about something, Bonnie knew it in a moment from the look on her friend's face.

She also realized with sudden guilt, which she quickly shoved down, that she wasn't always quick to make amends when she and Tara got into disagreements. And yet, Tara...was still there.

She forced away the strange swirl of emotions in her chest and turned her thoughts to Brick again. Had she done something to upset him, and that's why he was distant? He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and he had always been extremely easy-going in high school. It was one of the things she liked about him actually... He did whatever she wanted, and she got to show off her man candy wherever she went.

She startled suddenly, her eyes seeking something to focus on as too many realizations hit her all at once. Could Brick be avoiding her because she only treated him like a tool? And...since when did she no longer want that with him, and want to be treated like an actual girlfriend?

Her mind was racing for answers, and when she looked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror she saw the truth in her own eyes. She had wanted more for a long time, but hadn't been giving Brick anything to let him know that.

Another strange mix of emotions hit her as she fought against the revelation she had just had. She didn't need a relationship. She didn't need to give and take, or to care about someone else's needs. Winners didn't need other people, after all.

Even as her head spoke the defiant thoughts, an image of Tara's smile and the memory of her hug before they parted that evening flew across her mind's eye. She sighed and slumped back in the seat again.

Who was she kidding?

She grimaced as she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Brick had said to call her... It was time to put herself out of her misery and stop living in a high school fantasy. If she really did...want more...she would have to give more.

She pressed the speed dial with an ironic grimace and held the phone to her ear. It connected after four rings.

"Hello?" He sounded confused, which made her stomach twist in unease.

"Hey Brick, baby," she greeted with a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, hey," was the response in his usual smooth tone, but it was lacking the smile behind it.

"Did you get the photo of my gown?" she asked, avoiding any more difficult topic for the moment.

"Yeah, it's smokin'!" he said, and Bonnie felt some of the unease leave as she heard the smile in his voice. She also recalled that Ron Reiger had used that exact term to describe the dress, and her face fell.

"Do you need me to send you the address of the boutique to get your cummerbund and bow-tie dyed?" she continued in a hurry.

"Yeah about that..."

Bonnie felt her throat constrict and immediately tried to calm her breathing. Before she could speak, Brick continued.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Bonnie's chest heaved as her breaths came more quickly.

"What... You...you...are breaking up with me?" Bonnie sputtered. They weren't the words she wanted to say, but they were the ones that came out.

"Yeah... So no hard feelings," Brick said. It sounded final, and Bonnie gripped her phone hard as she leaned forward in a panic.

"Wait! Can...can we talk about this?" she stammered.

"Talk...?" Brick sounded confused by the suggestion.

"Yeah, like...like...why?"

"Oh, well... I feel like since I went to college we've...grown apart?" Brick answered, still sounding confused. "And like...we didn't really know each other that well anyway."

"What do you mean?" Bonnie gasped, her instincts taking over again. "We talked almost every day for three years, we went out all the time, I even hung out at your house with your lame-o family!" Bonnie cringed at the instinctive insult she'd given and hurriedly backpedaled. "I mean..."

"Yeah, and like...that's just it," Brick continued in the voice she knew so well, sounding much more himself. "We did all those things and I don't...really know you."

Bonnie blinked several times, fighting the onset of tears. Her mind was a jumble of searching for excuses and counter-arguments, as well as the distracting interruptions of how she basically been treating Tara exactly the same way she had treated Brick.

"Well...then let's get to know each other," she finally said. She looked in the rear-view mirror at her stricken expression, and then her eyes fell to the reflection of the short crop top she was wearing. "And like...if you come over Saturday, my parents won't be home all weekend."

She had lowered her tone on the last, hoping to sound seductive. Her heart raced for fear with the implication she had just given him. That wasn't what she really wanted, but she was desperate.

"No thanks... It's just not gonna work between us. I'm sorry, but...it's over."

Bonnie clutched the phone tighter, breathing into the receiver as no words came while tears filled her eyes. A moment later the line disconnected, and she let a sob escape her lips as she listened to the dead air at the other end of the line.

She closed the phone and dropped it back in her purse, then wiping the tears from her eyes.

'Winners don't cry, winners don't cry...'

She tried desperately to force the tears away, but as she replayed the conversation with Brick in her mind they kept coming. She turned her gaze upward as she grabbed a tissue from the box in her center console, but she didn't dry her eyes yet.

The resounding finality of Brick's statement, 'it's over,' kept looping in her mind and causing a torment of indecision. There was a part of her that wanted to call him back and fight to keep him. She even wondered if driving to Lowerton for a salacious meeting would change his mind after all.

That idea made her heart pound in anxiety, and she recalled her earlier conversation with Tara. It wasn't what she wanted... But...she still wanted Brick.

She dried her eyes, and on that thought she shouldered her purse, and then carefully took her plastic-wrapped homecoming gown out of the trunk of the car. The sudden realization that she had no date for the dance started the tears anew, but she didn't stop and headed for the house.

'Winners don't quit...'

When she walked inside, the telltale sounds of quiet conversation told her that her family had already started dinner. She wiped her eyes once more with her free hand and held the gown up so that when she passed through the kitchen it would detract attention from her.

"Bonnie..." was the disappointed greeting from her mother when she turned the corner. Bonnie held the gown up higher.

"Sorry, I had to take Tara home. Her gown came in too."

"Ugh, why do you hang out with such fashion rejects..." Lonnie said.

Bonnie didn't even make eye contact. "For your information she got a hot pink dress this time. And even if she does need a little help with fashion, at least she's a real friend."

"Since when do you have real friends?" Connie said with a giggle.

"Girls," their father admonished.

"Bon-Bon, what are you wearing?" her mother asked, noticing her attire despite the gown she was holding up to block their view.

Jonny leaned forward on his elbows with a smirk and raised his eyebrows, and the three sisters glared at him.

"Gross!" they all said in unison.

"Just looking to see if she actually grew a pair or if it's still just socks," Jonny said.

"Like you've ever seen real ones," Lonnie countered.

"Right back at ya, Sis'," Jonny snickered.

"Ugh!"

"Like you've ever seen more than two brain cells," Connie continued the argument.

"Bonnie, surely you had something you could have worn a bra with..." her mother continued over the adult children's argument.

"I had the overall bib up all day," Bonnie said with a slight scoff, and then added in a mutter, "well, half of it."

Her slight embarrassment and annoyance with her family was overriding the hurt of losing Brick, for at least the present moment, and she hurried down the hall to her room to hang up her gown. After she had done so she leaned on her desk with a heavy sigh, staring down at the mountain of homework.

She looked up at herself in the mirror. Her face wasn't as puffy as she feared, and she hurried down the hall to the bathroom to wash off the tear stains. She made the mistake of replaying the conversation with Brick in her head again as she did so, and her tears flowed again. She permitted herself a few whimpering sobs this time, in hopes that doing so would help purge some of the emotional turmoil and let her get on with the evening.

A harsh knock at the door startled her, and she hurriedly splashed more water onto her face and added some soap to clean off her ruined makeup. She'd gone to ballet without it before, though she hadn't in awhile.

"Just a minute!" she called more loudly than was necessary.

"Take a chill pill, Bonnie," came her brother's mocking voice.

Bonnie felt a renewed embarrassment and annoyance about his earlier comments and scowled as she turned off the faucet and dried her face.

"There are other toilets in this house where you can sit and play video games, you know," she retorted.

"Yeah but I'll be bothered in those," he said matter-of-factly.

Bonnie checked her face again and after hanging the towel she opened the door with a sharp jerk.

"Whoa, fan the flame, Bon-Bon!"

"Don't call me that," she bit back as she stalked past him and back down the hall.

She listened to his snickering and the closing of the door as he escaped the family dinner for at least awhile, and she began changing for ballet. As she did so she told herself she wasn't going to think about Brick anymore. She could easily get a hot date for homecoming, and she could start work on that the very next day. All she needed to worry about for the rest of that night was dinner, ballet, and homework, in that order.

She forced her mind to think about the difficult routine she was going to need to rehearse that evening as she put on her pink tights, black leotard, and ballet slippers. After that she stood in front of the mirror, already feeling more composed for how elegant she looked in the attire that spoke of over a decade of hard work. The word 'regal' even crossed her mind as she pulled her hair up into a French twist.

She considered going back to dinner in just her ballet outfit, but considering Jonny's comments she threw on a baggy teal Club Banana logo t-shirt over her leotard. And then after checking that her pointe shoes were in her ballet bag, she dropped her purse inside and zipped the bag up and headed back out to face her family.

"Bonnie, you missed almost all of dinner," was her mother's sad greeting when she re-entered the kitchen.

Bonnie dropped her bag behind her chair and then grabbed a plate to serve herself some food.

"It was a busy day," she said, again more harshly than was warranted. She swallowed guiltily when her father looked at her over the rims of his glasses.

"Connie was just telling us about the seismology research project she's working on in college," her father said as he cleared his throat.

"Yeah," Lonnie interrupted, "and if we keep listening to it we're not going to have time to talk about my date tonight."

Bonnie noticed her bottle-blonde sister's attire for the first time—a too-tight strapless periwinkle mini-dress, with a sparkling crystal necklace and earrings to match. Her makeup was also overdone, which wasn't atypical.

"So who's this one?" Bonnie asked boredly, moving her spoon through the pasta salad as she sat at the table with her family.

As Lonnie described her 'hot date' who worked for a modeling agency, Bonnie's thoughts instantly drifted to her lack of a date for the homecoming dance, and then beyond. She considered her sister who dated anyone who might be able to give her a jump-start into a film or modeling career. Lonnie didn't seem interested in a serious relationship...

Bonnie realized all of a sudden that she herself was. She couldn't do what her sister did. And while she didn't yet know what she wanted to do after high school (another worrying thought that she would bury until she had no choice) she knew she didn't want to date guy after guy... She had never really enjoyed that. Which meant that apparently...she wanted something steady.

"Bonnie?"

She re-focused as she realized she was being spoken to—it was her turn to share about her day.

"Well I got my gown, not that anyone noticed," she began.

"It's lovely, dear," her mother said.

Bonnie tried not to frown at the aged-sounding appellation.

"Thank you, Mom," she said, tossing a glare at her sisters. "We also made a lot of progress on the cheer routine for regionals. It's too fussy, like all of Kim's routines, but I've got to admit...it'll be pretty cool when we've got it down."

"Have you given us that date for our calendars, Bonnie?" her father asked without looking up from his meal.

"Yes. And the ballet. And the homecoming game, and the dance so you don't schedule anything over it."

"Will Brick be taking you to the dance?"

Bonnie felt her entire frame tense, but she forced her face to calm and took a swallow of her food to both give herself a moment to compose herself and to force down the lump rising in her throat.

"No, he's busy," she lied easily. "Besides, I'll be voted homecoming queen so I should go with whoever is voted king."

"You? Queen?" Connie said, and she and Lonnie began to snicker. The sound of Jonny's deeper voice joining theirs was the family's cue that he had returned from his 'bathroom break' and Bonnie glared at all of her siblings in turn as her brother retook his seat.

"Well of course it will be me. Who else could it be?" Bonnie asked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms indignantly.

"Probably that red-haired babe you can't get along with, what's her name?" Jonny asked.

"Ugh, that fashion don't dating the biggest loser in the school? As if!"

"Check the facts, Bonnie, she's a world-famous hero and she was on the cover of every fashion magazine that mattered two years ago," Connie said.

"Yeah. Don't you remember when we all wore Kim-style?" Lonnie added.

Bonnie scowled and let her frustration out in a growl. "That was before she had a loser boyfriend, though."

"Are people treating her any differently?" her father cut in.

Bonnie blinked as she considered. People had always liked Kim Possible, ever since middle school when they had met. And that had never changed. Kim wasn't part of the 'in-crowd' or any crowd really, but everyone still liked her and she was—Bonnie mentally groaned—friendly to everyone. And nothing at all had changed since she'd started dating her long-time dweeb of a best friend.

"No," Bonnie admitted.

"Probably gonna be her then," Jonny said, between two large bites. "She's a babe."

Bonnie's face felt hot in a mixture of embarrassment and rage as she saw her sisters nodding in agreement, but she said nothing. To argue would only reveal a weakness on her part.

"Whatever. I'm going to ballet," Bonnie said, dropping her spoon and reaching behind her for her bag.

"But Bon-Bon, you just got home," her mother protested.

"Yeah, and the performance is in two weeks! I want the extra warm up time. I'll see you later," she said over her shoulder as she departed.

She tuned out the continued protests and snippy comments from her siblings as she left the house and hurried down the dimly lit sidewalk to her car. The sun had set and the air had begun to cool, but it had a different feel than that of the morning chill. The morning had felt fresh, almost hopeful, and like she could take on the world. This chill was a descending weight, and felt like it would sap every last ounce of her strength.

Bonnie put up the roof of her convertible as suddenly every conversation she'd had that day began playing through her mind. And try as she might, she wasn't able to stop them.

The blaring of the radio on her drive to the theater couldn't stop them, nor could attempting to distract herself thinking about the challenging steps she would need to complete in the rehearsal that night. Instead, she heard a chaotic chorus of voices that seemed bent on the goal of severing every last thread of what made her...Bonnie.

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

The voices continued throughout her warm-up stretches, and through the initial routine that Mlle. Catriona had the dancers perform in the warm-up room. Bonnie uncharacteristically stood in the back, t-shirt on as she moved mechanically through the familiar steps.

"You mean they actually found a dress to fit that shape?"

"Maybe if you'd lose a few pounds."

"I didn't think Flagg liked his babes with so much junk in the trunk."

Bonnie barely heard the accompaniment of the bright piano rhythms, so loud were the day's memories. Was she actually gaining weight? Was that why Brick had really lost interest in her?

"If anything, you're slimmer."

The recollection of Tara's words didn't do much to calm her fear that she might in fact be heavier. She looked at her distant reflection in the mirror from the back row of dancers, and then started to look around at her peers. She was definitely more shapely than the rest, but...she wasn't overweight; she was just the atypical curvy ballerina, in comparison. Still...she was suddenly glad she'd kept her t-shirt on.

Bonnie focused on Tara's encouragement and let that carry her through the rest of the warm-up until the class moved to the main stage to begin rehearsal of scenes for the upcoming performance of Swan Lake. An unusual self-consciousness hit her as she pulled off her t-shirt after tying on her pointe shoes, but she shook it off and held her head high. She had earned the principal role in the ballet and clearly, her weight wasn't an issue to her teacher or the director.

Across the stage, Matteo, who played the principal male role opposite to hers, grinned and waved at her. She smirked and waved back. Matteo was a winner like she was, and they worked well together. She had been very pleased when learning he had been cast in the role of the prince.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Brick's words over the phone suddenly came back to her like the stab of a knife, and her smirk dissolved. She saw the confusion on Matteo's face, but she glanced away and half-listened as Mlle. Catriona gave some last minute direction before they would begin rehearsal of the pas de deux that ended Act III. Thankfully, she had no feeling that she might cry at this recollection. But the crushing weight and pain of loss were still strong, such that she realized suddenly she had placed a lot more value on the relationship with Brick than she had previously thought.

The rehearsal piano began again, and Bonnie began moving through the practiced steps.

"We did all those things and I don't really know you."

The memory of Brick's explanation for the break-up sent another stab of pain through her chest. How could he say he didn't know her? He knew her class schedule, and all of her extracurriculars...

Her thoughts stopped suddenly as she realized that Brick was right. They didn't...really know each other. They knew their schedules, what kinds of movies they liked, and the local school gossip, and that they both understood athletic discipline. But otherwise...

Bonnie swallowed nervously as she considered the boy—young man—who had taken seven years to graduate high school that she had dated on and off for three years. Brick Flagg...was hot. That was it. She didn't really know much about who he was. That suddenly concerned her as she looked around at the other dancers on the stage. Some of them she knew more about than even the girls on the cheer squad. Yes, with the cheerleaders she could gossip. But the ballerinas talked more about real life—their jobs, their plans for after high school, their families... Some were even already in college.

Bonnie moved to the wings of the stage, catching her breath as the coda of the dance approached. Matteo's leaps were majestic, and Bonnie smiled as she watched the fellow athlete who was very attractive—just not in the bulky way that most appealed to her—and who she realized she also knew better than she knew Brick. She didn't even know what Brick was studying... But Matteo was preparing to audition for the New York Ballet. And as a hobby, he did woodworking.

She had no idea what Brick's hobbies were, or if he even had any.

"It's over."

There was a greater finality as she replayed Brick's words in her mind again, and it was with great annoyance she realized the tears were beginning to flow. She almost missed her cue as the piano changed, but she set her jaw and held her head high as she retook the stage.

She found her mark and set up for the fouettes. She had managed twenty-seven the last time and was hoping to make it an even twenty eight this time. She heard the anacrusis of the music and began to spin, executing the practiced technique with skill. But as she spun, blurred images of faces watching her suddenly brought the fears back to her mind.

Was she too heavy? Did the turns look awkward as a result? Did the other ballerinas gossip about her when she wasn't there, the way she gossiped about each cheerleader in turn when they weren't around?

"Since when do you have real friends?"

The memory pushed her out of the intense focus that her spin required, and with a small cry, Bonnie fell out of her eleventh fouette. She quickly moved back to the mark and resumed, not wanting to stop because it would only bring more negative attention. She caught just a glimpse of surprised faces and heard gasps over the piano before she resumed the turns, counting them even though there was no point in her desperate search for distraction.

She may have overheard the other dancers talking about their lives over the years...but she didn't really tell them about her own. They weren't her friends anymore than anyone at school was.

As she finished the last fouette—twenty-one—she posed and smiled confidently despite the tear rolling down her cheek. She didn't look at Matteo as she passed him while he began his solo.

"You? Queen?"

Her siblings were right. Who would vote for her anyway? She talked badly about those she called 'friends' to everyone, and she didn't even acknowledge people like Reiger who had been in her class since middle school. She had started faltering in cheer practice, which never happened. And now she was even failing as the star of the ballet.

It was with this swirl of dark thoughts that she began the final sequence with Matteo, who broke character to give her a concerned look as her tears continued to flow. When finally the piano held the last chord Bonnie smirked as her character required, and posed while breathing through her teeth, trying to calm down.

"Are you okay?" Matteo asked quietly through the small wave of applause their fellow students gave.

Bonnie held her smile and allowed the eye contact, which only had the tears flowing more.

The moment the music stopped and the director began giving commentary, Bonnie interrupted with a hurried, "Excuse me," as she began rushing from the stage. The murmurs that followed made her feel sick, and none more than one of the other girls commenting: "Maybe she's going to call Brick."

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

The rest of the rehearsal had gone better. Bonnie had dried her tears and shoved the emotions away with her mantra of 'winners don't cry' and had channeled all of her focus and energy into making up for the earlier mistake and emotional slip. People acting differently toward her the rest of the night had only driven her further, and while she might not have given the most artistic performance, technically, she was flawless.

She had left the theater with that small measure of control giving her a touch of strength, and she maintained that feeling for the entire drive home. But once she had parked in the darkened driveway and saw fewer lights on in her family's home, she felt the roiling of emotions start to return.

She shouldered her ballet bag and silently moved up the walk to the house, hoping that everyone had retired to their respective hobbies for the evening. And Lonnie of course was on a date and wouldn't be home for hours. All Bonnie wanted to do was take a shower and forget the horrible day.

Thankfully, she moved quietly enough that her brother—playing video games on the big screen now, since her parents had gone to bed early due to their flight the next day—was unaware of her presence. And as she passed by Connie's room, she heard her older sister gossiping on the phone.

When Bonnie closed her own bedroom door she felt a huge relief come over her at the same time a weight fell. She barely had the strength to pull her purse out of her ballet bag, and her phone of that before dropping the former on the floor and flopping on the bed with the latter.

She let herself rest for just a moment, her muscles tired from their exertion throughout the day and night, and then she sat up intending to get ready for a shower. But her gaze fell upon the stack of books and homework on her desk.

"Unghh..." she groaned aloud, flopping down on her bed again and dropping her forearm over her eyes and plunging her vision into darkness. She began mentally calculating how long it would take to shower and then tallying how many assignments she had due the next day.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a buzz from her phone which was still on silent from rehearsal. She flipped it open, her chest constricting at the thought it might be Brick.

It wasn't.

It was just a silly update from Stoppable's blog. Bonnie sneered in annoyance and almost dropped the phone, when she saw a comment alert pop up on the new post. It was Tara.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she opened up the post to actually read it.

*Drakken and Shego seen dining casually at Croutons. Is it a business meeting or a romantic interlude?*

Bonnie felt a pang as she looked at the photo that Stoppable or someone had snapped of the villain duo... Was Stoppable actually following them for this silly obsession?

She scrolled down to read Tara's comment which was full of emoticons and hearts, enthusiastic about the growing evidence that the pair might be romantically involved. The pang Bonnie felt before grew stronger. Even the villains that Possible fought were going to find their happy ending. While her relationship-which-wasn't had just ended.

With a heavy sigh and a few yawns, Bonnie changed into her pajamas and decided to forego the shower for the evening. It would only make her more tired, and she had a couple of hours of homework at least. And it was already past nine o' clock.

She moved to her desk and sat down, arranging her books in the order in which she wanted to tackle the assignments. Another buzz from her phone caught her attention, and she glanced at it to see that a debate had sprung up on Stoppable's blog about the blue and green-skinned villains. It seemed even Kim was weighing in, in favor of the two being together, which thrilled Tara.

Bonnie considered her friend again, who she'd given so little time to throughout senior year. And who despite that and her general careless and casual treatment of her...was perhaps the only real friend she had.

An emotional tug of war began within Bonnie then, which she finally ceded to as she flipped to her messages and typed a quick text to Tara.

*Thanks for coming with me today. I'm going to be up late finishing homework if you want to join me in snore-ville.*

She sent the text and felt the emotions in her chest start to calm. She looked in the mirror and sighed as she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.

'Winners never quit.'

Her phone began buzzing with the notification of a call. On the screen was Tara's name, and Bonnie smiled.

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

Days Later...

Bonnie stood on the football field and adjusted her black skirt, knowing she looked perfect, but unable to get Kim's and Monique's words out of her head. So strong was the swirl of nerves building in her stomach that she completely missed Tara's wave of encouragement from the sidelines.

"In case you didn't notice, now Kim is the one dating the star of the football team."

"Ron has broken more school records than Brick ever did."

Bonnie's siblings had been right... In the days that had followed her picking up her gown from the store with Tara, all the buzz around school was that Kim was the one slated to win the title. Bonnie tried to tell herself she didn't care, but the buzz had been equally clear: Ron Stoppable was expected to win king.

Bonnie tried to ignore what that would mean for her. Still dateless, humiliated, and no longer the center of attention...anywhere. The senior table in the cafeteria was meaningless, since they were all seniors. And the only people who cared anyway were brainless jocks, as it turned out. She was an equal with Kim on the cheer squad, but since they had taken roles as co-captains it was becoming very clear who was in fact more skilled between them at the sport, and it wasn't Bonnie. She was even slipping in ballet, and still wondered if her curves and weight might be an issue. And of course, ever since Kim had...saved the world...from those Bueno Nacho toys, everyone treated the red-head exactly like who she was: a hero.

While Bonnie herself was ignored and forgotten.

Soon Mr. Barkin would announce Kim and Ron as the Middleton High homecoming king and queen, and they would get even more attention. While for the remainder of Bonnie's senior year she would fade into obscurity. But without all of the things that cheer and ballet and Brick's status had brought to her...was she still a winner? Who...who was she?

"This year we replaced our old-fashioned paper ballots with our own state of the art electronic voting system, which snagged second place for Ron Reiger in the Tri-City science fair."

Bonnie absorbed Mr. Barkin's words and in a flash an idea struck her about how to get her identity back.

Ron Reiger was seated near the sideline with his whatever-device that everyone had used to vote for king and queen. Bonnie ran out of the row of nominees into Reiger's line of sight, who looked at her with the same leer he had back at the boutique. It turned her stomach, but Bonnie ignored it to give him a flirty smile and a 'call me' gesture. Reiger's leer grew, and after giving her a knowing smile he typed something into his device and a new paper printed out.

Bonnie sighed in nervous satisfaction as she hurried back to her place near Kim. She might not be the best cheerleader. She might not even be the best ballerina or best student anymore. She might have lost her boyfriend. She might be...all alone... But she was going to be homecoming queen. And once she was, she could start getting her identity back.

Because Bonnie Rockwaller was a winner, and she always would be.

20 notes · View notes

honeytea8 · 4 years

Text

La Dolce Vita • Risotto Nero/fem!Reader

A/N: I had the pleasure of doing an art trade with my sweet @string-bean-requiem and here it is!!! 💗💗 (it’s written with them in mind, but y’all can enjoy it too)

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: A fun night on the town offers the rare chance of falling for a handsome stranger...though to be fair, is he really even a stranger?

Warnings: Some kissing💀 and implied spice, nothing explicit.

Italian nightlife had never been something you had the chance to enjoy. The reason being that Passione had taken up so much of your time and each day was spent completely on work-related things. While some of your teammates, namely Formaggio and Melone made it a point to enjoy their weekends off the best they could, you did not. In fact, you seldom had the opportunity to join Napoli’s party-going masses, let alone step foot into a nightclub or bar.

So, naturally, when a wind of change had come to sweep you onto a different course, you were very much inclined to let it. Despite the inkling of trepidation growing in the pit of your stomach, you were also filled with excitement for the night that awaited you. You knew better than to squander this rare moment.

Tonight, you were out of town, miles across the Tyrrhenian sea, on the largest island south of the Italian peninsula—a place called Sicily known for its long history and traditions.

After a successfully completed mission, you choose to reward yourself, on the final night of your trip, by stepping out and enjoying whatever intrigues such a place had to offer. Who knew when you’d ever get the chance again?

A club called Bona Furtuna came highly recommended to you by a certain Sicilian native. It was a simple but newly renovated warehouse on the coast near Palermo. According to the locals, it was the place to be on a night like this.

Although a bit stuffy and filled with smoke swirling in the air like dry ice, bodies continued to fill up the dance floor, moving in tandem with the music. Girls in leotards and heels provided bottle service and cigars—all of which were somewhat of a shock to you. Initially, your carefully honed instincts kept you from enjoying yourself to the fullest, but by your third mojito, you felt yourself loosening up. Following a shot of tequila after that, you could feel the baseline thrumming against your teeth as the bright strobe lights bounced off your skin and hair.

Your hips whirled to the beat, a sheen of sweat on your neck and back. The dress you wore clung to you like second skin. It became easier for you to feed off the atmosphere; your body moved on impulse, responding to the silent cues that played off the swarm of people around you. It was spellbinding. However, the alcohol in your system did little to negate some of your more ingrained senses. The feeling of eyes trained on your back was something like an alarm in your conscience, but you were not in danger, far from it actually.

You kept dancing, swinging along with the beat, bating your silent observer. If he wanted to spectate, he could do just that. But it would be even more fun if he just cut loose and joined you on the dance floor.

In due time, the music shifted to something with a slower tempo; it was then that you felt a warm hand on your waist.

Body to body, you moved against him with practiced ease, rolling against his hips in a way that was titillating, slow, and steady as a river. He guided your movements in time with his own, like he knew your body better than you did. In a way, it didn’t surprise you. You could tell he was getting into it. Feeling impish, you skirted away from him with a spin, tossing a wink over your shoulder and strutting your way to the bar for a little reprieve.

“Water, please.” You called out to the bartender. “Light on the ice.”

Not a moment later, a glass of water was placed in front of you, but before you could reach for it, you caught sight of a mop of violet hair in your peripheral.

Your dance partner had joined you at the bar and with him came the familiar scent of Boucheron cologne and the perfect blend of citrus and spice. Finally able to see him in better light, you considered some of his most notable features. His beautiful aquiline nose; his red irises ringed in black sclera, which was unusual by nature. But held an equally intense and honest quality that made you smile a little. He was lovely to look at, dressed sharply in a crisp button up shirt with a few of them unfastened that gave a nice little peek at his chest.

He leaned against the bar, managing to tower over you still, though you remained undaunted. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked.

“I’m okay with this.” was your simple but quick-witted reply, all the while, you eyed him sharply over the rim of your glass.

He looked amused, maybe even a little surprised by your quick denial, but not at all discouraged. That was a good sign, maybe he’d prove to be interesting company tonight. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive; the kind of sexy one didn’t have to try for. You decided introductions were in order so you offered him your name and hand, smiling when he took it and kissed it.

“My name is Risotto.” He said with a dimpled half-smile.

“A pleasure to meet you, Risotto.” And although he left you to do most of the talking, your conversation continued without a hitch. Eventually, when you asked what he was doing back in his hometown, Risotto revealed he was just here for business.

“What kind of business?”

He smirked. “Not the kind of thing I can share so easily with you.”

After that admission, you finally allowed him to buy you another drink before you both made your way back to the dance floor. You weren’t as coherent as you were prior. Inhibitions fell to the wayside and you swayed on your feet a bit, but thankfully Risotto held you firm, like an anchor in the sea of alcohol in your system.

You moved like an uncoiled rope, eyes alight with mischief, and a smile on your orange painted lips.

“Come now, Risotto.” You called over the music. “I’m sure you can dance better than that!”

“You’re really gonna keep up this act, cara?” He asked.

You looped an arm around his neck, and guided his hand onto your waist like before. In a golden moment of genuine amusement, Risotto laughed, showing off a row of perfect teeth.

“Yes, I am, even if you keep breaking character!” You carded your fingers through the hair at his nape, smiling as you leaned forward to peck his lips. “Now remember, we have never met!”

Risotto nodded, still smirking. You should’ve known he had something up his sleeve. He took one of your hands and twirled you around, then dipped you low enough that your cleavage was on display for half a second at most before he lifted you and pulled you close to his chest. It was minutes later that you noticed he was doing the tarantella, or a modernized version of this dance. It seemed the warm atmosphere brought out of the Sicilian boy that lived deep within the ever-stoic Risotto.

You and he danced all night until your feet were tender and he was left to carry your heels in one hand while holding you close with the other. His brawny arm was slung over your shoulder, and yours was looped around his waist for support.

“I love you,” you murmured into his armpit; it’s where you had managed to shove your head as he half-carried you back to your shared motel. When he didn’t immediately respond you chanced a peek at him. “Did you hear what I said?” You pouted a little, but all Risotto did was blink at you.

It was around two in the morning and the streets were empty save for the occasional civilian. Risotto pressed your back against the brick wall of a neighboring building. He guided one of your long legs around his waist just as you snaked both arms around his neck. The rough pad of his thumb brushed against your lips, the only warning you received before his mouth was on yours and kissing you deeply. The world and everything with it fell away in that single moment. One of your hands slipped down to fist his shirt. It was odd to feel him wearing one, especially with you being so accustomed to feeling his bare skin.

When he finally released you, Risotto murmured a quiet, “I love you too, always,” against the seam of your mouth before finally scooping you up and carrying you all the way home—where he could truly show you his love privately.

By morning, you were greeted with the heavy weight of an arm slung around your waist and warm breaths ghosting your neck. The sky was still blue, almost black but sounds of birds chirping was enough to confirm that it was indeed early. Groaning, you shifted in bed, feeling the muggy heat in the room and only the stifled breeze filtering in through an open window. Sicily was incredibly hot in the mornings; it was enough to make you sweat even as you slept.

Next to you Risotto’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and he was given a full view of your naked back. He pressed a feather light kiss to your bare shoulder before sitting up from the bed. It never took him long to fully wake up. When it came to vigor and strength, he was seemingly unmatched.

“We should head back in about an hour.” Risotto said, voice slightly hoarse, as he picked up his phone from where it was still charging near his suitcase. “We have a text from Prosciutto and several missed calls from Ghiaccio.” He raked a hand through his dyed hair as he spoke. You couldn’t help but notice that the purple color suited him nicely.

“Hm, that’s fine by me.” You yawned, dragging the sheets over your body, and tucking the excess under your arms.

Whatever meager strength you had was only enough to keep you barely coherent. You were tired from all the drinking and dancing, though you had fun, the morning after was one thing you could do without.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” You watched as your boyfriend scrolled through his phone, likely giving the squad a status update.

Risotto looked up from the device, lips parted and eyes wide like a scandalized old man.

“I meant the clubbing,” you corrected. “Did you enjoy our little game?”

He finally shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum; Capo Risotto was back in full effect, it seemed. You gazed at his bare chest, silently admiring the way his muscles flexed underneath his skin. You nearly missed his belated response.

“You were...a bit difficult in the beginning.”

“Oh? I didn’t notice.” You laughed.

Risotto watched as you milled about the hotel room, tossing random articles of clothes into your suitcase. You’d found a clean pair of panties and slipped them on quickly, while discarding the bedsheets in favor of an old t-shirt. When you came over to where he was standing, you held his leather coat in hand.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

He snorted lightly, before leaning in and capturing your lips in a soft kiss as thanks. Together you both dressed, forgoing breakfast so you wouldn't miss your ferry trip back to Naples.

As you gripped Risotto’s hand upon reentering the base, you leaned into him and bumped him tenderly with your hip. You toed off your shoes, suddenly greeted by the telltale sound of several arguing voices. And it was coming straight from the main room. You looked to Risotto with a heavy sigh.

“Will we ever get another night off?”

Risotto glanced down at you, understanding your pain. “We’ll try, tesoro.”

#risotto nero #risotto nero x reader #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jojo #jojo’s bizarre adventure #la squadra esecuzioni #la squadra #shay.writes

151 notes · View notes

carynnhalen · 3 years

Text

Club Olympus was one of Carynn’s favorite spots in Gotham to visit. Usually because security was lax and it was easy to sneak in without paying the cover fee. Maxie Zeus was doing another stint in Arkham, and that meant it would be easy to score free drinks. Carynn weaved her way through the crowd of dancing people and headed for the bar, shoving her way between a couple of frat boys who were trying to work up the courage to ask Deadshot for a photo.

The guy behind the bar sent her a nod in greeting. “Sup, Carynn. You workin’?” his name was Nick. She’d met him a few years ago when he worked in a hole in the wall bar Josie’s that was in Hells Kitchen. He was nice enough. He was one of the only guys Carynn knew that still had a mohawk, but he was nice enough.

Carynn scrunched her nose, shaking her head. “Taking the night off,” she shouted over the music. “Needed some peace and quiet.”

Nick laughed, setting two glasses out in front of her. “The usual?” it was a rhetorical question. Nick filled one glass to the brim with whiskey, the top shelf option tonight, and the other filled with a vodka soda. “You stay out of trouble.” he said with a wink, pushing the two glasses towards her.

“Always do! Later, Nick.” she scooped up her drinks, expertly heading back through the crowd and up to a balcony that usually served to be a little more quiet than the rest of the club. She hadn’t really had much of a plan for her night off. Mostly she just needed to blow off some steam. Between Captain America showing up to her apartment, and her phone ringing almost non stop with calls from Bruce, things were getting a little too mysterious and heavy all at once.

Carynn plopped down in a booth, her kicking up her booted feet up onto the table. Taking a generous sip of her vodka soda, she pulled her phone out of her jacket and unlocked the screen. More calls from Bruce. A text from Cel. A few notifications from Dante commenting on her Instagram.

She scrolled through her contacts; Bruce (even though she kept deleting and blocking his number it still seemed to find it’s way back onto her phone), Cel, Dante, Oliver, a few numbers of work contacts...was that it? Carynn sighed, downing the rest of her drink and picking up the glass of whiskey.

“I see you still have no manners.” a voice said in Russian just before Carynn’s feet were shoved off of the table.

Carynn’s frowned, looking up from her phone. “What the fuck do you think you’re-...oh, Christ. It’s you,” she rolled her eyes at the woman that was now sliding into the booth across from her. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere skinning a puppy or something?”

Isabel Rochev. She was the current owner of Queen Industries and a certified nutjob. She smiled sweetly at Carynn, almost like she was happy to see her. She folded her gloved hands onto the table, leaning towards Carynn with interest. The large rock that had once belonged to Oliver’s mother was almost blinding in the flickering lights above them.

“I’ve missed you too, Carynn.” she said again in Russian, passing a glance over her shoulder quickly before looking back at the red head. “You are hard to find. Not because you’re in hiding, but because you can’t seem to sit still. I almost thought I’d have to forego my little proposition.”

“You could tell me Keanu Reeves is downstairs waiting to use me as a chew toy. I’d still tell you to fuck off, Isabel.” Carynn said, kicking her feet back up onto the table.

Isabel laughed a genuine laugh. Like they were good friends catching up. “Unfortunately, that is not the offer I have for you. My contacts have told me that Oliver is on his way back to Gotham. I was hoping you and I could come to an...agreement. I know you and Oliver are not in the best of places. And I know that for the right price you remove problems.”

Carynn had to admit, this was a first. She’d never really expected anyone to offer her cash to off Oliver. And maybe, if it had been anyone else sitting across from her, she might have considered the job. “If you want him gone you should do it yourself. Nothing says girl boss like killing your sugar daddy’s son...” she frowned, tilting her head. “Was he your sugar daddy? I’ve never really understood your relationship, at least aside from him definitely being married to someone else the entire time...”

Isabel pursed her lips. “Do not patronize me, Carynn. You and I are far more alike than you will ever admit. You know this deep down. I am offering you a solution to both of our problems.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Carynn spat. “And Oliver isn’t my problem anymore. I don’t waste time thinking about him. I have bigger shit to worry about.”

“Well, what are these problems? Perhaps I can help you. We could form a partnership. Take what belongs to us. I have come a long way since I last saw you-” Isabel looked to her right, into the crowd below them. She visibly froze, her eyes set on something.

Carynn leaned forward, trying to follow Isabel’s gaze. She couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The bar was a little less crowded now. Carynn could spot one of the exit doors nearby. There was someone standing next to it. She couldn’t really make him out. Long, dark hair. A leather jacket. The black mask covering his nose and mouth stood out the most, but in a place like Gotham it was definitely not the craziest thing she’d seen.

Isabel looked over her shoulder once more, nodding quickly. A tall man, who Carynn assumed had to be Isabel’s security, stepped towards them. He looked down into the crowd, surveying the area before speaking into an earpiece. Isabel turned her attention back to Carynn, her smile more nervous now than genuine.

“I must go. Something has come up...please, think of my offer,” she set her clutch on the table, fishing through it before pulling out a business card. “This is where you can reach me. The number is safe, don’t worry. I hope to hear from you soon, Carynn.”

Carynn watched Isabel walk off with her security guard before sinking down further into her seat and groaning. So much for peace and quiet. She picked up the card, rolling her eyes at the idea of taking up Isabel’s offer. Another number to put in my phone, at least, Carynn thought with a sigh.

She tossed back the rest of her drink, slipping her phone and Isabel’s card back into her pocket before sliding out of the booth. Maybe she’d go to another club, maybe she’d head home, she wasn’t sure yet.

Carynn headed downstairs, waving at Nick before slipping out of the same exit that Isabel’s mysterious friend had been standing next to just a few moments before. Carynn didn’t really care who he was to Isabel. Maybe he was some pissed off ex boyfriend, maybe he wanted to kill her. Who could really know? Carynn just didn’t want any part of whatever shit storm Isabel was no doubt stirring up.

The alleyway outside of the club was quiet tonight. Usually there were a few people milling around, someone puking into the dumpster or arguing about what club to hit up next. Maybe it was still too early for that. Or maybe Batman was out patrolling and had spooked them all.

The closer she got to the mouth of the alley, Carynn realized she could hear another heartbeat. It was slow, very quiet. Maybe someone passed out in the trash? That was definitely nothing she hadn’t seen before. She slowed down a little, pulling her phone out to pretend she was busy as she approached the dumpster.

The smell wafting from it nearly smacked her across the face. It wasn’t a bad smell. Completely the opposite. Sort of a smoky yet spicy smell that made her mouth water like in the fall when Pauli’s Diner was serving pumpkin pie. Carynn leaned forward to try and get a look at whoever it was hiding by the dumpster.

Something hit her like freight train.

Carynn had been completely caught off guard. Her back smacked against the brick wall, pain radiating down her spine. Her attacker’s hand was around her throat, the gloved hand making her gurgle as she struggled to breathe. Her vision blurred in and out, but she could just barely make out the man that Isabel had been watching just minutes ago.

“How do you know Isabel? What were you discussing?” more Russian, great. This was very, very, very not good.

His hand was like an iron clamp around her throat. She couldn’t speak even if she wanted to. Carynn reached out, swiping blindly at his face to scratch him.

Mister tall, dark and creepy let her go with an eye roll. Carynn slouched against the wall, coughing. “Talk.” he spat.

He had gotten the upper hand on her once, that much she could admit. That wasn’t something that would happen again. “I don’t know anything,” Carynn snapped back in English. “It’s not like we’re friends. She’s a pain in the ass...! Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I don’t really have much info-”

She pulled the knife she had clipped to her belt free and lunged forward. Her mystery man moved quickly, but not quickly enough. The blade pierced through his jacket, grazing his skin.

He grabbed her throat again, slamming Carynn back into the brick wall. She’d been expecting something like that. She grabbed her knife, getting a better grip of it and kicking her feet up against his chest and using all of her weight to shove him away.

Carynn rushed forward, Dark and Emo blocking her physical blows easily. He moved just as quickly as she did. Now that they were both fully alert, it was difficult for either of them to get a good hit in. Carynn noticed that he didn’t guard his left arm as vigorously as his right, and she saw a window of opportunity.

She tried to bury her knife into his left bicep. It ripped through his jacket, but the sound that was almost like nails on a chalkboard made Carynn flinch and jump back from him. The blade of her knife had been almost snapped in half. “What the fuck...” she muttered, tossing the dagger aside.

Her opponent leaned down, pulling a large, tactical knife that was strapped to his boots. He lunged towards her, Carynn throwing her arms up in front of her to block his swing. She kicked down hard at his shin, throwing him slightly off balance as he tossed the knife from one hand to his other, the blade stabbing through her jacket.

Carynn slipped down and around him, jumping onto his back. Her legs wrapped tightly around his wait, she put him into a headlock. Terminator man didn’t seem very panicked, regardless of his airway being cut off. He spun around, slamming Carynn into the wall a few times in an attempt of knocking her off of him.

Her grip around his throat loosened, instead she decided to try and pull his mask off to get a better look at who was trying to attack her. Unfortunately that distraction left her open, and the man sunk his knife into her thigh. Carynn screamed out in pain, her opponent tossing her off of him easily.

She landed on the ground with a thud. She had to move quickly. He was stomping towards her, his hands clenched at his sides. Carynn ripped the knife from her leg with a grunt. This would definitely slow her down. She couldn’t afford to be slow.

Carynn tossed the knife. It was better to keep him from it than having it to defend herself. The Masked Douchebag bent forward to grab her ankle. Carynn kicked at him, but he easily smacked her leg away. He lifted her up, slamming her into the wall. Carynn fell face down, groaning loudly. Get up, get up, get up, she told herself.

The sound of boots stomping towards her made her panic. She reached inside of her bra as the stranger picked her up by her jacket, pulling out the pocket knife she kept there. Before he could throw her again, she plunged the knife into his side. This time it did more damage than ruining his clothes.

He dropped her, grunting in pain and anger. Carynn used the distraction to push herself up off the ground, rushing away towards the dumpster to put distance between them. Her leg gave out from under her, and she fell into a pile of trash bags.

Her opponent pulled the knife from his side, once again tossing it aside and heading straight for Carynn. She scrambled backwards, freezing at the sound of a phone ringing. The two went still, looking at each other as the ringing filled the alley way.

The man reached into his jacket, pulling a flip phone out. “We have spotted the target. Enough of whatever it is you are doing. Get to the bottom of whatever Isabel has planned.” someone said on the other line.

“Yes sir,” the Masked Asshole said. “Send me the address. I will find her.” he closed his phone, his eyes trained on Carynn. And as quickly as the altercation had started, it was suddenly over. He turned, grabbing his knife from the ground and wiping it clean on his pants. Without looking back at her, he strolled off and out of the alley way as if nothing had happened.

Carynn let out a loud, relieved sigh and sank back into the trash bags. “Holy fuck that hurts,” she hissed out, grabbing at her thigh. Her hands were covered in warm, sticky blood. “These are my favorite pants...I’m gonna find you you goddamn bastard!” she shouted after the stranger.

She groaned, pulling out her phone. She would heal eventually, but now there was no way she’d be able to make it home on her own. And taxi drivers didn’t like it so much when you bled all over their seats. She opened up a new message, pinging her location and typing the word help to Dante.

“I fucking hate this city.” she sighed, leaning back to look up at the starry sky above her.

#plot points

23 notes · View notes

eternalgoldfish · 4 years

Text

Steve wakes in Billy’s bed.

Steve never wakes in Billy’s bed.

But the sun is shining, and Steve’s eyes are crusted with sleep, and Billy’s back is warm and solid where it’s pressed against his, their legs touching, Billy’s dorm-issued twin-sized bed hardly large enough for one full-grown man, let alone two. Steve doesn’t remember getting under the covers, or Billy wishing him goodnight.

But the sun is shining, and Steve wonders what Billy would do if Steve rolled over an tucked an arm around his waist, pressed kisses into his neck. Steve wonders what Billy would do if Steve curled them together and called him baby.

They’re wearing underwear, so at some point, they got out of bed.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t remember anything. He remembers sitting in Billy’s car -- almost jerking off in Billy’s car. He remembers whining against Billy’s lips with Billy inside him -- Billy’s hot thighs between Steve’s legs, Billy’s fingernails digging into Steve’s hips.

He remembers falling on Billy, which. The universe couldn’t have let him get away with one bit of dignity in all that, huh?

Up until that point, he thought he’d been doing pretty fucking well, thank you very much.

Billy’d laughed and laughed, and pulled Steve on his side, and jerked Steve off until Steve was gasping and coming, toes curling, feeling drunk, and eager, and toomuchnotenoughpleasedon’tstop.

There’s just a gap in time there, clearly, because fucking into Billy’s fist doesn’t equate to waking up in his sheets.

So, Steve stays like that, back to back with Billy, wonders how much time he has until Billy wakes up, asks him to leave. Wonders how it could go if he pressed a kiss to Billy’s shoulder, danced his fingers over Billy’s arm hair, flicked his foot a certain way. Unlikely butterfly theory shit, and all that.

Then Billy fucking rolls over and wraps an arm around him, giving him a sleepy squeeze. “Dude, why’re you still here?” Billy asks.

And that’s a fucking mixed signal, Jesus Christ. But Steve has been thinking exactly the same thing, so, “If you didn’t want me to stay--”

“What?” Billy lets go of him and sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. His bun is a lop-sided disaster, but the pendent resting against his chest is gold. “It’s Friday,” he says. “You have economics at ten, or whatever, don’t you?”

And Steve does, but.

“Fuck,” Steve gets out of bed and scrabbles for his phone in his jeans, says, “Fuck,” because it’s nine forty-two.

“Bye?” Billy offers.

“Fuck.”

---

Steve’s skipped classes before, but the thing is, his mom has been wild lately about his grades, and he’s kind of bombing economics, so it’s kind of fucking important that he gets there on time, and that he actually fucking listens and takes notes, and behaves.

He’s five minutes late, but he gets there, which is kind of the point.

Not that his mind is on economics.

He’s too hung over, too weirdly wired. There’s something under his skin that he can’t itch, and for once it’s not his dick chubbing up in his jeans because Billy is sending him nudes before lunchtime.

(Although his phone does keep lighting up, so.)

(He thinks it’s maybe his heart chubbing up, and that’s definitely not good for his cholesterol, or the sticky notes left on Billy’s door, or what he’s supposed to tell his parents when they ask about his love life at Christmas.)

When he checks his phone, there are no nudes, just two texts that say,

found ur thong princess

goin 2 jerk off w it

And Steve has no fucking clue what he could have even left at Billy’s, but it definitely wasn’t a thong. He actually doesn’t even think it’s anything, just another one of Billy’s weird ways of making him fuck up in class, but it still twists something in Steve’s chest, something weird-bad. Like thinking about Billy’s other guys when they fuck -- and other girls, apparently, girls who wear thongs, so.

Steve texts back, Not mine, sorry, must be your mom’s.

Billy doesn’t text back a long while, so like, maybe he’s blown his load, or maybe he just thinks Steve is boring for not playing along. Whatever. Steve has like, actual things he needs to be doing.

But with half an hour left in class, Steve’s phone finally lights up, like, My mom left when I was ten.

And well. What? What? Steve didn’t know that, doesn’t even know how Billy feels about that, like, if he’s angry, or upset, or fucking like, anything. He tries to scroll up through their conversations looking for an answer, but he’s coming up with nothing, just raunchy one-liners and sweaty dick picks. Billy’s barbed wire and crucifix, sandy skin, golden hair.

He doesn’t know a fucking thing about Billy.

How Billy’s dick tastes doesn’t count.

---

Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he just doesn’t. Like a fucking coward. He slinks to the library after class like maybe things’ll just work out if he lets them cook for a while. Like maybe all the weirdness from this morning will gloss over if he pretends it didn’t happen.

No cigar.

Billy flops into the chair across the table from him like this is nothing, normal, and Steve guesses it is, because they do study together, sometimes, but not together-together, so. Billy’s not even taking out his books, just tipping his head slightly and running his tongue over his teeth.

“Sorry?” Steve offers, like a moron.

Billy scrunches up his nose. “Sorry for what?”

And Steve doesn’t really know, so.

After a pause, Billy huffs and pushes back his hair. He’s got tacky diamond studs in his ears, the kind that make Steve want to tug on them with his teeth, see what they’re really made out of. Billy crosses his arms, says, “Guess I didn’t tell you about my fucked up family, then?” and they might as well be in the fucking Twilight Zone.

“No, uh,” Steve clears his throat, winces slightly. “We haven’t really had time?” Between all fucking. Yikes.

“Well,” Billy sneers, like, “My mom flaked, my dad is an abusive asshole, my step-mom might as well be a cardboard cut-out of a human, and my step-sister is a huge fucking bitch. I don’t want to talk about it.”

The thing is, in person, Steve can’t just leave Billy on read when he doesn’t know what the fuck to say, so he’s stuck just kind of staring, mouth partly open, running through all the whats and whys and hows. Processing months knowing Billy, fucking Billy after a party, waking up in Billy’s arms, and now whatever the fuck this is.

“You know what, fuck this.”

“Wait--” Steve snaps his books shut as Billy gets to his feet. “Sorry? Just. Sorry, I guess. Fuck. I just didn’t know what to say to that earlier, you know? A thong? That text might not have even been for me.”

“Who else could it have fucking been for?”

“I don’t know? Someone else you’re--”

Billy laughs, kind of mean. “I’m not hooking up with anyone else, you idiot. What was it you said, I ‘haven’t really had time’? I could have had anyone I wanted at that party.”

And Steve knows that, even though Billy is contradicting himself. Knowing it’s not making it any fucking better. Kind of just makes Steve want to die.

“But you wanted to fuck me.”

“Yeah, I wanted to fuck you.”

They’re talking way too loud for being in the quiet study zone.

“Do you want to fuck me right now?”

“I kind of want to punch your face in.”

Steve lets out a slow breath. “Cool, so we’re just back in fucking September again.”

Billy snatches his keys from where he threw them on the table and grabs his bag from the floor. “Shut the fuck up, come on.”

But Billy doesn’t punch him when they get outside the building, like he might have in September. He crowds Steve up against the wall, pushes Steve’s shoulders until his head hits brick. With the way the stairs jut out, there is just enough space between them and the hedges that they probably won’t get seen, and Steve’s worried about no one finding his corpse for about five seconds before Billy’s lips are on his, kisses all clicking teeth and fingers digging into his sweater.

It should make him angry.

It’s kind of erotic.

(It’s kind of confusing, but Billy’s slipping his hand into his sweatpants, and they’re kind of in public, and Steve really doesn’t need a criminal history, but)

He bucks against Billy’s palm, wants his hands on Billy’s skin. Wants to think this is maybe a solution, with Billy’s teeth grazing over his neck, Billy laughing softly in his ear.

“You like to get off in public?” he asks, and Steve is pretty positive he’s shut that down about a million times, but Billy’s kissing him in earnest, playing with his cock, and well.

Steve can’t exactly hide how fucking hard he is when things are already this far gone.

“You got something to say to me, Pretty Boy?”

Steve tugs on Billy’s hair. “Like what?”

“A sorry, maybe, since I’m being so forgiving.”

“I said sorry,” but it’s shaky, kind of airy. “If the campus police--”

“Guess you better be quick, then.”

And Billy is confusing, disgusting, infuriating, gorgeous, and Steve is a complete dumbass, so he whines, “C’mon, I’ll blow you in my room--” which absolutely does not work.

“Or you could blow me here.”

Which Steve is definitely not going to do, but the idea makes his breath catch, has him moaning softly as Billy tugs on his bottom lip. Faintly, he realizes he had more resolve when he was drunk than he does now, and that’s not something he really wants to investigate, not when he’s unzipping Billy’s jeans and jerking Billy in return, heart thumping and skin tingling each time the library door opens and slams shut.

Billy’s teeth are on his cheek, breathing hot in his ear, murmuring, “Someone is going to hear you,” like Billy isn’t also making noise with every breath, fucking into Steve’s hand like they’re on a clock. Like he’s trying to get Steve’s hand fucking pregnant.

“Sorry,” Steve says, mostly a gasp. “Sorry, sorry.”

Meaningless. Billy doesn’t need it, can’t with how smug he is when Steve comes first, with how he almost breaks their cover laughing when he wipes Steve’s come on the inside of Steve’s sweatpants. He comes with his nose in Steve’s neck, hands gripping Steve’s hips, and it’s.

Well, it’s kind of mortifying.

But Billy is laughing again, knocking away Steve’s hand so he can fix himself back in his jeans, and Steve should be angry, but.

“What was that about blowing me on your rich boy sheets?” Billy asks.

They have to change their pants now anyway.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #stranger things #fanfiction #stranger things fanficton #my fic #does anyone even remember that i WRITE THESE i am sorry

122 notes · View notes

imnotoverlyobsessive · 3 years

Text

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel Of Oopsie Daisies

Chapter Eleven: Making the Most of a Weekend

I knowwwww I’m the worst author ever I’m sorry blah blah blah. But! This chapter is filthy so at least it’s a fun one, right? Also, the Airbnb they’re staying at can be viewed here. Now, onto the chapter!

You’ve been gone so long, I forgot what you feel like, but I’m not gonna think about that right now. I’m gonna keep getting underneath you, I’m gonna keep getting underneath you, and all our friends want us to fall in love.- Panic! at the Disco, The Good, the Bad, and the Dirty

Being separated from one’s soulmate was both emotionally and physically exhausting. It was also really, really depressing. It was just like, why bother? Why bother getting out of bed? Why bother going to school? What was the point? Dipper wouldn’t be there, and she wouldn’t get to see him again for awhile.

Whelp. At least her parents never monitored anything but her texts. She didn’t text Dipper, so, to their knowledge, she wasn’t in contact with him.

Not that they ever got a look at her phone, anyway. She was never home enough for them to see. The longest she’d spent at home at a time was one night. She never ate with her parents, and she still hadn’t spoken to them. She wasn’t planning on it, either. She didn’t have anything to say to them, and she certainly wasn’t interested in what they had to say.

Rolling over in Kristin’s bed (Kristin’s was the previous evening’s sleepover house of choice), Mabel grabbed her phone off the nightstand.

Dipper had messaged her. He usually did when he woke up.

Are you free this weekend?

It was a three day weekend starting the day after Valentine’s Day, which meant Mabel was feeling the separation hard, and therefore had a hot date with Ben & Jerry (both of whom were currently waiting eagerly for her in Kristin’s freezer). Okay, so it was more of a cold date, but, y’know. Semantics, right? Therapy was great, but eating several pints of Chocolate Therapy was cheaper and more fun.

So… technically she was free. But why was Dipper asking?

Yeah, why?

Okay, cool. Come to this address once you’re out of school. Go around back when you get there. Okay?

He typed out an address she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t too far from Kristin’s, but why would Dipper want her to go there? Regardless, she texted back a confused okay and left it at that. Sitting up in bed, she scratched her scalp lightly and looked over at Kristin, who was sleeping with her mouth wide open.

She poked her friend’s cheek. “Hey.”

Kristin stirred but didn’t wake. Naturally, Mabel poked her again, slightly harder. “Hey!” She raised her voice a bit that time.

“What?” Kristin grumbled blearily, blinking her eyes open. Her black hair was matted, and what had once been expertly applied eyeliner and mascara was giving her the usual racoon eyes. Not that Kristin minded, of course. Yesterday’s eyeliner can be made into today’s smokey eye, after all.

“Can you drive me somewhere after school?”

Kristin propped herself up on her arms and blinked up at Mabel. “Depends on where it is, I guess. Why, where you going?”

“I dunno, some-“ Mabel’s phone chimed, signaling another message from Dipper.

Oh, and bring enough stuff to last you through Sunday.

Mabel blinked and lifted her phone up to show Kristin the message. Kristin’s eyes narrowed against the brightness of the phone screen, then widened. She sat up abruptly, then snatched the phone from Mabel’s hand. She scrolled up a bit, reading their most recent messages, and handed Mabel’s phone back to her after a moment, a knowing smirk on her face.

“He’s taking you on a sex retreat,” Kristin said matter-of-factly.

“A- a what now?”

“A sex retreat,” her friend repeated. “Y’know, it’s a three day weekend right after Valentine’s Day so he’s whisking you away somewhere to fuck your brains out.”

“That is…” Mabel was going to say it was ridiculous, but then she thought about it for a moment. Dipper had a car. Neither of their Grunkles would take issue with him coming down to visit her; it was their parents that had an issue with them being soulmates. “A very real possibility, actually,” she finished.

“Oh, it’s totally what he’s doing. So, to answer your question,” Kristin got out of bed and walked towards her bathroom. “Yes, I will absolutely drive you to go on a sex retreat with your soulbro, no matter how far away it is.”

Checking Google Maps, Mabel said, “it’s fifteen minutes from school.”

Kristin grinned. “Badass! Pack up your shit, homegirl. I ain’t driving you back here before you go.” She glanced down at Mabel’s legs. “And maybe shave again before we head out. Don’t want any stubble the first time you see him after this long, right?”

Mabel blushed. “Right, guess not.”

Kristin patted her cheek with another smile. “Cheer up, buttercup. Today’s the day your va-jay-jay is back in business.”

Mabel grinned back. “Fingers crossed!”

“Exactly, now hit the showers!”

———————————————————————

When Mabel stepped out of Kristin’s car onto the sidewalk, she didn’t know what to make of the yellow Victorian house. She sent Dipper a quick here as she went around back, as he’d had told her to that morning, only to find a small rock garden in the backyard of the house, with a… a vardo? It sure looked like a vardo. The fanciest one she’d ever seen in her life. It was red and purple with a small porch, and it appeared to be quite long, too. There was a set of slender red double doors with round stained glass windows on either side, and the whole thing looked intricately carved and painted.

After a moment, the doors opened, and out stepped Dipper. He beamed at the sight of her, and she nearly dropped the duffel bag she had hoisted over her shoulder.

Scratch that, she actually did drop it, squealing and running over to him to jump into his arms. It was a bit difficult because the wagon-house-thingy was on top of a wooden platform that she had to almost trip over before reaching him, but in the span of a few seconds, she had her arms wrapped around him again and she buried her face in his neck, breathing in his scent.

Mabel stood there for several seconds, trying to melt into his skin. A warmth had flooded her veins at the sight of him. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have him close, what he smelled like. She’d just decided she needed an oxygen tank full of Dipper-smell when he spoke, his lips against her scalp.

“I missed you.”

Mabel pulled back enough to look at him. She hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d seen him, and it was kind of hurting her face, but she didn’t care. He was looking at her adoringly, and she giggled. She was just so freakin’ happy to see him. Mabel couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that happy.

No, wait, yes she could. The last time she’d been that happy was right before her parents stormed into the hotel room like ruining everything was a contest with a billion dollar prize.

Well, whatever. They could suck it. Mabel was too busy to care about her parents and whatever lame-ass contests they’d entered.

“I missed you, too,” she finally told him. “But what’re you doing here?” She glanced around a bit. “Actually, what am I doing here?”

He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “It’s an Airbnb,” he said, taking her hand and pulling away from her. “After a fair amount of begging and no small amount of guilt tripping, Grunkle Stan agreed to pay for a three day weekend stay for us.”

He pushed open the intricate red doors and stepped inside, pulling her along after him. She followed after him, her shoes sinking into a plush rug, and her mouth dropped open.

Directly inside the doorway, there was what appeared to be a kitchen, albeit a small one; the cabinets were white with light brown countertops, a hammered copper kitchen sink, two actual stained glass windows (like, it looked like there were actual separate panes of glass for each change in color and shape), and several additional copper kitchen stuff throughout the tiny kitchen. It was more of a hallway than anything else.

Mabel rushed past Dipper excitedly, eager to see what lay beyond the kitchen-slash-hallway, and squealed again. “Eeeeeeee this place is crazy!”

“I knew you’d like it,” he laughed. “I’m gonna go grab your bag, be right back.”

“Kay!” she called over her shoulder, eager to get acquainted with her new favorite place ever.

Okay, so maybe it was her new favorite place ever primarily due to Dipper’s presence, but it was also really flippin’ cool. Directly across the narrow hallway, there was a door that, when opened, led to a very cramped bathroom. Cramped it may be, but it was also hella fancy. The walls were made of tiles fashioned from dark reflective glass, there was a tiny white sink sticking out directly below a window with a mirror fastened to the wood of the window frame, with a stained glass window directly beside the regular one. There was a toilet that had another stained glass window above it, as well as a regular window directly beside it, this one with a gold-colored curtain hanging over it. The shower had a black curtain in front of it but, when pulled aside, it revealed another stained glass window (yes, three for one tiny bathroom). The shower head was a waterfall-type situation, but it also had one of those handheld ones, which she knew from personal experience would be easier to rinse out her hair with.

“You all good in here, Mabes?” Dipper called, and she heard the thunk of her bag being dropped.

Fingers crossed her toiletries hadn’t made a mess all over her clothes.

She stuck her head out of the bathroom and looked over at him as he shut the doors behind him. “Uh, dude, I’ve only seen the kitchen and the bathroom and I’m pretty sure this whole thing is amazeballs.”

He grinned and stepped over to her. “I’m glad you like it, but was it really necessary for you to pack bricks?” He rubbed the shoulder he’d hoisted her bag over.

“Don’t be such a baby, Dippin Dots,” she said with an exaggerated eye roll and sashayed away to inspect the rest of the wagon-thingy.

Just beyond the countertops of the kitchen, there was a tall set of shelves that went to the ceiling, containing various kitchen-y items, including a microwave (which, good, because Mabel was seventeen and leftovers were her BFFs), and directly across from the shelves there was a fridge, which was also good, because as a living creature, Mabel required sustenance in order to survive.

The hallway ended, opening up into a more spacious area with a table outcropping from the wall directly beyond the set of tall kitchen shelves with two nice-looking folding chairs. There was also a set of white cabinets that started at the height of the fridge and descended almost like stairs. Against the back wall was a large wrap-around couch, and the cushions were purple (which was awesome, obvi), and there were hanging potted plants and more windows, too, including two more stained glass ones, and if she looked up…

Holy cheese puffs, was that a chandelier? Upon closer inspection, it turned out that yes, it was most definitely a chandelier, and a mighty fancy one at that, by the looks of things.

“Hoooooookay, brosephina, this is a pretty snazzy location we have found ourselves in,” Mabel said.

“Well,” Dipper began as he stepped up behind her, “I figured you deserved something nice.” He wrapped his arms around her middle and nuzzled her hair.

“Errrrr. Okay then. No issues with that here, lemme tell ya.” Then a thought occurred to her. This was a very nice house-wagon-whatsit, don’t get her wrong, but if they were gonna be there through Sunday, where were they supposed to sleep? Or… do anything else? Would he even want to do anything else? Never mind that. “Soooooo where are we supposed to, like…” she trailed off.

“Bed’s in a loft,” he said into her hair, his arms tightening around her waist. “Up those stairs.” He pointed a finger at the cabinets she’d noted earlier. Huh. So they really were stairs, then.

“Right, so, um…”

Ugh. Why was she so damn nervous? It was irritating. This was her twin, her soulmate, her boyfriend! He had literally been inside her! She had no reason to be nervous!

She was, though, and she didn’t really know how to voice what she wanted.

Kiss me. Touch me. Get your dick inside me, like, freakin’ yesterday, dude.

“W- would you like to see it?” His voice was awkward, and he sounded almost as nervous as she felt. “The bed, I mean.”

Mabel nodded and he pulled away from her, blushing furiously, and she tried not to giggle. Dipper rolled his eyes. “Shut up, just c’mon.”

“I didn’t say anything!” she insisted as he grabbed her hand.

“I could hear you thinking,” he countered, leading her up the cabinets-slash-stairs.

She was still giggling through her nervousness when they reached the top of the stairs. The bed was a mattress directly on the floor with a striped comforter.

Hesitantly, Mabel sat on the bed. Dipper knelt down in front of her. He was looking at her lips when he took her hand again.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” His voice was soft, like he was afraid he’d scare her away or something.

Mabel remembered what Kristin had said about sex retreats and being whisked away to have her brains fucked out.

And then she remembered that no, Dipper could not, in fact, read her mind.

“Why would you think I don’t wanna do anything?” Had. Had he never encountered a mirror? Seventeen years of existence and the boy had never encountered a mirror. What were the chances? He shrugged. “Have you even seen yourself, Dip?”

“Huh?”

She forced her nerves down. He wanted her. She knew he did. She just needed to reassure him that she wanted him just as much. “You’re really freakin’ sexy, bro.”

He smiled hesitantly. “So, is it okay if I…?”

“Look, man,” Mabel said, “if you try a thing and I’m not about it, I’ll let ya know, but otherwise, go for it.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“Uh, I am absotively posolutely sure.”

Grinning, Dipper leaned in to kiss her, and she smiled against his lips when he did. “I missed you,” she murmured against him.

He moved closer to her, pressing his body into hers. “I missed you, too,” he told her. “Now, I gotta be honest with you here, Mabes.” He pulled back a bit to look at her very, very seriously.

“Oh… kay?”

“This outfit,” he glanced down at her shorts and shirt. It was too hot for a sweater, so her top was light and breezy. It also showed off a bit of boobage, so there was that. “It’s cute, I like it and all, but I’d like it a lot more if it were on the floor.”

“Hmm…” she said thoughtfully. “On one condition.” She held up a finger.

“What’s that?”

“I’m only taking my clothes off if you take yours off, too. All’s fair in love and war, buddy-o.”

He grinned cheekily at her. “Is that right? And which is this?”

She shrugged. “Both, prolly.”

“Fair enough,” Dipper said with a chuckle before he pulled back to strip out of his clothes as fast as he possibly could. She was so busy watching him pull his shirt off that she totally forgot she was supposed to take her own clothes off, too. He paused before dropping his shirt to the floor. “Mabellllllllll,” he whined. “You said you’d take your clothes off, c’mon!”

“Right!” She started, almost surprised. “Right, right, sorry, my b.” Pulling her shirt over her head while simultaneously kicking off her sneakers at the heels, Mabel lay back on the bed, unbuttoning her shorts and lifting her butt to shimmy out of them. She wasn’t paying much attention to Dipper at that exact moment, or the way his eyes were wide and glued to her newly exposed skin, but when she finally got the shorts over her hips and down her legs, flinging them away from her with a flick of her foot, she looked up at him, and he was…

Whelp. He was totally nekkid, wasn’t he? She’d seen plenty of pictures lately (had a whole app she kept them in on her phone, even), but pictures on a phone screen ain’t got nothin’ on seeing her bro-bro in person.

“Looks like somebody’s happy to see me,” she grinned nervously at him.

“Gee, I wonder why,” he said sarcastically. “It’s almost like my soulmate is laying on a bed mostly naked right in front of me.” His eyes focused on hers for a moment before drifting back over her body again. “Which, by the way, you should be totally naked.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed, sitting up and reaching around her back to unhook her bra. He watched her, wide-eyed, as she pulled her arms out of the straps and flung the bra away. He watched, too, as she pulled her panties off the same way she had her shorts.

As it turned out, actually seeing how badly he wanted her, like, seeing legit physical evidence of it, well. It was something of a self-esteem boost.

He stared at her for several seconds. She stared back. Then he dove at her, and suddenly he was kissing her lips, her face, her neck, her breasts- it was quite a lot, really, and he seemed to be going pretty fast, too.

“Dipper,” Mabel gasped out as he attacked her nipple. There was really no other word for it. It was most certainly an attack. He was alternating between sucking it harshly and nibbling on it with his teeth, and it stung in the most delicious way.

He pulled off her breast with a pop, then trailed kisses down her chest and stomach, looking at her intently all the while.

“Wh- what’re you doing?” she questioned when he reached his presumed destination, spreading her legs to examine her body. Which, by the way, was tremendously embarrassing.

He looked back up at her. “Well, I was planning on, y’know…” he gestured to her vagina.

Mabel thought for a moment. “On one condition.”

“Another condition? Really?”

Nodding, she said, “you can eat me out, but only if I get to suck your dick after.”

He grinned up at her. “Deal.”

At that, he gave a torturously slow lick to her slit that ended just below where she really wanted it. She whimpered, which prompted him to do it again. And again. By the third incredibly slow lick, she was just about ready to scream at him before he thrust a finger into her and flicked his tongue over her clit in the same second, eliciting a gasp from her.

He thrust his finger in and out of her, slowly moving his tongue over her clit, and before long Mabel was whimpering again. “Ah- another,” she forced out. “Another finger, please.”

He complied, and when her fingers clenched the comforter, he moved a little faster inside of her, flicking his tongue in the same rhythm he was thrusting his fingers at, and she lifted her hips. He reached his other hand up to hold her down, to hold her still, and continued. “Close,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

Dipper hastened the flicks of his tongue, the thrusts of his fingers, and then he did something incredible. He closed his lips around her clit and started to suck gently. Mabel’s hand shot down to his hair, holding him between her legs, and her toes curled, bunching the comforter up in a tight grip beneath the pads of her feet, and she found herself instinctively fighting against the firm hand on her hip bone, trying to raise her pelvis closer to him.

“Ah- fuck, Dip, I’m gonna-“ he kept sucking her clit, only he started to flick his tongue over it at the same time, too, and Mabel shattered with a short, abrupt scream.

Her grip on his hair loosened and her hand fell to her side. Mabel’s entire body was tingling.

She’d forgotten how much stronger Dipper-assisted orgasms were than Dipper-free orgasms. She didn’t know if it was a soulmate thing, a Dipper thing, or an I’m-in-love-with-this-guy thing, and her brain was too mushy to care.

“Holy shit,” she panted, and he pulled away from her still-pulsing heat, pressing a kiss to the top of her thigh as he went. The extra tingles his lips caused traveled throughout the rest of her body.

“Sooooo… good, then?”

She glared at him. “Shut up, man, you know it was tops. Where’d you learn to do that, anyway?”

He reddened and looked away. “I maaaaay have done some online research.”

“What, like, porn?”

“Well, not for that specific purpose, no.”

“Then…?” she trailed off, looking at him expectantly.

“Okay, so I read some accounts from lesbians,” he confessed in a rush. “Mostly blogs and whatnot, and then I also talked to a few female friends I have-“

“Whoa there, pal,” she cut in. “What female friends? I dunno how I feel about you getting all the dirty deets from another girl.”

He blinked. “Oh, I talked to this lesbian friend I have, and also her girlfriend. Just… comparing notes, y’know?”

She looked at him incredulously for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, that’s fine. For a second there, I was worried you were exchanging extremely graphic details of our sex life with, like, Pacifica or something.”

Dipper blanched. “Yeah, no, not her.”

“Okay, cool.” After several more seconds, she looked him up and down.

Her bro was still sporting a big ol’ broner.

“I believe I was promised the opportunity to suck your dick in exchange for you getting the pleasure of eating me out.”

He blushed again. Holy bejeezus, he was adorable.

“You… you don’t have to, y’know,” he offered quietly.

“Well, yeah,” she agreed. “Of course I don’t have to, but it’s, like my new favorite hobby, brosephina.”

He grinned. “You’re pretty good at it, too.”

“Hmm,” she said, reaching down to grasp him. He gasped at the feel of her palm, and she motioned for him to lay down. “Maybe I’ll put that in college applications.” Once he was horizontal, Mabel leaned down and took the entire length of him in her mouth (or as much of him as she could fit, anyway) with absolutely zero warning.

Dipper groaned and leaned back against the pillow. “Fuuuuuuck.”

Humming around him, she bobbed her head, letting her lips slide over him and sucking in her cheeks. He reached down to grip one of her breasts, tweaking her nipple, and she moaned, the vibrations from the sound causing him to buck slightly into her mouth. She gagged a bit but kept going, pleased that he was enjoying himself so much.

Each time she only had the head of him in her mouth, she swirled her tongue around the top, dipping slightly into his urethra. “Holy shit, Mabes,” he groaned, fisting a hand in her hair. He didn’t push her head, though, for which she was grateful. Bobbing faster, obscene slurping sounds filled the loft, saliva dribbling down his shaft. His moans got louder, and she sped up as much as she could.

“Mabel,” he gasped. “Mabel, I’m gonna- you should move-“

She ignored him, grasping his testicles gently and taking him as deep as she could manage. She was pretty sure her nose brushed against his pubic hair on more than one occasion, actually.

He came down her throat with a shout that sounded almost pained, and she nearly choked on it all, but managed to swallow the vast majority of it. It was not pleasant-tasting, nor was the texture particularly appetizing, but when she looked up at him, he was gazing down at her like she was some kind of goddess, so it was worth it, she decided.

She pulled her mouth off of him, and when she did, a small amount of his semen dripped out of the side of her mouth. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

“So, how was it?”

He looked at her incredulously. “You literally just swallowed my jizz and you’re asking me how it was?”

Mabel shrugged, grabbing his half-drunk water bottle that was off to the side of the bed. She sat up, taking a swig from it to wash that nasty-ass taste out of her mouth.

Eugh.

“It was awesome, Mabes,” he told her as she set the water bottle back down. She smiled happily at him, then lay down next to him and rested her head on his chest. “Downside, though, is I’ll need a bit before I can go again.”

“Eh, that’s fine.”

Turns out he only needed approximately ten minutes before he could go again.

She’d still been laying on his chest contentedly when he started running his fingertips over the side of one of her breasts, and when she looked up at him questioning it, he kissed her.

Dipper turned his body towards her, slipping his tongue into her mouth, and she felt his hardness press against her.

She pulled away with a laugh. “Already?”

“I’m seventeen, Mabel,” he pointed out.

She shrugged and went back to kissing him.

No objections from this girl, thank you.

He climbed on top of her before too much longer, his arousal pressing into her stomach, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, one of her hands at the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.

He reached between them with one hand to grip one of her breasts again, squeezing it lightly. He kissed her neck, sucking a bruise into the skin, and she moaned softly. “Dip,” she murmured. “I need you.”

He reached between her legs to stroke her, finding her wet again. “I need you, too,” he groaned against her neck.

“Then take me,” she begged, lifting her hips to meet his fingers.

Positioning himself between her legs, he thrust into her with a groan, his head falling against her, his forehead resting between her breasts. “You okay?” he panted.

Nodding, Mabel wrapped her legs around the backs of his thighs. “Keep going.”

Pushing himself up onto his hands, Dipper pulled out of her almost completely, and she whimpered at the loss, gasping when he thrust back into her. He kept up his slow, gentle pace, like he was worried he’d break her, and eyes were clenched shut with the effort to restrain himself.

She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Let go, Dipper,” she said softly. “Don’t hold back. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

When he pulled out and thrust back into her again, harder this time, like she’d wanted, she moaned and grasped his arms, her fingertips digging into his skin.

“Fuck, Mabel,” he groaned, his hips snapping against hers. “I missed this so much.”

“Me too,” she agreed, lifting her hips to meet each of his thrusts. “Please don’t stop.”

He leaned down to press his lips to hers desperately, hungrily, and she returned the kiss with just as much ferocity, her legs tightening around him.

“Harder,” she begged. She knew she was begging. She didn’t care. “Give it to me harder!”

Dipper complied, pulling back slightly to watch her breasts bounce in time with his thrusts. Mabel lifted one of her legs up to rest her ankle on his shoulder, and they both groaned at the new angle, the new depth.

“You feel so good,” he moaned, slamming into her again. “Fuck, I don’t- I don’t know how much longer I can-“

“I don’t care, I don’t care,” she gasped out. “Just fuck me, Dipper, please!”

Dipper rose up to his knees, lifting her hips to meet his and holding the leg she’d placed on his shoulder still as he pounded into her.

Clenching the fabric of the comforter in her hands so tightly her knuckles hurt, Mabel couldn’t seem to stop herself from screaming, begging him for more, not to stop.

Putting a hand on her hip to hold her pelvis against his, he gripped her hard enough to bruise, and all she could think was that she hoped it did bruise, she wanted to feel the remnants of this for weeks-

She looked up at him, his pained expression, the way he was staring between them, watching himself slide in and out of her harshly.

“Get me pregnant, Dipper,” she moaned. “I want it so badly, please, I need it-“ she cut herself off with a cry when he thrust into her again.

“I can’t,” he forced out. “You know I can’t.”

“Please,” she said again. “I need it, I need it so bad, fuck-“

He thrust again, moving his hand from her hip to her breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Soon, Mabes, I promise,” he groaned, leaning against the leg she had on his shoulder.

“Now, dammit,” Mabel demanded. “I want you to fuck a baby into me now!”

“I want it, too,” he confessed, squeezing her breast roughly as he thrust into her. “But we can’t yet. I’ll give you one soon, I swear, just-“ he cut himself off. “Fuck, Mabel, I’m gonna- fuck-“

“Cum for me, cum inside me, Dip,” she begged, desperate for it, for him.

“I can’t,” he groaned miserably, then reached between them and rubbed her clit in quick, harsh circles.

“Ah!” Mabel cried out, her toes curling and her body freezing up as her orgasm ripped through her abruptly.

He didn’t stop pounding into her, not even for a second, only lifted his hand away from her clit to hold her hip again, his head falling back. “Mabes, I- I love you, fuck, I love you-“

She knew he was seconds away from orgasming; his thrusts were short and stunted, harsh and bruising. “Cum for me, Dipper,” she encouraged. “Fill me up.”

He groaned her name again, then, to her tremendous disappointment, yanked himself out of her abruptly, his release spurting onto her vulva. Her hips fell back onto the mattress, and he collapsed on top of her.

After several minutes, he lifted his head up to look at her. “Do you really want me to get you pregnant? Like, now?”

She thought for a moment before answering. “Yeah, I do.” He seemed startled by that. “But I also know it’s not really… feasible right now. I really, really want it, but I know it’s not a good idea.”

He nodded and leaned in to kiss her slowly, lovingly, nuzzling her nose with his when their lips disconnected. “I love you, Mabel.”

“I love you more,” she countered with a grin.

“I love you the most,” Dipper insisted.

“Oh yeah?” she challenged. “Think you got me there, don’t cha? Well guess what, buddy: I love you infinity times the most, so there.”

He blinked at her. “Uhhhh… that’s not how math works. There’s nothing more than the most.”

“I don’t give a rat tooth if it’s ‘not how math works’,” she said in her very best Dipper impression. “I dunno if you’ve met me before, but I’m Mabel Pines, and I’m redefining math.”

He snorted. “If you say so.”

“Damn right I say so!” After a moment, she noticed the stickiness between them. “Errr… can you get something for that? I’m feelin’ a bit jizztastic here, bro.”

“Right,” he agreed with a slight blush. “Lemme, uh… lemme get something for that.”

“Coolio, I’ll chill here.”

He nodded and went down the stairs.

Well, Mabel thought. This is gonna be one awesome weekend.

#aaaahhhhh I know I know I’m sorry #I’m the worst #but I love you #if that helps #probably not #because I’m the worst #this chapter was brought to you by interactions with my boyfriend #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #gf fanfiction #Pinecest #mabel pines #dipper pines #fanfiction #fanfic #looks like someone picked a whole bushel of oopsie daisies #my writing

14 notes · View notes

florenceandthemachine · 4 years

Note

my friend, if you wrote me a college au and/or a soccer player au for buddie i would owe you my whole life

first of all LAUREN I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK ME A YEAR TO GET TO THIS XOXO i loved the idea of a soccer fic so much but i do not know anything about the sport to do it right so i hope this 4.5k mess is still to your taste <3

second of all smooches as always to @buckleydiazs for helping me level out the softboi energies [ilu bb]

Let it be known that Edmundo Diaz was not a subtle man.

Patient, sure. Kind, absolutely. But subtle? Definitely not.

“Eddie, are you paying attention?”

“To you? Always, Buckaroo.”

“I’ve told you before, it’s just Buck. So, what’s the answer to number four?”

No one was better at throwing the already minute amount of subtlety he had out the window than Evan Buckley. It should have been embarrassing—would have been, if it were anyone else—but that’s just how Buck was. If you didn’t love him, you were either an idiot, or an asshole, or both.

Eddie just happened to wear his... Buck-related emotions a little more on the sleeve than most.

“Ah, no, close, but you have to remember to multiply air resistance on both sides.”

“Right, thanks Buck-amuck.”

“Eddie, no.”

Buck was hot, sure, but more disastrously, he was cute. He was so cute, and he was nice, and Eddie wasn’t sure how much longer he was was going to last under the never ending amount of support and care he got from Buck before he combusted; and it had started at day one. College hadn’t been high on his list for a long time, the thought of starting college when most people his age were graduating something he didn’t know how to approach—but after his tour in Afghanistan all he wanted was a normal life, and Buck... well, Buck was a big help in that.

He wasn’t sure what he appreciated more—the fact that Buck didn’t treat him like some sort of hero after doing only a tour in Afghanistan, the fact that Buck didn’t give a fuck about his age (“Twenty three is not that old, Eddie, you’re barely four years older than me, stop being so dramatic”), or the fact that two weeks into their college career, when Buck walked in to find Eddie with his hand down his pants and distinctively male moans coming from his phone, instead of getting angry or being disgusted, he had almost passed out laughing at Eddie’s embarrassment.

“...no, hang on, how did you even get that number? Where did that come from?”

“Buck-uccino, I’m never going to get this. I’m doomed.”

“Eddie, you—oh god, never use that one again—you’re going to get it. We’ll keep working at it.”

That, though, that was the worst part about rooming with Buck. He was tenacious, or maybe just caring, or nice, or whatever—because when Eddie had started failed his Physics midterm and learned about the very real threat of academic probation (which would mean no grants, no scholarships, no more soccer), Buck had dropped everything and started tutoring Eddie whenever he could. Even now, he was smiling at Eddie like he believed he could do anything, and damn if Eddie didn’t want to believe him.

Buck was just that kind, that sweet, that good—and Eddie was that gone.

“Chim, keep your feet moving! Come on!”

As teasing as Eddie may have been wherever Buck was involved, he was completely different when he was on the field. He was every bit the teammate that commanded respect, pushed his players to do better, and kept his team motivated—enough that he had fit in seamlessly with the team, despite being only in his second year, despite his age gap, despite everything.

“Good, Bosco! Keep it up!”

If only Eddie could keep himself that motivated while he was studying. He tried, he really did—but he wasn’t sure if it was the continuous closeness of Buck as they poured over Eddie’s notes, or the impossibility of the materials he was studying (he was in the Army, for fucks sake, he didn’t need to care about the force exerted by his helicopters rotors—he only needed to know that it would fly), but every time they cracked open his physics book, it felt like Eddie was smashing his head into a brick wall.

Things just made more sense out here. Eddie was in his element, and anyone who knew him, who even looked at him, would know that—so it really, really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Chim jogged over to him, keeping his high knees going as he hopped in place, jerking his chin somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder while he and Hen worked on some touchless passes.

“Looks like you have a visitor.”

Eddie turned around from his position near the goal, squinting over to the tunnel, his face immediately brightening as he saw who it was. He kept himself moving in a jog as he closed the distance between he and Buck easily, all smiles as Buck looked up from his phone. Eddie had to laugh at the image of this kid standing in the middle of the tunnel, forcing the athletes who were running in and out of the locker room to move around him.

It made sense; Buck really was an immovable force.

Eddie wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Well, if it isn’t my good-luck-Buck!” Eddie said, pushing a wide smile onto his face and one of his favorite nicknames out into the air so he would stop staring at Buck’s lips when the other scowled. “What are you doing here?”

Sighing, Buck pushed back off the wall, raising a brow. “Well, I was going to give you a crash course in force, speed, air resistance, and velocity, but if you call me that again—”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Eddie said, legitimately smiling now as he slowed his pace, starting to catch his breath. “Here, I’ll grab my stuff and we can grab a bleacher or something, I’ll just be a—”

“Nope.” Buck said, popping the ‘p’, his annoyance easily forgotten as he playfully pushed Eddie’s shoulder back to the field. “Grab your team and a ball, we’re learning on the field.”

Eddie stared at him, confusion evident on his face for only a moment before he lit up in understanding, calling out to the rest of the team. He had to admit, this was definitely one of Buck’s better ideas—not that Buck had ever had a bad idea, for the record—but if you wanted a surefire way to get Eddie to pay attention to anything, you threw a soccer ball at it.

Eddie was pleased to know that Buck clearly knew at least that much about him, the feeling dancing in his gut with the reassurance he felt whenever he was reminded that his team had his back. They worked easily with Buck as he ordered them around, had them try different kicks, using the arc of the ball through the air to point out speed, force, gravity. Eddie wasn’t about to say that it was working, but it had to be a good thing that he was forced into a situation where he could focus on something other than Bucks’ voice, or the way that his skin felt when their hands brushed over a textbook.

No, there was no room for soft touches and smiles now; Eddie was stuck in a goal, the smile on Buck’s face far more devious than soft as he explained the rules of their next exercise. Buck was going to ask a question. Eddie was going to give the equation that could be used to solve the problem. It sounded easy enough, but—

"If you can give me the right equation to solve the problem, you get to use your hands to block the shot. If you don’t, you have to use your head.”

...okay, yeah, nothing about that sounded easy.

The fact that Eddie had a team full of sadists didn’t seem to help, either—he no longer cared about how nice they were being to Buck to help him help Eddie when they were really just in it to torment him. It wasn’t fair.

He tried to voice as much, but Buck just called him out for whining. Which was also unfair.

Worst of all was afterward; even after he was able to use his arms around half of the shots, his teammates were terrible, horrible people, and Chim proved exactly why once they retreated to the locker room.

“You know Diaz, I think you did pretty well out there.” he started, and Eddie immediately felt himself on guard—he knew that any compliment after an evening as brutal as that was likely to be designed to lull him into a false sense of security.

“...thanks, Chim.” he started, eyes narrowed. “I think I might actually have a change of this thing.” Chim clapped him on the back, the grin on his face telling Eddie all he needed to know, and he felt himself ready to groan when Chim cut him off.

“That’s good! I know it must have been hard for you, but, hey think about it this way. At the very least, Buck now knows that you can handle some balls flying at your face.”

Chim’s laugh turned into a sharp yelp as Eddie clipped him with a rat tail, but that didn’t prevent the words from echoing through his head for the rest of the night, cheeks burning bright red whenever he caught Buck looking at him funny.

“Alright, we’re done for the night. I can practically see the smoke pouring out of your ears.”

“It’s impossible, Buck-fifty. I’m gonna fail, and I’m gonna get kicked out, and you’ll never get to see my beautiful face ever again.”

Eddie groaned, head resting against the open textbook on the table, hiding his head in his hands. They had been studying off and on for weeks, and while Eddie was pretty proud of the things he had started to memorize and retain, he still didn’t know how they worked, how they fit together, how to chose one over the other in a problem, and he was starting to feel like he might never understand it.

“Christ, stop being dramatic. This is a marathon, not a sprint, and this class is not going to be the end of your world, not if I can help it. But what you need now is a break.” Buck said, ignoring the nickname and the dramatics in one fell swoop. He had his phone out in a half second, scrolling through a few different feeds, before his face lit up. “Come on, Lena invited the whole team over for a game night. We’re going to get you out of your head and you’re going to relax, damn it.”

Eddie wasn’t too proud to admit that his heart did a little flip when he realized that Lena and Buck were texting on the regular, something about his friends liking Buck (and Buck liking his friends!) making his heart swell. “I don’t know, Buck, maybe we should just stay in so I can work on my—“

“Nope.” Buck interrupted, popping the end of the word, pulling the book out from under Eddie’s head, ignoring the whine that Eddie gave when his head thunked against the table. “I’m serious, I’ve burned myself out many times before, you need to take the night and remember why you’re actually studying. Passing is great, but we both know the reason you’re working so hard isn’t for the class, it’s for your team, your friends.”

It’s for you, Eddie wanted to say, but the words died in his throat before he could even take a breath in.

They were on their way quickly enough, trekking easily to the Phi Sigma Chi sorority house .

Buck looked fucking adorable, cheeks pinked in the cold air, blond mop of curls peeking out from the brim of his beanie, and Eddie couldn’t help himself. “Buck, you know what Lena says when she means game night, right?” he asked as he threw his arm around Buck’s shoulder, relishing in the way that Buck easily fell into step next to him as they walked. Buck smiled up to him, practically batting his eyes, and Eddie felt himself melt. “Yeah, things like Mario Kart or Smash, right? Or maybe Clue? Monopoly?”

Three hours later, Eddie was seeing Buck in a whole new light—because Buck wasn’t just kind, and smart, and adorable.

Buck was a fucking hustler.

And Eddie was fucking hammered.

He let out a whoop of joy as Buck sunk another ping pong ball in front of Hen and Chim, winning their eighth game in a row, with Eddie taking every drink that anyone scored against their team (Buck was still underage, after all—Eddie may have been a dope where Buck was involved but he wasn’t an idiot).

The thing was, when you had a partner that was amazing at beer pong, you didn’t get to drink nearly as much, so no one could blame Eddie for supplementing himself with several shots throughout the night, one of which spilled as he loudly cheered for Buck’s incredible prowess. Buck laughed at a much more indoor-volume beside him, gasping as Eddie lifted him into the air and Hen let out a wail of defeat, idly shoving the cup toward Chim. Buck’s laugh turned about a pitch higher as Eddie spun, grabbing onto his shoulders for support, looking at him with starry eyes once he got Buck back down to his feet.

“Buck, you… you’re so… how are you so good?!” Eddie asked, voice a rasp of a whisper, like he was asking for the secrets of the universe, and Buck couldn’t have helped the way he smiled if he tried.

He felt his cheeks heat up as he lifted a ping pong ball, twirling it between two of his fingers. “You know, physics? Just think, Eddie, you could use that big brain to be a beer pong champion.” He asked, laughing as Eddie threw his arms around his shoulder, a ragged exclamation of “YOU’RE SO SMART!” leaving his lips as Buck struggled to accommodate the sudden dead weight.

“Uh—“

“Okay, that’s usually a sign that it’s time for Eddie to go home.” Hen, his guardian angel, appeared next to him, helping Eddie stand a little more upright. “You guys walked, right? Karen can probably bring you back, I just—“

“Oh, no, that’s okay! I should be able to get him back, now that he’s upright.” Buck said, waving away her concern as he put Eddie’s arm around his shoulders, the other hand secure on his hip as they started to make their way to the front of the house.

Eddie might have been mostly incapacitated by that point, but that didn’t stop him from waving and saying what he thought was a perfectly coherent goodbye to everyone, the cold night air doing little (but still at least doing something) to help his coordination.

Eddie was content to walk in silence for only a moment, his head tilting onto his shoulder as he looked over to Buck, suddenly feeling so much lighter than he had a moment ago.

“Buck, you’re so nice to me.”

Buck was laughing. Why was Buck laughing? Eddie was completely serious.

“Buckinator, I’m serious. You’re so nice. And you’re smart, and you’re so pretty. Did you know?”

“Eddie, you are as drunk as you’ve ever been.” Buck murmured, shaking his head, and Eddie was definitely annoyed that it was night time—because he would have bet money that Buck was blushing.

Eddie started to whine as Buck pulled out his dorm card (“I’m not drunk, Buck! I’m serious!”), successfully swiping them both into the building and their room, depositing Eddie easily into his bed as he grabbed a bottle of water. He took a detour to their bathroom to pull out the little bottle of Advil he kept beneath the sink, handing Eddie both of them after cracking them both open.

Eddie stared at the pills in his hand, not entirely sure how he got there, his stomach tightening up as he looked up to Buck. “Hey Bucka… Buck, the… hey Buck?”

Okay, he was effectively drunk enough that he couldn’t think of a nickname. He popped the Advil into his mouth, swigging the water he was given as Buck closed the door, pulling Eddie’s blanket’s back. “What’s up, Eds?”

Eddie felt himself start to be lowered slowly, sluggishly tugging his feet up onto his bed, unsure as to where his shoes had gone, but he wasn’t going to complain. “We’ll still be friends if I end up failing out of school and having to become a hermit who… who lives under a bridge or something, right?” he managed to get out, and Buck’s eyes snapped up toward Eddie’s face. He wasn’t too sure when they had crossed the line from happy drunk to sad drunk, but damn, they had crossed that line at the speed of sound.

“Eddie, hey, no. You’re not going to fail out, and you’re going to be fine. Even if that doesn’t happen… you’re stuck with me, nerd. I’m not about to let you get away that easy.”

Eddie sniffled, nodding his head as Buck pulled his covers up, rolling to face the wall as he heard Buck change, the lights flicking off shortly after. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, closing his eyes as he felt the room start to wobble. He didn’t realize he was speaking until his mouth was already open, voice soft in the dark.

“I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

Eddie sniffed again, his breath slowing down as he heard Buck shift in his bed, just sober enough to feel Buck’s eyes digging into the back of his head, but just exhausted enough to slip into sleep instead of roll over, only barely listening as Buck responded.

“… just don’t give up, Eds. You got this, I know you do.”

The Sunday before the final that would decide his entire life (“I’m begging you, stop being such a drama queen.”), the last thing on Eddie’s mind was physics—he was too focused on the beautiful boy beneath him. He could have drowned in the noises Buck was making as Eddie kissed at his neck, his collar, his swollen lips, the cord of muscle in his neck. He felt Buck’s hands lace with his, the movement more intimate than anything he could have imagined, and he let out a groan as he rolled his hips down, grinding against Buck, and—

—and then Eddie woke up to a soccer ball bouncing off of his head.

Grunting in pained surprise, he shot straight up out of bed, almost falling to the floor, blankets pooling around his hips as he jerked his head around, focus snapping to the sound of Buck’s laughter.

(It was a small soothe to chase away the taste of Buck on his lips, the phantom feel of Buck’s body beneath his, flexing his hands like he could still feel their fingers laced together.)

“Buccaneer, what the fuck?!”

“Come on, we’re burning daylight. Aren’t you usually on the field, like, before the sun is up most days?”

“Yeah, maybe when my career wasn’t already over.” Eddie whined, rubbing at his eyes. Eddie wanted nothing more than to throw the blankets back up over his head and roll over—but he knew from experience that Buck would have just ripped his comforter off and dragged him outside, if he had to, and Eddie was in no... physical state (after the dream he had) to risk losing the safe amount of cover the blanket was currently providing.

Honestly, even after being beaned in the head by a soccer ball, he couldn’t stay mad—not when Buck was smiling at him, physics book and coffee in one hand, the other occupied once more as he bent down to pick up the ball. He really, really didn’t deserve Buck, and it made Eddie feel all the guiltier, knowing full well the thoughts that were running through his mind less than an hour ago.

Thankfully, Buck seemed to soften as Eddie’s emotions played across his face, sighing and rolling his eyes as he tossed Eddie the jersey hanging over the back of his desk chair. “Hey, it’s not over yet. You will get this, I promise. Now, It’s 9 AM, and you’re going to do your drills while I drill you.”

So he was just never going to get that image out of his head, ever. Cool.

An hour later, Eddie was dressed, on the field, working on his figure eights, fueled only by the coffee that Buck had brought him and a burning annoyance for the day as a whole as Buck launched question after question at him.

He kept up his pace as they went back and forth, moving through a few different drills as Buck continued to question him, asking about formulas, equations, situations, making Eddie walk through each step he would do if he had a calculator in front of him. It was exhausting, but Eddie couldn’t deny that it was working—and he really, really didn’t want to look to deeply into the little moments of pride he felt when Buck smiled at him and moved on to the next problem.

He was lining up a row of shots when Buck started on another problem, sinking each shot perfectly into the net, describing the relationship between friction, air resistance, and velocity, when Buck interrupts.

“No, that’s not right.”

Eddie’s next shot goes wide as he turns back to Buck, his eyes narrowed as he goes over everything in his head. “What?”

“Go over it again.” Buck has his head mostly hidden behind the practice exam, and Eddie felt himself fall out of step for a moment before he pulled back for another kick.

“I know the force of gravity.” Eddie started, another kick sinking directly into the goal, refocusing himself.

“And I know the falling distance and the mass.” He continued, taking a sneak peek back at Buck, who quickly ducked his head again.

“And,” another kick, another goal. “I know the equation for air resistance, because you’ve basically pummeled it into my head.” He said, Buck’s little laugh not unnoticed, and Eddie smiled in spite of his frustration.

He lined up his next shot and sunk it, chewing on his lip.

“Then I was right, Buck!” Eddie said, pacing back and forth between the cones he had set up. “I would measure the change in distance and double it, I would divide it by the total time minus the air resistance, and I would subtract the initial velocity. That’s, like, textbook, what could I possibly have—“ Finally catching Buck’s eye, Eddie paused, thrown for a loop as Buck put the practice test down, expression stopping Eddie dead in his tracks.

Because Buck was absolutely beaming at him.

“You’re ready.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie was glad that he had already launched his last ball into the net, because he literally tripped over his feet, catching himself at the last moment as he jogged over to where Buck was sitting, peering over his shoulder.

Every answer that Eddie had given had been circled on the practice exam, not a drop of red ink anywhere on the page. “Wait, I got them right? I... I was right?”

“Even when I tried to tell you you were wrong—which you weren’t, by the way—you still stuck to what you knew, you were confident enough not to second guess yourself, and you proved it. Eddie, you’re ready. You’re going to crush it.”

Eddie looked at the test, then back at Buck, then back at the test, and he couldn’t resist it—he picked Buck up, laughing ecstatically as he spun Buck in his arms. He was feeling more confident than he had in an age and a half, and he knew he had the dopiest expression on his face when he set Buck down, his hands still linked around Buck’s waist.

…with Buck’s hands resting on his shoulders.

“I knew you could do it, Eds.” Buck said, and Eddie felt his face heating up. He had never doubted Buck, not for a minute, even while he was still racked with his own insecurities—but any thanks, any recognition, any anything, were drowned out in Eddie’s throat as Buck moved his hand off of Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie could have sworn he saw stars when he felt the warmth from Buck’s hand rest right against the crook of his neck, thumb on Eddie’s pulse point, his eyes wide as Buck smiled. “I’m really, really proud of you.”

Eddie felt like he was living in a dream his hands sliding down to hold Buck’s hips, half expecting Buck to pull away—finding his smile even brighter instead. Buck looked so happy, so content to be in Eddie’s arms, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling, and Eddie had to swallow, feeling the contrast to himself—sweating, out of breath, probably a little crazy eyed, but… Buck was still looking at him like that.

“Buck, I’m… Can I, um... can I?” Eddie found himself murmuring, chewing his bottom lip. It would kill him right now to let Buck go, when he was this close—but of course, if Buck said the word, he would have leapt back like he was on fire.

He wasn’t sure if it was relief or elation that he felt, heart pounding, when Buck leaned in instead of answering, his thumb catching just the corner of Eddie’s lip before Buck’s lips met his own.

Kissing Buck was like finding God—and yeah, that was probably the worst possible analogy he could have made, but it was true. Buck kissed him and suddenly everything felt right, something sliding into place so deeply in his heart and soul that he had no idea how he had been surviving without.

He felt more than he heard Buck moan against his lips and he came crashing down into his own body, pulling back just enough to breathe, unable to keep the huge smile off of his own face. He had to duck his head, the moment getting to be a bit too much for him, the typical enthusiastic show he put up dulled for a moment as he looked up to Buck through his lashes.

“So... that’s okay, then?”

Buck only laughed, tilting Eddie’s head up for another small kiss. “Eddie, that was great. I’ve been gone on you since, like, the first shitty nickname you gave me.” he said, his voice dipping, suddenly going red as he realized what he said—but the damage was already done.

Eddie’s eyes lit up as he tightened his grip around Buck, his grin spreading so far across his face that it actually hurt.

“Ten-point-Buck. Buck-a-boo. Bucky bear.”

“Eddie, no, that wasn’t supposed to encourage you.”

“...does this mean I get to grab your bubble-Buck?” Eddie asked sweetly, throwing his head back and laughing as Buck buried his head in his shoulder, face burning red.

(Eddie passed his final, obviously—but as excited as he was with the big, red, 91 circled at the top of his page, nothing compared to the warmth he felt when he opened the door to his dorm and found Buck waiting for him in one of his old jerseys. He easily caught Buck in his arms as he jumped, choosing to catch Buck’s lips in a kiss rather than say anything.

After all, he may have had a thousand nicknames at the ready, but for Eddie, nothing compared to calling Buck “mine”.)

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 #911au #college au #I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT SORRY I DON'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT SOCCER #i also hope you like the nicknames because eddie is a cornball #soccer eddie #tutor buck #oh my god they were roommates #mutually assured devotion #flospeaks #floanswers #tylerhunklin

130 notes · View notes