#happy birthday to the most insufferable man ever | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seelestia · 1 year

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— 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄?

SUMMARY. in which you decide to do their eye makeup for them and the many antics that come with it.

CHARACTERS. zhongli, alhaitham, xiao, wanderer, gorou, itto.

GENRE. fluff, slight crack, established relationship.

CW. close proximity, one use of pet name, zhongli sorta acts like a cat, alhaitham is a lil insufferable but you love him, wanderer is also an inch away from choking you (affectionately).

THOUGHTS. question: is their eye makeup waterproof or do they apply it every morning?? fascinating. p/s: happy birthday to @zhongrin! lots of love to one of the best people i've ever met on this site <3

✰ masterlist.

— ZHONGLI.

❝Apologies, dear. Is this distance acceptable?❞

ZHONGLI smells of rich cologne and the vapor of tea brews wafting through the air when you step into a teahouse. You know this, of course, you've buried yourself in his embrace countless times before — but to have your face so close to his like this, you've never felt an urge to look away quite this strong before.

You stay composed, however, Zhongli can't always be the only one with the cool composure in this household, after all. "Mhm, perfect," you nod with a quiet hum as he closes his eyes, settling his chin in your palm so snugly that you laugh.

"You're like a cat," you remark, trying to suppress the littlest impulse to bump your forehead onto his in an affectionate way. "Is that so?" Gentle eyes that resemble amber gemstones flutter open to meet yours.

(Almost, were you accidentally about to poke his eye out of sheer panic from his beauty. Almost.)

"I'm glad to know that comparing me to felines seems to bring you amusement," Zhongli brushes his hand against your hair, "But let us focus on the task at hand, my love."

"Lest we miss our reservation at Liuli Pavilion. It is most polite to be punctual," he reminds you. How mean of him; to say such things and expect you to fully register it when he is softly rubbing your cheek like this as if lulling you to sleep.

Seriously, the amount of self-control you have to muster spontaneously in order to fight off the need to lean further into his hand is indescribable. Who's supposed to be the feline again? Anyway. "Okay, okay, I won't dawdle anymore," you adjust his chin in your hold as your other works to bring up the eyeliner to his eye.

"My husband has to look his best, after all," you slip in a little joke."Of course, darling," but Zhongli's answer doesn't sound like he's kidding at all.

(How can he say that with such a straight face? This man, seriously.)

— ALHAITHAM.

❝You're actually concentrating, I'm impressed.❞

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" you scrunch your face, frowning at how his words are jabbing at your pride. Has he not realized the power you have in your hands right now? You could actually poke his eyes with the eyeliner you're holding if you want to — not like you would, but Alhaitham is making it a smidgen harder to resist.

"I can focus, alright?" Huffing, you put aside your trivial grudges to grab his chin softly with your other hand. Alhaitham relents with an entertained smile, "All those times you fall asleep every time I read to you says otherwise."

"Well, that's— that's different," you stammer. In your defense, most of the books he chose to read to you are either theoretical physics or philosophies; it's a wonder how you're lulled to sleep even though it isn't a storybook. Of course, Alhaitham's library is a range of wide genres but you're starting to think he picks those books solely for you.

You're pulled out of your train of thoughts when you put in some distance to view your finished artwork. With Alhaitham's face as the canvas, somewhat comically.

(Well, aren't his eyes pretty? They look even sharper when accented with the eyeliner... whether that be for better or for worse. You shake your head internally at any poor person who happens to test his patience later today.)

"Wow," you mumble dazedly, "Red eyeliner really suits you." He raises an eyebrow at the genuineness in your quiet voice but only lifts his face away from your hand in response. Alhaitham regards your efforts in the mirror beside the two of you with a hum, "Maybe we should make this a routine, then."

There is a little something oddly hidden behind his sentence. Accusingly, you voice your suspicion by squinting your eyes at the Scribe, "...You just don't wanna do it yourself, do you?" And he enables it without a doubt, "Feel free to speculate."

(Ugh, this man.)

"But regardless..." he crosses his arms against his chest with a nod, "It doesn't look so bad."

(Would it have killed him from the inside out to say a compliment with a positive connotation? Okay, whatever, you love him.)

— XIAO.

❝....❞

Silent, quiet, and frozen in place like a statue.

The mere presence of those traits are more than enough reasons to have you worrying whether or not XIAO is still breathing. He is, thankfully, you can confirm that from the close proximity between the two of you and you mentally let out a sigh of relief.

(Thank the Archons you didn't lean in any further lest you would've heard how terribly his poor heart is faring and he doesn't want that.)

There is one more problem, however.

"You don't have to close your eyes that hard, you know..." you try to start, but Xiao still doesn't falter one bit; "It is of utmost necessity," he insists for the nth time since you've lost count.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

(Talk about stubborn.)

Your question is coming from a place of genuine concern because the frown on his forehead looks like it's going to engrave itself there forever from how intensely he is closing his eyes... Doesn't that hurt? You resist the urge to soothe away that frown with your thumb.

It's a good thing that it's only the two of you here right now, though. A stranger would be scared to death if they were to be gazed at with such an intense look and from the Conqueror of Demons at that. Oh, whatever will happen to your efforts of trying to prove to the children at Liyue Harbor that Xiao is actually a softie? Gee.

(But still, you can't help but smile.)

"Utmost necessity, huh?" you echo back his words with a hum. Your intentions bear no mockery but it seems the adeptus still manages to find some sort of dissatisfaction in your reaction. "Do not smile at me like that," Xiao mutters within a choked exhale that only serves to make him come off less stern than he would've liked.

His eyes are still, very much, closed as far as you can see.

The irony of it all tickles a chuckle out of you, mirth glazed over your eyes. "Is this an Adepti art I'm not aware of or are you secretly looking at me even with your eyes closed?" you ask cheekily. Xiao's cheeks are but a mere inch away from bursting into flames and he can only use words as his defense.

"...There is no need for you to know," he huffs.

Well, he isn't denying it, that's for sure.

(The answer is intuition.)

— WANDERER.

❝...Are you done yet? Any more second of this torture and I might just perish from boredom.❞

You're doing his makeup for him and this is the kind of treatment you get? You would've faked a gasp if you weren't so busy holding in a laugh over how his body is betraying his speech. That flustered look on WANDERER's face isn't helping his case at all.

"Uh-huh," your drawled out reply is enough of an indication to show that you're not really taking his words (threats?) seriously. Wanderer's bark can be as harsh as his bite, but you've never minded all the barks he sends your way — so much so that you barely even spare him any eye contact in favor of perfecting the red shade you're trying to blend around his eyelids.

(Perfection requires concentration, they say.)

But that doesn't mean you can't see anything else, though. You're uncertain if the Wanderer realizes this or somehow forgets because you can, in fact, see from your peripheral vision — and from said peripheral angle, he seems to be looking at something of yours rather intensely.

"You're staring at my lips," you point out.

"Shut it," he grumbles out his defense as fast as lightning.

(Caught him red-handed.)

"Sorry," you chuckle teasingly, "If you want a kiss, you're gonna have to wait for a bit." The way he looks so undeniably irritated by your statement makes you have no other option but to burst into a mini chuckling fit.

"Ugh, it's not like you can't lean in closer to—" His mouth snaps to a stop once it dawns on him; that your words are an attempt at reading his mind and he is technically confirming it to your face.

"Actually, nevermind, whatever. Just get this over and done with," he averts his eyes quickly with a scowl that feels as harmless as a naby deer (to you, anyway). "Giving up already?" you raise an eyebrow jokingly. With how Wanderer closes his eyes with a sigh, you assume he is only mere seconds away from giving your forehead a good flick.

"Don't think you're completely off the hook," he sternly interjects with a huff, "You still owe me some kind of compensation for taking your sweet time with this."

"And will that compensation be in the form of a kiss, per chance?" you hum amusedly.

"...It better be," he closes his eyes as if to signify the end of his willingness to comment any further.

Wanderer has never been one to shy away from the truth, but that is only because its taste always turns out bitter. Yet, in this case, when the truth entails something as embarrassingly sweet as desiring a kiss from you, then it becomes a conundrum for him.

After all, he is not fond of sweet things but he is fond of you. Maybe, this close proximity is getting to his head a little too much for his liking — darn it, he knew this was a bad idea the moment you showed him those puppy eyes.

— GOROU.

❝This is... embarrassing...❞

GOROU looks like he is merely a hair's breadth away from digging a hole into the ground and burrowing in it forever. But thankfully, the only thing keeping him on the surface happens to be you, the person holding him still by the cheek.

"There is nothing to be embarrassed about," you squish his cheek gently and Gorou lets out a noise akin to a little whine. "What if one of the soldiers sees us?" he protests, yet makes no actual initiative to remove himself from your grasp.

"Let them," you tap the eyeliner pen against his forehead two times and he winces dramatically as if you just struck him over the head. "Ouch!" Gorou rubs the sore spot instinctively and you can feel a faint trickle of guilt (even though you only hit him with the amount of strength someone would need to blow a dandelion), yet that is still not enough to the little lecture you're about to give him.

"Being the General of the Resistance doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself. It's okay to rely on someone to do something for you once in a while, you know."

"Even something as small as letting them do your eye makeup for you," you huff with a proud smile as an emphasis, carefully tracing a line on the outer part above his eyes.

"...Mmpf," the muffled noise that comes out of his mouth has you raising an eyebrow. Although unsure if it's because of that pout on his lips or his puffed cheeks, you still let out a little laugh at the thought of said possibilities anyway.

"Pfft, what's that sound?" you tease, "Does that mean you agree with me or not?"

"[Y/N]," Gorou calls your name in a stern tone or at least, tries to.

(He has never been good at scolding people but he swears if you keep on teasing him, he'll actually explode. ...And by that, he means melting into a puddle of jelly on the ground.)

— ITTO.

❝You gotta make em' look super dope, alright? Make sure you put more highlights on this one! And oh, this one right here too!❞

No one really knows whether the tattoos on ITTO's skin are actually real or not. Knowing he is someone of Oni blood doesn't narrow down the answer any further but if you were to ask him about them yourself, Itto prefers to call them "100% natural, baby!".

Not to mention, he is always looking for ways to make them stand out or look cooler — which led to this grand idea of asking you to do his makeup for him because apparently, your touch is magical since you're his favorite person on this emtire planet (his words, not yours).

...He can come up with the most random things to say sometimes. But hey, seeing a grown Oni beg on his knees sure was something and you didn't have the heart to say no to him.

"Sooooo," Itto starts with an attempt to clear his throat professionally, "How does it feel like having the honor to prepare me for my next battle?" he accentuates his sentence with a series of haughty laughter that cause his shoulders to shake vigorously.

"Don't move," you scrunch your face with a frown, pinching him indignantly for nearly breaking your focus. "Yikes! Sorry, sorry, I'll stay still!" the Oni yelps, a noise so embarrassing he almost cups his mouth like second nature.

But he doesn't do that, in fear of being pinched by your lovely fingers and proceeds to look at you with eyes befitting that of a kicked puppy's. "...You'll come and cheer for me, right?" Itto asks pleadingly and you smile.

"Of course," you say and he has to resist the urge to do a full-on fist bump into the air. But you still have some more left to say as you continue, "Just don't cry if you lose, alright? You'll ruin the makeup and besides...." There is a devious grin resting on your face now, "You don't want the kids to think your face makeup look like tear marks, don't you?"

Yup, there comes that offended gasp you've been waiting for.

"What— heck no!" Itto places a hand on his chest dramatically, "Tear marks?! Preposterous! The Arataki Itto doesn't shed tears! Of course not!" You can only hide your giggles behind your palm while Itto struggles to defend his wounded pride.

"...Forrealthough, doesitactuallylookliketearmarks—"

Now, you've got him second-guessing himself (but at least, he's cute?).

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

✰ TAGLIST: @meimeimeirin @hcikazu @tsuk4sa-yug1 @catcze @semi-orangeapple @yuuki4646 @d-a-r-k-s-w-a-n @daisydkj @omgscaramouche @coquettemaiden @lemontum @herdrops @lleoll @xiaosonlybeloved @chiisananingen @irethepotato @ainescribe @blooodyvampy @starlightaura @jihyuniepark @duhsies @maybemiko @lordbugs @sakkakuu-squared — [ bolded names are unable to be tagged + register here to be a part of my taglist! ]

#genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #alhaitham x reader #xiao x reader #wanderer x reader #gorou x reader #itto x reader #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin hcs #genshin scenarios #genshin x you #seelestial.inks

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cinnamonest · 4 months

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No no, because yandere Adachi has so much potential. Like imagine him getting attached to just some convenience store worker he sees daily on his way home. He’d be friendly, kind, and even warn her of being safe on her way home because of the killer loose. Oh? You’re near the end of your shift? Why not just let him take you home? He’s a cop, after all. He’s trustworthy. darling would never see it coming whenever he knocks her out and drags her into his apartment. He’d be so very cruel, too. Never taking her gag off, threatening her for one wrong move. He’d expect her to play right into his fantasies (be too frightened of him to fight back and then act just like a perfect wife/girlfriend, no misbehaving needed) while acting completely insufferable.

I have like an endless amount of ideas/scenarios for this.

(Crazy that I did not even remember what day it is/notice the perfect timing until just now as I was copying this to post, but HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOHRU ADACHI)

YOU get it anon. Also PLEASE share those ideas, same goes to all 2 of my fellow Adachi appreciators here, because I have so much to say about this awful man. I'm just gonna ramble a bit here

//nasty stuff here, the usual but extra dark/intense because this is Adachi we’re talking about so how could it not be

-----

Tohru absolutely utilizes his status as a cop to his advantage. He knows it adds an element of social trust, that you won't be as on-guard with him as you would any other guy. He’s there to protect the general public, to apprehend bad guys — of course he’s a good guy!

He loves that you appreciate it — that adorable little voice, before you got to know him well enough to go by a name-basis, where you'd say ‘thank you officer! Have a great day!’ whenever he stops by the store.

So cute, so pure, so innocent, he thinks.

He wants to ruin you.

The man has some violent, violent thoughts. He doesn't even try to keep things pure and wholesome when he thinks about you, nor even limited to normal perversions. The very day he meets you, he goes home and spends the rest of the day jerking off to imagining your squeals and cries and tears with his hands around your throat. Oh, how he wants to feel you struggle, afraid and confused and the way you'd feel so betrayed when the policeman you trusted to keep you safe is balls deep in every hole you have, holding you down with ease. You look like you'd be weak. God, it would be so easy—

No, it will. It will be so easy, because he will do it.

You're probably not aware of it either. Most girls aren't, he thinks, they have no idea how weak and easily overpowered they are. He of all people would know — even when they're fighting for their lives, they’re so weak.

But you should be weak. It’s cute. Just like how you should be scared, innocent, sweet, obedient… the man definitely is the type to construct an unrealistic idea of darling in his head as perfect, someone who has no flaws in his mind, and he would absolutely have a “purity” fixation… so if that illusion is shattered in any way, he becomes very spiteful.

Canonically, he develops a crush over a woman he doesn’t even know and feels entitled to women on sheer principle of liking them, going to the extent of a woman having her own life as a “betrayal”… you’re not exempt from the exact same thing.

So God forbid he find out you’ve ever had a boyfriend or lover of any kind in the past… or worse… he’s going home one day, expecting to see his adorable beloved and wave to her from the street, only to spot her hugging and holding hands with some other guy? To realize that she's had a boyfriend this whole time?

Oh, he loses it. No outwardly — not yet — but he goes home, punches a wall, seethes and paces around for a while before moping in bed for some time.

It’s like a switch flipped in his head. Ugh. It’s like a betrayal. How could you… and as he mopes, it becomes so very obvious that this was intentional. You led him on on purpose. What were you thinking, being nice to him? You obviously wanted him to like you. It feels malicious, it’s painful.

You’re so stupid, so naive. Dumb little whore. Don’t you realize you’re playing with fire? Didn’t you think about the consequences your actions would have?

Because oh, will they have consequences. No way is he letting you get away with doing this to him. You’ll pay for what you’ve done.

He entertains that idea at the peak of his bitter wallowing — it would be just as easy as before. You probably have a TV set in your home. He could break in and just…

No. Dammit, he’s already too attached to you. He’s known you personally for a while now. He can’t do that. He wants to keep you.

It’s okay… well, no, it’s not okay, but he’s a very generous guy, you know. If you apologize and beg good enough, he’ll even consider forgiving you.

And you do. You squirm and cry and claw at his hands when he holds you up by your throat. It’s not good enough the first time, but when he squeezes down hard and tells you to try harder, asks you if that’s the best you can do, you finally get it right, finally say how sorry you are and properly beg for him to not kill you.

It’s enough to adequately make amends and begin the atonement process, at least. You’ll have the rest of your lives together to complete that process.

He makes good use of you, after bringing you home. Darling is the perfect little squeeze toy to him. He deals with a lot of stress, you know? He spends all day getting yelled at and pushed around by Dojima, and underneath the bumbling airhead act, it makes him seethe. He used to go home and break things, punch walls, throw things… but now he doesn't have to do that. He can just take all that stress out on you and your poor holes.

Holding your head down with a painful grip in your hair with one hand, holding your hips up and jerking your body back against his, nails digging into your flesh with the other, ramming into you over and over until your insides are sore and raw. Or holding your head firmly in place as you gag and cough and try to pull your head away, fucking your throat with not even an ounce of mercy, jerking your head down all the way and holding it there when he cums down your throat.

The stress relief is verbal, too. Oh, he's so, so mean, calls you every degrading term you can think of when he's rutting into you.. but it also comes out outside of those times too. He vents to you, whether you care to really listen or not. Just goes on and on about everything that upsets him, how much he hates this and that, how he wishes this or that person would just die so he wouldn't have to deal with them anymore… you never really know how to respond, but thankfully he doesn't actually seem to be looking for much of a response, more just someone to listen to him. In truth, it almost makes you feel a little bad for him... but you try to stave off such thoughts.

But that's just his default. That's when he's having a decent day, just the natural amount of stress he has. When he's had a bad day, it's much worse.

You learn to tell when he's had a bad day the moment he walks through the door — you hear how harsh each motion is, how he opens and closes the door, his footsteps, even his breathing as he makes his way over to you. The gruff ‘come here’ as he storms over to you, the harshness with which you're dragged over to bed and thrown down.

Those days are more violent — you end up with scratches and bites and bruises all over your body, strands of hair coming out where he pulled so hard, holes twitching and spasming and cum pouring out of you as you lay there exhausted and sore (as for him, though, he's out like a light as soon as it's over, and the grip he keeps on you means you're not getting up again either).

Being a cop also gives him a lot of tools most people wouldn't have access to. He has easy access to handcuffs and weapons. The handcuffs keep you however he wants you positioned, and he'll use some on your ankles too if need be.

He’s used the stun gun on his belt as a threat plenty of times — you used to think he was bluffing, but one day you go too far and it turns out it's not a bluff at all. It's a horrible, horrible sensation… but even worse is the way he laughs while he shocks you, exhilarated by — and probably, honestly, getting off to — the way you squeal and spasm.

Unfortunately, it awakens something — maybe he could use it on you more often, put it right up to your most sensitive places and see how you react… although not without building up dread and anticipation first, pressing it to your skin so that you beg and cry and he taunts you so mercilessly, with that awful awful smile on his face, before pushing the button and hearing you cry.

...But he's not always so awful. He still includes you in his normal life, at least. You almost wish he didn't. It's this oddly domestic vibe, once all the brutality of the day is out and he's tired and bored.

You talk — at first you kept being annoying and pesting him about letting you go, to which — much to your dread, a pit in your stomach every time he says it — he tells you you're never leaving, so shut up about it. But eventually, with no one else to interact with, you talk about all sorts of things, sometimes almost feeling like a normal conversation with a friend. He brings home food for you, and admittedly, you're almost surprised by the fact that he actually does ask what you want and gets you something different from what he gets based on your tastes. You didn't expect that sort of consideration.

You watch TV (he keeps you chained out of actual reach of the TV itself, just in case you get any ideas), the news (only for him to awkwardly change the channel when your disappearance was being discussed on local news), he even takes your request once or twice to pick up a movie to watch (although he's very critical, particularly if it's too ‘girly’ for his tastes).

But he's still so, so mean, such a bully. You have a lot of time to reflect on it all, and one day you confront him with it — tell him that you know that the reason he does all of this to you, the reason he can't just be normal is because he's bitter and spiteful and afraid of rejection. At first, you sound angry — and as you speak, the way his face contorts with disgust and fury makes you think you may just push him over the edge to actually kill you, and frankly, at this point, it's something you're willing to accept.

But then, tears in your eyes, voice growing quieter, you add—

I really liked you… I thought you were a good guy…

That makes him pause. He gets quiet. You see his face fall to an expression you can't quite name, eyes half-lidded and mouth pulled into a taut line.

Finally, he shrugs, giving you a cruel, snide grin.

Not my fault you were so stupid.

That's all the response you get, and remarkably, that last comment seems to make him let go of being infuriated over everything else you said. For a moment, though, you swear you catch him looking down at the ground with a miserable expression, as if those words actually had a profound effect on him… but it lasts only a second — as soon as he catches you looking at him, his eyes fixate on you again, that smile you hate so much comes creeping back, and your heart sinks as he takes agonizingly slow footsteps over to your helpless, shivering little form….

#.persona #he would be 40 years old today based on his canon DOB 🥺#this is just tip of the iceberg thoughts though... i have more ill get to eventually #also i really like the thought of cop!yanderes in general #theres a lot of potential there

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thru-the-grapevine · 2 years

Text

Half-Baked

Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

Summary: your job at the bakery becomes increasingly more dangerous the longer the cute new customer frequents it (and the longer your coworker teases you about him)

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: fluff, bakery au

The first time he came in, you’d taken one look at him and accidentally dropped a tray of brownies you were taking out of the oven. You’d never done something that klutzy before, and it only made you more flustered. Surely if someone as pretty as him lived around here, you’d already know…?

He’d either graciously pretended not to notice the dropped brownies, or was entirely oblivious. He’d ordered a blueberry muffin and tucked his change into the tip jar with a smile at you. You’d nearly dropped the muffin while handing it over.

Vernon called him Cute Muffin Man after that. You dubbed Vernon the Most Insufferable Coworker Friend Ever.

The second time he came in, you’d forgotten you were icing a flower onto a cupcake and stared at him until you felt icing on your hand and saw the blotchy mess you’d made. It was salvageable, but you were sure your face was bright red the whole time you helped him. He’d asked which of the danishes was your favorite, and you’d graced him with an eloquent “uhhhhh” until he said he’d take one of each. He still left his change in the tip jar.

Vernon hummed “The Muffin Man” as the man walked out the door. You cornered Vernon and smudged icing on his cheek.

The third time he came in, the oven timer had just started chiming and you turned it off without a second thought. You managed to make a non-embarrassing conversation with him while he ordered a plate of snickerdoodles from you, learning they were for a reception after a recital he was doing. So he’s a musician.

Halfway through ringing him up, you smelled something burning. The next second the fire alarm went off. By the time you pulled the smoking creme brûlée remains from the oven and fanned both them and the smoke detector, Vernon had already called the fire department, and the man was already gone. He’d left twice the amount for the snickerdoodles on the counter.

You swore you were cursed. Vernon suggested you’d done something to offend the muffin gods. You threatened murder.

The fourth time he came in, he hadn’t come in at all. Vernon handed you the phone, saying someone wanted to order a birthday cake, and you realized too late who was on the other end. You’d glared daggers at a beaming Vernon whilst taking the order down.

“May I have a name for the order?” You’d asked, thrilled to finally have a good excuse to learn his name.

“Oh, my sister will come and pick it up, so I’ll put it under her name,” he said.

Of course. “Would you like any message on the cake?”

“That’d be great, actually,” he said. “I think ‘Happy Birthday, Mina’ would work.”

He’d paused as you scribbled down the message, then said, “Actually, add ‘from your Uncle Ji’ at the end, too. At least my niece will know I wanted to be there.”

Slowly, you grinned. Ji. “It should be ready by tomorrow afternoon.”

You’d promptly pretended to strangle Vernon with the telephone cord once you’d hung up.

And then there was this time.

You were in the back, putting a tray of brioche buns in the proving drawer, when Vernon called, “Hey, the CMM order is ready to be picked up. Grab it out of the fridge?”

“I hate you,” you said with no venom as you closed the proving drawer and made your way to the special order fridge. Vernon had shortened “Cute Muffin Man” to an acronym lately, in another successful attempt to tease you, and it was driving you nuts.

You grabbed the cake box and closed the fridge. “It’s bad enough you’ve got a nickname for ‘Ji’ at all, but it’ll be just my luck for Cute Muffin Man to actually show up when you say it, and ask me what it means, and then I’ll have to—explain…”

You trailed off, slowing to a halt, as you came face to face with the man, himself, across the counter. You felt your stomach drop out your ass.

Vernon at least had the good grace to be abashed. “I, um, I’ll go check on the brioche.”

The sound of the door to the back kitchen clicking shut felt deafening.

The man blinked. “Um. Hi.”

You tried to return the greeting, but your throat was too dry. You cleared your throat and tried again. “I thought you said your sister was picking up the order.”

That wasn’t a hello, idiot, you chided yourself.

“Oh, I.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I ended up being in town, after all. My gig fell through. Thought I’d pick it up myself.”

“Oh. Um. Great.”

My god, you were going to kill Vernon. Curse the muffin gods. Woodenly, you set the cake box on the counter and slid it over.

“Thanks.” He propped the lid open and looked at the cake. “Wow, this looks great. Did you do the icing?”

“I…yeah,” you said.

“It’s so pretty. How much do I owe again?”

Payment. You breathed a sigh of relief; that you could do. You went over to the register and began ringing it up.

The man pulled his wallet from his back pocket once you told him the total. “So…”

You felt your stomach drop out your ass again.

He raised an eyebrow, that smile that always flustered you curling at his lips. “Cute muffin man?”

You hoped Vernon was locking himself in the walk-in freezer back there. “I…my coworker, he, uh…it’s a nickname he…w-well, because of—”

You clamped your mouth shut, feeling the flame of a thousand suns on your face. This is actually the worst, I think.

The bakery door chimed open, and a woman you’d never seen before with familiar features popped her head in.

“Ji’, I love you, but quit flirting with Disaster Bakery Girl and buy the cake or we’ll be late.”

Your mouth dropped open, and you clamped it shut again when the woman smiled brightly at you and popped back out again.

You turned back to the man. His eyes were shut, and you could see the tips of his ears turning bright red. The door jingled shut, but for another long moment there was silence.

“Is she gone?” He asked in an even voice, still not opening his eyes. “Tell me she’s gone.”

“She’s gone,” you said.

He heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “Sisters.”

You took pity on him. “I, uh, have a walk-in freezer in the back, if you want to shove her in there with my coworker…”

His face broke into a smile, and he finally opened his eyes.

You bit your lip. “I swear, I promise I’m not a disaster all the time. You’re just really—”

You snapped your mouth shut again. Good fucking god, can you try not to embarrass yourself for two whole seconds—

“Would you like to get coffee with me sometime?”

You blinked. He…what?

“Maybe?” He added uncertainly when you didn’t speak for a full two seconds.

“I…” You swallowed. “Yeah, I think I’d…yeah.”

His smile was hopeful. “Yeah?”

You couldn’t stop beaming. “Yeah.”

God, he was so cute you were going to die.

He ordered an additional half-dozen muffins for pickup a few days from then. “To go with a coffee date,” he said, winking.

You dropped his card twice trying to process the payment.

He scribbled a phone number under the signature “Lee Jihoon” on the receipt. You liked it better than any tip.

(“So technically I did you a favor,” Vernon said later.

You spent five minutes after that chasing after him around the bakery, brandishing a rolling pin.)

565 notes · View notes

insult-2-injury · 2 years

Text

Loopholes - Part 1/2

Part 2

For my little scamp @ink-and-dagger

Feels funny to call this a birthday gift as it's taken me well over a month, but Happy Birthday, Inky. You are a pillar in this fandom and it just wouldn't be the same without you. Perpetually grateful for you, your sense of humor, your relentless pursuit of boosting others up, and the way you shove me into my school locker day after day. Thanks for being the biggest sweet pie and the biggest stinker all wrapped in one. Love ya <3

AO3 Link

Part 1

Hell. What a concept. Not something you’ve ever put much thought into.

You always thought the place a silly idea Pilties liked to put into the pampered little skulls of their children; some upper class notion created to further decouple topside from the city that lay rotting beneath, where the fires of poverty suffered liars and thieves.

You used to think that perhaps Hell was located right beneath your very feet, deep within those wretched mines, a heat that could melt the soles of your boots curling and threading through the narrow alleys of the Sumps.

But if someone were to ask you right now, right at this very second, where Hell was, you’d say with a near certainty that it was sitting right here next to the most insufferable man in all of Runeterra.

And Silco isn’t even doing anything particularly wrong in this moment besides perhaps existing a little too close to you. Nothing you can properly remonstrate, really, without looking like a right asshole – although that’s certainly never stopped you before.

He reclines in the chair beside yours, balancing on its back two legs as he rests those twiggy ankles on the rail of the balustrade you’re both tucked behind, shrouded in the shadows drawn by the eaves above. His wiry arms cross loosely over his chest, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

Silco is just too… much, and his personal brand of muchness is abrasive to your own. His presence at your side is wet cardboard sliding over skin, like steel wool scraping across teeth. Everything about him sets you on edge. Yet he just sits there existing as you wonder how in Janna he manages to carry around such an army surplus of arrogance within that impossibly skinny frame.

His lips twitch as he senses your glare.

You huff, surging forward out of your seat and into a crouch to survey the expanse of ground thirty feet below. A chemical whirring noise sounds as your binoculars extend into a tiny tripod which you place atop the balustrade.

This little stakeout operation shouldn’t be difficult: observe, document, and scram so the planners can plan and the thieves can thieve. Dark times give way to innovation, optimists say, but as much as the Undercity prides itself on its potent resilience, there’s only so much one can do without proper medical provisions.

And that’s why the two of you are here. To stake a route in and out of a Piltovan medical depot, gathering enough supplies to hit Piltover in the shin; nothing but a sting really. Nothing, of course, that warrants any sort of collective punishment. Not that Piltover can exactly be trusted with equity. Odd it is, how retributive justice rarely applies when it comes to the likes of fissure folk.

Just a damn shame you can hardly focus on the task.

“Cut that out,” you snap.

Silco rolls the cigarette over to one corner of his mouth. “Hm?” His voice crackles slightly from disuse, the both of you having pulled the short straw, waking in the wee hours of the night for this mission.

“Scratching your head. You’re worse than my dog.”

He rolls his eyes and drawls. “No moving. No breathing.”

“Cut the attitude, fucko – I never told you to stop breathing. Although, feel free to try. Sitting there and sighing, like this is all sooo taxing.” You track an enforcer across the way, rounding a corner of the warehouse. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor. Well… a future one. Once you lose.”

You’re sure he can’t appear more disinterested if he tried. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Gotta learn your manners,” you say, spinning on your butt to face him, propping your hands theatrically beneath your chin to observe him in exaggerated pity. “I mean it’s an entire mystery to me how you’ve ever gotten laid at all. Walking through town like a mangy mutt.”

He follows your assertion with a condescending hum fit to appease an unruly child. You scowl. It isn’t fun when he doesn’t bite, when he swats away your attempts to provoke like one would a pesky gnat. How dare he bore you?

Your home has been with the Children of Zaun for almost half a year now, yet since the beginning your hostility toward Silco has never waned. The two of you make an incendiary duo; you can hardly last more than a few minutes in each other’s company before you’re not so much as pushing each other’s buttons, but taking a sledgehammer to them.

You despise each other.

It isn’t that you’re a particularly ill-natured person. A bit of a contrarian maybe, but no, you’re normally able to play ball just fine with the rest of the Children, many if not most of them recalcitrant and cocksure. There was no way you’d have been able to escape the dismal fate of the Sumps if you hadn’t cemented that defiance and fortitude to each calloused palm as you clawed your way up tooth and nail.

It’s just that Silco, well, he prods and digs at a nerve you didn’t even know you had. He’s rude, ostentatious, and for the life of you, you can’t understand how people don’t see through his tawdry little displays of ego. Acting like he’s carrying the entire weight of Zaun on those bony shoulders. You know, admittedly, that his lithe frame betrays a hidden strength but the twat looks like he’d be tossed ass over teakettle by even the mention of a stiff breeze.

“So have I won yet?” you ask casually, as if this question hasn’t preceded a massive quarrel ever since the two of you had made this stupid bet. How long have you been at it, a month now?

Silco slumps somehow further down in his seat, tucking the cigarette behind his ear, brushing back loose strands of dark chestnut. “Have I gotten my dick wet?” He sniffs, apathetic. “No. You’ll be happy to hear I haven’t.”

“I’m not happy. Just get on with it, will you? I need that prize money.”

He scratches at his head again, the noise grating like sandpaper across your nerves. Your nose twitches as he hums and side eyes you. “Having a tough time, are you?”

“I will kick that chair right out from under you, don’t say I won’t.”

His lips twitch, the movement much too aggravated to be genuine amusement. “You’re especially ornery today.”

“Bet taking a tumble off this balcony wasn’t on your bingo card for today, huh?” you say, “Would pay good money to watch you get clobbered from up here.” Silco stares, eyes narrowing. “...What?”

He grunts and shrugs his shoulders. “Kinky.”

“Janna.” You shudder and grimace. “You’re a perv.”

“You’re the one paying to watch.”

“Ew,” you snap, “I’m not ‘having a tough time’, by the way. Appreciate your concern, though.”

He shakes his head and looks back to where the sun is just beginning to rise, pricks of golden yellow and blood orange needling across the Piltovan skyline. “How about you put away the fucking claws, hm? It’s 6:30 in the morning.”

You curse at him under your breath and angle away to cool your bare arms on the marble of the balustrade.

“This bet is stupid,” you say after a few minutes of silence. Silco makes a soft noise of agreement. “Like it’s really really dumb.”

“Giving up?”

You huff at the impudent lilt in his tone. “Not at all. It’s a lame bet, though. Besides, we were both drunk when we shook on it-”

“You were drunk-”

“And there’s just too many loopholes to exploit. I mean, for all I know I’ve won already. I think we should, I don’t know, come up with a new one or something. Something more interesting, maybe.”

“You want to back out? Be my guest. But fork over that cash quick, will you?”

You hear the defensiveness in your tone and you scowl all the more. “Just trying to make it easier.”

“Poor, pretty baby, are you struggling so hard?” he purrs.

Your jaw clenches tight and you spin around to glare out at the Piltovan sunrise. “Fuck, never mind. You’re annoying.”

“You started this thing.”

And you hadn’t meant it to go this far. It was an admittedly childish accusation you’d lobbed at him over a night of heavy drinking: that there was no way he could survive a month without sex.

He’d been strangely incensed by it, the girl he’d been chatting up slipping away soundlessly as the two of you shouted in the congested bar, both having found yourselves waiting on drinks.

It culminated in a bet: one week worth of pay for whoever held out with no sex the longest.

No fucking. No oral. No kissing. And absolutely no heavy petting, you’d stated ardently, multiple times over the course of the night in case it escaped his thick skull.

“I’ll start thinking about what to buy with my prize money, then,” you say.

“Funny, I don’t remember asking.”

“What would you buy?”

“Ear plugs. For your morning chatter.”

“Haha,” you intone lightly. “Pretty selfish, though, if you ask me. Not giving it to the less fortunate and all that.”

“You’re right.” His fingers fall to his vest, indicating himself with long, expressive fingers. You’re reminded oddly of the funny little Sump raccoons you’re always tossing scraps to – the ones with bright yellow eyes and chipped smiles that sit much too daringly on the tops of your alley trash bins. “I’d donate it all to charity. Oh, that’s right. I am the charity.”

“There’s always someone less fortunate,” you goad. “I mean, think of the kids, Silco,” you say and his exasperated gaze rolls skyward. “You don’t want to see the joy that lights up a child’s face when-?”

“No.”

“Monster,” you remark, reaching for your rucksack to dig through.

The leather of his vest crackles as shifts in his seat, dropping his sunstruck gaze to you. A red bird warbles a tune somewhere above. You listen to the flutter of feathered wings flitting about in the rafters, smiling softly when you hear the tiny twitters of hungry chicks.

The waking world falls into a gentle bliss.

Until he speaks again.

“You’re wasting your time taking notes like that,” Silco says as you scribble onto the tiny notepad you’ve pulled from your bag, sketching the layout of the warehouse. Your nose twitches with distaste and resolutely, you don’t turn, knowing you’d only find that painfully insolent smirk upon his face. “Don’t you know jobs like these are about instinct?”

Oh, now that raises your hackles. And you can glean from the condescending lift in his tone that he knows exactly what he’s doing, talking down to you like a fledgling.

“You sure do sound wise, where do I sign up for your master class?” You say, carefully calm. “Hey, refresh my memory, was it instinct that almost got your ass arrested last week at the market?”

A pause.

“That was a trap.”

You lord over his near failure with a small smirk. “An obvious one. You know, if I laid out a human-sized rat trap with sticky bread and hung a big flashing arrow above it that said “This is a Trap, moron”, you’d still walk right into it.”

“It’s sticky bread.”

“It’s a trap.”

“It’s sticky bread,” he repeats, voice falling into a lower, almost guttural register as he looks pointedly at you, “Dirty sticky bread. Filthy, filthy sticky bread ready to be used-”

“Go get laid.”

“After you,” he cuts back in, ready, one corner of his lips creasing slightly in amusement.

“Can we just… do what we came here to do?” you snap. You shift on your butt, re-crossing your legs, alarmed by the subtle lick of heat that had them tensing in the first place.

There’s an inexplicable, grating harshness to your tone and like a hound on the scent, Silco cocks his head down at you, the spotlight of his gaze almost accusing.

Agonizingly slow, he nods.

“Of course,” he says finally with an almost practiced nonchalance, “The sooner we do, the better.”

You readjust your sweaty grip on the pen in your hand. “Glad we’re on the same page,” you murmur.

Your mind drifts back to when this not-so-cold war had begun.

Won’t last a week. Too soft. Good for book-keeping, perhaps – All things you’d overheard Silco speak to a seasoned crew of Children about you when you’d first arrived, having successfully completed your trials. And you hadn’t even introduced yourself yet.

It was completely reasonable and mature, what you’d done: Gone out and spent hard-earned coin on a small ledger book, scrawling across the front page, “For book-keeping purposes: You’re a prick”.

You’d handed it over casually at the Drop before leaving for the night, but not before you caught the sharp glint of deadly promise in his eyes as he’d opened the thing.

You liked to think you’d proven him wrong. Earned the respect of those that were worth their salt, rising in their ranks swiftly. And it was silly, you recognized wholly, the way you’d fixated upon the words of a man who meant nothing to you.

Too soft.

For a long while you sit there drawing, both the breeze and Silco’s prickling gaze brushing occasionally across the planes of your profile. And you’re just about to turn and tell him to mind his damn business when he points to your notepad.

“And those are…?”

“Stick figure guards.”

“I imagine those will come in handy, thank you.”

You scowl and clap back. “They’re built like you.”

“Yeah?”

“No ass.”

You know it’s not the barbed insult you want it to be. Besides, Vander and Benzo give him enough shit for his twiggy figure that he’s immune to any commentary at this point. But you still take a little comfort in the unimpressed look upon his face.

“I’m hurt,” he drawls.

You turn back to your work. “I mean I’m sure it does its job just fine as an ass, in the most basic sense. But it’s a bit of an eye sore otherwise.”

“Easiest solution would be for you to stop looking.”

“Well, I would but it’s hard to ignore the plight of a man attempting to walk on toothpicks.”

He puffs out an unamused laugh. “How about for our next bet, you attempt to be civil?”

“I don’t fuck with the impossible.”

“We’re a team now, aren’t we?”

“No, we’re not a team,” you correct, “The only reason I partnered with you this month was to make sure you didn’t find a way to cheat at this ‘bet’.”

“You just wanted to look at me, didn’t you.”

“I’m sure you’d like to think that.”

Silco drums his long fingers on the leather of his vest in thought. “And all those lonely nights on my own? How do you know I didn’t cheat then?”

A lump of odd discomfort dries in your throat and you feel a lick of irrational anger at the prospect, an unbidden emotion you quickly shake away with a toss of your head. “You’d be a filthy little rat bastard if you did.” You release an angry sigh. “Janna, this sucks. Who likes a long winded bet, anyway? You were dumb for that.”

He doesn’t bother with a counterattack, your point moot as you both know the thing was a mutual agreement. “Hm.”

“Besides, this isn’t going anywhere,” you say and suddenly your pen stills in its arc. You haven’t the faintest idea why. You blink uneasily down at the page, suddenly not able to do so much as clear your throat in the peculiar silence that follows. Swallowing, your eyes roll slowly to Silco’s.

His voice pitches deep.

“Then lose,” he says simply, but there’s an electric undercurrent there, his expression ironing from one of strange scrutiny to a familiar impassivity. You rip your gaze away when it lingers too long.

“You first.”

He taps his fingers idly. “Finish your picture, sweet.”

Your nose twitches in irritation, feeling suddenly within an ace of backhanding him across the throat. “Sure, hold on,” you say, shielding your notepad for a minute in order to stencil out a giant middle finger. “Here.”

With a thumb and forefinger, he plucks the paper from your hands.

“It’s deeply symbolic. Means ‘fuck you and the high horse you rode in on’.”

“Charming.”

“You should frame it.”

“I just might.”

You flop backward onto the ground with a heavy sigh, notepad confined to your bag.

Why wasn’t this going anywhere? You thought he’d have caved weeks ago, lost as soon as the next pretty girl offered to drop trou for him. It was only one week worth of pay. Nuts and bolts, really. Nothing either of you couldn’t bounce back from.

It’s just your irksome competitive streaks, you think. Just that.

“I’d buy records,” he says suddenly and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“...What?”

“I’d buy more records with the money.” He’s staring out at the horizon, where the sun is almost fully risen, like it’s a curious thing he’s never seen before.

“...Is that supposed to guilt me or something?”

His head ticks down to your prone form and he speaks simply. “No.”

You stare, uneasy at the strange sincerity. “Ok.” It’s all you can think to say.

Silco looks upon you almost as if he’s expecting something, like he’s just offered you a cool glass of water in a sweltering heat. The strange admission means nothing, you’re certain of it, yet it resonates somewhere deep, somewhere terrifyingly low in your belly.

“I’d buy books,” you blurt and immediately want to kick yourself for deigning to branch outside the hostile boundaries of your normal fights.

His lips curl up in mild amusement and you break from his stare, wanting nothing more than to hiss at him, tear at his hair. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his head twitch in the tiniest of nods.

Further heat blossoms across the apples of your cheeks as you steal a glance at him only to find him still staring. Ironing on an expression of what you hope is cold indifference, you hold his gaze. But he doesn’t return the favor, only stares a breath longer before turning back to the open sky in thought.

The light, relieved from the thick murk of the Undercity, gleams exceptionally bright upon the dark chestnut waves of Silco’s hair, half pulled back. Pinks and reds mix with the rare green of his irises and you want to lean forward, examine the way they bleed together. But you opt resolutely to close your eyes in lieu of openly staring.

Warm light dances behind your eyelids. The gentle breeze carries on it the honeyed smells of bakeries setting out their pastries for the day. The lulling whirs of the city of progress coming to life beyond the little bubble of filth you both exist in, the only evident tie binding you and Silco together being the one ready to ignite, to destroy it all.

Except it isn’t the only tie, is it? Your childhoods are exceptionally similar. You share interests. The same knack for collecting pretty things.

Danger, danger, danger.

You abruptly sit up, lassoing your focus repeatedly as you try to pay attention to the task before you. But your mind adamantly strays.

Shit.

You spring onto your booted feet and pace back into the shadows. “How am I supposed to know you haven’t cheated already?” you ask, curling your fists to stop nervous fiddling with the pockets of your pants.

“Do you really think I’d lie to you?” You shiver. Even his voice sounds different to you now. Grittier than before, or is that just a silly making of your imagination?

“I’m being serious, you cad.”

“You want to put a chastity lock on my balls?”

“None small enough.”

“Witty.”

“I know,” you agree, “Listen, I wouldn’t put cheating past you is all. To fit in a wank or something while I’m not paying attention.”

He recrosses his legs, adjusting in his seat casually. “Rules never stated we couldn’t have a wank.”

You whipped your head around embarrassingly fast. “You have?!”

First mistake, you realize immediately as his gaze sharpens. “You want to know if I’ve touched myself?” His eyes are steady, unwavering upon yours.

“Fuck no. Nevermind.”

His head cocks. “You’re not even curious?”

A troubled, restless feeling washes through you, like you’re sitting on a dock, dangling your feet above dark, murky water.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’.

“Have you?”

“Fuck off-”

“Have you touched yourself?” No change of inflection, nothing denoting full blown mockery. Just a predatory curiosity. You’re dragged beneath the surface, a shocking wash of hot desire sending your stomach coiling in on itself at his flippant words, too quick, too direct. They hit their mark and he seems to know it, his gaze dropping to the tiny twitches of your fingers. “I could be wrong, but I don’t imagine you have.”

Silco imagining you.

“Why’s that?” You rasp and you swear what you meant to do was tell him to shut his trap. His delight in your unease is somehow palpable, despite his features remaining unchanged.

“Just seems like you’d be one to take on the extra credit.”

You release a shuddering breath. This is bad. This is Silco. And it’s why you need to end this now. He’s a chronic flirt, a player, a bad guy. And you weren’t born yesterday.

“You’re nasty,” you say, searching deep for that spark of anger that’s always at the ready around him. But you come up empty.

He cocks his head. “You asked me first.”

“Eat dirt.”

“You’re so rude to me. Wondered why for so long,” he says glibly, observing you a moment before shrugging, “Should’ve just said something if you wanted to watch me have it off.”

An abrupt vision of Silco fucking his fist for you has blood thrumming startlingly hot through your veins. You halt, hands falling to rest shakily on your hips. His measured gaze drifts slowly across your abdomen, shirt hitched slightly, a sliver of bare skin tightening and prickling with goose flesh as his tongue pushes against his teeth in thought.

It’s high tide and you’re losing ground fast.

“Thanks, but…” you begin and stop. You bite your lip hard, release it before gnawing again as he watches your indecision like it’s primetime television. You stare for another moment, allowing the anticipation to marinate before you finally speak.

“Thanks but I’d rather watch time lapse footage of Benzo passing a kidney stone.”

Silco curses under his breath. You bask in a centering satisfaction as that vulturous mask drops and he seems to pass through every stage of grief, a thumb and forefinger rising to grip at the bridge of his nose.

You return to your chair, brushing invisible lint off your pants, hands trembling with a strange, frenetic energy. “You know, Silco, this entire bet thing could’ve been avoided if you didn’t have such a weird fucking God complex.”

Silco nods vehemently in mock agreement, a barely concealed frustration now pinching the space between his brows. “I’m the one with the complex? You’re right-”

“I know,” you interrupt with a sugary sympathy.

“It’s my fault you drank yourself stupid that night,” he snarls.

“Yep.”

“My fault you can’t keep that mean little mouth of yours closed around me.”

“Bless your heart-”

“Shut up,” he barks. And you uncharacteristically heed the command for a moment, jaw snapping shut before you stutter.

“I-”

His voice is a whip cracking the air and landing with a single resounding snap. “I said shut up.” He’s mulling something over and you examine that knife blade of a jaw with darting eyes as it clenches and unclenches.

“Earlier you were asking me to put an end to this funny little bet of ours,” he alleges dangerously and he finally meets your gaze, eyes glittering like twin swords, “Is that still what you want?”

You’re certain you don’t know what he means, but the shudder that tracks your spine and the coinciding lightning strike of scorching heat in your lower belly says otherwise. You swallow hard, lowering your chin to your chest quickly. Too quickly to go unnoticed.

Your uncharacteristic lack of retort hangs heavy in the air, mind staunchly blank.

“I mean,” he interrupts, hand gesturing calmly, whimsically contradicting the venom lacing his tone. “Don’t get me wrong, it was cute for a while-”

“Cute?!”

“You picking fights. The quarreling. But now…I think it’s time this ends.”

“End… what. What’s ending?” your voice is too quiet, breathy, so cautious of the tension that is pulling wildly taut from a subtle, pulsing place behind your navel.

“The games,” he intones.

“Games?”

He looks you dead in the eye. “Touch yourself.”

You move without thought. With him balancing on only two chair legs, it’s easy to bring him down with a single, precise kick. A fine slice of terror splits your chest at the terribly loud screech of metal against stone. You spider backward until your back crashes into the balustrade. You turn immediately to peer through the gap between the stones, but as far as you can tell, nobody below heard the clatter. You whip your head back, your entire body an overheating furnace as your breath comes in sharp pants..

You dig deep to rally up some of that vicious loathing from just minutes ago but it’s the way he’s looking at you, sitting up from where he’d been spilled onto the ground, hair disheveled, displeasure plain on the fine slants of his sunlit face. He’s seething but there’s an empty-bellied curiosity there, like he’s rearranging pieces at every turn to figure you out, keen eyes darting between yours.

“Now why would you go and do that?”

And there it is. That anger. Anger, you’re familiar with. Anger you can dig your speared little claws into, an infinite wellhead you can work with.

“Because I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can spit.”

He opens his mouth to retort but now it’s your turn to interrupt. You fall forward, collapsing onto your palms as you lean forward to emphasize.

“Because you’re an asshole. Because you walk around all arrogant like you’re Janna’s fucking gift to mankind, like your opinion is the only one that matters.” Silco rises to a crouch, collapsing back onto his heels, chipped teeth flashing as his head tips back with a strained sigh of frustration. “You think everything is about you, you, you. You’re selfish. You don’t listen to me, you don’t even listen to people who like you. Because Janna forbid Silco doesn’t get what he wants, right? You’re just a little control freak-”

“That’s enough,” his head snaps forward and his gaze narrows on yours with a deadly focus, “My turn.”

With thrilling speed, Silco hooks fingers behind your bent knees and drags your startled form forward between his spread thighs. You sink scrambling talons into the metal shoulder clasps on his vest feeling very much like a cat dangling over an ice bath as he leans forward, forcing you into an uncomfortable back bend. His lips curl acrimonious around each word, hot and cutting as his breath puffs across your face.

“You’ve got your head in the clouds and you can’t separate reality from fiction in that pretty little brain of yours. You only see what you want to see, and you want me to be the bad guy so badly, don’t you, sweetheart?” You lose the death grip, your palms flattening on the ground instead. His long-fingered hands slide to wrap the tops of your thighs to hold you there. “Janna, you’re still sore about something that happened how many months ago, five? Six? You hold grudges like most people hold hands.”

All of your attention goes to running him through with your speared glare. It’s a losing game, trying to absorb what he’s saying when the insides of his thighs scorch so perfectly against the outsides of yours, the points of contact setting aflame the now soaking nexus point between your legs.

“You never even apologized,” you hiss.

“Apologized for what? For your snooping? Oh, you’re so good at it – getting nosy and hurting your own feelings.”

“Apologize for your lack of an inside voice, and- and-” You stutter, feeling childish, grasping for insults in your tattered state, your breath sweeping a few strands of unkempt hairs across his forehead. “And your big mouth. And your- your giant, stupid nose. If you’d only tilt your head back, you could probably reach Piltover.”

“Nnnh, you’re so fucking frustrating, how you talk to me,” he spits, inches away now, eyes glinting with something perilous and alive.

“How I talk to you? You always talk down to me!”

Silco’s fingers dig painfully into your thighs. Neither of you stand down, chests brushing each other with each furious breath in, eyes ablaze. His breath hitches when your tongue darts out to wet your lips and he looks almost lost for a few long moments before his gaze ticks back up to yours.

His voice drops lethally low, a rumbling purr against your breasts. “I bet we’d fuck hard.”

The words make contact like an iron fist to the stomach, stealing your next breath, your spine bowing slightly as your cunt clenches and flutters around nothing at all. You know he feels the punched sigh of breath fan upon his cheekbones, sharp as knives.

“What?” you breathe.

“You want this entire thing to be a fight to the end, don’t you?” His throat bobs dryly and you can’t tell if he’s gotten closer or if his lips were this close to yours before. “You want to push and push, you little hypocrite, until I snap and fuck you the way you’ve been begging me to for months now.”

Greedy little flowers in your chest both wither and bloom as you rake wildly around in his eyes for some telltale glimmer that will call his bluff. You need to move out from under his sharklike gaze. But you’re utterly paralyzed and your wide-eyed stasis is too obvious.

You rile up anger from a quickly drying well.

“Arrogant. Just like I said.”

“Head in the clouds, just like I said,” he says, voice having lost that angry fervor.

The tip of his nose brushes barely against yours as he averts his gaze down to your chest, breasts pushed up from your position and rising with quick, shallow breaths.

Move.

One hand remains clawed into the clothed skin of your leg while the other drags up to your waist, thumb finding the twitching skin of your hip bone, massaging there much too gently.

“Look at you, all mad and hissing,” he says, almost in wonder, “Except you’re not even mad at me, are you, you’re mad at yourself. So mean to me.” His gaze drops lower. “I should eat you out.”

A thick, golden ribbon of desire unravels fast and pools hot. You squeeze your eyes shut. Those lips, so expressive in the way they shape sound, sheltering in the neglected, burning place between your legs. Worshiping the skin of your inner thighs with featherlike kisses.

“Shut the fuck up,” you snarl.

You throw one closed fist into his chest, the angle too awkward to do anything but merely thump him. You pounce forward, indignation lighting the way as you shove him onto his back. His head smacks lightly against the concrete ground, long hair splaying like a chestnut crown. You feel a flicker of guilt at the strained groan he releases before it’s dashed instantly when his green eyes snap open with a new, laserlike focus.

Silco snatches long fingers at your waist and rolls his hips deliberately upward.

Your nails dig half-moons into his bare biceps as you fight and fail to reign in an embarrassing whine. Another quiet groan releases in tandem with his when his hands migrate to your ass, gripping and pulling your neglected, clothed pussy across his length again. The pads of his fingers zigzag a tickling pattern up your sides before his thumbs curl around your front to cup and palm your breasts.

“Stop!” you wheeze. He pauses. “You lose. Fair and square.”

“What?” He breathes, all worked up now, thumbs sweeping in an upward arc and catching your stiff nipples. Your jaw falls in a silent cry, head falling to your chest to get your bearings.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” you spit.

You toss his hold off and jab your index finger into his chest hard. “You broke the ‘no heavy petting’ clause. How many times did I tell you no heavy petting? That? That was heavy petting.”

You’re quivering, trying to ignore the way he’s half-hard and pressing so heavy and delicious against your core, how all you want to do is grind yourself along him again.

Silco looks about ready to throttle you. “You think I care about a bet?”

“Yes, of course you do, your ego can’t handle the tiniest loss.” You prod another finger into his sternum and he snatches the offending wrist, yanking you toward him.

“Enough with the stupid bet,” he hisses.

“Then fork over that cash quick, will you?” He snarls as his own words are thrown back in his face. “You lost. Admit it and we can move on.”

“Oh no, no.” Silco juts his head forward until he’s growling into your ear. “If I lost, then so did you, because this isn’t at all one-sided, sweetheart. You play dirty. Filthy.”

“Do I?” You turn your head, too, to hiss into his ear, voice crackling with desire. “You know what, fine. I’ll throw a poor man a bone. I’ll give you a second chance and we can pretend you didn’t just cop a feel of my entire ass.”

One set of fingers releases your wrist, slides up the silken slope of your neck until it fists tight into your hair to hold anchor there instead. You squirm when his nose mashes against your temple, dragging back and forth as he grates into your ear. “And I’ll pretend you weren’t just whining into my ear like a little cock-hungry brat.”

“FINE.”

Without much thought, you shove your hand down the front of your pants, fingers diving straight into the slickness between your thighs. With your head tucked against his neck, you get to only imagine the look on his face as his body goes rigid beneath yours: that indelible crease between his brows ironing out in surprise, his jaw slackening as your knuckles unwittingly brush the column of his arousal while you tend to your own.

You grit into his sweat damp neck. “Loophole. Apparently.” Reaching between your legs proves to be incredibly difficult without arching your spine, wriggling until your ass juts into the air.

“Janna…”

“I just want the money. Now watch.”

Your knees dig uncomfortably into the hard ground but you push, straining to reach your arm further in order to sink two fingers easily into your drenched pussy with a shuddered, relieved gasp. It’s like he doesn’t know where to put his hands, hovering them ghostlike over your ribs and waist – as if you’re suddenly some delicate thing.

“You’re wicked,” he breathes, “You have no idea…”

“Suffer.”

His stupor is effectively broken.

“Hold still.” You’re forced to temporarily disengage as he sits up, moving you effortlessly across the concrete until his back hits the marble of the balustrade.

There’s a terrifying intimacy about being suddenly face to face with your foe, cum-slick fingers digging into the sides of his vest for purchase. And Silco looks absolutely wrecked, head falling back against the stone, face flushed and savage as he takes you in fully with pupils blown wide.

You feel too seen in this position, need the shelter of the crux of his neck but he doesn’t allow it, calloused palm quickly wrapping a loose necklace around the column of your throat to hold you still.

“Loopholes,” he taunts, squeezing lightly enough that you can pull away if you want to, but enough that he most definitely feels your anxious swallow. “Nervous?”

You eviscerate him with a fierce glare. It’s easier in this position to shove down your pants and reach the drenched wetness between your legs again. “No.”

“Good girl,” he says with a breathtaking grin.

You swallow down the pleasured keen that rises to your throat with those two words, fingers slick and instantly moving at a desperate pace.

That’s it,” he says. Silco’s wild eyes rove over your stiff, vibrating form like you’ll disappear at any moment. “Feels so good, doesn’t it, letting go.”

“I’m n- I’m not. L-Letting go of anything, you bastard.”

“Of course you aren’t.”

One of his long-fingered hands glides down to smooth over the impressive bulge pushing tight against the front fabric of his pants– up and down, up and down slowly palming himself. Abdomen tightening in his attempts to thrust with the movement, even as you have him pinned. You can’t take your eyes off it and if you weren’t so insane with arousal you would’ve been embarrassed by the way your mouth waters.

“Sometimes,” he says, “I think you want me all to yourself.”

“False.”

“That night at the bar. You saw me talking to someone else and you didn’t like it very much, did you?”

“Saved her a dry and p-pitiful fuck.” A ragged huff of laughter pulls from his throat because he can hear the hypocrisy of your words, the furious back and forth schlick of your fingers. “You deserved the loss.”

He hums appreciatively. “But look what I’ve won.”

Something terribly warm and possessive ghosts across the hollow of your chest like feathers upon harp strings and you move unwittingly faster, like you can punish him for it. His temple settles against your cheekbone as his head dips to better watch your frantic ministrations beneath the fabric of your pants.

Silco releases a starved, shuddering sigh that drifts across your bare collarbone and the hand he had upon his clothed cock lifts to wrap your free wrist. He slides it up his leg until it reaches his upper thigh, where he curls your fingers in silent challenge.

End this.

His skin burns catastrophically hot beneath your palm and you can only imagine the raging column of hard heat that would greet you if you moved the pads of your fingers just a few inches up.

You muffle a soft whine, pressing your neck into his stiff palm to steal a further, more keening cry as your index finger catches your clit in a particularly delicious way. Pleasure drops like a stone in your lower belly and you feel the spark of an approaching release.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whines back into your ear, almost mockingly. Your jaw drops in a bid for air as he squeezes the span of two breaths from you before releasing. “It’s all so difficult, isn’t it?”

“Janna, you’re the f-fucking worst.” You gasp as soon as you can and he pulls back to look at you with an almost fondness. “I can’t stand you-”

Lightning quick, fingers peel off your sweat slick neck to press and invade the cavern of your mouth, sliding two digits across your tongue before pulling back to catch on the ridge of your teeth, thumb arcing electric under to grip your jaw in warning.

“Be nice.”

You mean to protest, to bite down, but instead find yourself sucking the digits greedily back into your mouth.

“We don’t have to fuck like animals, you know,” he says, watching you work almost reverently. “Although, maybe that’s what you need. Get all that aggression out. Must be exhausting, hm?”

“Nnh nnh,” you protest and he slides the pads of his fingers back across your tongue until you gag, eyes clouding with water as he scissors them around before pulling back.

“We can go slow, though, if that’s what you want.” He hums quietly. “We’ve got time.”

Silco tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear and it’s so fucking soft, so contradictory to the way he fucks his fingers into your mouth. You feel yourself melting and it’s terrible and wonderful, and your eyes squeeze shut.

“Go ahead and lose, sweetheart,” he says softly, “Lose and I’ll replace those pretty fingers of yours with my tongue.”

And you’re so close, so close to moving that hand upward – moving it so you can finish on his mouth, so you can put an end to all this tension you hadn’t even known had been rising all along.

But he stiffens suddenly beneath you and through the haze of pleasure you’re scrabbling for reality as he suddenly presses your face into his neck to quiet your cries, shushing you urgently.

“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to free the hand working in your pants. You cling, confused, to his vest as you pant, coming down from the precipice of orgasm, feeling cheated and ready to fight until you hear it, too.

The scuffle of multiple pairs of boots on metal, coming up the stairs.

“Run.”

<3 <3 <3

Thank you so much for reading, I can't wait to put these idiots to bed in Part 2. If you feel so inclined, reblog/leave a comment - I'd love to hear what you thought. If you liked, check out my other works here!

Thank you to my beautiful, whip smart betas for supporting me through this funny lil endeavor @sherwood-forests @averagecrastinator

Happy Birthday, Ink

#silco #arcane #silco x reader #silco arcane #silco x you #reader insert #young silco #young silco x reader

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touyaspeach · 2 years

Text

Headcanons // 🤍greatest hits (over 1k notes)

༶•┈┈⛧Midoriya Izuku⛧┈┈•༶

Blood and Syrup (fluff, angst) 7.3k - You are hopelessly in love with Izuku, so much so that flowers grow in your lungs. Your love is going to kill you, and you are going to let it.

This is Home (angst, fluff) 12.1k - Izuku never deserved to be loved. He’s spent his whole life being bullied and rejected, so of course when he met you he fell hard and fast. Over time Izuku learns that it’s okay to love and be loved in return.

Araignée du Soir, Cauchemar (fluff, smut, angst) 8.6k - You and your partner, Hitoshi, are underground assassins working for a crime syndicate known as The Bureau. When you’re tasked to kill the up and coming pro hero, Deku, and your partner confesses his long-standing feelings for the man, what will you do?

༶•┈┈⛧Bakugou Katsuki⛧┈┈•༶

🤍 Take What You Want (smut, fluff) 5.7k - You're playing a game of truth or dare when Bakugou has to admit he's a virgin. A while later and he's knocking on your dorm late one night asking you to help him rectify that.

༶•┈┈⛧Todoroki Shouto⛧┈┈•༶

Crimson and Cloves (fluff, angst) 9k - Shouto is in love with you, but he doesn’t understand these feelings; so when flowers bloom and grow in his lungs he’s faced with an impossible decision.

༶•┈┈⛧Kaminari Denki⛧┈┈•༶

🤍Loverboy (fluff, smut) 6k - You’ve never played the pocky game before, and suddenly you find yourself face to face with the guy you’ve been crushing on for years with a pocky stick between your teeth as you slowly inch towards his lips.

༶•┈┈⛧Kuroiro Shihai⛧┈┈•༶

Lights Out (fluff, smut) 14.5k - You learn that your co-worker and fellow pro-hero, Kuroiro Shihai aka Vantablack, has been moonlighting as a camboy. A deep dive into his hours of content later, and somehow you end up as his biggest fan and number one supporter. The only caveat is... you're pretty sure he hates you.

༶•┈┈⛧Shinso Hitoshi⛧┈┈•༶

༶•┈┈⛧Midoriya Izuku⛧┈┈•༶

Good Boy (smut, fluff) 2.4k - You peg Izuku for the first time and turn him into a crying, begging mess.

Happy Birthday (smut, fluff) 3.2k - Izuku takes you on a date for your birthday, and has a special surprise for you when you get home!

Pretty Kitty(smut) 2.6k - Izuku is your pretty kitty, all dressed up and ready to please.

Wedding Night (fluff, smut) 2k - You and Izuku do it for the first time on your wedding night

༶•┈┈⛧Bakugo Katsuki⛧┈┈•༶

“Did you just kiss me?” (fluff, smut) 3.9k - Dynamight is the most insufferable prick you’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, so why does it feel so right when his lips meet yours and you find yourself pinned beneath him?

Fishnet and Catboys (smut) 2.3k - Shigaraki and Bakugou find themselves under a curious quirk that's turned them both into catboys, and under your care in an odd turn of events.

༶•┈┈⛧Kaminari Denki⛧┈┈•༶

Overstim (smut) 1.7k - You overstim your cute bf Denki, and he returns the favor a bit unexpectedly.

༶•┈┈⛧Shinso Hitoshi⛧┈┈•༶

Mine (smut, fluff) 1.7k - On a drunken dare you agree to let your long-time best friend ( and secret crush, Hitoshi ) pierce you. Only catch is not only does he get to choose the place, but you’ve never so much as had your ears pierced.

Sunrise Picnic (fluff) 1.4k - It's your best friend, Hitoshi's birthday, and you surprise him by taking him to a beautiful place and spending time with him.

༶•┈┈⛧Takami Keigo⛧┈┈•༶

Pretty Bird (smut) 1k - You let Keigo fuck you until he can’t possibly cum anymore.

༶•┈┈⛧Todoroki Touya⛧┈┈•༶

Use Me (fluff, smut, angst) 4k - After a bad break-up you did not expect to see your sworn enemy darkening your doorstep. But you were lonely, and Dabi was so warm.

Too Bad, Hero (angst) 2.8k - As a member of the bureau you are tasked with infiltrating the LoV. You end up growing fond of the villains, except for Dabi, who hates you.

Cliché (fluff, angst) ❄ 2.4k - Neighbor AU, it which you are in love with the boy next door, and then he dies. (Todoroki Touya)

Fucked Dumb (smut) 2.0k - You and Dabi don’t get along, but after seeing him with another woman, things get hot and heavy.

Love Taste (smut) 1.3k - You peg Dabi, but you gotta tame the brat first.

༶•┈┈⛧Shigaraki Tomura⛧┈┈•༶

Fishnet and Catboys (smut) 2.3k - Shigaraki and Bakugou find themselves under a curious quirk that's turned them both into catboys, and under your care in an odd turn of events.

༶•┈┈⛧Midoriya Izuku⛧┈┈•༶

Idolized (angst)

Size Kink (smut)

Onsen Vacation (fluff, smut)

13:1 Baker’s Dozen (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧Bakugou Katsuki⛧┈┈•༶

Angry (angst, fluff)

Honeyed (fluff)

Dumb (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧Todoroki Shouto⛧┈┈•༶

Poetry (fluff)

༶•┈┈⛧Iida Tenya⛧┈┈•༶

Beg (smut)

Touch Me Not (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧Kirishima Eijiro⛧┈┈•༶

Hoodie Naps (fluff)

Ruin You (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧Shinso Hitoshi⛧┈┈•༶

First Time Holding Hands (fluff)

Thighs (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧Amajiki Tamaki⛧┈┈•༶

Closet Pervert (smut)

At the Pool (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧Takami Keigo⛧┈┈•༶

Public (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧Todoroki Touya⛧┈┈•༶

Thirst (angst)

It’s Love (angst, smut)

A Cautionary Tale (angst)

Recovery (angst, fluff)

Possession (smut)

Dreams (angst)

Deserved Better (angst)

Cold (angst)

༶•┈┈⛧Shigaraki Tomura⛧┈┈•༶

Morning Kisses (fluff)

Disintegration (angst)

༶•┈┈⛧Chisaki Kai⛧┈┈•༶

Mess (smut)

༶•┈┈⛧death bed⛧┈┈•༶

(hiatus) Slow burn; you show Dabi that it’s okay to want to be loved and that not all relationships have to be toxic. He falls hard and fast but can’t bring himself to cut ties with his current gf. I’m going all out on this one, graphic descriptions of torture, sex, violence and substance use. It’s gonna be dark and heavy, I’ll try to include warnings at the beginning of each chapter. (smut, angst, fluff)

#mlist

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homemadegirlbossbattle · 1 year

Text

ROUND 1 / SIDE A / POLL 5

Chrysanta Drosdov (née Rosetti) (@lydthecoolkyd, art by @shmungles) vs. Jestiny Rook (@adelaidedrubman, art by @derelictheretic)

Chrysanta Drosdov info:

Description: This is my d&d character from a cowboy-samurai kind of setting. Chrysanta is a 40-year old Tiefling and a wandering Gravekeeper, part of an order of monks who deal with the dead in this setting—perform death rites, maintain graveyards, etc. Rather than stay put at a monastery serving one town, she wanders, burying those who died alone with no one to take care of their bodies. Since there was recently a 20-year-long war that left behind a massive desert in its wake, there are plenty of unburied dead to be found. She is driven primarily by guilt over the crimes of her past, as well as over being unable to be a good mother, and her lingering violent impulses.

Crimes:

Resisting the urge to write too much but there is a lot of context for all of this that doesn't exactly make any of this okay but she's really trying to be better I promise lol.

Murdering more people than she can count as a highway robber as a teen Getting her younger brother killed in a robbery gone wrong Lying to her husband about her past for a while Leaving her husband and daughter for seven months. Nothing but a note. She went back but left again and even though she's been back for every one of her daughter's birthdays she's still a deadbeat mom shot a (mostly) innocent woman in the kneecap to prove a point let a dangerous prisoner go without consulting anyone else in the hopes that it would get her close to her long-lost brother (who, surprise, is alive and trying to take over a town through violence) shot at a politician to keep her from escaping with what would most certainly lead to weapons of mass destruction. she was trying to do a good thing here, but she was stupid about it and now she and the 15yo kid in the party are on wanted posters. killed already-unconscious guards after we were already out of combat

Other notes from the submitter: I have written a novella of her backstory. Legit it is almost 80k words. I'm so happy to share so much more info about her and the setting in general. Perhaps I will make another account solely dedicated to this lore.

Jestiny Rook info:

Description: jestiny is an overgrown gifted child burn out and self-described “normal human person” slash future “america’s sweetheart” who is in actuality widely locally hated in her canon material (far cry 5). a girl with no moral compass but a deep fondness for dying on every hill she’s ever come across, she initially attempts to abandon her position as a deputy (cop, strike one) after the county she’s sworn to protect is seized by a violent doomsday cult, but has a quick change of heart after seeing how much her friends and neighbors need her help — just kidding, she has no friends and only got invested for the sake of playing 5D chess with a middle management cult leader slash torturer to feed her own desire for an unearned sense of intellectual superiority. and once she IS invested, she is ramping up war crimes and endangering the civilians she swears she’s doing this to protect while subjecting them to her childish tantrums, violence, manipulation, and generally awful personality! described by the characters who know her best as “vicious, ruthless, heinous, condemnable, merciless, insufferable, deplorable, irredeemably violent nightmare of a woman” “harbinger of destruction, force of ruin” “not fucking special, fucking pathetic” and “a very difficult test to be faced with,” she has an undeniable devilish charm!

Crimes: impromptu torturing a man seeking her help to flee a cult, callously prying into the trauma of her crush’s past victims to sate her own morbid curiosity, countless murder of civilians (including for singing a song she didn’t want to hear), grave desecration, attempting to make the deceased’s surviving family member feel unreasonable for criticizing the grave desecration, theft by false pretense, ordering pointless raids resulting in foreseeable unnecessary deaths to impress her crush, deceiving and manipulating allies, revealing sensitive information resulting in a deadly siege of a stronghold, destruction of sentimental property, and throwing self-victimizing tantrums any time she is called out on any of the above.

Other notes from the submitter: she’s just a funny little guy.

#poll #oc poll #hmgbb

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bangtann-bangdamn · 3 years

Text

Piers Morgan has left Good Morning Britain?!?

Thank fuck for that, I might actually watch the news now 😂

#honestly he is the most insufferable man in the world #I can’t stand him #oh happy days #and on Yoongi’s birthday too #best present ever #Kate rambles

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purplelalaland · 2 years

Text

a/n: So I might or might not (most definitely) Have been a little too obsessed with SKZ SMAU lately and decided to write my own. And here I am. Doing this. If you are interested on reading you will find the links of the chapter down below (they will be appearing as I drop them and will update once a week). -Will start tagging people if anyone is interested-

Let me know what you think and Thank you for reading!!

✨✨✨✨✨✨FINISHED✨✨✨✨✨✨

SKZ+reader - College SKZ smau: crack!, slow burn, mature, bad jokes.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, possible fights, mentions of sex/sexual behavior, anxiety.

Summary: Nothing really happens in y/n life. Until it does. She has had the same friend group for what feels like forever, not really letting anyone else in. Until she does. She has had a crush on her best friend since middle school. Until she doesn’t.

A new year in her college life has started and with it a new schedule, new classmates, new crushes and new problems. When her storytelling teacher decides to offer unrequited help in what seems the best idea to get yn to bring up her grades and help her become the writer she wants to be, she gets pair with the person she despises the most on earth and watches as her newest crush slips away from her. Now she is caught up between an annoying man child and getting close to the one who could be the love of her life. All while dealing with overcoming a heart break and the events that scared her for life. No one said adulting was supposed to be this hard. Or maybe it isn’t.

Introductions

Chapter 1. The breakfast club

Chaapter 2. ‘‘Chan’s girlfriend y/n’’

Chapter 3. Confidence or incompetence?

Chapter 4. Fucking Han Jisung

Chapter 5. Y/N likes Hwang Hyunjin?

Chapter 6. Let’s get the party started.

Chapter 7. Seungmin from calculus

Chapter 8. “Now who tf is he?”

Chapter 9. Who said anything about love?

Chapter 10. Crushes and Avocados

Chapter 11. Change of Rules

Chapter 12. Looking for trouble

Chapter 13. Spoiled Children

Chapter 14. I’m not stupid

Chapter 15. “I hate you so much I might kill you”

Chapter 16. We need a bad guy

Chapter 17. Stray Kids

Chapter 18. Close

Chapter 19. I think he is in love

Chapter 20. Babysitting is not fun

Chapter 21. Happy Fucking Birthday

Chapter 22. Don’t make me regret this

Chapter 23. I might be in love

Chapter 24. Birthdays and Broken Hearts

Chapter 25. I don’t have a crush on her…

Chapter 26. Moral hangover

Chapter 27. The silent treatment

Chapter 28. Testing my patience

Chapter 29. MIA

Chapter 30 part 1. The truth hurts like a motherfucker

Chapter 30 part 2. Allow yourself to feel

Chapter 31. I know you know

Chapter 32. Insufferable smug prince

Chapter 33. Flirting

Chapter 34. Heartbreak’s a bitch

Chapter 35. Figure it out

Chapter 36. I have been enlightened

Chapter 37. A week of chaos

Chapter 38. I am a groupie and I am proud

Chapter 39. Just the four of us

Chapter 40. Have you ever been in love?

Chapter 41. A fair chance

Chapter 42. Straight forward

Chapter 43. Commitment issues

Chapter 44. Girls like nice guys

Chapter 45. I like him more…

Chapter 46. A secret lover?

Chapter 47. Holding you together

Chapter 48. It’s complicated

Chapter 49. The dilemma

Chapter 50. Avoiding

Chapter 51. THEY SAW EVERYTHING!!!

Chapter 52. Scheme

Chapter 53. That’s it then?

Chapter 54. Not who you were expecting…

Chapter 55. At least you were honest?

Chapter 56. Crying over a gallon of ice cream

Chapter 57. I’m already over it

Chapter 58. Are you jealous?

Chapter 59. Waiting on you

Chapter 60. She’s my girl

Epilogue

The series continues with: No Other Way

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yslkook · 3 years

Text

Polarized

summary: It's the weekend of your closest friends' bachelor and bachelorette parties. The decision to combine both parties in one weekend would be fine and well, absolutely dandy, if it didn't mean that your arch nemesis, the insufferable Kim Namjoon would be joining.

pairing: namjoon x reader (e2l)

word count: 6.9k

warnings: insults, oc and namjoon "hate" each other, smut (it's mostly tame, but some parts might be kind of rough), oral f!receiving, penetrative sex, making out in an elevator, alcohol bc it's me, jk does body shots off of oc (or does he)

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JOON my virgo king<333 yes this is his birthday fic. e2l is a hard dynamic to get down, i hope you all enjoy. let me know your thoughts. first time writing for joon!

“Oh, hell no,” you groan loudly, smacking your forehead with the heel of your palm. You’re certain everyone in the terminal waiting area has heard you, and you’re certain that the bridal party scattered behind you had definitely heard you.

You curse the universe with a fist to the sky (the ceiling) as your eyes finally land on Kim Namjoon strutting through the airport, only to land in your terminal with the rest of the groomsmen.

Seokjin looks for Mira with expectant, bright eyes and he immediately runs to her and scoops her up, spinning her around in a hug.

If you didn’t love them both, you would think it was obnoxious. No, scratch that, you still think it’s a little obnoxious. You gag loudly and the rest of the bridesmaids shove your shoulder.

Of course Mira and Jin both somehow tricked their bridesmaids and groomsmen into planning their respective bachelorette and bachelor parties at the same place during the same four days. And since you were in Mira’s bridal party, that meant that… Kim Namjoon, your arch-nemesis, possibly the most irksome man on this side of the world with his stupid dimples and stupid big brain, will be on the same aircraft as you.

Not only will he be on the same aircraft with you, but you’ll both be spending the next four days together. If you know your best friends well (and you do), you know that Mira and Jin have planned for combined, shared days of partying.

Knowing that Namjoon will be in the same ten foot radius as you for the majority of the next few days is enough to set your blood on fire and make you audibly growl in Namjoon’s direction.

“Eugh,” you grumble, “You again.”

“Hello to you too,” Namjoon scoffs, “This will be a fun vacation-”

“Oh, I’d hardly call this a vacation, considering the company that has wormed its way into our itinerary-”

“Mira and Jin literally planned this-”

“Whatever, you’re on thin ice, Namjoon.”

“I’m shaking in my boots,” he deadpans and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Kim Namjoon-”

“Will you give it a rest, we’ve been here for five fucking minutes,” Mira hisses, shoving your shoulder. You don’t have the decency to look embarrassed, you just glare at her.

You leave Namjoon by the waiting area, going to say hello to the rest of the guys. Namjoon shakes his head as he watches you walk away, not bothering to hide the way his eyes track your backside.

You piss him off to every degree, but he won’t deny himself of this small victory.

Not that he’d ever tell you that to your face though. He’ll keep his appreciations of you silent. He also thinks you have a very nice smile (though you never smile at him) and pretty eyes (when you’re not glaring death at him).

It’s too bad that you exist to irritate and insult him. Everything you say to him is a dig, a quip, a sarcastic comment. Nothing you’ve said to him holds any substance. Despite being in each other’s lives for years, more than a decade, nothing about your relationship with him has changed.

You’re still the bratty princess who throws a tantrum when you don’t get your way, and he’s still the guy who will admonish you for throwing such a tantrum. You’re obnoxious in the way you correct him and you always have to be right. Namjoon can easily list five things that irritate him about you off the top of his head.

How can he know so little about you and yet know so much?

And yet… Namjoon doesn’t acknowledge the pang in his chest when he sees you laughing so freely and openly with Yoongi.

You can’t exactly pinpoint the moment that your unfortunate, tumultuous enemyship with Namjoon began. All you really remember is that he’s always been around, especially since you set up Seokjin and Mira years ago in college. Specifically, the end of your freshman year at a house party in a disgusting, sweat-filled basement surrounded by bodies and the worst tasting alcohol known to man.

Though maybe that’s where the wedge was pushed into your friendship with Namjoon, before it could really ever begin. Namjoon claimed that he had gotten Jin and Mira together, and you knew that it was you who pushed them together.

And from then onwards, it just continued escalating and escalating and escalating…

Kim Namjoon is painful, rigid thorn in your side that has been stuck for years and years, with his stupid self-righteousness, his stupid dimples and his holier-than-thou attitude. His attitude sends you over the edge more often than not- he’s always telling you to calm down, or that you’re overreacting as usual.

Well, it’s not your fault that his mere voice makes you want to stick knives into your eyeballs.

So of course, in a cruel twist of fate, it makes sense that Namjoon is sitting in the seat right in front of you on the airplane. Why wouldn’t he? Because the universe hates you, it seems.

You resist the urge to kick his seat and roll your eyes, immediately plugging your headphones in. Hopefully, you’ll fall asleep soon.

Too bad for you that your dreams are filled with nothing but Kim Namjoon and his unfairly deep dimples. Much to your absolute irritation.

You’re the last one of the bridal party off of the plane, but your eyes subconsciously travel over your shoulder and your feet plant themselves at the exit of the gate. You wait for Jin’s groomsmen to join you, each of them either nodding at you or waving at you. With the exception of Jungkook and Jimin, who always greet you with a big hug.

And then there’s Namjoon. It seems like he’s the last one out, and with that you continue on your way towards baggage claim.

“Do my eyes deceive me? You really waited up for me?” Namjoon’s voice comes, firm and soft behind you.

“Not at all,” you reply swiftly, “Just don’t want to stay here longer than I have to.”

“You can admit it, you know. That you have a not so secret crush on me,” he baits you, and as usual, you rise to the occasion.

“Oh, please, I have better taste than that.”

“I beg to differ, you remember that guy you were dating for a few months? The one you brought to Mira and Jin’s engagement party-”

“Shut the fuck up, we don’t speak about him-”

“Uh huh.”

Your bickering continues all the way to the luggage belt, where you’re pulled apart by your respective groups of friends. Namjoon and his newly cropped sandy brown hair leaves the periphery of your mind for now as you bring your friends along with you to exit the airport.

Namjoon reminds himself woefully that this joint bachelorette/bachelor party was both Jin and Mira’s idea, despite how much he had wanted this to just be a boy's trip. He can vividly remember when Jin had informed the guys that he and Mira really wanted to combine their parties, and all of the guys had collectively groaned.

It was supposed to be a boys weekend, they had grumbled.

He knows that the girls had protested to Mira, too. But what Mira and Jin want, they get. Which is why both parties are currently at a pool day club, each person with a drink in each hand and sunglasses covering their eyes.

And then there’s you. You’re wearing a tiny orange bikini and Namjoon is struggling to keep his eyes off of you. Off of the delicious curve of your spine, the way the water droplets drip slowly into your bikini top and disappear, the way your thighs jiggle with each step you take.

You’re currently shoving a shot down your throat eagerly, as if you haven’t just had three shots with Seokjin, Jimin and Mira respectively.

Namjoon is only a simple man. He watches with hesitant eyes as your tits bounce in your bikini as you jump up and down with an arm around Mira’s shoulders.

He is only a man, after all. He barely feels Jungkook elbow him in the ribs, teasing him for staring so intensely at you.

“Unclench your jaw. You look pissed for no reason, dude. Either that or you’re horny-”

“Shut up,” Namjoon rolls his eyes, punching Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook only laughs before wading away from his corner of the pool and towards you. Surely, you’re offering body shots to Jungkook from the way his cheeks flush and his eyes widen.

You’ve always been a little wild, a raging fire, from what Namjoon remembers from your early college years. Always the one ready for an adventure, the first one out of the door. You loved to laugh, you loved having fun with your friends and if that meant engaging in minorly high risk activities, so be it. You found it easy to speak to strangers (as you were doing now), always able to make a boring night something eventful.

And somehow in college, you still got great grades. Namjoon had been so jealous of you back then- you were both the same major, and he can vividly recall how many nights he had stayed in to study when you were out being young, wild, and free. Part of his immense dislike for you probably stemmed from then.

He doesn’t feel as strongly as he did back then about you. But it seems you do.

Namjoon bites his bottom lip and takes a long sip of his drink. He continues to people-watch, but somehow, his eyes always land on you.

And yet… he catches your eyes on him more often than usual, too.

It’s not that Namjoon dislikes you. It’s that you’re both never on the same page, and everything that you say and do grates on his nerves and irritates him beyond belief.

Such as now, when everyone is trying to decide where to have dinner and whether to go to the club after. You’re not really engaged in the conversation. You’re just scrolling on your phone with your brows furrowed in concentration.

“We’re never gonna be able to pick a place that all of us agree to,” Mira groans.

“I mean… do we all have to eat at the same place? And do we all have to go to the club? Does everyone want to do that?” You ask from your seat at the bartop. Thirteen pairs of eyes turn to you, but you keep your back straight. You know some of your friends are tired from the day and would prefer to sleep rather than go out again, and you’re right there with them.

Namjoon is about to open his mouth to counter you to say that this weekend is for Mira and Jin so they should all try their best to do whatever they want, but he bites his tongue. Jungkook is nodding off in Jimin’s lap, Sana and Jihyo already fast asleep on Tiffany’s shoulder.

Namjoon begrudgingly admits that you might have a point.

“We’re not all able to recover as well as we used to,” Namjoon says. He relishes the startled look on your face, since he’s agreeing with you for once. “Maybe it would be better to have a night in for whoever wants to hang back.”

“Speak for yourself,” Taehyung scoffs.

“Wow, the crown prince of all that is evil in this world is on my side for once?” you joke, “What does that make me?”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and ignores you, albeit not able to stop the upward quirk of his lips.

“It was definitely a good idea to stay in, wasn’t it?” A voice from a few feet behind you calls. You recognize it immediately as Namjoon’s voice floats through the melodic night air.

“Absolutely, I have plenty of great ideas. You just never appreciate them,” you say without looking back at him.

“That’s a lie, you never give me the chance to appreciate them. Or to appreciate you,” Namjoon says smoothly, “You always wanna fight me.”

“No, you always wanna fight me-”

Namjoon raises one eyebrow at you and you scoff.

“Don’t make me fight with you in front of the moon.”

“The moon? What does the moon have to do with you always picking fights with me?”

“She doesn’t need to witness this minor disagreement.”

“She’s definitely witnessed millions of our disagreements before. I can think of at least five times we’ve ended our nights with each other like this.”

“As if I’d willingly spend a singular night with you,” you roll your eyes for the millionth time already.

“And yet here we are,” Namjoon says calmly. You bite your tongue, instead choosing to face the ocean. A light midnight breeze shuffles through your thin pajamas and threads it's comforting fingers through your hair. You sigh softly- you could watch the ocean like this for hours and hours. The water glints a blue-silver with the reflection of the moon shimmering over the surface and not even Namjoon could ruin this for you.

Well. Maybe you’ve spoken too soon.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Namjoon says, his deep voice nearly startling you.

“Would be nicer if you’d shut up,” you mutter, earning yourself a scoff.

But you feel the shift in the air before you even turn to look at him.

“Seriously? Can’t even get five minutes without you being like this,” Namjoon rolls his eyes, “Doesn’t matter if we’re on vacation, if we’re back home, you’re always like this-”

“Being like what, Namjoon?”

“So fucking difficult for no reason, when we’re alone even when we’re with our friends-”

“I’m difficult? You’re difficult, you’re insufferable-”

You hardly realize how close to him you are, how long his lashes are and how prominent his dimples are even when he’s angry. Angry with you. His eyes are wide, dotted with irritation and somewhere under there is a thin layer of hurt that you don’t deduce until much, much later.

“It’s always you. Which one of us is insulting the other? You. I don’t know what vendetta you have against me, but honestly. You’re in a competition all by yourself, sweetheart. I’ve been trying to bury this, whatever this even is. But I’ve had enough of this childish shit. I don’t think it’s worth it to even try with you.”

His voice is perfectly even, almost devoid of any feeling. Which scares you a little. Your heart is quickly replaced by a block of ice as a chill washes over you. You and Namjoon have always bickered and bantered… but never this. You’re frozen in place, unable to say anything. Unable to reassure him, to say anything to his face other than apparently a misplaced insult or a sarcastic, unwarranted comment.

Namjoon scoffs at you when you stay silent, a derisive little sound somehow louder than the ocean waves to your side.

“I’ll see you at the wedding.”

The rest of the weekend goes by in a blur of alcohol, sleeping and eating. You do your best to ignore Namjoon, but he acts as if you’re inconsequential to him. Which gets under your skin, and he knows it, too. You hate being ignored, but you can’t bear to make eye contact with him.

His words to you have been running heavy in your head since that night. Despite his obvious frustration with you, he had walked you back to the house in complete, utter silence. You didn’t have the courage to tell him to leave you out on the beach. And truthfully, he’s too good of a person to have left you there alone in the middle of the night anyway.

He’s too good. That’s what’s always annoyed you about him, after all. So self-righteous, he thinks he’s so much better than you. Than everyone else, including you.

You’re good at masking how uncomfortable you feel. How you feel like a stranger in your own skin for a while. Is it because of Namjoon’s words? Or is it you? It would be easy to blame Namjoon for how you feel. You’ve blamed less on him.

You table your inner dilemma for after the weekend is over and try your best not to put a damper on the remainder of Mira and Seokjin’s weekend.

Organized chaos is the best way to describe the wedding day. All of Mira’s bridesmaids are in one room, making sure everything is ready for the big day. Mira herself is probably the most calm out of her friends and family.

Probably because this was many magical years in the making.

As one of Mira’s bridesmaids, you were responsible for making sure that the wedding day and the reception went off without a hitch. Her hair and makeup is absolutely flawless and you threaten her to not shed a tear or else.

But that doesn’t stop you from shedding a tear, seeing one of your oldest friends on her wedding day to the love of her life. Her soulmate.

“Seokjin is going to lose it when he sees you,” you say thickly, “You look gorgeous, Mira.”

“I have you to thank, you know. All those years ago, you set us up,” Mira says tearfully.

“Ah, make sure you tell Namjoon that. He seems to think it was him,” you say offhandedly.

“That’s Jin’s doing,” Mira replies, “Hey, speaking of Joon, what’s going on-”

But you only laugh and ignore her questioning. It’s not the time or place for it. It’s been easy to avoid Namjoon, mostly because you are afraid of what he sees when he looks at you. He watches you like you’re transparent, like he can see right through you. It makes you nervous. Vulnerable.

You table that thought for later.

You take some photos of her, with her, and with the rest of her six bridesmaids. Mira is the first one out of your friend group to get married, and it’s only fitting. Her and Seokjin have been the longest standing relationship in your group.

Everything is perfect for both of them. Two beautiful people, getting married in the most beautiful way.

“I’m gonna go see Jin,” you say, throat closing up.

“Let him know?”

She doesn’t have to explain it further for you to know what she means.

“Yeah,” you smile, “Yeah, of course I will.”

Similarly to Mira’s room, Jin’s room is packed with his family and friends, specifically his groomsmen. They all look incredibly dapper and you do your best to not meet Namjoon’s gaze.

“Oh, Jin, you look so handsome. Mira’s gonna cream her panties when she sees you,” you say, wetness gathering in your eyes once more as you marvel at him.

“How’s she doing? Is she okay?” Jin asks immediately.

“Of course she is. She’s getting married to her soulmate. She’s excited to see you. She loves you, in case you didn’t know.”

“Oh, thanks for letting me know, I had no idea,” Jin says, offering you a blinding smile.

“I’ll see you soon, alright?” you nod. You’re about to spin on your heel to leave but Jin holds you for a second.

“Hey. Thanks for everything. You’ve been such a big part of our relationship from the beginning,” Jin murmurs. He gives you a big hug, squeezing you tightly.

“Shut up, I’m gonna cry. I can’t cry, not yet,” you laugh tearfully.

“Alright, get outta here. Let’s get Mira and I married, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nod, your eyes somehow landing on Namjoon’s own narrowed eyes after months of avoidance, “Yeah.”

******

Somehow, watching your oldest and closest friend getting married to one of your other closest friends doesn’t bring as much emotion to your eyes as you thought it might. You can see some of the bridesmaids and groomsmen dabbing at their eyes just watching Jin and Mira, but not you. You smile brightly and boldly at them, waving and making sure that they know that you are all here. That they don’t need to worry about a thing.

This day is theirs.

You don’t cry because this was years in the making.

However, you don’t expect the wave of tears to form at your waterline while you watch their first dance as a married couple. It’s their favorite song playing on the speakers and Mira is watching Jin as if he’s put all of the stars in the sky for her. A softness that you cannot find the words for has settled on his face, a small smile playing on his lips as he gently twirls and dips her. The lights are dimmed low, the spotlight focused on Mira and Jin only. She looks incredibly beautiful, like an elegant, ethereal queen dancing with Jin.

Your eyes unfocus for a minute before landing on Namjoon. Again.

Your heart does a funny thing. It flips, in a way that feels familiar. Namjoon looks at you as if he’s staring into your soul but he gives you a small smile. You return his smile feebly and wipe your watery eyes. His dimples deepen as he does the same.

It’s difficult to remove your gaze from Namjoon as you turn to look at the newly married couple.

******

Of course, Jin and Mira’s reception has an open bar. It wouldn’t be their wedding reception without an open bar. Most of the night is spent catching up with people you haven’t seen in years, dancing with your friends, and enjoying the steady flow of drinks.

And avoiding Namjoon whenever he comes within fifteen feet of you. You know he wants to talk to you, to say something to you. But you don’t feel like fighting tonight.

But… you won’t deny that whenever you do happen to glance at him (purely by coincidence, absolutely not deliberately), he looks good. His suit is fit and tailored, highlighting the points and contours of his arms, his chest, his legs.

Oh, you’ve been drinking. Your thoughts are getting a little out of pocket. Or so you tell yourself.

“Hey,” Jia says, nudging your shoulder, “Joon’s been eyeing you all night. He looks so fucking good, you should go eat that up-”

“He does look good,” you muse, “You go eat him up then.”

“Wow, look at that. A compliment from you about Joon? Crazier things have happened, I suppose,” she jokes and you roll your eyes.

“Shut up,” you say fondly, “Let’s go find Mira and Jin, have a dance with them-”

“Oh, they definitely snuck away. Probably to have a quickie,” Jia shrugs, “If you weren’t too busy staring at Joon, you’d know.”

“I hate you,” you say without any conviction, “I’m gonna… go get some fresh air.”

“Yup, whatever you say,” she says in a sing-song voice. You ignore her and head outside of the reception hall, mindlessly wandering for a bit. You end up in a random room down the hall (truly, it’s more like a chamber with it’s top to bottom windows and detailed golden molding at the ceiling and the floors).

The bass of the music from the reception hall only a few doors down from you is muffled as you leisurely walk through the grand room. A sparkling, golden chandelier hangs from the high ceilings. Maybe a little excessive, but it fits. And it’s definitely in Mira and Jin’s tastes. The lights reflect on your dress, bouncing across the walls and melting into the pale moonlight as it filters into the room from the big wall to wall windows.

It’s a beautiful view from the windows, you’ll have to say. You don’t know how long you stand there, peering out into the openness around and below you.

So it’s only natural that you don’t hear the light footsteps coming closer and closer to you and the soft gasp of surprise that follows.

“Oh, sorry-”

You turn your head, only to meet Kim Namjoon’s puzzled face (of all people in this universe, it’s the man that you were actively avoiding) which turns into resignation.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Sorry to disappoint, Namjoon.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, you know that.”

“You don’t have to say anything, everything’s in your body language,” you mutter with a shrug.

Namjoon doesn’t bother with a reply. You tense up immediately when he comes closer, only three feet away from you. You know you’re close enough to him that if you looked to your left side, you’d see the indentation of his dimples and the way his bowtie is crisp and neat against his dress shirt.

So the logical thing for you to do is to ignore him and continue to stare out of the window, as if the center of the universe is somehow contained just on the other side of it. Namjoon’s body heat is palpable as he comes closer to you, his broad shoulders close to yours. But not quite touching.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Namjoon muses, following your gaze out into the night air.

“Astute observation,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. Namjoon only hums in response. Silence falls over you both in a blanket as it pulsates throughout the room.

It’s almost suffocating. You want to say something to break it, but your throat is dry.

“It’s our friends’ wedding day,” Namjoon murmurs, “If there’s any day not to give me the cold shoulder, it’s today.”

“You obsessed with me or something? You made it pretty clear last time we talked that you want nothing to do with me,” you scoff.

Namjoon laughs derisively, “When did I ever say that?”

“You didn’t have to, it was obvious-”

“Oh, was it? You’re jumping to conclusions again,” Namjoon says, exasperation coloring his tone. You don’t realize that you’ve turned to face him, his bright, brown eyes burning holes into you. He’s closer to you than you think he’s ever been, the scent of his spicy cologne surrounding you and making it hard to think.

He is like a cloud, hovering and wrapping around you.

You take a step back, your jaw clenching at his implication. He takes a step forward, all the while with a slow, sharp smirk on his face. You take another step back. He steps forward.

Tension propels your steps backward.

Your back hits a wall and Namjoon is hovering over you. You can’t even see over his shoulder, only seeing the crispness of his suit and the way his now longer strands of hair fall into his eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you snarl, “Y-you don’t even like me-”

“I only came to find you because,” Namjoon inhales, “Because it’s our best friends’ wedding day. And you look beautiful.”

Your heart does that funny thing again.

“Don’t be such a cliche,” you say with heated eyes.

“The proper response is ‘thank you’, but this will suffice, too-”

“‘This will suffice, too,’ oh shut up-”

“Why are you being like this? I’m just trying to compliment you and talk to you and you’re trying to bite my fucking head off-”

“Because I don’t know how to be around you! I don’t know how to look at you these days, especially when you look at me like this-”

“Like what?”

“You’re brilliant, you figure it out-”

“No, I’m not fighting with you, not like this-”

“Why not? It’s always just me fighting, and you just take it, y-you always just take it and you just take me-”

Another drop of silence. You stare at him with wide eyes, afraid that you’ve revealed too much.

“Shut up,” Namjoon says, his voice low and hoarse, “God, just shut up for once.”

And then he kisses you, his lips pressing against yours roughly, arms tight around your waist. A vague thought lingers in the back of your mind, that your dress will become creased. But the thought dissipates quickly as Namjoon licks the roof of your mouth with his tongue impatiently.

Colors of pink, champagne and gold are exploding behind your eyelids as he holds you steady as you roam his expansive back, trying to find something solid to hold on to. You hold on to him as your knees grow weak.

He pulls away first for a breath, but you yank him back closer to you by the lapels of his purple suit jacket just as impatiently. Namjoon makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control, close to crashing... and yet you’re tethered to earth by him.

A soft moan of his name from your pretty, red lips is what forces him to pull away, his eyes snapping open to meet your wide, dark eyes.

His big hands are still tight around your waist, holding you close to him. But he allows his hand to travel upwards to caress your cheek. You’re afraid to breathe, to ruin the moment. As you’ve done so, so skillfully many times before.

“Have you been drinking?” you finally ask, voice soft.

“Not much. Have you?” Namjoon breathes, thumb gentle on your cheekbone.

“N-not much,” you agree and your lips turn up to illuminate your face with a beaming grin, “I knew you always wanted me, You’re so obvious, Namjoon, god-”

He grabs your jaw with his long, thick fingers, pressing down on your cheeks easily. You gasp with parted lips, any form of words dying in your throat.

“You talk so fucking much.”

******

“Someone’s gonna notice we’re missing,” you say, your hands moving in a frenzy across his suit jacket to try to feel as much of his chest as you can.

“No, they won’t,” Namjoon says hurriedly, pushing you up against the elevator wall. You don’t know how many floors there are remaining to get to your suite, and the thought escapes your mind as Namjoon licks a thick stripe up your neck.

The sound that floats from your lips is music to his ears. Your red lipstick is smudged on his mouth. You both know how this might look to anyone who has the misfortune to walk into the elevator.

Namjoon cradles your face and pulls you in for another sharp, bruising kiss. His heart is racing- he wonders, can you feel it? Beneath your fingertips, can you feel it?

He tugs on your bottom lip lightly with his teeth, enough for your eyes to jump open.

“Namjoon,” you exhale. It turns into a loud moan filling up the four walls of the elevator when he presses his knee in between your legs and you unwittingly rub yourself on his thigh. He hums, pushing his lips into yours once more and holding you up by your waist.

He tastes like liquid fire, his touch lighting up every synapse on your skin. You wonder if you’ll burn.

The elevator doors finally ding and open, forcing the both of you apart. Your chest is heaving and before you can lose your balance and fall to the dirty elevator floor, Namjoon pulls you to him tightly. He presses his forehead to yours, a tender gesture in contrast to the way he was kissing you just a minute ago.

Just as you’re about to tell him to come into your suite, your phone rings obnoxiously. Namjoon presses the hold door button on the elevator.

“You should answer that,” he breathes, eyes swirling with molten desire.

“I should,” you say, your voice sounding far too breathless for your liking. You see it’s Jia calling you, and you answer without breaking eye contact with him.

“Hey,” you say shakily.

“Hey yourself, where the hell have you been?” Jia demands. Her voice is definitely slurring but it barely registers in your mind. Namjoon’s gaze on you is too intense.

“Nevermind, the afterparty is in the ballroom on the third floor. Be there in twenty minutes,” Jia says matter-of-factly, “There’ll be snacks and food, too.”

“Oh, good. That’s- really… really good,” you trail off lamely.

“Hurry up, I don’t know where you disappeared to, but you better be there.”

“I will-” But it’s no use, because she’s already hung up on you.

“The afterparty?” Namjoon asks knowingly.

“Yeah,” you nod, “I guess I should go change into something comfortable and head down there.”

“Is that what you really want to do?” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow at you.

“It’s our best friend’s wedding day, of course it is,” you hiss, swatting his shoulder.

“You and I both know Jin and Mira won’t show up for at least an hour.”

You look at him with narrowed eyes, feeling something unfurling in your belly, tendrils blooming and bursting in your bloodstream. You’re unable to think about anything else, other than him. The infuriating man standing in front of you, the man who always just has to be right. About everything.

You step out of the elevator and hold your hand out for him to join you.

“You coming or what? Or are you all talk?”

******

“You are so annoying,” you mutter as you shove him against the door, ignoring his sharp gasp and tugging his suit jacket off, “Always need to be right. Always have to be the smartest person in the room-”

“Am I? The smartest person in the room?” Namjoon smirks at you, earning himself a bite to his neck.

“Stop talking,” you snarl, “We have an hour. Make it worth it.”

“That’s all you had to say, princess.”

He easily pushes your hands away to carefully take your intricate dress off (not without a threat from you that he better not ruin your dress, to which he rolls his eyes). You kick your heels away easily, looping an arm around his neck and pressing your lips to his harshly.

Unbuttoning his dress shirt and pulling it from the waistband of his pants while his lips are singing praises into your mouth is a difficult thing to do, when he’s this good at making you feel good. Of course he is.

You want his big hands. You want his lips. You want his thighs.

When you finally get his shirt off you groan out loud. You would be a little embarrassed if you weren’t so frustrated, if your pussy wasn’t pulsing with every heated gaze that Namjoon sends your way.

Smudged red lipstick paints his expansive chest all over as you kiss your way down, gnails rubbing at his happy trail. He groans into your ear, throwing his head back. Namjoon’s thought about you like this for a long time. Perhaps longer than he’d like to admit.

Your eyes are wide, slick with arousal and excitement as you get on your knees, hands teasingly palming his hardness over his pants.

“No,” Namjoon says raspily, “Come here, princess.”

You glare at him, a complaint sharp on your tongue, but he lifts you up easily and drops you to the bed. The silky, soft sheets are cool against your skin but the way Namjoon looks at you as if he wants to absolutely devour you… It heats you up.

He drops himself on top of you, his weight warm and welcome. You can’t think straight at all, not when your brain is reduced to a haze of sweet, pink fog. When he kisses you as if he’s pouring himself into you, when he rocks his clothed hips against yours.

You succumb to him, you succumb to this feeling and all that rattles in your mind are Namjoon’s breathy whispers of how beautiful you are once he has you naked under his strong, tanned arms.

His lips on your belly, your inner thighs and your warm, wet center have you seeing stars at the back of your eyelids. It’s not surprising that he’s good with his tongue- he gives you the right amount of eye contact, squeezing your hips and your hands in between breaths. He moans greedily into your pussy with every slide of your hips and every tug of his hair in your fingers.

It’s easy for him to make you cum not once, but twice on his tongue. He’s about to make you cum once more when you push him away with eager hands.

“I wanna blow you, like, right now,” you mumble, “Want your cock-”

“We only have twenty minutes,” Namjoon reminds you, “Not enough time.”

“Enough time for what-” your question is silenced with a sharp cry when he pushes his heavy, hot cock into your wetness.

“Oh,” you mumble, your eyelashes fluttering prettily. Namjoon smirks at you.

“Yeah, oh.”

“Damn, Namjoon,” you grin brazenly, “Been holding out on me, haven’t you?”

“Anyone ever told you? You talk too fucking much?”

The room is quiet after that, save for your collective gasps and moans and soft calls of each other’s name. Crescents rise from your freshly manicured nails onto his shoulders as your ankles cross at his waist.

Namjoon’s eyes don’t leave yours as he pushes his hips into yours, his cock brushing the ridges of your walls harshly. He only allows his gaze to falter when he drops his head to your neck, your sweaty skin muffling his groans. A shudder zips across your spine when he bites your neck without warning.

“Payback,” he murmurs, his voice sweet and sour. He grips your jaw once more roughly once more, peering at you derisively. “Look at you. If anyone’s all talk, it’s you.”

Despite his biting words and rough touches, his eyes are gentle. As they always are.

Namjoon wonders if you can feel it. Years of pent up frustration, pent up attraction bubbling up at the surface. For you.

“Oh, is it?” you snarl, clenching around him. He groans and drops his head to your neck once more. “One pump wonder? Is that you?”

“Shut the fuck up, you know that’s not true,” Namjoon bites back, irritation curling in his voice.

“Let’s find out, sweetheart,” you reply easily, managing to find it in your burning quads and core muscles to flip him over so that your thighs are on either side of his waist.

“Yes, let’s,” Namjoon says with gritted teeth.

It shouldn’t surprise either of you that you miss both Jia and Jungkook trying to reach you on your phones- the only sounds either of you are able to focus on are the sound of skin slapping against skin, and moans as they tumble into the air openly, brokenly, unabashedly.

******

“What the hell took you so long? Been trying to call you for hours,” Jia exclaims, pulling you into a drunken hug.

It hasn’t been hours. In fact, it’s been forty minutes since you had seen her missed call, thirty minutes since you convinced Namjoon to let you blow him in the shower, and fifteen minutes before you both got ready and headed your separate ways to the afterparty.

If your timing is correct, Namjoon should be heading into the room in approximately four minutes.

“Sorry, my phone died,” you shrug, “I told you Mira and Jin wouldn’t be down here yet. All is well.”

You excuse yourself from Jia, ignoring the slight sting in your thighs as you make your way to the rows of ice buckets filled with alcohol and mixers. You make yourself a drink to have something to hold in your hands.

“Hey, you,” comes a deep, chocolatey smooth voice to your left.

“Hey, Taehyung,” you reply, “How’s it going?”

“I was trying to find you earlier, wanted to catch up. But I must’ve lost you…” Taehyung trails off, swirling his soda in his cup.

“This is Mira and Jin’s wedding, you should be looking for them,” you mutter, “Speaking of, where the hell are they?”

“When I realized you were missing, I also realized Joon was missing. Isn’t that funny?”

“I fail to see how this concerns me,” you say flatly, “Goodbye, Taehyung. I’m going to find the newlyweds.”

“Uh huh,” Taehyung grins knowingly, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Whatever you say.”

You don’t grace him with a reply, eyes following the doors as they burst open as Mira and Jin walk through with linked arms. Everyone erupts in a booming chorus of cheers, showering the newly married couple in a blitz of tight hugs and tears.

Jia shoves bottles of champagne into each of their hands, which they both enthusiastically shake before popping each bottle with a loud bang!

Jin sprays the entire crowd, all of your closest friends and family together in one room. You screech as the front of you gets sprayed with sticky champagne, but when you look up, you meet Namjoon’s amused eyes.

You scoff, wanting to divert your attention immediately. But you’re unable to- instead, you’re caught in his polarizing vortex of a gaze and neither of you will let up. Time certainly slows for a moment, much like a cliche- sprays of champagne lighting you both up from behind like bursts of golden fireworks.

Your lips part for a moment, you look at him with wide eyes and a head tilt and you think he might approach you. But the moment is broken by both Jungkook and Taehyung (the latter looking at Namjoon like he has a juicy secret, and you can guess what that might be).

You turn on your heel, making your way to Mira and Jin. A small smile plays on your lips- you can still taste him on your tongue, feel his heated fingertips skimming your bare body over the silky sheets.

When you greet Jin and he embraces you (possibly the tightest he’s ever embraced you), you meet Namjoon’s inquisitive eyes once more from over Jin’s shoulder.

It feels like a fleeting promise.

TAGS: @kookdbean @codeinebelle

#namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #kim namjoon x you #namjoon fic

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bbyheedeungie · 3 years

Text

Tales of the ring | Orphan! Jay AU Part 1

Pairings: Jay x Reader

Genre: fluff, angst, eventual smut, age gap (4 years)

Warnings: suggestive content, messy timeline

Synopsis: You've spent most of your lives together at a Catholic orphanage in a small town, with Jay being left there as an infant and you volunteering there since you were thirteen years old. Now twenty-three, every child in the orphanage looks up to you as their older sister. Well, except for that one stubborn kid named Jay.

You always tend to his cuts and bruises when he fell down after climbing on trees with his friends, but not after a long hour of bickering.

"Stop climbing trees if you're just gonna fall down!" You scold 9-year old Jay as you rummaged through the first aid kit.

"Just shut up and fix me up, woman." He demands, his arms crossed over his chest. You sigh.

"I'm just worried about you, okay? You could've broken a bone or something!" You reasoned with him. His eyes turns into slits, glaring at you.

"Are you calling me a wimp?" He challenges. Though it never crossed your mind, the thought of calling him a wimp was indeed amusing. You tried to suppress your laughter but it came out as a snort.

"Hey, I'm not a wimp. Drop it." Jay says, almost coming out as a whine. You nod, trying to calm yourself down from wanting to laugh. Cause you know Jay's going to end you if he even hears anything close to a giggle come out from your lips.

"Still as wimpy as ever, huh?" You teased him as you disinfected his wounded knees. He was sitting on the couch with you kneeled infront of him, and 16 year old Jay just can't seem to take his eyes off you.

Your lower lip is caught in between your teeth as you concentrated on his cuts, and Jay licks his own lips unconsciously.

At 20 years old, you have grown to be quite a lady, Jay notes. Beautiful, luscious hair that complimented the perfect features of your face, your body slightly plump in some places which gave you that womanly figure, dainty and gentle hands that cared for his wounds, any man would think of you as wife material. And Jay couldn't help but huff in annoyance at the thought of other men wanting you for themselves.

"And you're still as annoying as ever." He mutters before he pinched your cheeks hard, making you yelp in pain and involuntarily putting pressure on the cotton ball you were dipping onto his wound. Soon after, you were both crying from pain.

"How could you." He said in betrayal, clutching his wounded knee.

You always chased after him around the orphanage when he had a fever to make him take his medicine when he refused to drink them, dragging him by the back of his shirt to his room to make him rest.

"You can't just pull a stunt like that when I'm fixing up your cuts you dummy." You glared at him, massaging your reddened cheek.

"I don't want to stay in bed, woman. I wanna play outside!" 11-year old Jay huffs in annoyance, kicking off the blanket you've just placed on his body. You sighed and placed it back on him.

"Bold of you to call me a woman after I've just wrestled you at the lobby earlier." 15-year old you chuckled, remembering what you had to go through to make him go back to his room.

"Don't remind me, you were like a freaking hippo back there! Geez." Jay scrunches his nose and turns his back to you.

"You insufferable woman." He mutters as you tuck him into his bed. 18-year old Jay was just as irritable as ever, but only when it came to you.

"Yeah yeah." You rolled your eyes at him dismissively as you placed a cold compress to his forehead. He's such a big baby.

"Stop being a jerk for once and learn to take care of yourself, will you?" You scold him, leaning in to fix the position of his pillow. Jay's heartbeat goes nuts, with your body so close above him. He could just grab you by the waist then and there and hold you tight. Your feminine scent was so alluring, filling up his senses, your skin translucent in the moonlight shining through the windows and he even caught a glimpse of your cleavage through your thin, white dress shirt.

Shit, shit, shit. He thinks, fisting his blanket tightly. His cheeks glowed crimson red, but thankfully you thought it was just because of the fever.

Rest assured, Jay wasn't all that bad as others make him out to be, and you strongly believe this. You remember that one night, it was your fourteenth birthday but you didn't bother telling anyone. You didn't want to burden the sisters, and your family didn't care much about it either. But Jay did. He cared, and he remembered.

You sat on the roof, your secret hiding place, as you admired the starry sky. But it's not really a secret when Jay knows about it. The ten year old boy climbed up, grunting as he struggled keeping his balance. You flinched at the sound and panicked, but it immediately died down when you saw it was just him. He quietly sat beside you.

Silence took over as you sighed in content, taking in the peaceful evening.

"Happy birthday." Jay said, almost a whisper. Your head turns to him and he immediately looks the other way, refusing to meet your eyes.

"Thank you, Jay." You said in gratitude, not bothering to hide your smile. He still refused to look your way as he held out his fist.

"What is it?" You asked in confusion, furrowing your eyebrows at his closed hand. He sighs, taking your hand in his as he placed something cold and hard on your palm.

"It's for you." He says. You gasped, taking in the shiny object encrusted with tiny jewels that glinted in the moonlight.

"Jay, where did you get this?" You ask him, bewildered.

"The sisters said they found that ring in my pocket when they found me outside the door of the orphanage the night that they took me in. It's my most precious possession. In fact, it's my only possession." He says, laughing lightly as he looked up at the sky.

"Must be an heirloom, maybe you came from a wealthy family! Jay, I can't accept this. This is important to you!" You exclaimed, holding the ring back to him.

You're important to me. He thinks.

"Maybe, but they've left me here haven't they?" He simply shrugs.

"But why give it to me?" You asked, holding the ring close to your chest. Jay rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue.

"Hey, no more questions. I gave it to you as a birthday gift, so you better treasure it. Good night." He says and prepares to climb down, leaving you dumbfounded.

At nineteen, Jay was the oldest at the orphanage. He never got adopted, and younger kids would pick on him because of it.

"You never got adopted because your a weirdo."

"They can probably sense that you're useless."

But Jay being Jay, he'd beat them up everytime just because their faces annoy him. And you'd be the one to ask for forgiveness for his sake everytime he got in trouble. You knew him well enough to know that although he'd never admit it out loud, seeing other kids like Jungwon and Sunoo get adopted while he gets left behind hurt him more than it should.

"I'm very sorry for Jay's actions, please don't send him away." You begged to the Mother Superior's feet, and Jay couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Not of you, but of himself for having you go through all this for him.

"Noona, please you don't have to do this." He tells you softly, for once as he tries pulling you up to your feet but you just won't budge.

"I'm sorry Y/N, I know you have grown quite close to Jay for the past ten years. But he is now of legal age he can't just keep hurting minors." The mother superior, which is the head of the orphanage states.

"Jay promises he won't do it again, please." You continue to plead, at this point you were so close at kissing the sister's feet if that'll make them forgive Jay.

"What, when did I promised—." He says and you signal him to shut up. The sisters sigh, and decide to just punish Jay by making him work at the farm for a month. You thank them over and over, tears welling in your eyes.

"Y/N, may I have a word with you. Jay, you may retire to your room." The mother superior instructs. Jay looks at you hesitantly, before leaving.

"Have a seat." She commands you, and you oblige.

"What is it that you wanted to talk about?" You asked.

"Listen, dear. You're now twenty-three years old, you are at your ripest age of getting married. Not only that, but you're also one of the most beautiful maidens of this town. You can't spend your life at this orphanage forever. Won't you consider settling down soon?" She suggests, and you felt a lump in your throat, your heart feeling unease.

"That's alright, Mother Superior. I'm only twenty-three, I still have a lot to figure out in my life. When a man does take interest in me, I'll decide then." You assure her, and stand up to leave.

The next days, you'd wake up early to prepare breakfast for the kids and for Jay before he heads off to the farm. Jay being the stubborn boy he is, refuses to sit down and have breakfast and so on most days, you'd chase after him to bring him his breakfast and lunch box. He'd purposely walk faster, ignoring your shouts. A smirk never leaving his face.

"Jay! Jay! Wait!" You yelled, chasing your breath as you continued to run after him. But your quick steps were no match for his long strides.

"Jay you freaking dimwit! Haaaaalt!" You yell at the top of your lungs with all your might, and he finally stops in his tracks, turning to look at you.

"Oh, you've been calling for me? Did you need something?" He asks, feigning ignorance that you've been shouting his name for a good fifteen minutes. You huff, stomping towards him angrily. His face smug the whole time.

Others would think you're ready to punch him in the face, but instead you would take his hand and place his boxed meal there. You sigh.

"Take care of yourself, okay? And finish everything I packed for you." You say. Jay simply rolls his eyes and waves a hand at you dismissively.

"Yeah yeah, just don't go missing me too much." He teases, suppressing a smile. You scoffed, punching his shoulder lightly.

"Damn right, I wont." You stuck your tongue at him before waving him goodbye, running back to the orphanage.

As you walked back, you notice a fancy carriage parked in front of the orphanage. Many people were gathered around, gossiping.

"The crown prince has selected candidates to be his wife."

"Now that the queen has passed away, the prince must choose his bride in order to ascend to the throne."

"Oh what a lucky girl she must be."

You slip through the crowd of people, successfully making your way inside.

"Oh here she is now." Mother Superior introduces you to the men in fancy clothing, and you stood their dumbfounded.

"She is a beauty indeed." The men agreed to themselves.

"What exactly is happening?" You whisper to the Mother Superior.

"They came here for you, my child. You have been selected by the prince to become a candidate of being his wife. I've already had your suitcases ready, they will take you to the palace now. And don't worry, I've already informed your parents and they are more than happy and wished you the best."

Everything was happening so fast, it's like everything's been decided for you. And amidst the chaos in your mind, you could only think of one person. Jay.

"What about Jay, I haven't said goodbye—" You pleaded to the old woman to let you see Jay one last time but the footmen has announced your departure to the palace. You choked on your tears as pain burned through your chest, clutching Jay's ring to your chest as you were brought further and further away from the place you called home all your life.

Jay plowed the soil over and over, sweat trickling down his neck and forehead. The sun is high and the heat is a pretty tough companion.

"Jay! Jay!" Jay's friend, Sunghoon called his name, sprinting towards him as if his life depended on it. Sunghoon was one of the orphan kids who got adopted recently, whose home was only a few blocks away from the orphanage. Jay halted his work, placing the tool beside him.

"Haven't seen you in a while, what brings you here?" He raises his eyebrow. Sunghoon holds onto his knees as he catches his breath, before uttering words that shattered Jay's heart into pieces.

"No, it can't be." He refuses to believe it, shaking his head aggressively as tears welled in his eyes. It felt as if he was pierced so deeply in the chest with a dagger, so agonizingly painful.

"It is true, they took Y/N to the palace to become the prince's bride. It's been the talk of the town all morning." Sunghoon is sad for his friend, knowing his feelings for her all along.

"No! Y/N wouldn't do that, she wouldn't leave just like that. No." Jay cried and ran his way back to the orphanage, leaving his belongings behind.

He enters the orphanage, screaming for your name.

"Noona? Noona! I'm here, I'm here now. Noona? Where are you?" He kept on calling for you, his voice breaking as tears blurred his vision. The sisters tried to calm him down but he shoved their hands away from him.

"No! It can't be, she couldn't have left. Please tell me she didn't leave, please." Jay crumbled as he called your name over and over in agony. He begged for everything to be just some sick joke, a prank you planned to get back at him for always being so mean to you.

"Y/N." He choked out before everything spiraled infront of him and went black.

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen au #kpop imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen jay #enhypen jay park #enhypen jay fluff #enhypen jay angst #enhypen jay smut #enhypen jay au #enhypen jay imagine #park jeongseong

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snelbz · 3 years

Text

Life As We Know It {Chapter One}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays and Thursdays. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara's blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby's Masterlist

Tara's Masterlist

5 years later….

Nyx looked at his birthday cake and the lone candle that was lit atop the icing before looking up at Feyre with a confused expression on his beautiful, little face.

His mother laughed, quietly, before leaning forward and taking out the candle. She had just blown out the flame when Rhys barely pushed the cake closer to Nyx, who put his chubby, little hands smack-dab in the middle of the icing and dug in.

Everyone had come to celebrate, and even Nesta couldn’t stop her smile from showing. At least, she let it show when she was on the opposite end of the house from the one and only, and massively self-centered, Cassian Nazari.

Of course, he would be at Nyx’s first birthday party. He was Nyx’s uncle - maybe not by blood, not that blood mattered when it came to Cassian, Rhysand, and their other lifelong friend, Azriel.

He, too, stood across the kitchen, watching as Elain snapped picture after picture of the jubilant baby, the mess atop his high chair the largest Nesta had ever seen. She knew Elain was taking notes for their own daughter’s birthday party, though she was barely three months old.

Rhysand’s smile was as big as Feyre’s as they watched their son, listening as his giggles filled the kitchen. Nyx realized quickly that the cake was for him alone and after smashing it for a few moments, he lifted a large handful to his chubby face and took a bite. His eyes lit up and that started the giggling anew.

Nesta loved her nephew and niece, had loved him since the day they were born, but she didn’t envy her sisters and their happy families. Unlike them, she had remained perfectly content on her own, especially after the endless string of disaster dates she had been forced to sit through throughout the years.

And children? It wasn’t that Nesta disliked kids. Not all kids, at least. She loved her nephew and niece, anyway. Having one of her own, though? Having to be around one every day? Every night? Having to constantly try and make a tiny person content?

No, thank you. That was a challenge she had little interest in.

A deep rumbling laugh came from across the house and Nesta looked up to find Cassian entering the kitchen, still chuckling at something Mor had said.

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep her lip from curling slightly as she looked at him. It only infuriated her more when he caught sight of her as he raised his beer to his lips and winked.

He was absolutely insufferable.

After their catastrophe of a date years ago, which Nesta had made Feyre promise was a stunt she’d never pull again, she had only been forced to be around Cassian Nazari a handful of times.

One of which was during Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, only months after their date.

“You only have to walk with him for thirty seconds,” Feyre had sighed, while Mor continued to pin and curl her hair into place. “You don’t have to be happy about it.”

“Good,” Nesta said, draining the glass of champagne in her hand. “Because I’m not.”

As Feyre’s maid-of-honor, it was customary that she was supposed to walk out of the wedding arm in arm with Rhysand’s best man. She wished that he’d picked Azriel, but since it seemed the Cauldron hated her, it had to be Cassian.

Elain, who was harboring the world’s most obvious crush on Azriel at the time, was thrilled with how they’d be exiting the wedding. Nevertheless, she said to Nesta, “I think you two got off on the wrong foot. He’s a really good guy, Nes.”

Nesta shot her youngest sister a look of pure annoyance through the mirror’s reflection. “Have any of you ever been on a date with the guy? And not only a date, but the worst date of your life?”

Feyre snorted, fully aware of where this conversation was headed. “No.”

“Then you have no room to talk,” Nesta snapped, admiring herself in the mirror. “Mother’s tits, Feyre, he wore jeans to the nicest restaurant in Velaris!”

“At least he didn’t wear his boots,” Mor muttered, then she caught Nesta’s glare in the mirror. “Really? He wore his boots?”

“He was dressed for an all-night, summer bonfire,” Nesta said, shaking her head. “And he’s completely full of himself. And, he forgot his wallet!”

“Not like you can’t afford dinner,” Feyre said, and Nesta’s lips snapped shut. She was fully aware that the conversation had somehow become a let’s-pick-on-Nesta session.

Feyre added, “You have to walk back down the aisle with him, share an entire table during dinner, and that’s it. No one is asking you to dance with him, but be nice.” Nesta met Feyre’s eyes, her jaw set. Feyre sighed, “Fine, be civil.”

She scoffed, but nodded. “Fine.”

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch. It was beautiful and elegant and the perfect wedding Rhys and Feyre had always wanted.

She ignored Cassian’s unending looks the whole night, managed to give her maid-of-honor speech without snarling at him, and after that, took advantage of the open bar her sister and new brother had so kindly provided.

She was coming out of the bathroom, a glass of wine still clutched in her hand, doing her best not to trip over her own feet when she walked into a wall.

A wall of solid muscle that turned out to be Cassian’s back.

When he turned around and she looked up at him, his eyes were nearly as glazed as hers.

“Hello, Nes,” he said, smirking down at her.

She bit out, “Don’t call me that.”

“That was a pretty, little speech you gave,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I know true love exists cause I’ve seen it first hand. Poetic.”

Nesta scoffed, brushing off the skirt of her dress as if he had tainted it. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t referring to you. I was talking about Feyre and Rhys, in case you thought otherwise.”

“Oh, I didn’t,” he promised. “Honestly, I didn’t think you were talking about anyone. Just some fluffy shit that sounded sweet. Unless it’s that guy that showed up at the restaurant and ruined our date. Oh, wait,” he began, tapping his chin as if in deep thought, “You dumped him though, right? Poor bastard.”

“You’re a prick,” Nesta bit out. She refrained from saying that Tomas hadn’t ruined their date. It was sad that seeing her ex was one the bright points of her night, rather than seeing the Greek god standing before her. The pretentious, cocky asshole of a Greek god.

He only grinned. “But am I a liar?”

Nesta’s jaw locked. She eyed his tux. “I’m just glad you decided to clean up for your own brother’s wedding. No jeans?”

He scoffed. “Is that the worst you’ve got?”

“Do you prefer me to give you my worst?” she asked, brows furrowing. “If so, you may want to be careful what you wish for.”

Cassian said nothing, just lifted the beer she hadn’t noticed in his hands to his lips.

Nesta rolled her eyes, brushing past him, and made a move to head back into the reception.

His voice called out behind her, “You don’t have to be such a miserable bitch, you know?”

She froze, looking back at him. He was no longer smirking at her. Instead, his eyes were intense. “Excuse you?”

“You’re so miserable that you won’t allow anyone else to have any fun, won’t allow yourself to either,” he said, still leaning against that damn wall. He crossed his arms over his muscular chest, his dress shirt tight and loose in all the right places. “You want everyone else to suffer, just because you’re forcing yourself to, for whatever reason.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” she bit out, stalking back over to him. She was so close she had to look up into his face.

“I don’t,” he said, words clipped. “I tried, but you didn’t seem very inclined to let me get to know you during our date. You were more concerned with my attire and your ex than you were with me. You thought all I wanted to do was fuck you.” His eyes, still glassy and glazed, dragged down her body and back up again. “Besides, you’ve got that damn stick shoved so far up your ass, there wouldn’t have been room for my cock even if I’d really even tried.”

A blink was Nesta’s only reaction. Then her hand was moving of its own accord, splashing her full glass of wine directly in his face and all over that pretty, white shirt.

“Go fuck yourself,” was all she’d said before she walked back into the ceremony, leaving him there to drip on the venue’s fancy carpet.

“Nesta!”

She blinked, Feyre’s voice drawing Nesta out of her memories, looking over at her sister. She stood next to Rhys and Elain, who had her camera in her hands, and Cassian stood behind Nyx’s high chair.

“I want a picture of him with his godparents, come here,” she beamed and Nesta tried not to cringe.

She had been so proud, her heart feeling like it would burst when Feyre and Rhys had asked her to be Nyx’s godmother. There was no hesitation when she said yes, tears lining her eyes as she’d hugged both her sister and brother-in-law.

She tried not to think about the fact that when they’d told her Cassian was his godfather, she nearly asked them to give the distinction to Elain.

But she hadn’t, wouldn’t. Despite what others, especially Cassian, thought of her… Nesta loved her nephew.

She loved her family.

With a sigh, Nesta meandered over to Nyx’s high chair. “Alright.”

“Closer,” Feyre ordered, gesturing Nesta to move in closer beside Cassian behind the high chair.

Nesta’s lips pursed but she took another step toward the boys for her sister’s sake.

“I’m not poisonous, Nesta,” Cassian muttered, smiling at the camera as he spoke. “You won’t burst into flames if we brush arms.”

“You’d be so lucky to brush arms with me,” she muttered back, hoping the smile she was giving her sister was convincing - and knowing full well that it wasn’t.

Without another word, Cassian tossed his arm around Nesta and said, “Cheeeeese!”

Nyx was giggling, looking up at his godparents behind him. There was so much joy and adoration in those big, beautiful eyes that Nesta didn’t have the heart to storm off, leaving Cassian in her dust, no matter how much she wanted to.

The camera’s flash went off and Nesta pushed Cassian’s arm off her shoulder.

The rest of the party was perfect. Feyre took Nyx up to the bathroom to clean him off, while Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian hauled his many gifts out into the living room. Feyre opened them one by one, despite everyone knowing Nyx had no clue what was going on, though he did clap his chubby little hands and giggle at a few particular items. Nesta stood off to the side with Elain, holding a milk-drunk, sleepy Seph in her arms.

Azriel and Elain’s little girl had been a surprise, neither of them planning on Elain getting pregnant so soon after they got married. They both fell into the role of parents so seamlessly though, that Nesta knew another baby would be in their near future. They adored the baby girl, and she was the most perfect baby Nesta had ever seen.

Persephone hardly cried, only doing so when she was hungry or needed to be changed, and once whatever wrong was taken care of, she became a happy, smiley baby again.

Nyx, on the other hand, had been a hellion as a baby.

Which was to be expected, considering who his father was. Although responsible when necessary, Rhysand was just as much of a madman as Cassian...especially when infused with alcohol.

“You look good with a baby,” Elain crooned from beside her sister.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You can keep trying to push me down the marriage-baby road, but I just won’t take it. Wasting your time.”

Elain sighed, dramatically, with that little grin remaining on her soft pink lips. “As long as you stay such a good auntie, I suppose I can’t complain.”

Nesta looked down at the sweet, sleeping infant in her arms. She didn’t mind those little snuggles.

She did mind the diaper blowouts, constant spit-ups, and loud crying, though. That’s usually when she gave Seph back to her parents and blissfully enjoyed her independent life.

Feyre gasped and Nesta looked up. She was holding a little guitar that had Nyx’s name and the night sky engraved into the dark-stained wood.

Nesta’s eyes snapped to Cassian.

Cassian smiled, fondly, at Feyre. “I know he won’t be able to start messing with it for another few years, but I couldn't help myself.”

“He made that himself, you know.” Nesta’s eyes shot to Elain, who was watching the scene before them. She whispered again, “He doesn’t do it for a living, of course, but it’s a hobby of his, making guitars. He’s really good.”

She blinked, the information catching her off guard for whatever reason. But all she said was, “That’s nice.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon, ignoring the man as much as she could, as she always did. But as the guests began to dwindle, as Nyx and Seph went down for their naps, the three sisters gathered in the living room, while Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian went out back to inspect the small jungle gym Rhys was building for Nyx. Again, he was too young to use most of it, but the tiny swing and slide would be hours of fun for the little man.

Feyre brought two cups of coffee out to her sisters before collapsing next to Elain on the couch. “That could not have gone better if we tried.”

Nesta leveled her a look and raised an eyebrow.. “If we tried? You had a minute-by-minute itinerary for a one-year-old’s birthday.”

“Everything was perfect,” Elain smiled, cutting off Nesta, blowing on her coffee gently. “Nyx had a good time, neither he nor Seph had a blow-up, Cassian and Nesta managed to be in the same room without stabbing each other. All in all, a good day.”

Nesta rolled her eyes before throwing a vulgar gesture towards her sisters, who were both laughing.

“Fine, new subject,” Feyre grinned. “Oh! Before I forget, Rhys and I are going out of town for our anniversary in a few weeks. I was hoping you could watch Nyx for a few days.”

It took Nesta a moment to realize that Feyre was talking to her. She froze, having been blowing on her own hot coffee. “I’m sorry, what?”

Feyre laughed, quietly. “I was hoping that you could watch Nyx while Rhys and I go away for a long weekend. We’re going to the mountains for our anniversary. To his family’s cabin.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Elain said, looking at Nesta.

Who blinked, having only unfrozen to set her coffee down on the table between them. “You want me…to watch Nyx…for the weekend? Alone? By myself? Just me and him?”

“That’s what I was hoping for, yeah,” Feyre said, nodding as she sipped from her cup. “You can come here, where all of his stuff is in one place, and make yourself at home.” She shrugged. “I’ll leave money for takeout and the key to the wine cabinet.”

Nesta hesitated. “I’ve only babysat Nyx a couple of times…all for, like, an hour each.”

“It will be fine,” she said, a genuine smile on her face. “It will only be three nights, really. We’ll leave after work on Thursday and be home Sunday evening.”

Nesta stammered and shook her head. “I have to work on Friday, the restaurant-.”

“I’ll keep him during the day on Friday,” Elain offered. “I don’t have any shoots that day, so he can spend the day with me and Seph.”

“You could keep him the whole weekend,” Nesta tried, looking at her younger sister hopefully.

“Seph is enough of a handful,” she chuckled, glancing at Feyre, who was nodding as well. “I don’t think I can handle two at once for an entire weekend.”

“Please, Nes,” Feyre said, drawing her eldest sister’s eyes to her. “I know you can do it and it would be nice for you to spend some time together, just you two.”

“And you can call me, if you need anything,” Elain added.

Nesta looked from Feyre to Elain. “You two already planned this.” They at least had the wherewithal to look guilty. She sighed, closing her eyes and shaking her head. “Fine. But I’ll probably end up calling both of you every thirty seconds.”

“I can work with that,” Feyre said, just as Elain said, “Then it’s settled!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nesta snorted, shaking her head. “But, I hope you know that I wouldn’t do this for anybody else.”

“Oh, I know,” Feyre grinned, “which is what makes you such a wonderful, wonderful big sister.”

“I am pretty damn wonderful,” Nesta agreed, grinning as she sipped from her mug.

As she drank, she peeked out the window, where the boys were putting together the playset. Once she did, only one thing caught her eye.

Cassian was already watching her.

And when he caught her gaze, that stupid little, cocky-ass grin appeared.

She hated that grin, hated it with every ounce of her being.

And she wouldn’t feel bad for it, no matter how much her sisters adored the guy.

She hated him, hated Cassian Nazari.

And she always would.

#life as we know it #snacmc lawki #shara #snacmc #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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deancaskiss · 3 years

Text

2k Followers Celebration Content Creator Event, Day 1: Beach

This is a special birthday gift dedicated to @castielstolemyheart! To my favorite cute person, happy birthday, ilysm! 💜

Being a bartender at a 360˚ open bar right on the beach had many perks. Dean couldn't complain. Sun and sand, free and fun. He'd only meant to take a couple week vacation here after Sammy had gone off to college, and yet here he was, many years later, still in Hawaii and loving every second of it.

The company wasn't bad either. Tourists with fun stories and coworkers who were actually awesome to work with. Everything was easy and laid-back, until a certain someone had caught Dean’ eyes, and suddenly he had no interest in the casual hook-ups offered by the tourists.

"You're the king of confidence and you can't walk over there and ask him out?" Charlie asked, leaning over Dean to grab one of the little umbrellas before popping it open and placing it in a Pina colada for a customer.

Dean snapped his eyes to Charlie before looking back out towards the beach. Towards Cas; local surfing instructor and the guy Dean had been crushing on since the gorgeous man had moved to town six months ago.

Dean had been caught breathless the first day he'd met Cas; casually making him a drink while desperately trying to make words come out of his mouth, which had gone sticky and dry at the sight of Cas.

Things had only gotten worse, or better, depending on how you looked at it. Five days a week, after finishing his surfing lessons (which Dean definitely didn't watch from his spot at the bar, eyes glued to Cas as he elegantly surfed the waves and pushed his wet hair from his dazzling blue eyes), Cas would come over and order a drink. He'd stay sitting at the bar, sometimes for half an hour, sometimes for a couple hours, just talking to Dean. They'd struck up an easy friendship, and it had fast become Dean's favorite part of the day.

On days when the rush was crazy, customers angrily demanding more Hawaiian-esque vibes to their drinks, Dean all but counted down the seconds until Cas was done with his lessons so he could unwind listening to Cas' molasses thick voice.

But the best days were the quieter ones, when Dean could let Charlie handle the few customers and he'd make himself a drink and sit down on the other side of the bar with Cas, discussing the pod of dolphins that swam past earlier that day, or a new trail just up past the coast that would be perfect for a hike.

Sighing, Dean finally tore his gaze away from Cas in his wetsuit to look at Charlie as she handed a drink to the last customer in line. "I can't, Charlie. Have you seen him? He's like an Angel fell down from Heaven, and I'm just me," Dean said, gesturing to himself vaguely. "He's so far out of my league it's unfathomable."

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Charlie asked, jutting her hip against the counter and tying her fiery red hair into a loose ponytail.

“See what?” Dean asked, reorganizing the bottles of alcohol just for something to do with his hands.

“The way he looks at you. I swear the two of you spend all day every day looking at each other when the other one isn’t looking,” Charlie said, picking up a strawberry and hurling it at Dean’s head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean huffed, plucking the strawberry and plopping it in his mouth.

“For God’s sake, Dean. Ask him out. I’ve watched you two make heart-eyes at each other for six months now. Anytime you have a day off and he comes over here looking for you, he sulks and spends the entire time telling me about you, as if I don’t have to work with your insufferable ass all day every day.”

“What’s your point?” Dean asked, finally turning and facing Charlie.

“My point is- his lessons just finished for the day, which means he’s gonna be over here any minute. Please, for my sanity, ask him out on date. Maybe then you two can stop making bedroom eyes at each other over the counter. Your drooling over each other scares the customers away,” Charlie huffed, even though there was nothing but teasing fondness to her tone. “Here’s your chance, Romeo. Go get your Prince Charming.”

Dean winced. “That wasn’t a horrific clashing of references.”

“Don’t care,” Charlie called, moving around the circular bar to serve the next customers.

“Hey, Dean,” Cas said, plopping himself down in his usual bar stool.

“Heya, Cas. Good waves today?” Dean asked, even though he knew the answer. The waves had been gorgeous, but not nearly as breathtaking as Cas had been catching the last few waves.

“Yeah, they were some of the best in weeks. In fact, I was going to ask if you wanted to go out and catch some waves with me before the sun sets?” Cas asked, looking up at Dean expectantly.

Dean froze midway through making Cas’ favorite drink- a Mai Tai- and he felt the air leave his lungs in a sharp rush. “Wh-what?”

“Unless you don’t know how to surf? I can teach you, if you don’t. Private lessons, just you and me,” Cas offered almost shyly.

Dean blinked, swallowed, and blinked again. Had Cas just asked him out? Was this a date? It was a date, right? Going surfing was a date, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was just a buddies thing? Who offered private lessons on a not-date-date? Oh God. Dean’s head was starting to spin.

“Unless you’re not interested in… this…” Cas said, gesturing between them with a nervous sound. “I um… I might have read things wrong and I-“

“No!” Dean cried. Oh shit. Wait. “No, I mean. Wait. Shit. Wait, hang on. No, you haven’t read this wrong. Yes, yes I want to go on a surfing date,” Dean stuttered, words coming out in a rush.

Cas bit at his lower lip nervously, and he looked up at Dean through his lashes. “Really?”

Dean nodded, then realized he was nodding far too quickly, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, really. Although, I’ve only been surfing a couple times, and I’m pretty crap at it.”

“I’ll teach you if you want,” Cas said with a smile.

“I’d like that,” Dean replied, feeling the butterflies flutter in his stomach.

“So it’s a date, then?” Cas asked, looking up at Dean hopefully.

“God, yes,” Dean grinned. “Been wanting to ask you out for months.”

The way Cas’ eyes sparkled electric blue outshone the ocean a million to one. “The feeling’s mutual.”

Tearing his eyes away from Cas, Dean peered around the bar. “Hey Charlie, mind covering the rest of my shift? I’ve got a date,” Dean called.

Charlie immediately darted around the bar, bumping into Dean and punching his shoulder. “‘Bout damn time, Winchester.”

“Shut up,” Dean flushed, shoving at Charlie lightly but grinning widely.

“Did he finally ask you out?” Charlie asked, turning her attention to Cas.

Cas shook his head. “Nope,” he said, throwing a little smirk at Dean. “I asked him out.”

“Oh hell yes,” Charlie said with a laugh, reaching out to high-five Cas.

“Alright, we’re leaving now,” Dean muttered, slipping out from the bar before Charlie could embarrass him anymore than she already had.

“I’ve got a spare surfboard if you want to borrow mine?” Cas asked as they walked down towards the ocean.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Dean said, bumping his hand against Cas’ a couple times before finally sucking up the courage to link their fingers together. They walked the rest of the way with their fingers intertwined, sneaking glances at each other the whole time.

They spent the next hour out in the ocean, with Cas surfing several waves like an actual God, while Dean wiped out twice and refused to get back up out of sheer embarrassment. Even though he’d made a fool out of himself, it was by far the best date of Dean’s life; splashing water at Cas and the two of them laughing together at Dean’s desperate need for private lessons.

Sitting comfortably on his board, Dean watched in awe as Cas caught another wave, gliding across the water as if he belonged there. It was captivating and mesmerizing to watch from this close; to be allowed to stare at his date in wonder.

By the time Cas had paddled back to him, Dean had dropped himself down in the water to cool off, arms resting on the board as he looked up at Cas. The way the setting sun caught Cas’ profile was enough to cast a halo around his head, making Dean’s heart skip a beat in his chest. God, Cas was breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Let me help you up,” Cas said, pulling Dean out of the water until they were both sitting on one board, hovering in each other’s space; both of them darting looks at each other’s lips. As the sun set, creating the most romantic setting Dean had ever been in, Cas leaned forwards and kissed Dean. It was like fireworks bursting into the sunset; dizzy and electrifying and completely captivating. Teasing flicks of tongue, and yet gentle brushes of lips.

With the bright orange and pink sunset lighting the sky, and Cas’ hands sliding into Dean’s wet hair, it was the absolute best kiss of Dean’s life.

Tag List Part 1 Below- (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list!)

Tag List: @cas-deserved-so-much-more @hello-x-sunshine @bibelphegor @likepurplemuses @expectingtofly @neo-neo-neo @shadowywerewolfqueen @a-sweet-indisposition @feraladoration @xojo

@oganizediguana @paintdriesfaster @adsp-destielcockles @destielangst @ivydean @justa-crayon @dea-stiel @superduckbatrebel @destielfactory @miluiel-erynion

@y-yo-a-ti-cas67 @cockleslovesdestiel @toxic-nebula @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @enchantinghairdoherringwombat @proudace @galaxymysteryelephant @aelysianmuse @ramennoodles-dean-cas @you-changedmedean

@welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @deansotherotherblog @trekkie24 @geo-val @dizzypinwheel @hermionevaldez9 @gimmeprozac @iamsherlockedondoctorwho @dickspeightjrs @imbiowaresbitch

@destielle @hopefuldreamers-world @organicpurplepants @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @shut-up-dean @sapphirecobalt-1 @eshaninjer @spnobsessed50 @mishka @holygoddessofvictory

@jayus-fandom-writer @2musiclover2 @rainbowscas @bennedict @cassiecasyl @jensenacklesruinedmylife @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @chaoticdean @destiel-trash-asf @tlakhtwritesdestiel

@bri-winchester @50shadesofcockles @trasherasswood @spittingpagan @castielstolemyheart @becky-srs @phoenix13 @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @deancasology @top13zepptraxx

@love-neve-dies @good-things-do-happen-dean @tearsofgrace @thedirtytrenchcoat @a-porno-with-the-russian-mafia @on-a-bender @moi-the-bard @one-more-offbeat-anthem @naturallyathief @queen-rowenas

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #beach #dailydestieldelights #au #bartender dean #surfer cas #fluff #first kiss #supernatural #rambleoncas #deancas #meet cute #destiel fic #spncreatorsdaily #friends to lovers #tearsofgrace #bluefirecas

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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

Text

The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means.

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place.

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking?

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his.

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today.

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way.

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan.

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!”

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.”

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.”

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile.

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried.

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life.

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism.

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want!

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart.

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time.

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

“But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much.

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line.

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one.

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!”

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour.

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made.

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them.

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good.

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into.

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog.

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie?

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun.

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking.

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable.

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up.

Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this?

It didn’t matter.

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed.

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good.

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?”

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully.

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

#intrulogical #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #Far too many OCs gross #Rumor Mill Au #rumors #well fake marriage #sympathetic remus #Logan is bad at feelings #so bad #now with more logan angst #Patton is a good friend #This au is so old that I called Janus Dante and I decided to fix that #alcohol #drunk logan

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anagentinwriting · 3 years

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Lifeline - Part 15

Summary: (First Responders!AU) Moving to Los Angeles and living with your brother, Thor, was never part of your plan nor was being a 9-1-1 dispatcher, but plans change when you are faced with your own emergencies. In your case, it was leaving behind a relationship that wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. Will this be the fresh start you were hoping for or will your past find a way to catch up with you?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Odinson!Sister Reader

Word Count: 4800+

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, fighting

Lifeline Masterlist / Main Masterlist

“Okay, girl. Let’s move onto your two-three combo, and then you are going to come at me with a right hook as if it was your ex’s face,” Val instructed, holding up her mitts.

You dropped your hands, looking at her. “I’m not doing this because I want to kick his abusive ass. I am doing this for me. To build up my confidence and get stronger.”

“Yeah, yeah. You just want to look good naked for Rogers.” She wiggled her eyebrows, and you started punching the mitts. “Thata girl, I knew I could hit a nerve,” she chuckled to herself.

You completed a few more rounds, then Val decided it was time for a cool down. You nodded, breathing heavy, and stepped out of the ring. You wiped the sweat from your brow with your forearm while Val came over to help get you out of the gloves.

“You’re killing it, YN. Like, if someone ever decided to jump you, well, I think they would lose a hand.”

You chuckled at Val’s compliment. “Thanks, I do feel more confident in my movements, and my punches feel like they have more power behind them.”

“They do,” she agreed, “but it’s not hard enough to make me need to ice my hands or anything, like some of the coaches have to do when M’Baku is practicing.” She raised her eyebrows, shaking her head. “Men always have to be the strongest, but they’re not always the smartest.” She let out an annoyed sigh, rolling her eyes. “How are things with Rogers?”

You smiled as she started to untie your other glove. “He’s good. I think we’re good. Why, what’s the gossip at the station?”

“There’s not much. He tends to keep to himself about you, but there are times when he does get all flustered, blushy, and red when we pick on him about you. It’s cute,” Val smirked, eyeing you over, feeling yourself have the same reaction as him. “Have you two kindled the flame yet?” She wiggled her eyebrows, making your face heat up even more.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you chuckled, shaking your head.

“Don’t tell me then,” she winked. “When Carol and I talk about you two, we think you two look good together, and from what you both have been through, you both deserve a win, and I’m happy you two found each other.”

You smiled, undoing the hand wraps. “Thanks, Val. Speaking of Carol--” you peeked up at her, watching her closely “--how are things? Have you told the crew yet?”

“Not yet, but I am sure most of them already suspect something is going on?” Val shrugged, taking a sip out of her water bottle.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I mean, they’re men,” you chuckled, rotating your wrists back and forth.

“Good point,” she laughed, tilting her water bottle at you. “They can be a little slower at picking up hints.”

____________

You sat on the couch folding laundry, following a developing armed robbery happening downtown at the Ideal Federal Saving Bank.

“Christine, how are things looking there? Have any of the robbers been identified?” Megan Henderson asked from the KTLA studio to Christine Everheart at the scene.

“Yes, Megan. We know two of the assailants at this time, Jack Rollins and Jasper Sitwell. They are two notorious criminals who have been involved in numerous robberies throughout the state of California, Nevada, and Arizona. We are still unsure about the three other associates assisting with this robbery at this time…”

The monitor by the front door started buzzing, pulling you away from the screen to see who was there. You smiled at the screen, seeing Thor waving at the camera with his hands full of groceries, and you buzzed him in.

You walked over to grab the remote, seeing the film crew circling the bank in a helicopter, and switched off the tv. You would need Thor's full attention when he helps you make your mom's chocolate chip cookies for fire safety at the station tomorrow.

“Sister, I come bearing gifts,” Thor shouted, somehow being able to open the front door with his hands full. “And did you see that robbery hostage situation--” he pointed in the direction to downtown LA “--Nat and Clint have their hands full with this one.”

“Yeah, they do,” you agreed, leading Thor to the kitchen to drop off the bags on the counter. You furrowed your brows at the multiple bags of groceries. “What did you all get? All I needed was flour, chocolate chips, and eggs.”

“They were having a sale, and I couldn’t resist.” He lifted up a six-pack of beer, smiling like a child on their birthday.

“Well, that’s not going to take you long to finish,” you smirked at him, pulling groceries from the bags.

“No, I got this for us to drink while we bake mom’s cookies,” Thor added with a sincere smile, scratching his beard. “You know brother-sister bonding. I also grabbed snacks, so we are less tempted to eat all the cookies.”

You grinned, staring at him in awe. “Sounds like fun, let’s get these cookies started.”

“And I’ll open a beer for you and supervise,” Thor added, going into the drawer to get the bottle opener, and you narrowed your eyes at him.

___________

“Are you sure you’re doing it right?” Thor watched over your shoulders while you started creaming the butter and sugar together. “I don’t remember mom using one of these fancy mixers. She did it with one of those hand mixer thingies.”

“It just makes it go quicker,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “And you can do a bigger batch.”

“They’re not going to taste the same.”

“This is how I’ve always made them. You have literally watched me make these cookies with this machine before.”

“Oh well, I noticed they tasted different.”

“You’re insufferable, Thor,” you stated, turning around and pushing him to the other side of the counter. He laughed, taking a seat on the stool across from you. “Do you want to find my cookie scoop? You’re scooping once I have everything mixed.”

“Finnneee,” he dragged out, complaining. He went over to the drawer and pulled out the scoop, and returned to the stool. “How have things been going with Steve?”

“It’s been fun,” you smiled, adding the eggs to the mixer bowl and turning it on.

“I’m glad. I’m the one who told Steve he could date you.”

“Wait,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “did he ask for permission?”

“No, I just told him that if I had to choose someone from the station to date you, I’d pick him.”

“Oooooh, so you picked him for me?” You scoffed, eyeing him while you added the dries in a little at a time.

“No, no, nothing like that. You can make your own decisions, but you’re a good person, and I wanted you to be with a good man. Besides, Steve is an old fashion guy, and with Dad not around anymore to ask, I figured I was the next best choice since I am the eldest.”

“And Loki was okay with your decision.” You scraped the bowl, adding in the chocolate chips and turning the mixer back on.

“Well...I didn't ask him per se, but I think he would agree with me on this,” Thor stated, taking a sip of his beer.

“But, when have either of you agreed on anything...ever?” You turned off the machine, taking the bowl off, and started scraping the dough off the paddle. “Besides, you know I can make my own decisions right. I’m an adult.”

“Yes, of course,” he chuckled, playing around with the cookie scoop until it flew out of his hand and skimmed across the kitchen island. “Of course.” He nodded.

“Says the man child, playing with a cookie scoop,” you snorted, shaking your head.

The last batch of cookies was in the oven, and the rest were cooling on sheets of newspaper. It wasn’t uncommon for you to get a few stares when you made cookies with an audience, but every time you made them with your mom, she’d use a spatula to get them off the pan and then place them on newspaper. You didn’t want to break that little tradition you got from her.

Thor plopped down on a stool at your small island. “Why did I have to scoop them all?” Thor asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“They’re for your job, I’m not going to do all the work,” you sassed, shaking your head, forcing him to crack a side smile. “Now you wash, and I’ll dry.”

“Do I have to? I just sat down,” he asked with a slight frown.

“Yes,” you stated as he groaned, standing up and making his way to the sink.

He let out a loud sigh, turning on the faucet, and narrowing his eyes in your direction. You stuck out your tongue at him while you continued to put ingredients away. He sighed loudly again, and you gave him the side-eye as he leaned against the counter, watching the suds magically appear in the water. “I’m happy for you.”

“Okay?” You replied more in a question than a statement. You narrowed your eyes at him, not knowing where that came from.

“It’s nice to see you smiling and having fun again. You know, putting yourself out there. It’s nice having the sister I grew up with back. I’ve missed her.” He stood up straight, cracking a child-like smile at you.

“Me too,” you smirked, leaning against the counter.

He turned back to the sink, placing a few dishes in, and started washing them before placing them on the drying rack. It was weird to watch him do civilized things because he never did them when he was younger. When he left New York, the annoying older brother you grew up with started taking responsibility for his actions. While most actions not involving his nightly escapades. You take a sip of your beer, grabbing a clean cloth to dry, and start putting the dishes away.

“I filed for divorce yesterday,” you mentioned, hearing Thor drop what he was washing into the sink.

He placed his hands on the edge of the sink, clenching his jaw at the sudsy sink.

“He’s going to know where you are. Are you okay with taking that risk?” He inquired, scratching at the short beard on his face, turning to you.

“I know it’s a risk, but the only way I am ever gonna feel free of him…is to be free of him.”

He nodded, clearing his throat. “Are you going to feel safe here? Cause I can take the couch and stay for a few days. I can take work off and…”

“Thor, Thor,” you interrupted, placing your hand on his upper arm. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know, I just… I want… I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know, and I will be,” you smiled at him, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.

“Is Steve gonna come and stay with you?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” You shrugged, keeping a close eye on your brother; his bottom lip trembled as his eyes darted in all directions. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded his head aggressively. “Yeah, I’m fine. Totally fine,” he stated in a high-pitched voice, laughing it off. “But um…I think it would be better if someone stayed here with you, so I know… so we--we all know you’re safe,” he stumbled over his words, wringing his hands together. “Have you at least talked to Loki? What does he think? Does he want me to stay with you?” He asked, rambling on in one breath.

“I was going to call him tonight and let him know,” you informed softly, trying to calm him down. “Thor--” his worried-filled eyes connected with yours “--I’ll be okay. Okay?” You gave him a reassuring nod. “I know after what happened before...that you blame yourself or you feel like you failed, but you didn’t. I don’t blame you for what happened because it wasn’t any of your doing. I put myself in that situation, and I continued to go back.”

“But, I could have gotten you out of that situation. I am the eldest, and I should’ve done a better job at protecting you, or at the very least, listening to you. I shouldn’t have taken Billy’s side, and for that, I blame myself,” he sniffled, clearing his throat.

“Thor--” you rubbed his arm, making him look at you “--Billy is and will always be a master manipulator. We all fell for it…”

“Loki didn’t. He saw right through the man,” Thor tried to reason, raising his eyebrows.

“But he didn’t stop me from going back to Billy. I mean, he tried, but Billy already had me wrapped around his finger.” You paused, biting your lip. “There is no sense in playing the blame game when the only person we should be blaming is Billy.” Thor opened his mouth to say something, but you continued. “You’ve helped me more these last few months than you will ever realize. Don’t think about the past and how you could’ve helped me, but think about right now, and how you did help me. I still don’t know how to thank you for it.”

“You can thank me by letting someone stay with you for a couple of weeks.”

“Wow...we’re still on that,” you scoffed, forcing a trembling chuckle out of him. “I know open communication was never our family's forte, but I love you, brother.”

“Love you, too, sis,” he smiled, leaning towards you and pulling you into a hug.

___________

You walked into the station through the open garage doors, noticing the spotless, shiny red trucks glistening in the sun, bringing a sense of ease over you and a smile to your face. This place felt like a second home that came with a family that you didn’t know you needed. You spotted Steve helping a few guys set up chairs in front of a portable tv while others set up tables for interactive activities for the kids to participate in. There were even goody bags with plastic red firemen hats and the treat table that continued to grow.

“YN, I see you got talked into making something, too?” You looked over to see Nat, holding a pan of brownies, and you lifted your two containers of cookies. “I swear these boys wouldn't survive without us. I mean, Val and Carol would be safe, but the boys.” She shot you a tight smile, shaking her head.

“Agreed,” you chuckled.

“And there is my nerd now, I’ll be back,” she winked, walking over to Bucky. She handed him the brownies, and he leaned down and kissed her ever so gently.

“It’s disgusting, isn't it?” You looked to your right to see Sam with his arms crossed, rolling his eyes.

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” You chuckled, rubbing your lips together and glancing at them one more time. Steve caught your eye, and a sweet smile broke across his face. “You’ll find someone, Sam. You’re such a catch.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted.

“Would some cookies help?” You offered, handing him the containers.

“Yes.” Sam grinned his gap-tooth smile, taking the container. “Thank you, YN. This is why you’re my favorite.” He took a bite out of one of the cookies, walking away, holding it up in the air. “The best batch yet.”

Steve shook his head at a grinning Sam, walking over to you, and pulled you into a hug. You giggled into his chest, wrapping your arms around your waist, and he started swaying back and forth. You rested your chin on his chest, staring up at him. He leaned down, giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“How did Bucky and Steve get girls like that?” Sam asked Val at the treat table.

“I guess some people just get lucky.” Val shrugged, and Sam angrily took a bite out of another cookie.

“Want some ice cream?”

“Yes, I want all the ice cream,” Sam added, following Val to the break room.

“Question--” Steve stopped swaying and pulled away from you “--do you have any plans for tonight?”

“No, why do you have something planned,” he teased, shooting you his signature smirk.

“Maybe.”

“What are we doing?”

“I’m afraid that is classified, but I have something for you.” You reached into your purse, pulling out a manila folder, handing it to him.

Steve narrowed his eyes in curiosity. He opened the folder, his eyes scanning it over. “Divorce papers. This is a big step, YN,” He smiled at you, but it quickly dropped to concern. “Billy is going to know where you are.”

“I know, but I feel like it is time to put the past behind me and move on with my life.”

“Okay, as long as you’re ready, then I’m here for you with whatever you need.”

“I know,” you smiled shyly.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Thor clasped a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m proud of her,” Steve winked, making your smile spread wider.

“As am I,” Thor smiled, squeezing Steve’s shoulder.

You shake your head at them. “I better get to my shift, but Sam has the cookies, and I want my containers back ASAP, or I am going to hurt you, Thor.” You stated, walking backwards.

“I’ll make sure they are in your possession tonight.” Thor saluted, making you shake your head.

“Have a good shift, YN. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Just know this, Steve, if you hurt my little sister, we will have more than words,” Thor stated, squeezing Steve’s shoulder a little harder watching you walk out of the station with Nat by your side.

Steve nodded, turning to him. “I don’t intend to.”

“Good man.” Thor patted him on the shoulder, giving him a closed-mouth smile. “Before she met you, she was lost in her own little world. Fighting the beast, invading her dreams, and trying to tackle her own troubles. She thought she could only rely on herself to make the important choices but soon realized she had supporters, like you and me. So, thank you, Steve, for helping bring my sister back.”

Steve nodded to Thor as the tall man went back to help the group set up.

“Did he threaten you?” Bucky asked with a breathy laugh, coming over to him.

“Ahh…yeah…sort of….I think.” Steve's eyebrows knit together, trying to figure out what exactly just happened. “But, I’m gonna make a quick call.”

“Do your thing, pal?” Bucky patted him on the shoulder and went over to help the group finish up.

Steve took out his phone until he found the name he was looking for; He brought it to his ear as soon as it started to ring.

“Hey, Steve. How’s it going?”

“I’m good. Listen, I’m not going to be able to play pool tonight. I got a...I got a date,” Steve smiled at his own words, scratching at his beard.

“Oh, is this the one you have been kind of seeing?”

“Yeah, YN.”

“Good for you, man.”

“Thanks, but I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you later.”

“I have a feeling we’ll see each other soon. Have a good night, Steve.”

“Bye, Jig,” Steve smiled, sliding the phone back into his pocket, and headed over to finish getting everything ready for fire safety.

__________

The team stood by one of the open garage doors in anticipation for the first group of young students and their teachers to arrive. The workout room was transformed into a small teaching area, complete with fold-out chairs and a roll-away tv. Snacks and goody bags were also waiting for them with a welcoming banner hanging from the second-story loft.

Steve let out a deep breath with his hands on his hips, eyeing at what they were able to accomplish. It looked very welcoming, but he didn’t know what was going to happen. He liked kids but wasn’t always great at talking to them, but Carol reassured them that the first group of students might not go as planned, but they had another six to make up for it.

“First group approaching,” Sam shouted, going over to the door to greet them. Sam shook the teacher's hand, flashing her his famous gap-tooth smile.

Bucky scoffed beside Steve, gripping his shoulder. “Don’t be nervous, pal. Just avoid swearing or talking about anything too scary. Kids think we are badasses, and they look up to us. We are heroes to them.”

Steve swallowed, nodding at him. He rubbed his hands together, taking in the twenty little kids, grabbing snacks, and taking their seats while Carol stood in front of them with a huge smile.

“How’s everyone doing today?” Carol asked, earning a group of students shouting while others remained silent. “I’m glad to hear it. My name is Captain Carol Danvers, but you can call me Ace, and I am in charge of Station 107. Those wearing the dark blue shirts around you are my teammates.” She pointed to Sam, who then introduced himself as they went around the room. “Now that you know my team, what are your names?”

The teachers introduced themselves before the kids went around the room saying their names. Steve stood off to the side, nodding his head, trying to remember every kid’s name. His eyes stopped on one familiar little girl, Morgan Stark. She caught his eye, and she waved with an exciting smile on her face. He nodded at her, mimicking her expression on his face. Steve noticed she also waved at Sam. Seeing her brought back the memory of his first encounter with YN and losing his dispatcher cherry while saving Morgan from the electrified pool in the process.

“Do any of you know the number to call in case someone needs help?” Danvers asked, bringing Steve's attention back to the present. Hands flew into the air, including Morgans. Danvers pointed to one of the students, and he replied with 911.

Steve zoned out as Danvers continued to talk with the young kids. His eyes traveled around the room, noticing how some of the teachers would catch his eye but then quickly look away. He smirked, realizing Thor and YN weren’t kidding when they said the teachers would flirt with them. Thor winked at one of them, and she blushed, unable to keep the smile off her face. Steve shook his head at them, returning his attention to Danvers.

“....when you dial 911, your call gets directed to a dispatcher, and they use a system called CAD, which is a computer-aided dispatch. They punch the address you give them in, and the dispatcher can figure out what unit is closest for them to send help. Now, how many of you know your address?” A few hands shot up, and Carol nodded. “It’s okay if you don’t just go home and talk to your parents about it. They love to watch you learn and would be more than willing to help.” She nodded, clasping her hands together. “We are going to watch a quick safety video and then break off into groups and do a few different activities and see some cool things. How’s that sound?” She got a few cheers from the students while the others kept quiet. Danvers smiled, switching the tv on and pushing play on the DVD player, before stepping off to the side.

The kids broke off into four smaller groups; Bucky and Steve took their group around, showing them different trucks, and explained their purpose. Steve couldn’t help but smile when the kids’ faces brightened up upon seeing the inside of the trucks. They did their best to explain what some of the equipment inside was, but most of the kids seemed too excited to listen. According to Bucky, kids like seeing the trucks and could care less about the other activities they had set up.

The first group's time was coming to an end, and the team could see the next class approaching in the distance. The team handed out gift bags, and all the kids were smiling and putting on their red plastic hats. The teachers told the students to say thank you, and they did so in unison before they retreated towards the door.

Steve stood by the entrance waving goodbye to the previous class, awaiting to greet the next class. He felt a tug on his pants, and he looked down to see Morgan smiling up at him.

“Hey, shouldn’t you be up there with your partner?” He leaned down to her eye level, resting a knee on the ground.

“She is waiting,” she pointed to her, and Steve smirked, seeing her waiting impatiently. “Besides, my teacher is still talking to the tall one.”

He glanced over to see the tall one was Thor, and he was doing the thing he always did. “Look at that, you’re right.” He nodded. “What can I do for you, Morgan?”

“I wanted to give you this--” she handed him a homemade card “--the tall one helped me make it at the coloring table.” She rocked back and forth on her feet and blushed.

“Aww, thank you.” He opened the card, reading: Thank you, Fireman Steve, for saving me, and it was an image of her in a pool with him on one side and Sam was on the other. “You’re welcome. I like it. You are quite the artist.”

She smiled. “I gave one to Fireman Sam, too.” She pointed at him with a smile.

“I’m sure he loved it, too.” Steve smiled at it. “I'm going to have to put this on my fridge at home.” He chuckled, and in an instance, the little girl wrapped her little arms around her neck and pulled him close. He patted her on the back and pulled away. “Stay out of trouble, and don’t get into any more electrified pools.”

She shot him a funny look. “You too,” she smiled, running over to her partner.

Her teacher passed by him, folding a piece of paper and sliding it into her pocket, which Steve could only assume to be Thor's number. He shook his head, looking back at Thor to see him staring at her retreating figure.

Thor caught Steve's eye, and he shrugged. “What? I like women, but you know, not in a creepy way.”

After the first class came through, the rest of the groups were easy; having got the lay-of-the-land and knowing what to say. Although towards the end of the day, the older kids, the 2nd graders, asked more daring questions, in which Steve tried to keep it G or PG.

“And with that, class is dismissed,” Danvers stated, plopping down in one of the fold-up chairs, sighing loudly.

“Hear, hear,” Sam nodded, plopping down next to her. “It’s the repetition that gets me. I could go home and fall asleep right now. Who knew kids could be so exhausting. I praise the teachers cause I know I couldn’t put up with their shit all the time.” Everyone murmured in agreement.

“How are you all tired?” Thor asked with his hands on his hips.

“We weren’t at the coloring station. We were explaining and answering questions trying to keep things kid-friendly.”

“Well, you should’ve been. In my opinion, it’s the best station.”

“No, the trucks are, the arts and crafts station is the boring table. The kids were talking about it,” Bucky added, folding up a few chairs.

“Doesn’t matter, I got a few numbers. And...” he walked over to the snack table, taking the last of YN cookies “--I got the last cookie,” he chuckled, taking a bite.

“Let’s quit complaining about what activity was better and remember it was about teaching the kids,” Danvers stated. “Now, let’s get this cleaned up, so the crew can do their job tonight.” Everyone mumbled, nodding in agreement.

Thor snapped the container to your Tupperware shut, shoving the last bite of cookie in his mouth. “I could drop off the Tupperware tonight if you’d like. I’m meeting up with her after her shift,” Steve offered, packing up the leftover snacks.

“Yes, I suppose you could, but if they go missing and she doesn’t get them. This all comes back to me, and I don’t need that on my conscience right now.”

“Probably a good idea you do it then,” Steve chuckled.

____________

Standing in front of the mirror, you try to get your hair to do a thing, but it isn’t doing the thing, so you decide to leave it as is. A buzzing sound at the front door brings an excited smile to your face. You trotted down the stairs, seeing Steve and Cosmo at the gate. You buzzed them in and went into the kitchen to grab two wine glasses and a bottle from your stash. You set them on the kitchen island, hearing Cosmo barking on the other side of the door. You smirked to yourself, walking over to the front door, remembering Steve mentioning how much Cosmo missed you. It was utter nonsense, but you couldn’t help but smile. You opened the front door, and your smile quickly disappeared.

“Billy.”

“Hi, honey. Did you miss me?”

_________

AN: Thanks for reading part 15! Those pesky cliffhangers! Where did Billy come from? Has he been watching her this whole time? Hmmmm....any theories?! And of course, all of this had to happen when things between her and Steve were finally going forward. It's almost like I planned it! Muwahaha! And speaking of Steve...what could’ve happened to him and Cosmo? Besides the ending, did you like Thor and her little chitchat, the brother-sister bonding sesh. We did learn that Thor clearly still blames himself for what happened way back then, but maybe now after their little chat, he will finally start forgiving himself, but who knows with the current revelation happening! 😬 And Val and Carol, did anyone guess that happening?! Also, did you enjoy fire safety day?! I thought it would be a good throwback to the first chapter and bring Morgan back, and I thought it would just be cute seeing the team trying to keep things G/PG when talking about their job. Haha! Better prepare yourself for the next couple chapters, cause things are going get deep! As always thanks for reading, comments always welcome!

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