#that's like if you had a plastic cheap phone that only took and received calls and nothing else and you never used it and it constantly

[flowerslut]

forget six sentence sundays. we're doing Full Snippet Sundays now 😌

“I’ve got to fill the tank before I get anywhere,” Eleazar laughs. The phone that he speaks to sits in the caddy on the dashboard of his truck. It jostles noisily when he drives over a bumpy patch of road and the cheap plastic of the caddy rattles louder than the voice of the speaker on the other end. “When I get to—”

Nothing.

Siobhan rolls her eyes as she ties back her long, messy hair. Maggie glares at the side of her head, arms folded across her oversized shirt. Siobhan turns back toward the reflective surface of the shop window to survey her appearance. “Tonight’s rain is the least of my damn worries! I can not—”

Nothing.

Bella’s elderly mother coughs and wheezes into the side of her sleeve. The sound as she clears her throat is as concerning as it is grotesque. Her other hand waves to someone unseen across the room. “Turn the music up! This dust is going to send me to—”

Nothing.

“He will stop if you say,” Kebi whispers, leaning forward until her chin comes to rest on a black-clad shoulder, “nothing I do can—”

Nothing.

Stefan, to Vladimir, “It wasn’t until the glass broke through that they scattered like—”

Nothing.

Tanya sighs. “Oh, you’re a real piece of work, you know th—”

Nothing.

Zafrina. “Let me try it myself, there might—”

Nothing.

He struggles even though his arms are restrained and he can't see through the canvas to assess where he is. Every time he tries, in vain, to plant his feet against the ground the men who drag him forward kick at his knees. They're bent at odd angles; judging by the noises he makes, the injuries must be impossibly painful. It doesn't stop him from trying to use a broken, disjointed leg to try and get a good shot in.

The bag over his head doesn't appear necessary. Peter absolutely knows which direction he's being dragged in; the fading light is still warm against his left side. He doesn't listen to their demands that he 'stop squirming' or to 'quit it'. “Fuck you,” he speaks instead. He swiftly receives another blow to the back of the head for it.

Three newborn vampires. Dirt is smeared across of each of their foreheads; the mud is thick and crumbling with dehydration and age. 

Then, nothing.

Alice did not see Charlotte.

Could not find her.

The next voices she focused on spoke just feet away.

“It’s okay, it’s okay—”

“Call Esme, tell her to go straight to the hospital. Tell her—”

“Hey. Hey, c’mon. Sit down. There we go, now let’s—”

“I only smell one unfamiliar scent. Whoever—”

“Alice?”

Alice looked up at the sound of her name. Edward strode right up to her and placed a hand against her shoulder. “What did you see?” His eyes were imploring. Pleading for her to go back. To play what she’d already checked.

Alice couldn’t focus enough for that. When Edward snapped his fingers in front of her face she startled. She hadn’t noticed him get that close. The only thing she’d noticed is that the yelling had stopped. Finally, she looked around. Bella had whisked Renesmee off somewhere out of sight but Alice could still hear the sobbing coming from upstairs.

“Alice,” Edward shook her shoulders. “Focus.”

Peter is alive, she spared that thought. She threw it toward Edward firmly and willed him to share that information with the rest of their family. Where was everyone? It took until then to realize that Edward was leaning toward her, eye level and close. She was still facing the foyer, standing at the edge of the den and turned toward the front door.

Everyone else must have already passed her by.

Peter is alive, she repeated and then thrust the full vision at Edward. With that, another come came to her, unbidden.

His knees are pressed firmly into the dirt. His legs appear to be whole again but his left hand is missing, ripped off at the wrist. The flesh around the wound is jagged and purple, slowly weeping venom and beginning to rot.

His elbows are wrenched back and a larger man is propped up on one knee behind him. The dirt is still smeared thick across this stranger's face, with patches beginning to fall away to reveal bare skin underneath it. He holds Peter in place. Peter, who still wears the brown hood. Peter who moves so slow and with such subtlety that his captors don't appear to catch on to what he's doing; he clenches and unclenches his right hand, he shifts his weight from knee to knee.

He's waiting for his opportunity.

Another newborn, dark brows furrowed with frustration above their bright eyes, tinkers with a radio across from where they’ve placed Peter.

“Hurry,” the third man speaks quietly. “Rufina will be here with the input.”

Then, again: Nothing.

I can’t see her, Alice couldn’t say it, but suddenly it was the only thing she could think about. The only detail she could focus on. I can’t see Charlotte. 

Alice couldn’t say any more, because she knew what that meant.

#dun dun dun #roots #jalice #technically #figuring out how to write alice's visions Correctly has taken me. so many years of fic writing to be content with

[malibudarby87]

The Letter - writing assignment 1

Here is the week 1 assignment I wrote for my creative writing class! The word limit was 1,200 and the task was about character and structure and the inspiration was an Edward Hopper painting from 1940. The Letter

The shrill ring of the telephone caused Magnus to practically leap from his chair. It was the most she’d seen him move in hours. A jerking, cramping motion that splashed coffee across his writing blotter and knocked a lamp sideways into his in-tray. His eyes bulged like some aquatic creature and his thin skin, already stretched tight over his high cheekbones blanched to a rice white.

Her hand hovered over the receiver as a second ring echoed through the empty office floor. All the other renters and their secretaries had left hours ago. Rushing out before the last of the day’s sun and piling into their cars ready to begin the weekend. Just the two of them remained now and they’d sat in a cold silence for most of the evening, disturbed only by the occasional car horn and the buzzing of electric lights.

He swallowed hard, and somewhere between the third and fourth ring, nodded at her. With a deliberate hand she lifted the cold plastic receiver and drew it to her ear.

“Magnus Glenn’s office?”

Silence. Then a long sigh.

“Clara? Is my husband still there?”

Clara exhaled and felt her shoulders fall. “Good evening, Mrs Glenn,” she said, eyeing her employer. “Yes, Mr Glenn is still here.”

Magnus waved a hand frantically at Clara and snatched at the now mostly empty coffee mug. He dumped the dregs in the plant pot by the window.

“But I’m afraid he’s on an important call just now. Can I take a message?”

There was another long silence on the other end of the line as Magnus opened a bottle of Glenlivet – the one he kept in his bottom draw, behind the cheap stuff he offered to his clients – and splashed a generous helping into the mug.

“Yes, Clara. You can tell Mr Glenn that once again, my Mother has travelled a very long way in hopes of having dinner with her son in law, and once again, she has left disappointed. You can also remind him of what exactly my Mother is like when she’s disappointed, and who it is that bears the brunt of it.”

Clara picked up the phone and walked to Magnus’ side, mumbling affirmations to Mrs Glenn as she continued her speech. She placed the base on the edge, away from the spreading dark coffee stain and with her hand freed she reached out to give the man’s shoulder a firm squeeze. It felt hard as granite.

“You can also tell him,” Mrs Glenn continued. “That if he plans on coming home any later than eleven that he shall find dinner in the Le Creuset and sheets for the fold out bed in the downstairs linen.”

“Of course Mrs Glenn. Anything else?”

There was a sharp inhalation before an abrupt click ended the call.

As Clara hung up the receiver, Magnus took her hand in his. His fingers were cold. Red and mottled. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

“I’m so sorry, Clara,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “All this mess. All this and still… Whatever must you think of me. Putting you in danger. God, I’m a fool.”

He looked so small now, from where she sat, perched on the edge of his desk. A diminished man, all bones and sinew. Curled in on himself like an injured animal. Broken. She cleared her throat and stood, collecting up the few files and papers still on his desk. As her fingers grazed the letter that had started all this, Magnus slammed his hand atop it.

“No,” he said with a weight that made her flinch. “I want to read it again.”

She forced a tight smile and brought the rest of the papers to the filing cabinet where she began to sort them. Magnus stared blankly at the page before him. Eyes glazed. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. He sighed. He huffed. He even laughed. A dry, humourless chuckle that seemed closer to mania than anything. Then, another bloated silence.

“When do you think…?” she said after a few minutes of nothing. “I mean. How long, do you think? Before they get the money. Before this is all over?”

Magnus turned to look at her with bloodshot eyes. She thought for a moment that he might cry. He shook his head and crumpled the letter into his red fist.

“Damned if I know. I made the call but it’s Friday. The banks might-”

“Oh God,” she said, clinging to the filing cabinet as her legs buckled beneath her.

Magnus rose and pulled her into a passionate embrace.

“I won’t let anything happen! You hear me? I won’t let them hurt you.” She looked into his eyes. Those big, grey eyes that had watched her for hours. That had traced the lines of her dresses and lingered on her when he thought she didn’t notice. For a moment, she almost believed him

“Well ain’t that lovely,” a voice came from the open door. A large man in a dark coat stood, partly in shadow. His square jaw speckled with scars and stubble. Something metal gleamed in the light from the overturned lamp. “Course it becomes less romantic when you factor in the lies and the infidelity and poor Mrs Glenn sat at home waiting for her dirty, cheating, son-of-a-bitch husband to come home to her and the kiddies.”

Clara gasped and pulled Magnus closer.

“Why are you here?” Magnus asked. “I called the bank and I sent the God damned money.”

“Well, here’s the thing, Mr Magnus,” the man said, taking a few steps into the office. He gestured as he spoke, brandishing a revolver in one hand with a disturbingly casual air. Clara felt the shuddering of Magnus’ body as a chill swept through him. “Money ain’t come through. So, we’re gonna need a little... insurance. Just for the weekend, you understand.”

There was a long pause. The man with the gun walked to the desk and casually poured himself a drink.

“Now, it’s your choice. I can take the lovely Miss Clara here.” He paused to down the drink. “Or we’ve got a man waiting at 318 Bristol Mews. How do you think your wife would feel about a little trip to the coast, Mr Glenn?”

“You bastard!” Magnus spat.

“Make a choice, Mr Glenn. I won’t ask again.”

Minutes passed. Then, with little fanfare Magnus loosened his grip on Clara and silently walked to the window.

“Magnus,” she started. But knew it was pointless to continue. The man with the gun nodded and grabbed roughly at her elbow. She cried and pleaded the entire way, as she was dragged from the office. Magnus didn’t move.

She kept it up until they reached the car, just in case.

“Money’s cleared. Twenty thousand. Nice performance, by the way,” Ken said with a smirk, pulling two cigarettes from the case in his breast pocket, lighting them both with the novelty revolver and handing one to her.

“That was nothing,” she said, taking a deep drag and planting a long, lingering kiss on his stubbled cheek. “You should have been there for the last six months.”

[kinkymagnus]

can u believe c*ssandra cl*re tried to make alec have a c 🤢 crus 🤢 a crush on jace ?? blondy mcincest?? mr sad weird hawk story???? embarrassing 🙈

it really is 😩 book alec said "i have literally the worst taste in men imaginable, it's the one thing i have in common with clary other than being white, short, annoying, and selfish"

show alec, true king, was like "uh. yeah. a.... [reads writing on hand] crush. that's what i've got. i've chosen my crush." and then he saw magnus and immediately forgot jace existed. he's valid

#like. i mean it was very clear book alec existed only to prop up the other characters and be gay woke points #that was. incredibly clear #but also he has laughably bad taste #why does casserole think that incesty 'doesnt go down on women' mcasshole is so irresistible #like dont get me wrong [insert tothetrashwhereibelong meta post on alec's '''''crush'''''] in the show but. #this is so incoherent what im trying to say is: in the books it's funny because they're both so pathetic and alec is clearly a cardboard cu #cutout with a speechbubble reading 'wow isnt jace the best?' #and then in sharpie under that 'im gay' #and then in the show it's just funny because his '''crush''' is obviously more a safety net thing bc he knows he cant be openly gay but jac #jace is the most cishet person alive so its a '''safe''' crush #and nothing will happen #but then the second he gets over that hump and is like 'actually im done being closeted' he just liek #drops jace like a hot potato and immediately gets literally the biggest upgrade in the entire world #he goes from 'yeah i have a '''''''''crush'''''''''''' on my adopted brother bc he'll never return my feelings #and i can and would never express them' #to dating MAGNUS FUCKING BANE #most beautiful man alive #and kissing him senseless. #you know what that is? that's growth. #that's like if you had a plastic cheap phone that only took and received calls and nothing else and you never used it and it constantly #jammed and butt dialed people and was generally bad #and then like. you just. got a wildly futuristic smartphone that didn't spy on youb ut still had a thousand amazing features or something #he went from clown to king #anti cc

[nonobadcat]

YANDERE ALL FOR ONE X FEMALE READER

Rating: Explicit - for readers 18+ only

Entire Story TW: Rape/Noncon/DubCon, gore (non-reader directed), All For One too many kinks to count them all. Highly mentally and sexually abusive relationship. This story is absolutely not for minors and readers should consult the warnings/tags at the top before reading.

This chapter’s TW: Infantilization, loss bodily autonomy, pelvic examination, pregnancy

Read the entire story at: Archive of Our Own

Chapter 46 Excerpt:

While most of the hospital was painted off white, the walls of the ultrasound suite were a bland cream-beige shade in an eggshell finish. The cheap Formica countertops had long since lost their sheen. Large chips were missing from the edges where careless staff had rammed them with the ugly plastic chairs. The backsplash bowed with water damage. The paper towel in the machine was empty. A stack of coarse single-ply replacements sat on top of the dispenser instead.

You lay on the creaking navy vinyl of the examination table, shivering in the cold of the air conditioning. In your opinion, it didn’t really need to be on since the weather was pleasant outside. However, one of the nurses mentioned the operating rooms were still too warm for comfort. Maybe if you were dressed in proper clothing you wouldn’t have noticed. As it stood, the disposable plastic-paper hybrid gown was thin and crinkled like a cat toy whenever you moved. You eyed your husband’s warm sport coat with unconcealed jealousy. He didn’t notice. He was too busy thumbing through his emails.

You pointed to a peeling sign on the wall. “It says please turn off your phones.”

Shigaraki didn’t even look up. “Vill~ian,” he replied in a sing-song.

You sighed and flopped back into the bed. Like a child, you bounced your feet to get your muscles moving. “I hope your friend comes soon. I’m freezing in this thing.”

Your husband raised a brown. Red eyes raked up and down the white gown. His fingers fiddled with the tie on your left side. “While it’s not a very flattering look, I do see the appeal.” He pinched the edge of the bow and began to drag it loose.

You slapped his hand away. “He's going to be here any moment!”

Shigaraki lifted his palms up and smirked at you. “My dear, he already knows where babies come from.”

You sat up and fixed your murder-pervert with a disgruntled scowl. “Just because he knows doesn’t mean the man wants to see it in person.”

Shigaraki raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

You smacked the bed. “FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, HAVE SOME SHAME!”

The only reply you received was a hearty laugh and a cheery hum that sounded suspiciously like: “Bor-ing.”

It was at that moment that there was a sharp series of raps on the exam room door. You stopped glaring at your husband long enough to call out: "Come in!"

Into the rundown room shuffled a bald, short, man in his mid-sixties wearing a white lab coat and thick, goggle-like spectacles. His black stethoscope was draped unevenly around his fat neck. The fabric of his coat strained across his stomach. His thick bristling mustache twitched. He squinted at you for only a moment before turning to face the other man.

"Good morning, Master." The doctor bent low with a flourished bow. Behind you, the facet dripped. He sneered at the equipment and turned to face your husband. "I apologize for the condition of the room. This wing is being renovated but it does provide more privacy. Next time, we'll use the laboratory instead."

Shigaraki pocketed his phone. "I will trust your judgment on that, old friend."

Dr. Garaki took a seat in the rolling chair and set his laptop down. He opened the computer away from you. "Today we are going to perform the first ultrasound of your baby, collect some blood samples for testing, and make sure all of your vaccines are in order. I will also need to perform a pelvic exam."

Your shoulders stiffened. "But the other doctor already-"

The doctor tsked and looked from you to your husband and back again with a raised eyebrow and pointed stare.

You bristled at the obvious meaning behind the look: get your woman under control.

"Now now my dear, I'll be right here beside you." Shigaraki took your hand in his and patted it.

"That's what I'm worried about," you deadpanned.

Shigaraki smiled at you like he was talking to a puppy. "Behave," he teased, tickling his fingers under your chin.

You let him cradle your head but the disgusted tug at the corner of your lip made your opinions very clear.

Read the rest at: Archive of Our Own

@shigashig @shig-a-shig-ah @weo0o @feral-creep @raygard-elvets @awkward-confused @vizhi0n @dokoni-mo @the-lady-writes-what @all4one @avelaste @diowithagun @yeunsstuff @river-to-swim-forever @lizthewitchh @0-ddball @catalystgaming27 @cityscapingly @imdatingyourdad @gxmblinqueen @villaincxmdump @yandereloveraw @seijohmilktea

#yandere all for one #yandere afo x reader #afo x reader #all for one x reader #yandere shigaraki #yandere x reader #yandere shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #reader insert #all for one bnha #yandere afo #yandere x you #yandere bnha x reader #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere x y/n #a hypnotic nightmare

[realcube]

CELEBRATING YOUR BIRTHDAY 

characters ♡ bokuto, tendō, matsukawa & suna

tw ♡ gn! reader, timeskip! bokuto (all sfw tho), swearing, reader wears makeup (matsukawa), swearing, mentions of death & food 

cred ♡ thanks to anon for this request <3

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO

♡ he was literally counting down the days to your birthday, he even took the day off practise to celebrate it with you so imagine his surprise when the special day finally rolls around and he wakes up to an empty bed

♡ at first, he thought that perhaps you were just around the house somewhere but nope, the place was completely empty and even worse, all signs pointed to his theory that you had gone to work/school on your birthday 

♡ outraged. he was absolutely outraged. 

♡ firstly, he tried calling you but you wouldn’t pick up, even after his many attempts so his next resort to call your place of work/school reception 

♡ obviously he managed to get a hold of you then-

♡ he was originally gonna yell about how you lied to him about taking the day off on your birthday but there was no way he could be angry at you — almost ever — so instead, he made the quick decision of telling you to have a nice day before hanging up 

♡ you were kinda pissed that he wasted your time like that but how could you stay mad at him? he’s fkn adorable! he blew you audible kisses over the phone for good luck!

♡ you laboured your way through the day, putting in great effort yet through it all, the only thing on your mind was how much you wanted to just pass out on the couch with bokuto as soon as you got home. you weren’t even sure if you had the energy to change into your pjyamas.

♡ however, when you finally did arrive home, there was no need to put yourself through the onerous task of changing clothes as the first thing you were greeted by when you stepped foot in your own home was a chorus of cheers of ‘surprise!’ followed by people spilling out into the foyer from the kitchen and living room 

♡ then there was bokuto, the loudest of them all leading the crowd, blowing into the party horn while dashing up to, throwing his arms around your shoulders to pull you into a tight hug, ‘happy birthday, sweetie!’

♡ a light gasp escaped your lips at the sudden hoots, and the unfamiliar — and frankly uncomfortable — sight of many friends swarm towards you had you on edge but when you felt bokuto wrap you in his warm embrace, you knew you were home

♡ he held you close until you were forced apart by many guests tearing you away to personally wish you a happy birthday

♡ now that the initial shock had died down, you noticed that there wasn’t as many people present as you thought, it was a humble gathering of all your closest friends 

♡ there was a massive pile of bright-colored gifts lying on the stairs, and it was hard not to immediately acknowledge them as the sheer mass and number of the presents scattered across the steps prevented anyone from being able to go upstairs

♡ the following day, you were made aware of the fact 90% of those presents were addressed from ‘your best ace husband ;)’ which was pretty straight-forward considering you only have one husband; kiyoomi sakusa. 

♡ jokes, you married bokuto but sakusa was also at the party. he originally just wanted to drop off his gift then leave but bokuto persuaded him to stay, though he seemed to be regretting it now as almost everyone at the party now shared an unspoken goal to slam sakusa’s face into one of the cupcakes that decorated the circumference of your cake

♡ speaking of the cake, bokuto remembered what type of cake was your favorite from the wedding planning and he was so chuffed with himself. in fact, he was so confident in his cake picking ability that he ordered a massive 3-tier monster of a dessert 

♡ neither of you would be able to finish it before it goes bad so you ended up cutting it up into pieces  and sending each guest away with a little goody-bag with a slice of cake inside lmao 

♡ once you had finished your goodbyes and everyone had filed out of your home, you flopped onto the couch and let out a deep sigh of relief. well, it was only a sigh for a few moment as it became a wheeze when bokuto laid down on top of you 

♡ ‘happy birthday, (y/n). i’m sorry if i tired you out.’ he hummed, fiddling with your fingers as his lips curled into a shaky smile

♡ ‘i’m a bit sleepy but i had an amazing time. thank you so much, kō.’

♡ bokuto smiled, his heavy lid falling shut as he finally rested his neck, being able to fall asleep comfortably now that you’ve told him that you had fun

SATORI TENDŌ

♡ unlike bokuto, he’ll actually mention your birthday a few weeks prior to the celebration so he can plan the perfect date :3

♡ ‘so do you wanna go to the aquarium or the theme park? because i know we’ve went to the park before but they remodelled it apparently. plus, maybe the aquarium is a bit underwhelming for such a special day, but it’s up to yo--’

♡ ‘we won’t really get to spend much time in either. if you consider the time school finishes, the train ride and the time the aquarium and park closes so maybe we could just chill at my house instead.’

♡ tendō deadpanned for a moment, the most unamused look taking over his features until he suddenly burst out laughing, cackling as if you just told the joke of the century, ‘seriously, (y/n)? you’re gonna go to school on your birthday.’

♡ ‘yes, of course.’ you replied in all seriousness, resulting in tendō awkwardly beginning to stifle his chuckles.

♡ he frowned, slumping back into the seat beside you, ‘c’mon, it’s your birthday, though! you deserve the day off.’

♡ you shook your head, kindly declining his suggestion, ‘i have a test on that day.’

♡ ‘all the more reason to ditch!’

♡ now it was your turn to deadpan

♡ tendō tossed his head back while letting out a sigh  of defeat, draping his arm around your shoulder to lovingly pull you to his chest, ‘alright, then. whatever you want, dear.’

♡ you smiled, glad that you didn’t need to disagree with him any longer — and you were even happier on the day. even though you insisted that he keeps things small on your birthday, he still managed to find a way to make things extra asf by getting you a massive plush that was about half the size of your stature and a hamper of homemade chocolates ><

ISSEI MATSUKAWA 

♡ honestly, he’s never been the best at giving gifts but he tries extra hard for you 

♡ like if you off-handedly say that you are cold during class, he’ll buy you a bunch of new jackets, jumpers and gloves

♡ or if you say you need more mascara, he’ll buy you exact same one you usually wear 

♡ he’s observant enough to notice and remember the exact shade and brands of all your cosmetic products but he’s not observant enough to pick up on the subtle hints you drop as to what you want for your birthday 

♡ you can never guess what he’s gonna get you and that adds to your anticipation for the day 

♡ if your birthday is on a school day, he’ll bring in a batch of homemade cupcakes (which hanamaki helped him with) and stick a candle in one of them for you to blow out 

♡ he offers you one but they are all pretty stale- just smile and nod while your teeth feel like they are being shattered trying to bite down on the cupcake 

♡ it might set off the fire alarm but oh well, just count that as another present

♡ oikawa will probably get you something like a bouquet and try flirt with you so at that point, matsukawa and hanamaki begin using the cupcakes as weapons 

♡ they are a two for one deal so you’re going to be spending the day with both of them tailing you like lost puppies

platonic RINTARŌ SUNA

♡ (requester specified) your birthday is on the same day as his so ofc he’s going to be a little salty abt it 

♡ you both created a game to see who receives the most birthday wishes and whoever won gets ¥1500 from the loser’s birthday money

♡ for the past few years, he’s usually been the winner by just a few but this year, you made it a point to befriend all him teammates in order to ensure victory 

♡ having to pretend to be friendly with atsumu — who wasn’t very good at hiding his massive crush —was definitely a challenge but you powered through 

♡ in fact, you may have played the role too well as both the miya twins gave you a gift 

♡ osamu gave both you and suna a plastic bag filled with some food he made and water bottles

♡ as for atsumu, his gift to you was a massive hamper filled with an assortment of many different luxury confectionary which didn’t look cheap at all but it didn’t feel appropriate to question the price so you simply took it from him with a bright smile

♡ of course, suna was excited (and very hungry) as he expected the same gift but he was more than disappointed when all he received was a bag of chips and a slap on the back

♡ he goes out of his way to tell every teacher it’s your birthday in hopes that they’ll make the class sing happy birthday to you 

♡ but it pisses him off to no end when you add that it’s his birthday too so he ends up getting roped into your misery 

♡ also your thumbs are going to be sore at night swiping through all the various candid pics that suna took of you throughout the day (in less than flattering poses) which he uplaoded to almost all of his social media stories with stupid ass captions 

♡ but dw bc he’ll eventually post a nice photo of you with a sweet message

♡ ‘happy birthday to @(y/n) . i would die for you, bitch (even though you annoy the hell out of me every single day 🤠).’ 

#bokuto x reader #bokuto fluff #suna rintaro scenarios #hq matsukawa #tendou satori #tendou scenario #tendou headcanon #hq tendou #tendou fluff #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x y/n #matsukawa headcanons #hq x gender neutral reader #haikyuu!! #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro fluff #suna x reader #suna x y/n #suna imagines

[aries-writingblog]

Detonation

Summary: As an FBI agent, YN deals with bad guys all day long. So does Bucky as an Avenger. When their worlds collide, it’s never pretty. Especially not when they are the targets.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4620

Warnings: language, violence, bombs and explosions, bomb threats, hostage situation

AN: This was another request from @cherry-season and if you can’t tell by reading this I’ve been watching criminal minds again so I hope you guys like this one. GIF is not my own credit to original creator.

YN leaned back in the desk chair, spinning it halfway back and forth. Boring a hole into the scattered papers of the police department. She was exhausted. Their team had been after this same guy for a week now. A real piece of work: planting bombs in DC banks. Leaving cryptic messages with them. Fortunately, their bomb squad made it in time to dismantle the charge before it blew. But they were no closer to catching the guy than before.

“Shitty coffee?” A deep, masculine voice approached her side. Placing a coffee cup in front of her. YN smiled, gratefully accepting the beverage. She glanced up to the provider, one of her teammates, Alex Knowles. “Look like you could use it.”

“That a way of telling me I look worse than the coffee?” YN teased, chugging the lukewarm drink down. So accustomed to cheap, watery coffee, she barely even gagged at the bitter taste as it went down. “No leads?”

Alex shook his head, pulling up a chair and plopping beside her. He sighed, gazing out over the bustling police station. Watching the beat cops go in and out of the doors, suspects and victims all being questioned or held in the same room. A Mecca of activity unfolding before their eyes. Progress. Just not the progress they needed.

“Kinda hoping Bryant would bring something back in- he went to question a couple witnesses that were around the bank at the time the guy dropped the bomb off.” He reported, sitting forward to shuffle through the papers on the desk. “What’s all this?”

“Those are previous reports…” YN explained, brushing stray hair back from her face. “I thought he could’ve had a previous record… he built these bombs with some kind of knowledge- whether it be academic or street smarts, I’m not sure yet. Besides, not doing anything else.”

Alex nodded, letting the paper slip through his fingers and back to the desktop. He watched his teammate reorganize the stacks- the glittering diamond on her finger catching his eye. A devilish grin cracked his lips, whistling appreciatively.

“Barnes finally asked that question, did he?” He asked, putting his cup down and gesturing for her hand. YN rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile as she complied. Alex studied the rock more closely, examining the quality. “Got good taste for somebody as old as he is.”

“Oh shut up.” YN laughed, yanking her hand back.

She and Bucky met on a case. Their FBI team had been invited into a local investigation of suspicious activity. Turns out, the Avengers were also looking into it. Well, a team of four Avengers anyways. Bucky Barnes being one of them. He was smooth, a sweet talker. Managed to wriggle his way into her phone, later he would swing a date. Two years later, Bucky was down on a knee in her bedroom. Asking one of those life altering questions.

That had been three weeks ago. They barely had time to see each other after that night. She was pulled back into work, he was pulled halfway across the globe on a mission. He did call every night, checking in. Asking about her day. Making outrageous, silly promises about the wedding and their new home, their future. Making her smile, distracting her from her day. At the same time, allowing himself to dissociate from the mission he was on as well.

“I’m happy for you.” Alex’s tone turned sober, serious. YN glanced over to him. He leaned his elbows on his knees, smiling broadly. “You both deserve someone like the other… you deserve each other. I mean it in the best, possible way.”

“Thank you, Alex.” YN replied, reflecting her sincere gratitude as best she could. Alex was always in her corner. No matter what- he trusted her. In their world, that meant everything and more.

“Hey, LN- Knowles!” Ricky Bryant came rushing into their area, flushed and out of breath. “Listen, I think we might’ve found the bomber’s identity: Casey Griffin. ”

“What?” YN leaned forward, staring up at him. Her eyebrows furrowed, a faint pin struck the back of her head. “Griffin… Casey Griffin- that sounds familiar. Why is that familiar?”

Ricky opened his mouth, ready to spill all the information he had gathered about the man. A woman interrupted their circle, a panicked look in her eyes.

“Agent LN- there’s a call on line six for you. He claims to be responsible for the bombings and he’s demanding to speak with you.” She interjected, nodding to the desk phone. YN glanced from Ricky to Alex.

“Get Robbie on the phone- tell her we need to trace this call immediately.” She instructed, rolling to the desk to pick up the phone. She waited a moment, allowing Ricky to call Robbie, the fourth member of their team. Their tech analyst. “Ready?”

“Yeah- go ahead.”

YN took a deep, calming breath. Her fingers tightened around the phone anxiously. Swallowing back her creeping nerves, she pulled the phone off the receiver.

“Agent LN, may I ask who’s calling?” She began slowly, giving Robbie a chance to snag the call’s location. There was heavy breathing on the other end, as if he had been running.

“You know who’s calling, YN. Don’t play coy- it isn’t a good look on you.”

Recognition struck her like lightning as she heard his voice. He had been one of the hostages in the first emergency scene. YN had taken down his statement herself. She ground her teeth together, anger flooding her system. She had been played.

“You’ve got me there, Casey.” She chuckled, her free hand wiping down the thigh of her tactical pants. “This is the first time you’ve called- why are you just now contacting us?”

The sound Griffin made was far from a laugh- the dark, slow noise was bone chilling. Nauseating. She could feel it deep into her clothes, settling like frost against her skin. She bit her cheek, staving off the urge to shiver through the discomfort.

“I’ve decided I want to give you front row tickets to the show, of course.” He crowed, voice leaping in octaves. “Corner of West and Fifth. You have half an hour, unless you want all these lovely people to end up blood splatters and burn marks on the floors.” YN winced, clenching her jaw. “Oh, and YN? Come in alone.”

The telltale click and beep ended the call, leaving YN to stare blankly at the desk before her. Clenching the phone in her grasp so tightly the plastic creaked. Knuckles lightening. She swallowed, something was clutching her throat. Restricting her lung capacity. Her shaking fingers pressed the phone into the receiver. Pushing her chair back, she stumbled to her feet.

“YN- “

“I just need a minute, okay?” She snapped, snagging her jacket from the chair across from the desk. YN shoved past the incoming traffic of people, fumbling her way outside.

The city was full of noise; Blaring car horns, shouting, a low murmur of pedestrian conversations. Sirens. The thrum of the city’s heartbeat under her feet. Taking a left into the alleyway, YN dug through her pockets, fingers brushing against the carton of cigarettes and lighter.

Hands trembling, she put a stick between her lips. Blowing smoke as soon as she lit it. Tilting her head back against the weathered brick of the station. A shaky exhale following the wavering grey smoke. She clenched her jaw, bowing her head.

She knew it was a trap- Casey was asking to meet alone. But he was holding hostages in a bank loaded down with explosives. And who knew what he wanted, why only her? Why alone? And why was that name familiar? None it made sense- facts blurring together. Shrouding him from her senses.

A sudden buzz against her abdomen sent her reeling back into consciousness. Her cigarette was gone- flicking the filter to the ground. Pushing it into the cement with her boot. Her fingers scuttled through her pocket, retrieving her phone.

Bucky’s contact photo- one of him fast asleep with fridge magnets on his arm. She smiled- somehow Bucky always knew right when she needed him. Like he had a sensor on her emotions, giving him timely reports. Updating him constantly.

“Hey, Buck.” She greeted, begging her voice to not crack. It sounded normal. Or at least enough that she hoped Bucky didn’t question it. Tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear, she lit another cigarette. Blowing the stress away from the speaker.

“Hey, sugar,” She could hear his smile through the phone. That excited one he always got when he first saw her. Wide, showing off his teeth. Stretching his face so much she wondered if it hurt. “I’m just callin’ to tell you I’m home. And I know you’re busy but, I wanted to hear your voice again.”

YN laughed, falling into the regular rhythm with him. Allowing herself to feel the stress melt from her bones. Bucky always had that affect on her. Something she couldn’t quite understand. Why the man was such an addictive drug.

“Well, you’re in luck- I’m on a break right now.” She wanted nothing more than to sit and talk with him, listen to his baritone drawl. Lulling her into a state of comfort and security. But she knew she couldn’t- she had limited time. She had to make a decision. And soon.

“Are you smoking again?” Bucky asked. YN smiled, biting down on her lip. She made a noncommittal noise, neither agreeing or disagreeing with his statement. He had been after her for their entire relationship to make her quit the habit. Trying to help her kick it. Nothing ever really helped. “YN…”

“I know… I’ve only had two. I just… I needed a break.” She admitted, bowing her head. She shifted her eyes to the alleyway opening, seeing Alex and Ricky approaching her. “I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you at home?”

“Yes, I’m making that soup you like for dinner. Don’t let it go cold.” He warned.

“I won’t. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She shoved her phone into her back pocket, meeting her partner’s halfway. Their faces drawn with concern and hesitancy.

“Gear me up.” She pushed between them, not looking back. She feared if she looked at them again, she would lose her nerve. Holding her shoulders back, chin tilted with her head held high. She had to keep the air of confidence around her. If she didn’t- they would never believe her. YN needed full backup for her plan. “I’m going in.”

~~~~~~

The building seemed to loom over her, taunting her as she stood before it. The large windows were gaping at her, a threat to her minuscule presence. YN swallowed back the terror she felt, pushing it down and locking it away. Out of reach.

“We’ll be talking with you through the comms unit the whole time.” Ricky explained, securing the equipment over her ear. He carefully tightened the straps on her vest, glancing to meet her eyes. His brows dipped. “You don’t have to do this you know? We can raid the building or get a sniper down here. This isn’t the only option.”

YN shook her head, clipping her holster over her belt, around her waist. She sighed, the exhale was shaky. Biting down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, she clipped extra ammunition to the side.

“It’s the one where everyone makes it out. Those hostages are the main priority right now.”

“Hey.” Ricky stopped her nervous movement, hands on both of her shoulders. Forcing her to look up at his face. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it seem like some small bust… this is serious. We’re worried about you. About this. It’s dangerous. Give a little of that focus to yourself.”

“Okay.” YN agreed. She inhaled again, this time a little more steady. Giving a final affirmative nod, she squared her shoulders and backed away. She turned, facing the group of DC police officers and FBI squads. “Alright, these comms go both ways. I’m negotiating for hostages first. If anything goes wrong, clear the site. We don’t know how many explosives he has in there.”

YN watched the groups follow her orders, setting up to accept hostages. Loading guns for a raid if needed. Both ambulance and fire department had been called in. The companies were also preemptively preparing for the worst. She began walking toward the bank, eyes forward. What felt like thousands of eyes followed her to the door, fire burning against her back.

As she approached, she could see a woman standing at the glass door. She had been crying- her face stained with tears. YN stopped at the glass door, standing face to face with the woman. After several moments of staring, the order was finally given to open the door. The woman’s shaking fingers unlocked it, pushing it open.

“You’ve served your purpose.” A quiet voice spoke across the lobby, echoing on the tiled floors. “You may go.” The woman burst into tears, shoving past YN and onto the street. “Agent LN… how courteous of you to take her place.”

YN entered the lobby tentatively, keeping her head on a swivel. She turned the corner, coming face to face with the bomber. Casey Griffin stood behind the group of hostages, hands tucked behind his back. A twisted, sacrilegious grin on his lips. The group at his feet were huddled together, most were sobbing quietly. Holding people they most likely didn’t know. She knew from experience that tense situations erased all lines between humans. Everything begins to blur when terrified panic sets in.

“I’m here, Griffin. What do you want?” She demanded, her hand resting on her weapon. There was a buzz of static in her ear, the line opening.

“We don’t have a visual of you anymore, LN. Get back into sight.”

Griffin took a step forward, around his subjects. A small, black remote in his hand. Eyes steady on her face. Studying her. He exhaled sharply, coming to a stop right before her.

“I was hoping you’d be more… well, more.” He frowned, disappointed. YN’s eyebrow lifted, unable to follow his thoughts. “Such a shame… I’ve read all these great things about you. Every case you’ve solved, every step you’ve made to get here. You’re much more impressive on paper.”

“Get to the point.” YN sneered, her jaw clenched. Griffin smirked, eyes scanning down her face again. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“All you feds- no taste for the theatrical. I much rather prefer the Avengers.” He grinned, eyes sparkling dangerously. YN felt her heartbeat pick up It’s pace. Heart threatening to burst out of her chest. “Oh, that’s right… congratulations, by the way. What’s it like- being engaged to a fossil? Are his brains still scrambled?”

“Shut up.” She hissed, fingers itching to reach out and wrap around his throat. He only tilted his head, pouting. He began pacing, orbiting around her slowly. Her shoulders tensed, defenses began raising even further. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you see, I’m very well acquainted with Sergeant Barnes.” Griffin slowed to a stop again, on her right. He leaned in, close enough she could feel his breath against her skin. “He murdered my husband.”

The pounding in her chest seemed to have leapt into her throat. Breathing was much harder now, her skin crawled as her brain went into overdrive. Something was wrong… what was going on?

“He doesn’t do that anymore.” YN admitted, her voice lower than she thought it would be. Threatening to crack.

“But he does.” He hissed, gripping her arm tightly. Yanking her to his chest. His free hand came up to her ear, ripping the unit out and flinging it into the wall. His fingers fluttered down to her chin, grasping it tightly and forcing her face to his. He stared down at her. Anger burning in his irises, the dark circles under his eyes. His nostrils flared. “What makes it even worse is that he chose to do it. With Hydra, he had no choice. But with the Avengers? He had every decision laid out before him and he chose.”

YN flinched, flecks of saliva landing on her cheek. Her jaw clenched down tighter, eyes closing momentarily. Griffin’s hand crept down from her face, into the pocket of her pants. His fingers grasped the device, pulling it out. He held the device to her face, unlocking it then shoving her away.

“So now,” Griffin gave her a maniacal grin. YN was beginning to get whiplash from his mood swings. He was unpredictable. Unstable. Devolving before her eyes. She glanced back to the group of hostages. “He gets to flex that autonomy again. Oh, how lovely- he was your last call.”

“Why do you have me here, Griffin?” YN demanded, attempting to take control of the situation. If he was distracted, she could maneuver and gain the upper hand. “If you wanted to go after Bucky you would’ve done it. Why do any of this? Why do you need them?”

Griffin spared a quick glance to the group of shivering civilians. He hummed quietly, pressing dial for Bucky’s number. YN felt a drop of sweat bead down her neck. Rolling to meet the bulletproof fabric over her torso. She was alone in here, responsible for the lives of those petrified people. Staring and waiting for her to do something. Help them.

Her eyes fell to the remote in his hand. She could snatch it. The bomb was his power move. His leverage. Then again, the hostages were bargaining chips. He had to give something up. She had to remove variables.

“Let them go.” YN urged, holding her hands out in surrender. “You’ve got me, you’ve got my attention. Let them go.” He sighed dramatically, eyes rolling as he pressed the button for speakerphone.

“It’s no fun without an audience.” He whined, shrugging as he turned to the hostage group. “And to think- we were just getting to the good part. Fine! Leave, all of you.”

The group all scrambled to their feet, taking their leave before he changed his mind. The stampede rushed the door, cramming themselves out into the street. YN’s heart slowed, the adrenaline fading in her veins slightly. Her priority was taken care of- they all made it out alive.

“Hello?” YN never thought she would be nervous to hear Bucky’s voice. Casey smiled at the phone, eyes boring into her skull. “YN? Hello?”

“She can’t make it to the phone right now.” Griffin responded, giving her a mocking pout. The other end fell silent. YN could almost feel the paranoia settle over his body. “I would ask you to leave a message but I’m afraid she won’t be around much longer to hear it.”

An idea began to form, tingling at the base of her skull. YN gulped nervously. She had to keep him distracted- keep him focused on Bucky. But that also meant she had to stay focused on Casey. She couldn’t say a word to Bucky. Not yet.

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” Bucky hissed. YN closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could pull her weapon. But could she pull it fast enough? Griffin could blow the place to smithereens. She could try to get the remote- every solution seemed to fall back to the same outcome. She grit her teeth- he had the upper hand. She could do nothing but wait it out.

“Joshua Rivers.” Casey replied. While his voice was smooth and unrestrained, his eyes told a different story. Seething, red hot rage burned in his veins. “Does that name ring any bells to you, Sargeant? Let me give you a hint anyways- I know how fragile the mind can be in the older years. He was a lead operative for Hydra. Four months ago, you raided his warehouse and instead of arresting him, you put a bullet through his skull.”

“He deserved more.” Bucky hissed, his voice crackling through the speaker. Echoing in the empty building. Casey scowled, his nose scrunching in anger. “That warehouse housed human experimentation projects.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Casey screamed, veins in his neck popping out against his skin. Pumping adrenaline in time with his heart. “He was a person- he had people who loved him, cared for him. You took that away from me. I can’t help but wonder… how you’ll feel about the same circumstances.”

“Where is YN?” Bucky demanded, keeping his voice level. YN began to creep her fingers up, toward the gun in her holster. She had one chance. He was distracted- she could gain the upper hand.

“Well, that’s a tricky question. It’s only a matter of time before she’s… everywhere.” Griffin shrugged, swinging his gaze back to YN. Her fingers faltered, halting at her hip. She was close, her thumb brushed the cold metal of the gun. “So now… now I think I’ll return the favor. You took something from me. The only person that ever mattered. You destroyed my world.”

“If you touch her, I swear to-“

“You don’t believe in God, Sergeant.” Griffin’s slow drawl interrupted the threat. His tongue ran over his lips, taking a deep breath. “He’s not real. If he were, don’t you believe that none of this suffering would happen?” There was a ruckus of noise on the other end of the phone, Bucky panting heavily. A door slamming. “This is your repentance, James Barnes.”

YN’s fingers wrapped around the metal plating, her nerves settling. She could make this draw. It would be fast enough. It would be accurate. She could end it once and for all. She exhaled slowly, counting down.

Three…

Two…

One…

In a flash, YN pulled her gun from her side. Aiming it at Casey’s chest and pulling the trigger. The loud gunfire echoed- ringing in her ears. Her heart sank. Stomach plummeting to her feet.

She missed.

Casey’s expression settled into one of contempt. Disappointment. The hell fire turned to her, his focus shifting from Bucky to YN. Surging toward her, his hand swung out, shoving the muzzle to the ceiling as she fired again. Casey’s fist tightened around her phone, a strong punch to her kidney sending her to her knees, wheezing for air. YN grunted, her hand swinging at a wide angle, but it was only deflected as the heel of his hand connected with her nose. Releasing a sharp cry, YN cradled her nose carefully. Eyes watering and face stinging. Bucky’s frantic shouts barely audible as she knelt, gasping in pain. Her thoughts muddled and slow.

Casey sighed dramatically, ripping the weapon from Yn’s hand. She groaned, disoriented as a fresh wave of pain throbbed from her face. Blood seeped from between her fingers, dripping down into a puddle on the tile floor.

“Say goodbye to your fiancée, Sergeant.”

~~~~~~

Bucky all but tossed the motorcycle onto the curb as he skidded to a stop. A blazing inferno consumed the building, scorching the blackened trees that once surrounded it. The hand gripping his throat squeezed tighter as he stumbled toward the police line. Shoving his way through bystanders.

He felt sick- choking back the nausea bubbling from his stomach. Fire bellowed from the gaping, blown out glassless windows. Portions of the building were collapsed, the rest soon to follow. He barreled through shouting police officers, desperate to reach the building.

“Barnes!” He didn’t turn- even though the voice was familiar. He had to get to her- she was still alive, he knew she was. She had to be. “Barnes- man, you can’t go in there!”

Hands grasped his metallic shoulder, pulling him back roughly. Bucky grunted, swinging his arm around, taking hold of the man’s bulletproof vest. He clenched his jaw, staring down at Alex Knowles. One of her partners. Knowles’ eyes were puffy and rimmed with red. His skin was irritated, probably from wiping tears away.

“She’s still in there.” Bucky stated, without asking if she had been pulled out yet. He knew the process of these kinds of situations. The fire chief had to clear it and the area was nowhere near safe enough. But his girl was in there, in danger. Dying slowly, the longer he stood around. It had already been too long.

“Teams haven’t been sent in yet… I know you’re scared but you could make it worse if you go in there guns blazing. It could collapse the rest of the way.” Knowles warned, his eyes begging Bucky to stay put. Bucky shoved him away. Stripping off his jacket, Bucky scowled at the man.

“I will be the something worse if she’s not alive. Don’t test me, Knowles.” He growled, tying the jacket sleeves around his waist. Bucky turned on his heel, sprinting for the blown out doors of the bank. Ignoring the shouts of the firemen and police officers on the scene.

Inside, the flames locked the walls, staying maintained. It seemed the only thing the department had been doing since the explosion was clearing the fire. They had been prepared somewhat.

Bucky stumbled through the rubble, boots tripping over chunks of concrete and twisted metal. He had to find YN, she was somewhere. He had to keep himself from thinking the worst- she was alive. She would be okay. He just had to find her first.

He turned what would’ve been a corner of the bank, his heart rocketing through his chest. The beat thumping wildly.

Two bodies. Lying side by side.

“YN!” He picked his way through rubble, skidding to his knees beside her. Deep cuts laced her dirtied features, trapped under a chunk of concrete from the waist down. For now, he didn’t care of the implications that could lie beneath the rock. His trembling fingers found the pulse point in her neck, bowing his head and stifling a sharp sob as he felt a faint, slow thrum. He brushed the hair from her face gently, biting his lip to keep himself together. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Bucky shuffled down to her waist, hooking his fingers into the rock. Just as he began lifting, a sharp gasp startled him, almost dropping the rubble. He glanced back at YN- wide awake and sobbing. Carefully, Bucky spared a glance under the concrete. A metal rod went directly through her thigh, blood seeping from the wound.

“Shit…” It had been contained until he lifted it- now she was going to bleed out. He had to move fast. “YN, doll, I’ve got you. This is gonna hurt but it’ll be okay.”

She didn’t respond, sobs ripping from her chest as he stilled. Bucky took a deep breath, collecting his nerves. He moved quickly, throwing the concrete across the room with a loud grunt. An ear piercing shriek fell from Yn’s lips, her fist pounding the ground at her side. Bucky untied his jacket, wrapping it tightly around her injured thigh.

“Okay, sweetheart. We’re gonna get out of here.” Bucky’s chest tightened as he gathered her in his arms. She was shivering, huddling close to his body as best she could. Her skin was filthy, covered in soot, dirt, and blood. “Try to talk with me, sweet girl. Stay awake.”

“Ja- James…” YN’s fingers twisted into his shirt, tears soaking into his fabric. His heart clenched. It was his fault- that idiot had gone after her because of him. He held her closer, tighter, as he picked his way back to the doors. “I… I think I’m done- done smoking.”

Bucky almost laughed, forgetting his location. The situation fading as he spared a glance down to her face. She was grimacing, lips pulled and forehead wrinkled. But here she was- trying to joke with him.

“Why’s that, doll?” He questioned, emerging from the collapsed bank. The sunlight was strong, glaring down into his eyes. He hunched slightly, trying to block the intense light from her sensitive eyes. YN groaned, tugging weakly at his shirt. “We’re almost there, doll. Keep talking. Why’re you quittin’?”

“I’ve had enough smoke for one lifetime.” She replied, eyes fluttering. Paramedics rushed toward them, a gurney wheeled to their side. Bucky carefully lay her back, grasping her hand tightly as they rushed toward the ambulance.

Bucky didn’t reply, lips pressed together. Concern running rampant as they moved. His eyes caught Knowles and Bryant’s, averting his as soon as they landed. Loading into the ambulance.

“Bucky?” He quickly stepped up, sitting down in the back. Squeezing her hand tightly. YN gave a half- hearted return. Her fingers tangling with his, eyes closed. “Stay… please…”

“I’m here, sweetheart.” Bucky smiled, hoping his face could mask the desperate panic he felt in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #james barnes x female reader #james barnes x y/n #james barnes x you #james barnes x reader

[s1ater]

different type of game, part one. eli moskowitz x reader

summary 📣: in which eli moskowitz is a popular hockey player, but to reader he was just a boy tory nichols had history with. but eli’s trying to erase that history, and what better way then trying to get with her best friend?

warnings 🚫: mentions of sex, swearing, vulgar language, drinking, tory and reader have a “funny” relationship, no mohawk eli‼️

slater’s note 🗯: i saw a video of hockey jacob, so this kind of inspired this fic. also is it wrong that i lowkey ship tory and hawk?

part one, part two

“hockey boys are fun, always a good fuck.”

“jesus, tory.”

“what?” she out called innocently, leaning back from the boarder separating the two of you from the ice, “it’s true.”

“oh yeah?” you quirked a brow to tory, leaning away from the boarder as well and making your way to the entrance onto the ice.

you really wondered if tory thought about the words that came out of her mouth before they actually came out of her mouth.

the two of you had been watching the high school hockey team practice with the rest of your figure skating team when her words just popped into the air.

“yes.”

“who have you fucked?”

it’s silent, meaning either tory hadn’t followed you onto the ice and didn’t hear you or she was stumped.

she never got stumped, only with you really, and it was because you knew how to contradict her without fear, unlike others who would rather keep their mouths shut then receive a blade to the face from the stupid spike bracelet she kept around her wrist at all times.

you slightly glanced back, trying to see if she was following you, “tory? who’d you fuck?”

the skating rink smelt of sweat and blood, making scrunch up your nose slightly as you got farther to the center. it hadn’t ever mattered how early you got to the rink, it always smelled like that, even before the hockey practices.

“no one.”

“shut up,” you rolled your eyes, turning the heal off your skate to face her. you knew she was lying then.

“what?”

“tory,” you dumbfounded, “who’d you have sex with?”

it was like she was cowering away from you, as if you were about to hit her or something and you didn’t get it.

“c’mon.”

“fine,” she nipped at her lip, eyes sliding along the ice, “miguel diaz.”

and you almost gasped, eyes widening, “tory,” but you kept it in, your hand reaching for her, almost asking her if she was serious, “no way, the kids a dork.”

“shut up, no he’s not.”

“yes he is!” you almost laughed, “he’s friends with those other dweebs, y’know? the lip kid and uh-“

“demetri?”

“yes!”

“y/n, you’re stupid,” it was her turn dead stare you in the eyes with a disappointed glare in her irises, “that was freshman year, two years ago, a lot happens in two years- god haven’t you ever seen eli shotgun? he does it at almost every party.”

“eli?”

“lip kid.”

“oh.. huh?”

tory rolled her eyes as if she was done with your shit, “he has the rough red hair, almost looks pink... uh, hot, number 20 on the hockey-“

you gasped, it all suddenly clicking in your head, “that’s him?”

“yes, that’s him.”

tory looked at you as if you were stupid, her face blank but harsh, it almost made you laugh, but you held it in, allowing a small snide smile slide across your lips, “how was he?”

“miguel?”

“no, eli,” you rolled your eyes, “yes, tory, the one you had sex with.”

“oh...” her teeth sunk into her bottom lip once again. her cool and rude exterior seemed to have disappeared real quick in replace of nervousness, “what if i told you i fucked the both of them?”

°•

it was a late friday night, ten minutes after practice when you felt rushed by tory’s phone call.

“y/n, where are you?”

“tory, where are you?” you were struggling with the phone pressed up to your ear as you tried your best to pull off skates and balance yourself up.

it was nine thirty at night, practice had just gotten over and there was no sign of tory at all throughout the night.

it always seemed as though tory was a slacker, didn’t show up for school, but always showed up to figure skating practice. she always said it was her ticket to a better life, especially with finals coming up. so it was weird for her to ditch out.

“y/n, it’s larusso’s party tonight, it started half an hour ago,” you could hear an annoyance in her tone, “you said you would meet me here.”

you closed your eyes tightly, it suddenly all coming back to you. you had promised her to be her safety buddy for the night just in case any weirdos came around harassing up on her.

“fuck, tory, i forgot,” you lightly slapped your forehead as if scolding yourself, sitting down in one of the arena seats, “i’ll be there soon, practice just ended.”

“you better be,” her voice erupted through your phone speaker, “i’ve been talking to stingray for the half hour, i’m gonna shoot myself before i have another drink.”

you rolled your eyes at the exaggeration that came from her mouth, “shut up.”

and you hung up the phone.

°•

you squinted up at the large larusso home. everyone knew daniel larusso as the ex-hockey-player-valley-championship-winner-now-super-rich-car-salesman. the people of LA worshiped the man.

trekking up the front lawn you could already smell the booze that was practically leaking past the front door.

“finally, you made it,” tory’s arm slung over your shoulder the moment you walked in, her hand shoving a red solo cup in your own, “drink up, long night ahead.”

you narrowed your brows, looking to her a bit confused at her tense posture. she should have been loosened up more, especially with how much alcohol she probably drunk.

“you alright?” you quirked a brow while taking a drink of the sour tasting liquid that you found hard forcing down your throat.

you winced, slightly tilting your head before throwing back some more into your mouth.

“nothing, just kinda... bored.”

“shut up, no you’re not.”

“can we go sit down?”

she was moving before you could say ‘yes’ and moving pretty fast as she swerved herself around the clumps of people littering the living room.

she sat down on a couch in the corner, her hands sitting gently on her lap making your brows close in on each other even more. it didn’t make sense as to why she was being so... awkward.

it was like her heart was racing and her eyes were moving fast, looking from one place to another, like she was paranoid, looking for someone.

“tory, are you on drugs?” you asked, placing your hand close to her as you took a seat next to her on the nice leather couch.

you could barely see her face by the way the only thing illuminating her features were the cheap tacky disco lights set in all the corners of the room.

“no, y/n,” she shook her head, eyes squinting slightly, “fuck you, no, i just need something to drink.”

“water?”

“sure.”

“okay,” you nodded slightly, leaning away from her and standing up, “i’ll get you some.”

she stayed silent, not even watching you walk away but her attention being drawn toward the group of kids beginning to dance in the center of the room.

it was unsettling seeing her so on edge, so strange, it made you uncomfortable due to tory being the usual life of a party. it was so unlike her.

you grabbed one of the solo cups stacked on the counter, biting on your lip as you thought more and more about why tory would be in the mood that she was in.

you couldn’t think of anything as you leaned up on the counter, your hand reaching for the ice as you shoveled it into the red plastic cup.

maybe she was mad you were late or maybe something had happened to her while you were at practice or maybe-

“you’re tory’s friend, right?”

you looked up, pausing your actions of pouring ice into the cup. your eyes met a pair of blue ones, studying you.

“uh, yeah,” your eyebrows were furrowed again, slightly confused as to who you were looking at...

red hair, rough red hair fading into pink...

eli.

your face dropped from its confusion and you were then trying your best to bite back a wave of amusement that begun filling your stomach.

“you’re on the figure skating team too, aren’t you.”

“yeah, are you?”

he scoffed, slight amused taking a drink of the solo cup he held in his hand, “no, hockey team. don’t think i’m nimble enough to do figure skating.”

your eyes raked his body, “hm, i think you could probably pull it off.”

you now leaned away from the counter, sliding further down to the other side where the bottle of waters were. eli followed you slightly on the other end of the marble counter.

“you’re flattering, really.”

“i try to be,” you begun dumping the contents of one of bottles you picked up into the cup, your eyes not meeting his but rather focused on what you were doing.

“y/n? that’s your name, right?”

“yeah, how’d you know?” you still didn’t look up, not really interested in the fact that he knew your name.

“not hard to know about something when you really wanna know about it.”

you looked up then, watching him drink the contents of his drink as he slightly analyzed you, wanting to see your reaction.

“you’re funny...” you mumbled, as if what he said was a joke, but you knew it was a joke, you were just confused, your eyebrows slightly raised.

“thanks.”

you didn’t know what to say, but you really wanted to say something as you stared at him and he stared back, waiting.

you didn’t know what to say.

and you wanted to think that he didn’t know what to say either but you knew better than to think that a boy like him didn’t have a million things to say, all things that could stump you even more, make you flustered, make you embarrassed, make you red in the cheeks. 

a million things to say, but yet he stood silent, as if waiting for you to say the first words to allow him to pounce. 

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[deniigi]

So @petrichordiam and I are menaces and giggled over our ideal dinluke flower shop AU for like 4 hrs and then I wrote this.

Title: murderer next door

Summary: Din works as a florist and Luke works as a bookseller and they’re both assassins trying to keep the other off their turf.

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

Two times now, Luke had crashed past that flower shop, and two times now, the fucker inside had taken out his mark. Now all Luke had to say about the whole thing was that it was too bad that he was going to have to kill the guy.

Han told him not to turn back. The mark was dead; the mark was gone. They weren’t fast enough this time, but there would be others.

Luke just couldn’t let it go, though. He had rent to pay, and McFloristApron over there was smashing through all his targets and making that nigh impossible—regardless of how many marks there were in the area.

Luke waited until Han had closed up shop for the night and remained there in the dark with his arm slung over the back of the chair in the backroom, surrounded by books. He rolled his shot of whiskey in its tumbler. The sound against the old wood table offered no comfort.

He stood up and left the glass to get his laptop.

He wasn’t losing to some florist, Han, sorry. Only one family could take innocuous cover on this street, and it was them.

 ---

McFlorist’s name wasn’t listed on the florist’s staff page, but then again, none of the people on that page had names. In fact, the website’s whole vibe was all wedding-chic until you clicked on the ‘staff and contacts’ tab. Then, it may as well have been a line of mugshots.

Luke squinted along the row of increasingly involved headgear until he got to someone with a reasonably-sized neck with no tats. The ladies on either side of him appeared to have sapped all the ink out of McFloristApron. He wore a mask over the lower half of his face and gave a stoic thumbs up to the camera.

Under his picture was the number fifteen.

Damn.

Luke was only making eight per pop. Who the hell was this guy eating up all the feeder fish, huh? Them lower division folks had to eat too, you know.

Well.

‘Lower division’ in a sense of the word. Being two times undercover wasn’t super glamorous, Luke had to say. But when your dad fucked it up for the first family, sometimes you had to take what you could get.

Luke pointed at Fifteen on the screen.

“You and me, pal,” he said. “You and me.”

 --

 Step one was to get paid first.

Luke chased down three marks on the other side of town to pay the rent and the medical bills for now. His hand’s new sleeve felt like a dream. It didn’t overheat like the nylon black one did, and the hand was far less shiny now as a bonus. That had certainly reduced the number of people catching something move out of the corner of their eye.

Was it worth fifty grand?

No.

Was it worth the last nine that Luke had left to pay on it?

Yeah. It was definitely worth the nine.

 ------

 Step two was to go make it clear to Fifteen McFlorist that he and his folks needed to back down in the face of the established guard.

Luke put on his biggest sweater and the thickest glasses he could find. He stole Chewie’s messenger bag with all the pins on it. He slung it over his shoulder and rolled the hems of his jeans up just a smidge too much, then scurried over to the florist’s across the way.

Fifteen was off to the side of the register, fucking around with something in the refrigerator. Luke busily and noisily looked through the wall of foliage on the side of the shop nearest the window. He hummed. He hawed. He made anxious nerd-sounds until a voice asked, “Hi, can I help you?”

Luke glanced out of the corner of his eye and found that Fifteen was standing facing his way now. His mask was gray this time. His apron was orange. His boots were too heavy-looking for florist work.

“I’d love that,” Luke gushed breathlessly. “See, my mom just got engaged and I’m on the way to her house.”

Fifteen lifted his chin slightly.

“What’re her favorites?” he asked tonelessly.

Terrible customer service skills, dude.

“Roses,” Luke said.

“Ours are shit today,” Fifteen said. “How about dahlias?”

Luke didn’t know what those were but sure.

“That sounds great,” he said. “You have any in pink?”

 --------

 He watched Fifteen brutalize some pink, orange, and white flowers into a bouquet wrapped with a silver bow and was sure to smile every time the guy looked up.

“That’ll be $37.59.”

Sir, these are dead flowers. There is no need for that price.

“Can I put it on card?” Luke asked. “How long have you worked here, if you don’t mind me asking? I work just across the way is all.”

Fifteen’s dark gaze flicked up. His hair was covered by a gray beanie two shades darker than the mask.

“At the club?” he asked.

“The bookshop,” Luke corrected him with a shy, but widening smile.

Please be gay. Please be gay. Please be gay. Leia wasn’t going to want to cooperate. She thought it was beneath her to establish boundaries like this.

“Blue paint,” Fifteen said. “Yeah, that place. How long have you been there?”

“My brother-in-law’s place, actually,” Luke said. “I started there last year after I finished college.”

Or, you know, maybe even eight years ago when he’d finished college. No one had to know. Baby faces don’t kiss and tell after all.

“Huh. You must like it there,�� Fifteen said.

“It’s fine,” Luke hummed. “You like it here?”

“The kid does.”

“Oh, you’re a father?” Luke asked. “How old?”

“He’s three,” Fifteen said. “Godson. His folks were in an accident; didn’t make it.”

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Luke said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

Fifteen handed him his card back. Luke’s hand didn’t close in time to catch it and it fell onto to the wooden counter.

“Sorry about that,” Luke said, reaching for it with the other hand. His knuckles bumped into Fifteen’s when he went for the card at the same time. They both paused and went for the card again with the same result. Luke laughed.

“Slippery, am I right?” he asked, flattening his fingers on top of the piece of plastic and snatching it away.

“Very,” Fifteen said. “I hope your mom likes them.”

“Me too,” Luke smiled. “I’ll see you around—What was your name?”

“You can call me Armando,” Fifteen said.

“Armando,” Luke sounded out. “It suits you.”

It was a falsie.

“And yours?”

“James.”

“It suits you.”

It didn’t.

“Bye now,” Luke said. “Thanks for your help.”

He let the door fall closed behind him with the tinkle of the bell.

 --------

 He informed Han that “Armando” had a toddler and received only a warning look and a scolding for all his effort. Han told him not to get jealous. If there was a kid in the balance, then Fifteen, for better or worse, was going to have to see each day after the next until there was no longer a kid in the balance.

Luke offered to call CPS and report “Armando” as an assassin.

“You do that and those folks across the street are gonna call the VA and tell them I’m an assassin,” Han said. “Lay low, Luke. Lay low.”

Never.

“Christ. At least until that thing’s yours then.”

Luke glared at his right hand.

“Gimme a double,” he told Han without looking away from it.

 ------------

 It was never easy to hunt in the daylight, but Luke wasn’t here to do easy things. He needed to get Mark No. 1 alone. The man took the train once a week to a gentleman’s club on his lunch break. Luke needed a change of clothes.

He had a rainbow windbreaker, white boots, and fishnets all ready to go.

He got on the same train as the mark and dropped his phone nearby. It clattered loudly and the case came off. Luke swore and squatted to drop it at the same time that two girls next to him decided to become good Samaritans. They crouched with him and one of them caught the phone first. They handed it back with a smile.

“I like your jacket,” she said.

Luke let his face struggle to find a smile at her kindness to him, a sweet little twink trying to find the pride parade that happened two weeks ago.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your bracelet.”

He stood up. The girls were pleased with themselves. Luke glanced back to find Mark No. 1 turn his head abruptly away.

Come here, Markie.

Do you like what you see?

  Mark No. 1 didn’t make it out of his hotel room. A pity. Luke took the elevator down and huffed and puffed about a cheap date when he passed the front desk. He stopped abruptly and went back to ask the receptionist what the cross street was. She judged his go-go boots.

He told her she wasn’t his type. Her manager gave him the cross street.

Mark No. 2 had different parameters.

 ----------

 Mark No. 2’s parameters involved chasing him through a maze of boiler rooms and dumpsters. He was chump change towards a hand that Luke hadn’t wanted in the first place, but alas. The anger still roared.

Luke cornered him, still in go-go boots—no need to sacrifice style for speed—and watched those pale eyes look every which way as Mark No. 2 realized that there was no getting out of this.

“You got options, friend,” Luke said. “I can bring you in hot or I can bring you in—”

“—cold.”

His head snapped up and he lurched out of the way just as the crack of a bullet exploded in the alley. A car backfired around the corner in a sympathetic cough. Luke stared at the body then twisted around just in time for a thick glove to latch onto the back of his neck.

“Well, look who it is,” Fifteen drawled.

Luke glared out of the corner of his eye.

“Hands off, Armando,” he warned.

“I like your boots.”

“You’re gonna love ‘em when they’re on your dick,” Luke warned.

“Back off, Nayberry.”

Fucking hell, Han. This is why they should have set up boundaries weeks ago.

“I prefer ‘James,’” Luke said sweetly.

The glock levelled at his face didn’t care.

“You took my mark,” Fifteen said.

“Aw, poor baby,” Luke pouted. “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you took mine.”

Fifteen’s orange apron was gone. He’d swapped it for an old leather jacket—something he could more easily wipe clean. He should’ve gone for patent leather. The brown really wasn’t working with his grey mask-beanie situation.

“Stay in your lane,” Fifteen warned.

“Only if you stay in yours,” Luke beamed.

Fifteen huffed.

“Bookstore,” he scoffed. “Who’d you give the flowers to?”

Luke tsked.

“Myself, jackass,” he said.

“Do you even have a mom?”

“What the fuck business is that of yours? You even got a kid?”

Fifteen’s stare was deadly—the cooling body before them notwithstanding.

“Take one step near him and we won’t be talkin’ so friendly, yeah?”

Mm. Yeah.

“You owe me four grand,” Luke informed Fifteen as the glock went down and Fifteen left him to go take a pulse.

The man’s back stiffened.

“Four?” he asked. “You took this job for four?”

Luke rolled his eyes.

“I got bills, Armando,” he drawled.

“How do you keep that shed open? Have you sold even one book?”

Rude. Luke was a great sales associate. If he actually cared to put his mind to it, he’d be worthy of a promotion to manager.

He pulled the rising legs of his shorts down and adjusted the weapon in his windbreaker. He couldn’t leave the alley the way he’d gone into it. Someone might have seen. He was going to have to take a side street. Hmmm, which one? Choices, choices.

“I’ll give you a Dad’s discount. Gimme two grand, and you can have him,” Luke negotiated as he thought.

“Two.”

Hey, no need for that tone. This was a great deal.

“What’re you gonna do with two?” Fifteen asked, already knelling down to heft the body over his shoulder as proof for payment.

“Buy some more tights,” Luke deadpanned. “Two, final offer.”

Fifteen stood up all the way and gave him a weird look. A long look. His beanie was pulled down low, but Luke got the impression that he was frowning at him.

“Take the four,” he said out of nowhere. “I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

Luke recoiled a step at first, then recoiled another when the reality of the situation hit him full in the chest.

“Forget it,” he snapped.

He spun around and started to leave.

“Wh—hey. HEY. Where are you goin’?”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Luke called ahead of him as he set to climbing the chainlink fence separating him from the adjacent dead-end alley.

“You what?”

“You heard me,” Luke said.

He jumped down. His left hand found his right wrist and squeezed as he walked.

 -------

 The phantom pains kept him up all night, and it was definitely that and not the humiliation that made him call in sick. Han told him to answer his therapist’s emails. Luke told him to go do something useful and hung up. He rolled onto his back on his bed and focused on letting his body relax, his jaw unclench, his joints go limp.

There was sunlight finally streaming through his apartment windows again. It had been months.

Spring was almost here. He just had to hold out a little longer.

 --------

 He came in to work the next day and found an envelope on his chair in the backroom. It was thick.

“McFlorist dropped it off,” he said between aggravated sounds at his spreadsheets.

“Is it tax season already?” Luke asked him as he tried to burn a whole in the center of the envelope with his mind.

“Sure fuckin’ is.”

He stepped forward and snatched up the envelope, then deposited it squarely in Han’s lap. He made an unattractive noise of confusion and alarm.

“For the taxes,” Luke called as he went out to grab his lanyard and name tag. “Gotta keep this place open for another six months at least.”

 ------------

 There were new books in. A new shipment to shelve. Two kids’ displays to set up. And Luke was actually good at this stuff, thanks; he started stacking.

He got peace until he nearly got to the end of the second display, and then what he had was a heart attack. Two liquid brown eyes surrounded by an ocean of ringlets stared up at him from between his knees. The child curled a hand in and out in hello.

Luke jerked himself up to locate the thing’s parents immediately, and promptly found himself in deadly eye-contact with Fifteen.

Armando.

“You were gone yesterday,” Fifteen said flatly.

Luke looked between him and the kid. He was pinned between two enemy parties. How to escape, how to escape.

“Are you sick?”

How to escape. How to escape. How to escape.

“Are you hurt?”

H—what?

“I’m fine, stalker,” Luke snapped with more heat than this present cover allowed. He caught himself and pulled it back. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “Thank you for asking. Is this…?”

Fifteen blinked once. The child blinked once as well. It was creepy.

“He’s mine,” Fifteen said. “And apparently the only thing that will get us through the next two hours is a book.”

Dude.

“Kids are kids,” Fifteen said. “You got any books?”

Luke stared at him, then checked the shelves to make sure he hadn’t teleported into another dimension.

You always had to check.

“We’re in a bookstore,” he said.

“He can’t read,” Fifteen said, pointing.

The kid grinned. His teeth were gapped in that toddler sort of way. He was kind of cute.

“You can’t read?” Luke asked him.

“Hi,” Baby said.

Oh no.

Luke loved him.

“How much?” he asked Fifteen.

“Touch him and you’ll be permanently comatose,” Fifteen said.

“Not if I died out of spite,” Luke said.

There was a long pause. Then Fifteen started laughing? Kind of hard?

“Oh my god, that was so unprofessional. I am so sorry,” Luke blurted out.

Fifteen collected himself and shook his head. His little one giggled and reached for Luke’s fingers.

“Boo,” he said.

Luke couldn’t feel the hand, but he could feel all the heart.

“Book?” he asked, crouching down. “Do you want a story?”

“Mmmm.”

“I have the perfect one,” Luke told him. “It’s about a caterpillar. Do you know what a caterpillar is?”

He got a slow, exaggerated head shake back and forth, back and forth. He stood up straight.

“I’m conducting a temporary kidnapping,” he informed Fifteen. “Do I have consent?”

Fifteen looked from him towards the front entrance and mulled over the merits of leaving his kid with his rival assassin. Then he shrugged.

“Consent granted,” he said. “Luke.”

Luke’s heart stopped.

“James,” he said.

“Your name tag says ‘Luke.’”

Well, fuck.

“Luke Nayberry. It suits you.”

Hhhhhhh. This was karma, wasn’t it.

“Thanks,” he gritted out. “And yourself, Armando?”

“Din.”

Woah, look out. Mr. One-Syllable-Cool-Man had entered the building.

“Din, what?” Luke asked as his arm registered tension. Din’s kid had latched onto his fingers and started pulling incessantly with a chubby hand gesturing in the direction of the wall of children’s books.

“Don’t you worry about it,” Din said.

“Fine, go trip then,” Luke said.

He swore that there was a smile under that mask.

 ----------

#dinluke #luke skywalker #ficlet #fic #I can't take any trope seriously it turns out #perhaps I am simply too old now to appreciate them #the mandalorian

[mintyminyoongi]

Idiots

Pairing: Min Yoongi x ReaderRating: T

Word Count: 7.8k

Trigger warnings: None 

Summary: Imagine you love Yoongi and Yoongi loves you but you’re both idiots and can’t say it. Or better yet, read about it.

Normally, when your phone starts ringing at 2:00 AM, you would curse the living daylights out of the person on the other end of the line. Maybe ask them if they were raised by barbarians or looking to get fully throttled. 

But when you finish grumbling curses under your breath and crack an eye open to look at your screen, you can’t help the way your heart flops over a little. Yoongi. You swipe your thumb across the screen to answer before it goes to voicemail. 

“You better be dead or dying,” you groan into the receiver. 

You hear him curse under his breath and some fumbling around. “I, um, am not dying. Coincidentally. I forgot to check the time again.” 

His low, drawling voice sends a shiver down your spine, as always. “Yeah, you did.” You find yourself chuckling, despite your initial anger. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You were sleeping?” 

You laugh fully this time. “Yeah Yoongi, I was sleeping. Like most people do at two in the morning on a Wednesday.”

“Ugh, sorry Y/N.” He sighs into the phone. 

You frown and roll in your sheets, sitting up fully. “Hey, you okay? It’s  been a while since you’ve spaced on time like this.” 

About three years ago, you met Yoongi. You’d just graduated from university and had been able to get an internship at a tech start up in Seoul. It was shit pay and crazy hours but you loved the work. 

You had met Yoongi in a cafe, late one night. Officially, you were off the clock but you had taken your laptop with you to try and catch up on some of your assignments. The cafe was close to your apartment, open late and had cheap, strong coffee. 

Yoongi had been set up at one of the far tables, feline eyes droopy despite the numerous coffee cups littering his table. He had a fancy set of headphones on and his bleached blonde hair had dark roots growing in. 

The cafe was busy, even during this time of night so you took one of the last empty tables near him. You tried to get work done, honestly. But between your sleep deprivation, over caffeination and this gorgeous boy sitting a table away, it was difficult. 

So he naturally caught you staring at him. And your best way to save face was to point dumbly at your own ear. His brow furrowed but he pushed one headphone off his ear anyway. 

“Sorry, just... I could hear your music through the headphones. It’s a little distracting.” It wasn’t, you could barely hear it over the other cafe noises. “Also, it’s bad for your hearing. To play music that loud.”

You wanted to disappear. Like wholly, from this plane of existence and any others that were out there. 

But he just looks at you with an amused, crooked smile. 

You didn’t know at the time that Yoongi was a successful rapper. He went by the name Agust D, and had just gotten back from his first tour after the release of his mixtape. 

And the formation of your friendship went just like that. He needed a friend that didn’t care about his fame or his reputation. And you just needed a friend. 

So what if you thought he was incredibly hot and talented and funny… Yoongi had never shown you any interest, romantically. And that was fine with you. His friendship meant the world to you. 

Anyway, Yoongi wasn’t the best at taking care of himself. So when he calls you in the middle of the night, it’s almost always because he’s been locked in his studio all day and has lost all sense of time. 

He sighs, not answering you right away. “I’m okay. Just- stuck on a song.”

You furrow your brow. “When did you eat last?” 

A beat of silence. “Um.”

“Yoongi.” You bite your tongue to hold back the full lecture. “How about sleep?”

An even longer pause. “I took a nap this afternoon,” he says. “Or wait. What day is it?” 

“Alright, that’s enough. Go home. Take a shower, sleep in an actual bed. You’re not doing yourself any favors running on fumes.” 

“I know.” 

“Nope, not buying it. I wanna hear you leave the studio.” 

“Woman,” he sighs under his breath. “Fine.”

You can hear him shutting down the programs on his computer, almost feeling the way he’s making mental notes of where to pick up in the morning. 

“So, which song is giving you trouble?” 

Yoongi starts to describe the track, how he wants a syncopated rhythm but it’s not hitting right. He muses all the way during his walk home about different things he can try.

You curl back up into bed, just listening to him and giving what little insight you could. It kind of pained you to admit how much just the sound of his voice affected you. 

Before long, you hear his front chime open. “Okay, I’m home.” You hope you were imagining just how exhausted he was. Even though you know you weren’t. 

“Good. Please take care of yourself, Yoongi. You’re starting to give me gray hairs.”

Yoongi just huffs into the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. I am sorry for waking you up. Tomorrow’s your big presentation right?” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Yeah, it's at nine. So like,” you wince as you look at your screen. “Six hours.” 

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine, Yoongi. Honestly. I’m used to running on no energy and all coffee.”

You could tell he didn’t feel better with that answer. “We're still on for movie night on Friday?” 

“Yes please. I’ve been killing myself trying to avoid spoiler alerts.” 

“Okay, great. I’ll bring snacks to make it up to you.” 

You thought about protesting but knew it would be pointless. “That sounds like a fabulous idea. Now go get some sleep! And when you eat in the morning, it needs to be something that doesn’t come out of a plastic package, you hear me?”

“Aish, woman, let me live,” he gripes but you know him well enough that you can practically picture the smile on his face. “See you Friday. Good luck with the presentation, you’re gonna kill it.” 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You hang up and have to force yourself back to sleep, always getting a bit of a high from talking to him. 

On Friday night, you were running around your apartment like a mad woman, trying to get it clean before Yoongi shows up. Even though he was terrible with the concept of time, he was never late to your movie nights. 

You had stayed late at work talking to your boss about your presentation from the day before. So when Yoongi showed up at your door right on time you were still in your work clothes, hair a mess. 

“Hi, come in. What the-” Your eyes practically bulge out of your head when you see how many bags he’s carrying. 

“I said I would bring snacks,” he says sheepishly, cheeks tinted a dusty pink. 

“Yoongi, this is like a whole store.”

He sets the bags down on your kitchen counter. “I felt bad about waking you up.”

You shove his arm, eyes widening further as he starts unbagging everything. “I told you it was fine, you dope! This is way too much food.” 

Just as he opens his mouth your doorbell rings. Yoongi looks at you guiltily, a bag of your favorite chips in his hand. 

“I may have also ordered pizza from that place you like.” 

You wanted to smack him and kiss him in the same instant. That pizza was the perfect way to end a long, stressful week. “Well, you answer the door. I’m going to change clothes.”

In your room, you quickly change into sweats and a t-shirt. You fix your hair into a normal, less insane ponytail and make your way back into the kitchen. 

You find Yoongi staring at you as you drop your hands from your hair. “What?” 

He coughs, looking down. “Nothing. The food’s all ready.”

You frown a little but leave it. Then you see the three pizza boxes sitting on the counter. “Min Yoongi you did not order three pizzas and buy all these snacks.” 

He squawks a little, unable to form words for a second. “Will you just take my apology already?” 

Your heart seizes a little at his sincerity and you try not to read into it. “Fine. Apology accepted.” You cross your way into the kitchen, grabbing some plates out of the cabinet. 

“How did your presentation go, by the way?” 

“Oh my god it went great, Yoongi! My boss loved the idea of an integrated software, and he gave me the lead on it.” You turn to see him watching you attentively, a proud smile on his face. 

“And this is the first time you’ve been the lead, right?” 

“Yeah, at least one of this size. It’s gonna be a lot of work but I’m really excited.” 

Once again, Yoongi gives you this unreadable look. His gaze makes you feel squirmy so you hand him a plate. “Well I’m proud of you, Y/N. You’ve really made a name for yourself at that company.” 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You cracked open the first pizza box and could’ve started drooling. “Oh my god, this smells amazing.”

When you’re thoroughly surrounded on the couch with more pizza, snacks and wine than any two people could need, you start the movie.

You and Yoongi had started making movie nights a habit about a year ago. Every month you both find time to make it work. It was kind of your favorite thing but you wouldn’t tell him that. 

You really were trying to reign in your feelings for him. It didn’t seem fair, when Yoongi was only looking for platonic companionship. So you keep respectable inches between the two of you as you queued up the movie. 

Yoongi gave you a judgy look at the moan you let out around your first bite of pizza but a swift elbow to the ribs made him look away. 

The movie was pretty good, it was a slasher movie that came out earlier in the year. You watched with your mouth hung open in disbelief as the killer rose from the dead for the third time and snuck up on the lead actress. 

“Oh, come on, they can’t be serious.” You lean forward on the couch cushion, thoroughly enveloped in the plotline. As the killer brandishes a kitchen knife and raises it above his head, your reflex is to smack Yoongi in the arm. 

“Why doesn’t she just turn around?” you demand. “The house is like 800 years old the floorboards are creaking louder than your snoring.” 

You can feel Yoongi look at you in offense. “First you hit me then you insult me?” 

The girl on the screen eventually turns around and a chase ensues. You turn to Yoongi. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you. I just get so wound up at these movies.” 

“Oh, but you meant to insult me?” He says, an eyebrow raised. 

Damn, he looks good sprawled out on your couch. The thought comes unbidden. You bring yourself back to the present, to the sound of screaming and shrill horror music in the background. The present with Yoongi sitting on your couch. 

“Yeah, I mean have you heard your snoring?” 

“When have you heard me snore?” he demands.

You turn to face him on the couch, the movie forgotten for the moment. “Like three months ago, when you showed up at my door, completely wasted. You stumbled around my apartment for twenty minutes and then you passed out on the couch. You snored. All night.” 

Yoongi looks at you with his mouth hung open, speechless. He shakes his head, seeming to snap out of it. “I completely forgot about that night.”

“Yeah, it was after some event at your label. You showed up smelling like cheap perfume and whiskey, barely able to stand up straight. I gave Namjoon an earful the next day for letting you get that drunk.” 

Yoongi scoffs, suddenly finding the hole in the knee of his jeans very interesting. “He didn’t let me do anything. I can be pretty stubborn when it comes to that stuff.” 

You nod, not understanding where the uneasy mood came from. “That’s pretty much what he told me. He said that you showed up to the event pissed off, that you were an asshole the whole night and he couldn’t keep you in check.” 

“Yeah I wasn’t myself that night.” 

He still wouldn’t look at you.

 “I remember,” you say. “I’d never seen you that far gone before. Namjoon said he hadn’t either.” 

Yoongi stays silent. For long enough that you started to turn back to the TV screen, not wanting to push him. 

Truthfully, that night had kind of scared you. He had been almost incoherent when you let him in. Yoongi was a fan of a good whiskey but he usually didn’t get that drunk, let alone wasted like that. You hadn’t known what to do so you kind of just stood back as Yoongi mumbled to himself, shucking his jacket and boots before falling onto the couch and passing out. 

He says something under his breath and even though you were right next to him you didn’t catch it. You wince as a bloodcurdling scream comes from the TV screen. He doesn’t even seem to notice it. 

“What did you say?” You ask him, scooting a little closer. 

Again, he stays quiet. At which point you’re starting to get annoyed, so you let out a huff and flop back against the couch cushion.

“You had a date that night.” 

You stare uncomprehendingly at the gory scene on the TV before looking at him. “What?” 

He had turned his gaze to you, but not in your eyes. He’s looking somewhere around your shoulder, you think. 

Yoongi runs his tongue over his teeth before answering you. “That night, you had a date with some guy from your office.”

You think back, remember that you’d had a date with Minho. He was in the advertising department of your company. He had a really cute smile and loved cats so you thought you’d give him a chance. 

You thought if you just actively started dating that you would get over your stupid crush on Yoongi faster. 

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. 

Even though Minho was attractive, and he had really funny stories you only found yourself thinking about Yoongi all night. The date had ended when he walked you to your door, and kissed your cheek. You told him it had been a nice night but you didn’t think you saw him as more than a friend. Things had been awkward around the office for a few days but he took it graciously and you two are friends now. 

Yoongi had shown up not long after you’d gotten back. You were still in your dress, heels kicked off by the door. You remember now, he had given you a once over and scoffed before stepping past you into the apartment. Before you’d gone on the date, you’d told Yoongi about it. You thought maybe if he hyped you up it would help you be more excited for it. 

Instead, he just said “have fun” and didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night. Until he showed up at your door, so drunk he couldn’t stand straight. 

He never asked about the date, you didn’t think he even remembered it. He certainly didn’t seem like he cared about it at the time. 

Belatedly, you realize the end credits are rolling on the screen. 

And Yoongi is staring at you. Not at your shoulder or somewhere in the vicinity. Right at you. 

“Yoongi…” You say, because you didn’t know what else to say.

He gulps down the rest of his wine and turns to face you fully. “I-I didn’t have the right to be jealous but I was. Of him. So I went to that stupid fundraising event and focused on the free drinks and the easy women. And ended up here anyway.” 

You swallowed thickly, trying not to overthink what he was saying. “You were jealous?” The words are strained as you say them. Your hands curled into fists because the bite of your nails in your palms helps to ground you. 

Yoongi leans in a little, sucks in a quick breath. He opens his mouth to speak just as the movie kicks back to the main menu, the title music blaring through the speakers. 

You jump reflexively. You didn’t realize how close you’d gotten to him, your face barely a few inches from his. So close you can see his pupils dilate, can smell the sweet red wine on his breath. 

And just like that, Yoongi seems to snap out of something. He stands from the couch and picks up your dirty plates and wine glasses. He’s already in the kitchen, loading the dishes in the washer when you feel yourself snap back into reality.

What the hell was that?

You were pretty sure you weren’t misreading things. He was jealous that you were dating other people. Well, had dated other people. Honestly you were tired of the whole song and dance. You hadn’t been on a date since Minho. When the right guy came along, you would try again. But you hadn’t found anyone that could hold a candle to Yoongi. And you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. 

But… why was Yoongi jealous? He was famous, had tons of beautiful idols and models and actresses he could pick from. Maybe he was just jealous of having a normal dating life. 

Either way when you shuffle into the kitchen with the bowls of snacks, you couldn’t ignore the tension in Yoongi’s shoulders. The dishes were all loaded but he stood at the sink, clutching the edge of the counter. 

“Yoongi.” This was new for you. You’d never felt uncertain around him before. Maybe shy, when you caught yourself thinking about his adorable smile or strong hands. But never uncertain. 

He cleared his throat and turned abruptly. “I forgot I have an early morning tomorrow. I should get going.” 

You frown, not wanting to leave things in this weird state. You follow him to the door where he’s pulling on his coat. “Yoongi,” you try again. 

He falters, head hanging low. 

“Will you just tell me what’s bothering you?” You finally demand. 

Yoongi turns swiftly, pulling you close to him by your waist. He leans his forehead against yours and you suck in a breath, gasping it out at his proximity. Usually you’re the one initiating the contact, little side hugs or poking his cheeks when he’s grumpy. You always tease him about his fear of intimacy.

He huffs out a breath and closes his eyes. His hands tighten their grip on your waist. 

You let him hold you. Part of you can tell he somehow needs this. You wonder if he can feel how heavily your heart is beating inside your chest. It feels thunderous to you. 

Yoongi shifts, turning his face into your neck. You feel yourself relax a bit. This feels more familiar, closer to the hugs you’ve shared before. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around him, hoping to bring him some comfort. 

“Don’t date anyone else.” 

The words are soft, spoken against the skin of your neck. But you hear them perfectly. And your heart skips a beat all the same. “Yoongi-”

He moves, pulling his face from the crook of your neck. It takes him a minute to bring his eyes up to meet yours. And it almost seems to pain him when he croaks out “Please, Y/N.” 

One of your hands seems to have its own mind as it combs through the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes close a little as he waits for your answer. “Okay,” you whisper. 

His sharp gaze snaps up to yours and it takes you aback. Your hormone addled brain thinks that he’s going to kiss you. And it really seems like he’s going to. He moves one of his hands from your waist to cradle your face in his palm. 

You lick your lips subconsciously and Yoongi’s eyes dart down to watch the action. And then something happens in his brain because he’s letting you go and backing away. “I should go,” he mutters as he pulls a mask from his coat. 

Something about his tone is final. You don’t want to push it or question him. He turns back to you when he’s out in the hallway. “I’ll call you later.” 

You nod, thoroughly overwhelmed and incapable of forming a response. And then he’s gone. And you close the door and have to ask yourself if you didn’t just dream the whole thing. 

You were slammed at work the next week, trying to get the initial details of your new project hammered out. And maybe the lack of communication from Yoongi encouraged you to throw yourself headfirst into the work. Because you really didn’t want to stop and think about what your conversation that night had meant. 

‘Don’t date anyone else’? That could really only mean one thing, right? If he didn’t want you dating anyone else it was so you could be with him. Right?

Or maybe he just meant he didn’t want you dating the wrong guys, to protect you or whatever. As if he could know that Minho or any of the other guys you’d dated were “wrong”. 

And this whirling blackhole of a thought process is exactly why you’d been staying late every night this week. 

The sun had been down for hours when you finally left your office building. You’re on the subway home when Yoongi calls you. Your eyes widen and you feel your heart stutter a bit when you see his name on the screen. 

When you answer the phone you immediately hold the receiver away from your ear, the speaker blasting music and overlapping chatter from a crowd. “Yoongi?” 

You think you can hear him saying something in the background. After a few moments you hang up. He must’ve called accidentally. And you have to kick yourself for getting so excited. 

He’s out at a club or a concert, judging by the noise. It could be for work or for pleasure. Either way, he’s out with people and probably other girls- 

You have to stop yourself. He’s not yours. 

You get through the train ride and the walk home with a set jaw. This was exhausting. This weird, in-between thing was way worse than just suppressing your feelings altogether. 

It was a little after 10:00 when he started texting you. You’d just finished eating a bowl of instant noodles over the sink when you see it. And from the first text you could tell he was drunk. 

10:11 Yoongi: I MISs you

10:15 Yoongi: Y/N

10:15 Yoongi: This palace sucks

10:19 Yoongi: wis

10:19 Yoongi: I wish

10:20 Yoongi: Wish yu were hr

10:23 Y/N: Yoongi, you’re drunk. Text me when you’re sober. 

Not long after your message he tries calling again. It pains you to do it but you let it go to voicemail. Nothing he says right now is going to keep you from combusting. 

So you try to occupy yourself with a few episodes of trashy reality TV until you think you’re tired enough to go to bed. Yoongi hadn’t texted or called again. You hoped it was because he went home. Your brain strayed to some other girl catching his attention at whatever club he was at. Imagined her taking his mind off of you and his phone. 

You bite your lip to stem off the ridiculous tears that spring into your eyes at the thought. He’s not yours, you remind yourself again.

The incredibly overwhelming sense of deja vu hits you when your ringing phone wakes you in the early hours of the morning. Yoongi’s face is on your screen. Maybe it’s because your brain is more than half asleep or because part of you is desperate to know if he went home alone that you answer the call.

You were grateful that you didn’t immediately hear the noise of pounding bass and drunk people in the background. But you do hear traffic noise, lots of it. 

“Yoongi?” 

“Y/N, what time is it?” His voice is still heavy with alcohol and you wince. 

“It’s like one in the morning, Yoongi. Where are you?” 

“Fuck. I told you I wouldn’t call you like this again.” He mumbles and you can imagine his lips forming that adorable pout. You have to shake your head out of that thought process when you hear a car horn too close for comfort.

“Yoongi, listen to me. Where are you? Are you safe?” 

There’s a moment of silence as you imagine him looking around. “I’m- near the um, that corner store where you spilled soda all over me that one time. ‘member?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Yoongi, can you get yourself a ride? You should go home and sleep this off.” 

He continues talking, as if he didn’t hear you. And maybe he didn’t. He sounded just like that night, months ago. Who knows how much he’s had to drink. “You were so… so flustered and I-I remember you asking me how much my shirt cost because you were worried you wouldn’t be able to pay me back. And I told you it was just a regular t-shirt but really it cost $300 and I never told you that. And you were so cute. You were stuttering, and your cheeks were so red.” 

“You- you kept trying to clean me up and everyone in the store was staring. I kind of realized then that you were maybe the cutest girl I had ever seen. Like, the cutest. But I didn’t… I didn’t know how to say that. Because I don’t like people and there are very few that I choose to spend time around.” 

While (a very large) part of you loved this confession, you know it didn’t count. He was so incredibly drunk and would probably not remember any of this in the morning. And since you couldn’t see him, all your brain can imagine is that he’s about to stumble into traffic at any moment. 

“Yoongi please. I need you to put me on speaker while you get yourself a taxi. I need to know you’re safe.” 

He cuts himself off. All of a sudden the traffic noise is much louder so he must’ve put you on speaker. He grumbles as he’s tapping through the app. “Y/N thank you for taking such good care of me.” 

“You’re welcome, Yoongi.” Your voice comes out whisper-soft and he might not have heard you over the rushing cars, 

He must take you off speaker because he’s easier to hear again. “Says it should be here in ten minutes.” 

You exhale, not even realizing how worried you had been. “Okay, good.” 

“You interrupted me, you know.” Again, you can picture the pout on his face so clearly. 

You chuckle a little, leaning back against your headboard. “You’re right I did.” 

“Where was I?” You notice his Daegu accent is slipping in the more he talks. You wish it didn’t affect you as much as it did. “Oh, that people suck. Not you though, Y/N. You don’t suck and I’ve been scared to tell you that because I love our friendship. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Your heart flutters. You try to keep reminding yourself not to read too much into this. He’s drunk and has never said anything along these lines when he’s sober. He’s had all the opportunity. But maybe you’re a masochist because you ask. “Fuck what up, Yoongi?”

He sighs. “I hate that I’ve never had the guts to say any of this to you sober. I’m such a coward, Y/N.” 

As if you somehow know what he’s going to say, you try to stop him. “Yoongi, wait.” 

“I love you, Y/N. I’m fucking stupid because I love you and I can’t even say it to your face.” 

Tears sting into your eyes because this feels so surreal and it almost physically pains you to hear the words you’ve been dreaming about for so long. 

You think you hear him getting into the cab when a car door slams shut and the traffic noise is much more muffled.  “I fucking love you, Y/N,” he sighs happily, like he’s glad to have it off his chest. 

You have to steel yourself because you can feel your brain slipping into La La Land. “Yoongi, you are drunk. Hang up and call me when you’re sober.” 

He chuckles a little. “So bossy. Just because I’m hanging up, doesn’t mean I’ll forget that I love you,” he croons. 

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath and hang up.

You flop against your pillows and try to calm your racing heart. What. The. Fuck. 

In all of your fantasies about Yoongi you had never let yourself imagine he would say those words to you. It was too painful. 

It was painful even now. Until you could talk to Yoongi face to face, you couldn’t know what he meant, if he meant any of it at all. So you were reminding yourself of this, to keep yourself sane as you lay spread eagle on your bed. Wondering what you did in your past life to deserve this kind of emotional turmoil.

When there’s a knock on your door. And a very drunk Yoongi calling your name through the cheap wood. 

You run to the door to let him in before he wakes up any of your nosy neighbors. When you open the door, Yoongi almost falls across the threshold. You reach out on instinct to steady him and close the door promptly behind him.

“Would you shut up?” you hiss. 

As he straightens and sees you, he gets this lazy smile on his face. 

You decide to speak first and cut off whatever thought process he had. “What are you doing here?” 

Yoongi pouts and rubs a thumb across your cheek. “I missed you.” 

“You were supposed to go home Yoongi.” 

“Didn’t want to,” he shrugs. 

You sigh, knowing you didn’t have the heart to kick him out when he was like this. “Fine. Will you at least take a shower before you crash? You stink.” 

“You just want me naked,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

Instead of answering him, you turn to your room to get him a change of clothes. If he were anyone else, if he hadn’t just told he loved you- this would be hilarious. You would never let Yoongi live this down. 

But it wasn’t someone else. It was Yoongi. And not only had he told you he loved you, it seems like he already forgot about it. He was so unaware of the spiral you were in it was painful. 

He was struggling with his boots when you made your way back into the living room. You swallow back the lump in your throat as you kneel in front of him. 

You nudge his hands away and make quick work of the laces. 

“Y/N.” When you look up, you’re struck with the clarity in his gaze. You’re not sure what changed in the time it took you to get him some clothes but the flirty Yoongi was gone. 

His eyes were still dropping and he was a little sideways on your couch but he seemed more like Yoongi again. 

“What?” you ask and wince when your voice cracks. 

“I meant it.” 

Your eyes close and you sit back on your heels to give yourself some distance. “Yoongi, please.” 

He doesn’t say anything more and when you finally open your eyes again, he’s running a hand over his face. “Okay,” he sighs. Then he grabs the clothes from off the floor and disappears into the bathroom. 

How did things get so complicated so quickly? 

This was exactly the kind of situation you were hoping to avoid all these years. You roughly wipe your eyes to stop any tears from falling before getting to your feet.

You hear the shower turn on as you make up the couch, tucking sheets into the cushion and bringing out extra pillows. And then you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your first instinct is to go close yourself in your room and not come out until he’s gone in the morning. 

You knew you could never do that though. You’d never been good at ignoring Yoongi. It was unclear if other people experienced this kind of magnetism towards him, but you were hopeless.

Because of the war going on in your brain, you were still sitting on the couch when Yoongi walked back down the hallway. And - in a word - oof. 

The clothes were his, some you’d stolen a long time ago but he’d put on a muscle since then so the shirt was a little tight. His damp hair hung a little longer, hanging into his eyes a little bit. 

The shower seemed to do him some good, he looked a little more alert. More himself.

You watch him warily and tuck your knees into your chest. He takes a seat opposite you on the coffee table. Then you two sit there, not looking at and not talking to each other. 

Then Yoongi heaves a heavy sigh and you dare to look at him. “Y/N…” He doesn’t seem to have more to say than that.

You turn to look at him. “Yoongi, I’m exhausted. Can we talk in the morning?” 

He nods, shoulders sagging. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” 

You shoot up from the couch, ready to get out of this tense atmosphere. “I brought out sheets and blankets. And there’s a stack of pillows there. If you need anything else, you know where everything is.” 

“Y/N.” Yoongi’s hand reaches out, maybe to stop you or grab you. You just dart a few paces away. You had no resolve left and you were pretty sure if he touched you at this point that would just crumble. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Yoongi.”

His sighs and it ruffles your hair, sends a shiver down your back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next morning, as the sun shone brightly through your curtains, you were praying for a sinkhole to open underneath your apartment building and swallow you whole. Or maybe like a stray asteroid could come in through your window. Less casualties that way. Anything to get you out of this conversation with Yoongi.

You hadn’t slept all night, trying to decode Yoongi’s words and your own feelings. You’d been squashing them down for so long, trying to make them as small and inconsequential as possible. 

It was sometime after the sky started to turn pink that you truly allowed yourself to accept how much you love Min Yoongi. How much you always have. 

For as long as you can remember, you have cherished every moment with him. Your movie nights. When you could bring your laptop to his studio and listen to him produce music while you worked. Getting late night coffees at the same cafe you first met. 

The list goes on. 

Now it was just a matter of figuring out if Yoongi really did… love you. You know that saying “drunk words are sober thoughts.” And maybe it was true in this case. But what if he just meant he loved you as a friend?

Really, it wasn’t that far fetched. You have never met a more emotionally guarded person than Yoongi. He didn’t even want to admit to being friends until after you threatened to send a video of him dressed up as his female counterpart “Yoonji” to Dispatch. 

In short, you were getting nowhere fast. Which is why you finally kicked yourself out from under your sheets to make some coffee. Coffee always helps right?

A quick peek into the living room and you can see Yoongi curled up on the couch, still out. 

You tiptoe past him and into the kitchen. You start to brew a pot of coffee and let the comforting smell wash over you. It seemed to rouse Yoongi as well. Over the back of the couch you see him stretch his arms, groaning as he does it. 

You pour two mugs of coffee and give him time to fully wake up. 

He shuffles into the kitchen, one eye cracked open and trying to smooth his hair down with his hands. “Morning,” he mumbles.

You wordlessly hand him a mug of plain black coffee. He hums gratefully and takes a large gulp. 

Not for the first time you internally coo at his early-morning grumpiness. His eyes are puffy and his hair is sticking up in multiple directions despite his efforts. You sip your own coffee and try to figure out how to start this conversation. 

Yoongi leans against the opposite of the island counter and looks at you over the rim of his mug. “So.” 

“So,” you agree. And then leap into it. “You remember everything you said last night?” 

He takes another large gulp of his coffee before setting the mug down. “I do.” 

You lean your elbows down on the counter and grip onto your mug with both hands to have something to ground you. “Okay.” 

Yoongi looks at you, eyes wary. You can’t look at him, can’t be the one that says something that ruins this friendship.

“Y/N… can we just forget it?” 

Your eyes fall closed. You wonder at the same time if it’s possible for your heart to fall out of place in your chest because it no longer feels like it’s there. “Yeah,” you force out of your vocal chords. “Let’s forget it.” 

“I just- it was wrong for me to say those things. To you. While I was so… out of it.” Yoongi sighs. “Will you look at me? Please?” 

He’s staring at you, fully awake now. His gaze is imploring, like his words are saying one thing but his eyes are trying to tell you something else. 

“Y/N, your friendship is one of the most important things in my life. You found me when I was in a shitty place and couldn’t find any real people to be around. Everyone wanted to know Agust D, they didn’t give a fuck about me. I can’t lose that, I can’t lose you-” 

You take another drink from your mug to distract you and to hopefully hide the tears building in your eyes. This was the most likely scenario, you knew that. But you had still allowed yourself to hope for the best. 

“I get it Yoongi. You love me, as a friend.” 

He makes this noise in the back of his throat and comes around the island towards you. 

On instinct you back away, trying to keep the distance. You throw your hands up when your back hits the counter behind you. “Yoongi, please don’t-” 

He immediately stops a few feet away from you. “This is exactly what I didn’t want,” he says, voice breaking a little on the last words. “I didn’t want to upset you.” 

You realize that the tears in your eyes have fallen so you wipe them away hastily. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Yoongi frowns, “You’re crying so it’s not fine.” He looks at you with such concern that it hurts. Like he would do anything to fix it if he could. 

“Please don’t look at me like that,” you say weakly. 

“Like what?” 

You are exhausted, mentally and physically. So your filter is gone. And you blurt, “If we’re going to be just friends, I can live with that but that means you can’t look at me like that. Like you love me more than that.” 

Yoongi just looks at you, jaw slack. “Let me be perfectly clear, Y/N. If we’re going to be just friends I am going to be the one living with it. Because…” he sighs and closes his eyes, as if to collect himself. “Because I do love you more than that.” 

If your heart hadn’t fallen out of place earlier it certainly did in that moment. “What?” you squeak.

He takes a cautious step towards you. “Last night, I meant everything I said. I’ve never been brave enough to say it to your face, but I have been in love with you for the better part of three years. It wasn’t fair of me to say all of that to you or to show up here and have you take care of me. And I mean it, we can be friends. Because I’d rather be friends than nothing at all. But since we’re here I might as well get it all off my chest, even if it means I never mention it again. At least that way I can finally breathe again.” 

Your chest heaves with panicked breaths as you absorb everything he just said. This time there wasn’t any way to misconstrue his words. No doubt about the meaning. Yoongi had just laid himself bare in front of you. 

“Idiots,” you mutter. 

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up past his hairline. “What?” 

“We are idiots,” you say and a somewhat manic laugh slips its way past your lips. When you see the hurt cross his face, you step closer and clap a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, Yoongi.”

He pulls back a step and the action sobers you immediately. “We are both complete idiots, Yoongi. Because I’ve never been brave enough either. Brave enough to tell you that you are what kept me sane during my intern year. That getting to see you is the best part of my day. And I’ve never told you I love you because I was terrified of you not feeling the same way.” 

“Idiots,” he muses. Yoongi looks at you, eyes darting everywhere as if looking for the lie. His lips slowly curl into a smile when he doesn’t seem to find one. He closes the gap between you, cradling your face in his hands.

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s gentle. The tenderness makes your eyes slip shut, makes every time you’ve ever dreamt about this in the past pale in comparison. You could never have imagined how perfect it would feel when his hands roam the planes of your body, wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him. 

The closeness has you overwhelmed, whimpering into his mouth. You find yourself craving even more contact, pull yourself infinitesimally closer by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 

Yoongi pushes against you, making you stumble back a few steps until you hit the counter. Without missing a beat, his hands move from your waist down to your thighs. He grips the flesh there and hoists you up onto the countertop.

You gasp at the lift, legs wrapping around his hips for anchorage. Yoongi takes advantage and licks his way into your open mouth. You let him take the lead, feeling wholly overwhelmed by the way he kisses you. Your fingers thread in his hair, tugging on the roots when the sensations become too much. 

Yoongi groans, pressing his lips harder to yours for another second before pulling away. He immediately presses another chaste kiss to your lips before leaning his forehead on yours. 

You don’t open your eyes right away, almost afraid he won’t be there when you open them. 

“Y/N,” he whispers. Your heart flops over, probably somewhere down near your appendix at this point. “We really are idiots.” 

You smile, finally looking back at him. You tighten your legs around him, your body’s way of telling him he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. Yoongi’s eyes slip shut as he lets out a hiss. “Woman, you’ve gotta stop doing that.” 

“Why?” you smirk.

“Because all I’ve thought about for years is being able to love you like I want to. I want to love you in every way you deserve to be loved. But I also haven’t slept in days. I haven’t slept a full night since I was here last, for movie night. If you keep doing that I’m going to take you right here and it won’t be my A game.” He kisses you slowly, making your toes curl in. “I want to give you my A game.” 

You smile fondly at the rant but relent, dropping your legs to either side of his hips. Your fingertips trace the shadows under his eyes “I haven’t slept well either. Since that night.” 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers, slumping into you. 

“Don’t be,” you say as you comb your fingers through his hair. “How about a nap? Because I too want nothing less than your A game.” 

Yoongi straightens and glares at you. You put a hand on his chest and push lightly. He backs up enough for you to hop down from the counter. You take one of his hands in yours, taking a second to appreciate how easily they fit together. 

“What, you’re not going to make me sleep on the couch again?” Yoongi says as you lead him to your room.

“I’m still not fully convinced this is all real.” You turn and pull him close again. “Until I am I need you to stay close to me. So no more couch.”

Yoongi smiles softly. “I can do that.” He kisses your forehead sweetly. 

He audibly groans as he climbs into your bed beside you. You roll your eyes at him. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“You try sleeping on that couch. Whoever talked you into that couch is a nutjob.”

You smack his chest. “You convinced me to buy that couch!” 

Yoongi shrugs, grinning softly. You smack him once more for good measure. Then you give into the instinct your body has been screaming for, which is to snuggle into him. You get comfortable with your head resting on his chest and one of your legs tangled between his. Your fingers fist into the material of his shirt on their own volition. 

He pulls you closer with the arm that’s under you, not seeming to be satisfied until every gap between the two of you is gone. 

“From now on, let’s be idiots together, okay?” 

Yoongi chuckles and drops a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Deal.”

#min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #suga x reader #min yoongi x y/n #suga x y/n #min yoongi #suga #bts x reader #bts #bts imagines #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #min yoongi domestic #agust d #angst with fluff #angst with a happy ending

[anightflower]

Come and Find Me Chapter 6: 24 Hours

Hello my darlings, here is chapter 6 FINALLY. Thank you for letting me work on my mental health, I can’t express how much every interaction I’ve had with you has helped, whether it be a like, comment, or reblog, you guys have brought me SO MUCH JOY. 

Masterlist 

Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Violence, swearing, mentions of rape

Spencer clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. “What do you mean never see her again? Don’t you dare fucking touch her-”

“Tsk, tsk Doctor, there is a lady present. Though she can’t hear us at the moment.” The voice murmured condescendingly. “But I am a fair man Doctor, I will let you speak to her, eventually.” 

“Let me speak to her now.” Spencer growled. 

“So demanding Doctor, but I suppose I’ll oblige you, if only because she looks so broken right now.” The voice cooed. 

There was silence on the phone for a moment, the beeping of buttons and then, your voice. 

“What do you want now you sick bastard?” You sounded tired, defeated. Spencer felt his heart break. 

“(Y/N), can you hear me?” Spencer asked urgently. On the live feed, you head shot up and looked around. 

“Spencer?” Your voice broke and tears blurred your vision. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, no! I’m coming to find you baby. I promise, this sick bastard is not going to win-” Spencer said encouragingly.

Hope filled your eyes, but quickly disappeared behind nerves. You had to tell him the last place you were. He had to find you and you didn’t know how much time you had left. 

“Spence, I made it to Florida, call the hotel I was at. They might have security footage-” Your voice was cut off. 

“Now, that’s no fair. She can’t help you.” The voice said angrily. 

“No, put her back on the line you sick f-” Spencer yelled into the phone desperately. He could see that you were still talking on the video feed. Tears slid down his face as he watched you mouth “I love you.” You didn’t even know that he couldn’t hear you anymore. 

“24 hours doctor.” The voice said and hung up. The live feed went black.

“It’s a burner phone. I could triangulate it to two cell towers, but that could put it anywhere in Miami.”  Penelope explained.

The room was silent as they waited for Spencer’s reaction. His shoulders were tense, he still eyed the screen, his back completely turned to the team. 

“Spencer?” JJ asked, gently coming up to him. 

“JJ, I’m going to give you the number to (Y/N) hotel. I need you to get any security footage you can from them. Penelope will use face scan and analyze it.” Spencer ordered, his body still tense and unmoving. 

“I’ll contact them and the local police down there, have them start looking for (Y/N)  and set up a place for us at their precinct.” JJ reassured. 

“I’m going to call Hotch and Rossi, I’ll tell them to meet us at the jet.” Emily said. “Maybe they got something out of Curtis that can help us out.” 

Spencer nodded, unable to form words around the tightness in his throat. 

“We’ll get her back Reid, and then we want a proper introduction.” Morgan teased, trying to ease Spencer. 

As they all began to move to grab their go-bags, Spencer’s phone rang again.

Spencer took a deep breath, as he glanced at his phone. It was Ava’s contact. 

He quickly answered it. “Ava?” 

“Spencer,” Her voice sounded terrified. “I need you to come to this address, I think (Y/N)’s in danger.”

________________________________________________________________

You jumped as the door to your “room” slammed open. 

“You stupid bitch!” The voice wasn’t as deep now without it’s automated assistance, but his voice was still muffled behind a mask. It was a cheap plastic Halloween mask, the one you get so you can decorate it however you want. It’s blank white stare covered his whole face. 

He stalked his way toward you angrily, causing you to push yourself further back onto the bed. There was no place for you to go. 

“You just couldn’t keep your mouth shut huh? You are so moon eyed over your Doctor that you fucking cheat. You whore!” He grabbed your ankles and pulled on your chains, dragging you down the bed, causing you to scream. His grip was hard enough to leave bruises. 

“Do you know what happens to whores?” He growled. “They get what they deserve.” 

He tried to push your legs open, but you clawed at his arms, hard enough to break your nails and draw blood. As he tried to draw his arms back, you scratched at his face, ripping the mask off and catching one of his eyes.

He let out a pained scream and backhanded you across the face. You yelped as it sent you flying back against the bed.

You quickly pushed yourself up, readying yourself if he tried to advance on you again. He was hunched over, grabbing at his face, blood leaked from where your nails had dug in. 

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” He said enraged. 

Your body froze at that voice. A voice that you knew all too well. A voice that didn’t speak much, but when it did, there was always a smile on his face. 

“No.” You whispered softly.

________________________________________________________________

Andrew Curtis, 29 years old, 6’4. Auburn hair, brown eyes, and a friendly smile that had made women trust him when he had come into their home. 

The man in front of him was smug, too smug for someone who is going to be behind bars for the rest of their life. Hotch wished he could tackle him to the floor and wipe the gleeful look off of his face. 

5 innocent women, almost 6. Women with families and lives just wiped from the world because of the sick bastard in front of him. 

“Oh Agent Hotchner, Agent Rossi, what brings you to my humble abode? I’ve recently redecorated, I hope you like it.” Andrew Curtis laughed. 

Hotch and Rossi didn’t deign to respond, hiding their disdain behind a stern blank mask. 

“Ouch, so cold as always, here I was hoping something interesting happened for you to come visit me.” Curtis said with a pout. 

“Rumor has it you’ve been receiving letters from an outside anonymous fan, care to enlighten us more about him?” Rossi said, voice cold. 

“Not even a greeting, a little catch up? How is the rest of the team, Prentiss, JJ,- oh and my dear favorite doctor Reid.” Curtis purred.

“I did always find your connection to Reid fascinating, you only let him talk with you and a little bird told us you keep newspaper clippings about him and much of his thesis and research work.” Rossi pushed, ignoring Curtis’s taunts.

“Oh my guards are such gossips, but I suppose there's not much else to keep them entertained around here.”

Hotch let out a growl. “Let’s skip the games Curtis. You know you have nothing over us, you’re locked here for the rest of your miserable existence and then some. We will not be your source of entertainment. Who have you been communicating with?”

“You know, I never thought you guys would catch me, and it truly took a toll on me when you did. But I had a small victory knowing that you had gotten some of my profile wrong.” Curtis smiled and it made ice fill Hotch’s veins.

“Oh and how is our profile wrong? You’re still in a cell aren’t you? Everything we said turned out to be correct.” Rossi said confidently.

“You might have profiled me correctly dear Rossi, but I am afraid you missed a small crucial detail.” Curtis hummed proudly. 

“And what would that detail be.” Hotch urged. 

“The kind that costs ya Hotchner. Maybe a nicer cell, with a little less security.”

Hotch and Rossi exchanged a look. Could it be worth it? 

Hotch dipped his chin in agreement. Yes, if only for Reid.

“We will see what we can do.” Rossi said slowly.

A smug look crossed Curtis’s face as he leaned back in his chair, satisfied. He looked like the cat that got the cream and the male Agents across from him hated it. “Allow me to let you divine profilers know, that you were wrong and that you might have caught me, but you did not catch my prodigy.” His victorious laugh bounced off the walls, grating the tense room.

“Your prodigy?” Hotch probed, his voice dangerously low, a sign that he would explode if he wasn’t careful.  Rossi gave him a side glance, an attempt to remind Hotch to keep a steady head. 

“Oh yes, it’s a thrill really, knowing that he is still out there, maybe he already has a new victim! But guessing by the fact that you are here, he already took someone, didn't he? Did he leave a calling card?” 

Rossi and Hotchner remained silent and stern faced. 

Curtis cackled, ”He left my calling card didn’t he? Your faces say it all! Oh boy, he really is my best student.”

“Who is he Andrew? We need a name-”

“He finally did it, he got the girl didn’t he?”

“Got who?” Hotch asked. “Curtis is a narcissist, play to that and he will give everything up in no time.” Rossi reminded him before they went into the room.

“Your dear Doctor’s girl! He left hints, but I wasn’t sure that the kid had it in him to be honest, he always seemed too soft.” 

“You sure talk a mean game for someone who doesn’t know what’s going on.”  Hotch growled, knowing this would rouse up Curtis. 

“Oh come now Hotch, don’t play coy with me.” Curtis growled, “He’s got (Y/N), pretty (Y/C/H) haired thing, who if my little brother didn’t care so much for, would have been one of my own victims.”

“This prodigy is your little brother?” Rossi asked, not allowing Curtis to find out if he was right or not. 

“No, not blood related, just someone I took under my wing.” 

The door to the interrogation room opened and a guard popped his head in. “Agent Hotchner, you have an urgent call from an Agent Prentiss?”

“Of course, excuse me.” Hotch said, getting up and making his way out of the room.

He came back less than a minute later. “Agent Rossi, they’ve found a lead.” 

Now it was Rossi’s turn to smirk. “Looks like we won’t be needing you after all Curtis, but do enjoy your current view.” 

Curtis growled and yanked at his chains. 

Rossi rolled his eyes as he got up to leave.

Right as Rossi was about to leave the room, Curtis’s voice piped up, “Nothing brings me more joy than knowing I tricked you, that you profilers failed to figure out that I didn’t work alone. Your devout profiling method was wrong and now my prodigy lives on, achieving his dreams, and ruining you and your doctor in the process.”

Rossi slammed the door shut to block out Curtis’s manic laughter. 

________________________________________________

I was thinking of doing a permanent taglist for all of my fics, if you’d like to become a part of it please let me know!

TAGLIST 

@andiebeaword @haylaansmi @parkastoria @possessedjoker @amronsparty @generaltheoristexpert @sierraraeck @coniumalces @tamedbyafox @anotherr-fine-mess @adoregin @rainsong01 @canyonnmoonn  @mggshoe @boxofsparklingmuses @richardpapensmuse @deanlenaz​ @rainsong01 @goldentournesol @annesauriol @itsametaphorbriansblog @secretpickleprofessordean @shameleswhorehourstm @stepsofthefbi​ @iifloweringnightsii @mggsprettygirl​ @bravegirl221​ @messyhairday-me​ @n1ghtsh4d3-67​ @abbeypaw7​ @findmedontlooseme @hiiwouldlikesomesleepplease @sarcasticsagittarius1998 @ajeff855 @astronomynous

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #anightflowerwrites #anightflower writes #anightflowermasterlist #anightflowers masterlist

[hanniiesuckle17]

Late Nights & Late Wishes

A/n: this was such a cute request and I hope that it is what you wanted!! (not thoroughly edited) feel free to request again bb!

Requested by: @ahnelovesyou​

Tagging: @distrikt9​ @mini-meanhoe​ (if you would like to be added to the general tag list just send an ask, comment, or reblog!)

Word Count: 1.8k 

Warnings: slight cursing? legal drinking, Jisung being a dork

Summary: Jisung and Y/n have been best friends longer than anyone can remember. Both have been silently pining for the other behind closed doors. Is one friend’s stupidity going to release their secrets?

Genre: non-idol!au, romance, fluff, friends to lover!au, best friend!au

✮

Jisung had always been by me. He was sort of like my lighthouse. Guiding me through my darkest times even when I felt as if all hope was long gone. Jisung was my very annoying, very cumbersome lighthouse. 

He had stuck by me all the way back in high school and even when we lived apart during university. Jisung still managed to find a way to always be next to me despite the distance. Even now, when we lived only a few blocks apart, the distance seemed like across the world when my best friend wasn’t next to me.

Jisung had been there for all the breakdowns. All the horrid boyfriends. All the bad jokes and embarrassing moments. Luckily, I had been around for all of his terrible meltdowns, his (still) awful jokes and (frequent) awkward moments, and all the bitchy vexing girlfriends. I was almost certain there was nothing about Jisung I didn’t know and he would be proud to say the same about me.

The light from my laptop illuminated my dark bedroom at the late hour of two o’clock in the morning. My covers were pulled up to my chin and my eyes were laser focused on the drama playing on my screen. My eyes widened seeing the male lead inch closer to the leading lady.

Jeogiyo noona, hokshi namjachingu isseyo?

My phone blasted the cringey song my best friend had featured in as a university underground rapper. I paused the romantic moment the drama leads were having and blindly felt around for my phone.

WOW SHE’S HOT. HOT HOT HOT. WOOOOOW. SHE’S HOT.

The song seemed to get louder the longer it played. Why was he calling me at this ungodly hour? Finally, my fingers fumbled over my phone. “Jisung what the hell do you want? I was sleeping.” I said answering the phone and lying back down, cuddling into my pillow.

“We both know that’s not true.” His deep happy voice chimed through the phone.

Jisung laughed hearing my huff over the receiver. “What do you want, Han? You better be interrupting my dramas for a good reason.” I could hear the smile in his voice. The smile that made my insides feel like warm honey. 

“You’re watching dramas and I’m not there?” He clicked his tongue making me roll my eyes. “Anyway, look outside your window.” I kicked my covers off, legs flailing widely in the air. I stilled and stared at the ceiling. “You do actually have to get out of the bed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Rolling out of bed, my feet padded against the wood floor of my apartment. I pushed the curtains outside and looked down from my bedroom window into the parking lot. My best friend leaned against his red sports car he had spent three years saving for. Seeing me peek out from behind the white shields of fabric he waved, mask pulled down below his chin. His smile lit up the night even more than the street lamp. 

I watched him open the car door and pull out two grocery bags, holding them up with a Chesire grin, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Rooftop?” 

“Jisung-”

“I have alcohol and snac-”

“I’ll meet you up there.”

Jisung burst out laughing. I didn’t need the phone to hear how loud and joyful it was. I hung up the phone when I saw Jisung start towards the stairs. I pulled on some shorts from my closet and quickly let loose my hair from how I had it previously. My hands raked through my hair, tossing it this way and that until it was more presentable. As a last touch, I grabbed some cherry flavored lip gloss and swiped it over my lips before running up to the roof.

A cool breeze whisked over the top of the roof as I pushed open the squeaky door. Jisung was laying out a blanket over the cold concrete. This was not the first time we had met on the roof of my apartment building. It had become like our secret little hideaway from the world. “Hey, you.” 

He turned at the sound of my voice and smiled. His brows furrowed and then his bright laugh rose up into the night. “Are you wearing pants?” He asked pointing at my bare legs. I nodded and lifted up the baggy shirt. In all honesty, it was probably a shirt Jisung had left lying around after borrowing my washer. 

“Even if I wasn’t, you’ve seen me in a swimsuit. Shouldn’t matter.” He reached out for me, pulling my body into his arms. Jisung’s hugs were the best. It felt like his arms were shielding me from all the bad and ugly things the world could possibly throw at us. I always felt happiest in his arms.

“Okay, enough happiness. Let’s drink.” Jisung said pulling away and plopping down on the blanket. His dark hair, almost black, fell in front of his eyes as he reached for the plastic bags. I lounged on the blanket looking up at the stars. 

My ears picked up on the clinking of glass. Turning I saw Jisung pulling out to wine glasses and a bottle of Moscato. “We are drinking wine?” I asked, pushing myself up on my elbows. “What happened to cheap beer and chips?” 

“Come on it’s not that fancy. It was only like twelve bucks.”

I let out an exaggerated gasp, clutching my heart. “Han Jisung you spent more than five dollars on a bottle of alcohol? Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?” He laughed when I clutched onto his jacket, pretending to faint.

I watched his long fingers wrap around the glass and steadily pour the white wine into it. He gently handed the drink to me and I swirled the sweet alcohol in the glass before sipping it. “Good?” He asked, pouring some for himself. I nodded and took another sip, stretching my legs out on the blanket. 

“Are we celebrating something?”

Jisung shook his head and set down the bottle. “Nope. Can’t I spoil my best friend?” I scoffed and leaned on my elbow, looking up at him. “You’re right I never do that.” Instead of giving me another reason Jisung looked up at the stars, a content smile on his face.

If he didn’t want to tell me I would respect that. After a few glasses later we both lay on the blanket looking up at the twinkling night sky. Jisung’s arm cradled my head as we both stared up into the starry skyline. His jacket was wrapped around my shoulders shielding me from the whispering breeze floating across the roof. Quiet murmurs were exchanged between both of us as we marveled at the sky. Stars winking at us from above.

The wine was giving me a very light buzz, keeping me awake. “Oh,” I exclaimed. My eyes trailed a flash of white across the sky. “A shooting star!” I pointed it out to Jisung who started wildly looking for what I had seen. “Quick close your eyes and make a wish!”

Shutting my eyes tight and clasping my hands together I began to wish for a raise at work. I would love to have a little extra money lying around, especially so I could pick up the dinner check every once in a while. MY eyes squeezed themselves shut as if it would help make the wish come true.

“I wish that I could finally get the courage to confess how I feel to my best friend,” Jisung said at lightning speed.

My eyes shot open and I turned to see him looking up at the sky. He watched me sit up from my previous position next to him. Silence hung in the air. Jisung continued to look up at the twinkling sky while I stared at him in disbelief. Did he not realize he said it out loud? My heart seemed to jump out of my chest waiting to see what he would do next. 

A siren screamed into the city from a distance. The sound seemed to awaken my best friend from whatever sort of oblivious trance he was in. His eyes turned to saucers and a dark heat flooded his cheeks. “Uhh....” Jisung slowly sat up.

I pulled the sleeves of his jacket further over my hands, playing with the edges. Jisung watched me warily, clearly aware a very serious talk was about to follow. “Umm...I’m gonna need some more wine for this conversation.” My voice came out breathy and almost a whisper.

Jisung nodded and quickly poured another glass from the bottle of Moscato. I thanked him and downed the glass, wincing at the burn down my throat. “Look we can just like ignore what I said. It doesn’t matter.” He nervously laughed and looked anywhere but me. 

“Jisung,” My hyperactive nervous best friend turned back to me, leaning on one arm. his dark hair fell in front of his eyes. I resisted the urge to fix it. “What did you want to say to me?” 

He sighed and looked down, long fingers playing with the soft fabric of the blanket. “So...I may...be like...in love with you....or whatever.” My heart pounded against my chest so much so I was sure Jisung could hear it. “How do you feel?” He asked shyly looking up at me.

“I may be in love with you too....or whatever,” I said with a timid smile. 

“You know what it’s fine we can forget I ever said anything. I knew you wouldn’t- wait what...” Jisung looked up at me with a precious confused expression, his brows tilting upward and eyes going soft. “You love me? And not like...oh he’s just a brother or a really good friend way?” 

I nodded and he let out a heavy sigh, collapsing back down onto the blanket, hand on his heart. Jisung looked so relieved. I was relieved. We were just two idiots who couldn’t see how the other felt until now. 

After a moment of Jisung calming down from his tiny freakout, he reached for my hand, threading his fingers with mine. “Will you kiss me?” He asked, a cute smile appearing at the corner of his lips.

“Why me?” 

“Cause I still don’t have the courage to do it.” The wine glass in my hand clinked when I set it on the concrete. Jisung watched with expectant eyes as I leaned over, hand finding a place on his cheek. He let out a small sigh when my lips pressed against his. 

Jisung quickly took the lead, tangling a hand in my hair and pulling me down into his chest. His lips danced against mine like we had been doing this for years. He pulled away, eyes still closed before dragging his lips slowly over my own. His thumb ghosted over my waist, dragging up the fabric of my shirt. 

Jisung pulled away and his teeth caught on his bottom lip. “Y/n, are you wearing cherry lip gloss?” My hand came up to my mouth. I had totally forgotten I put it on. He giggled leaning up for another kiss. “It tastes good.” He whispered making my skin tingle.

“You’re such a dork.”

“I’m your dork.”

✮

Requests are open my lovelies! Just send an ask!

If you would like to be added to the general tag list just comment or ask!

Masterlist

#stray kids imagines #stray kids preferences #stray kids reactions #han jisung imagines #han jisung imagine #han jisung oneshot #han jisung smut #han jisung au imagines #han jisung friends to lovers #jisung imagines #jisung imagine #han jisung #stray kids jisung #han imagines #han jisung fluff #stray kids masterlist #stray kids angst #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fake texts #stray kids apocalypse au #stray kids au imagine #stray kids au imagines #stray kids college au #stray kids incorrect quotes #stray kids social media au #stray kids soulmate au #kpop imagines #kpop imagine #rubber ducky you're the one #stray kids friends to lovers

[thewordworrier]

Just Sleep

Gif from this post by Ieroism Word Count: 2,523 words. (Oh look! It’s kinda short!) Category: Fluff. It’s supposed to be... Soft and snuggly? Warnings: None, really? Notes: ~ Title is from “Sleep” by My Chemical Romance.      I hate it when you wanna use a gif and credit properly but Tumblr doesn’t co-operate so you have to find a work around. Ugh. Hopefully this work around is acceptable. I mean, the credit is there and everything, so... Fingers crossed?      Anyway.      A little thing that wouldn’t really leave me alone until it was written, so here you go. It’s not quite what I thought it would be, but, the beats I missed will probably sneak into something else my brain nags me to write.       When I reblogged the above post, I added some tags to it: #no seriously - in college during lunch breaks my friends would regularly rest on me/my shoulders #I'm comfy apparently      All true. I used to end up with a friend resting on each shoulder during our free periods or breaks. I was very much the ‘mum/mom friend’ - affectionate, caring, cuddly and comfortable. Generally just a... Safe? person. Plus, there’s nothing... Nicer than feeling so comfortable with someone that you don’t mind sleeping around them.

- - - - - - - - - - “Oi.” Frank chucked the plastic bottle cap at their singer. “Get with it.” “Sorry,” Gerard mumbled, rubbing the side of his face. “Stay awake will you? Can’t perform with you asleep on your feet.” “Maybe you should head back and try and grab a nap,” Ray suggested. “We can practise without you, and you can feel more human.” “No, I should stay,” he tried to protest. “Don’t make us call the blonde,” Mikey looked up from tweaking the strings of his bass. “Not sure if that’s a threat or an incentive,” Frank grinned at the taller of the brothers, who just rolled his eyes. “Dude, she is the best sleep aid.” “Are you saying she’s boring?” Ray asked. Frank snorted. “No, anything but. She just knows all these little tips and tricks to send you to sleep in an instant.” Gerard tried to hide a yawn, only to be caught by Ray. “Back to the rooms, sleep, now.” Gerard knew better than to argue with Ray. He sighed, grabbed his bag and slunk back to where they were staying - a nearby cheap motel. But still, it was better than the bus for the most part. When he got to the room he was sharing with one of the others; they tended to rotate so he could be sharing with any of them that night, he patted his pockets for the key before looking in his bag. When he couldn’t find it, he sent a text to Ray to see if he’d left his key behind. While he waited for a response, he leant against the door to watch the world go by. It started to rain and he found himself grateful for the covering he was standing under. The rain got heavier as he received a reply. “I think so; I think Mikey has it. Just go and see the blonde until we get back.” He sighed, pocketed his phone and moved another room down, knocking on the door and waiting. He didn’t have to wait long, about a minute later the door opened and their tiny tour manager appeared on the other side. She smiled at him and stood aside to let him in, closing and locking the door behind him. “You don’t look surprised to see me,” Gerard said quietly. “Nope. I got a warning text,” Shelly wrapped her cardigan around her body a little tighter and tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “From Ray?” He watched her nod. “So you know why I’ve been sent back here?” “I do,” she took his bag from him and put it on one of the chairs. “I feel like I’ve been set up,” he grumbled, letting her take his jacket off. “Yeah,” she hung his jacket up and ‘helped’ him out of the suit jacket he had on underneath. “Yeah honey, you probably were. I mean,” she smiled a little at the unicorn pin before hanging that jacket up too. “I think one of the others stole your room key.” Gerard groaned. “I’m going to kill someone.” The blonde tutted at him before shushing him gently, nudging him over to the bed. “Now now, you don’t mean that. You’re just tired.” He just grumbled to himself and sat down on the edge of the bed heavily. His grumbling got a little quieter when she stood in front of him and started running her fingers carefully through his hair. “That’s right,” her voice was low and smooth; a gentle tone she often used with him when they were alone together. “You grumble away to yourself. You know I’m right.” “I’m not sayin’ anything.” “You’re not sleeping honey?” Shelly asked, moving away for just a moment to grab a comb from her nightstand, resuming her position afterwards. Gerard leant forward and rested his forehead against her stomach, letting out a sigh when she started combing his hair instead of running her fingers through it. “No,” he mumbled. “How long?” “A couple of days.” “You haven’t slept at all or you haven��t slept enough?” Shelly stepped back, leant down and lifted his chin so she could look at his face. Gerard held her gaze for less than a minute before looking away. “Not enough I think.” “You haven’t been sleeping when we’ve been travelling either,” she said quietly, using her other hand to brush his hair out of his face. “Have you?” He shook his head gently, as best as he could with her still holding his chin. “No.” “Hmn,” she let his face go and studied him again for a moment, watching him fiddle with the hem of his t-shirt. “Alright. Shoes off. Nap time.” Gerard grumbled, but ultimately did as he was told. Shelly watched him for a moment before going to close the curtains and put one of the lamps on. “Anyone would think from all of your grumbling that you don’t wanna sleep with me Gerard,” she looked up from rearranging the pillows on her bed in time to see him blush and try and hide behind his hair. She giggled. “Oh, sweetie, it’s not like this is our first time.” “I wish you wouldn’t word it like that,” he muttered as he took his belt off, putting it on the floor with his shoes. “Oh, psh.” She shrugged off her cardigan, spread it over the pillows and settled herself on the not-awful motel bed. “It makes you blush, and you’re just so pretty when you blush.” “You’re very mean to me sometimes,” he grumbled, making his way up the bed to sit next to her, rubbing the outer corner of his eye again. “Yeah, I’m totally wicked. I’m the absolute worst,” Shelly giggled and grabbed at one of the blankets on the bed. “Do you wanna talk for a little bit first, or do you just want to nap?” Gerard carefully settled next to her, cautiously putting his head against her shoulder and collarbone area, feeling her arm settle around his waist as he wedged his body up against the side of hers. “I’m not sure,” he said, making sure that he was comfortable and then helping her cover them both up with the blanket that he knew was her own. To be honest, the familiarity of the blanket just added to the comfort levels. “Alright,” Shelly shifted, resting one hand on her stomach. “Well, you know I’m here to listen if you wanna talk about anything.” Gerard made a noise, just to let her know that he’d heard her. Slowly, his hand made its way up to hold the one that was on her stomach. She smiled into his hair when he held her hand, and she dragged the fingers of her other hand up his cotton covered spine until she could gently tug at the ends of his hair. He grumbled against the thicker strap of her tank top and she giggled quietly. “I know,” he mumbled, feeling her move her fingers up to start stroking his hair, instead of gently pulling the ends. Not that she’d been pulling his hair enough to hurt; it had been enough for him to know that she was doing it but it didn’t hurt. “You’re always there for me. For us.” “That’s my job honey,” she nuzzled into the hair on the top of his head, stroking his hair. “Yeah, maybe,” he glanced up at her and smiled when she ended up nuzzling his forehead instead of the top of his head. “But I don’t think your job description really involves this level of um…” “Intimacy?” He nodded, hoping that he wasn’t blushing too much. “Um, I guess that, yeah.” “Do you have any idea why you’re not sleeping?” She asked him after a moment. “Are you having nightmares?” “No, I don’t think so.” He frowned. “At least, if I am, I’m not remembering them.” “That’s a good thing, being unable to remember them,” Shelly nodded once and brushed his hair off of his face, out of his eyes. “Hmm… Are you getting too cold maybe? Too warm?” Gerard thought about this before shaking his head. “No. Well. I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.” “Okay.” She thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure… We’ll figure it out though.” “I hope so,” he mumbled. “I really hope so.” “Oh honey,” Shelly said quietly. “We will. You can’t go on like this; you need your sleep sweetheart.” “I believe you,” Gerard hummed and nodded. “I’ll feel better if I know you’re helping.” Shelly nodded and hummed softly to him as he rested his head against her again. He stayed silent as she stroked his hair, listening to her humming to him. He was grateful that he was so close, because the rain outside was getting heavier and louder. If he had been further away, it would’ve drowned out her humming. Plus, being this close meant that he could feel her humming as well as hear it. Part of him hoped that maybe she might forget herself and start singing a little. He’d caught her singing to herself once or twice before - but she was always just so aware that if she even thought that someone was breathing in her direction, she’d just stop. He had to be sneaky to hear her singing softly to herself. “Frank reckons you’re the best sleep aid,” he said after another few minutes. “Hm? He does, does he?” Gerard nodded against her and paused for a moment before speaking again, in a soft and very quiet voice. “How does he know that?” “I gave him some advice,” she said softly. “And maybe a little bit of a cuddle.” “Hmmm.” Shelly glanced down at the singer who had shuffled up against her just that little bit more. “We didn’t snuggle like this though; we just had a little cuddle.” Gerard repeated the same noise he’d made previously and gripped her hand a little tighter, which Shelly noticed. She giggled. “Oh, Gerard, honey, are you a little bit jealous?” “No.” She could hear the small pout in his voice, in his too-quick answer, and it made her smile. “I think you might be,” she whispered, a smile taking up residence on her face. “I think you might be a little bit jealous that I’ve been cuddling with Frank.” Gerard grumbled, let go of her hand and snuck his arm around her waist, gripping onto her and holding her a bit tighter. “You’ve been sleep cheating on me.” Shelly laughed and he felt her body shake a little as she did so. This just made him nestle closer, in an almost possessive fashion, which she noticed and couldn’t find it in herself to mind about too much. “Oh, darling, hardly. Especially if you haven’t been sleeping.” He grumbled again and she giggled some more before humming and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Gerard, sugar,” she murmured. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I promise.” “No?” He glanced up at her again. She shook her head before going back to resting her cheek against the top of his head. She felt him nestle against her and she hummed for a moment, listening to the rain as she considered her answer. “Of course you don’t. Frankie sleeps better than you do. He doesn’t need this,” she gestured to them with the hand that he’d been previously holding. “Like you do.” “Hmmm…” “Besides,” she adopted a stage whisper. “You know you’re my favourite.” Gerard perked up a little at that, lifting his head to look at her. He must’ve had some kind of look on his face because she giggled softly and cupped his cheek with her free hand, the other still lightly tangled in his hair. She gently squeezed his cheek and smiled. “No need to look so wide eyed sweetheart,” Shelly said softly. “This shouldn’t be a surprise to you. You know you’re my favourite. You’re my best cuddle buddy.” He went a little pink and buried his face against her, getting a combination of skin and shirt against his face. “My best cuddle buddy and my favourite snuggler,” she kissed the top of his head again. “My favourite bed mate.” He hummed happily and she felt it against her neck. “Do you feel better?” Shelly asked him quietly, going back to running her fingers through his hair gently. “A little less jealous?” “I wasn’t jealous,” he muttered against her. “Yeah, yeah baby, sure,” she nuzzled into his hair and almost ‘purred’. “You’ve been using that conditioner, haven’t you? Your hair feels nicer. Softer.” “Yeah, I have. You suggested it, so I started doing it.” He shifted his position, moving a little bit lower and burying his face against her skin, sniffing a little. “You smell nice.” “Probably the remnants of the perfume I put on every day, a little sweat and maybe, if you’re really lucky, the tiniest leftovers of my shower stuff,” she kept running her fingers through his hair, slowly and gently, knowing the it would relax and soothe him - this was most certainly not the first time they’d done this. “Not sure what you smell like,” he continued quietly, feeling her pull the blanket back up to his shoulder. “Can’t pinpoint the flavours - ” “Scents,” she correctly gently and kindly. “Flavours implies that you can eat my bath products, and I wouldn’t recommend that.” Gerard chuckled against her. “Scents then.” “Better,” she whispered, cuddling him tighter. “I can’t pinpoint the scents,” he repeated. “I just know that you smell good.” Shelly chuckled and her breath tickled the top of his head. “Thank you.” “I think that’s why I like cuddling up with you so much,” he mumbled, starting to sound sleepier. “Because you always smell so good. You always smell so…” He yawned a little bit and Shelly felt it rush down her top. It tickled and she laughed softly. “Warm,” he continued. “Comforting. And you’re always so comfortable, and soft. And warm.” She giggled at his repetition and sleepiness. He snuggled a little closer, managing to rest his ear over her chest in a way that he thought he could hear, or maybe even feel, her heartbeat better than he had before. The blonde heard him make a noise that sounded… Pleased, after he had shifted a fraction. She wasn’t quite sure why he seemed so pleased but she wasn’t going to argue with it in the slightest. “And your hugs are so tight… Secure, even. Comforting. Again.” Shelly kissed his forehead, still slowly stroking his hair. She felt him grip the fabric of her shirt that was almost resting over her hip, as he nestled into her curves. She knew by him doing that particular action, that he was definitely getting more drowsy now. He hummed happily at her attention and affection before he continued speaking. “You make me feel…” Gerard murmured. “Like, everything’s going to be okay. Like nothing can touch me here.” “Oh, honey,” she covered him up a bit better and cuddled him closer. “That’s because everything is going to be okay, sweetheart. I’m going to make it so.” “You make me feel safe, Shell.”

#She Speaks #She Writes #my writing #fanfic #October 2021

[sebbybooks]

Never Mine

Sebastian Stan x Fanfiction

Part One

"With my dog as my witness, to whoever was riding my ass if they didn't back off my bumper I was going to stop in the middle of the road and rip their windshield wipers completely off!"

That type of anger coiled around me like a snake, because there was nothing that bugged me more than someone driving bumper to bumper. The long and exasperated breath I just released helped ease the tension out of my body temporarily. Just in time for reason to settle in. Though in reality it wasn't like I was actually going to jump out of my car and confront this road demon. Who clearly needed to take a course on etiquettes of the road. What I did know was that whoever was behind the wheel of the car had headlights that were so blinding I am sure extraterrestrials in space could spot them.

Trying to find the calm in the situation I focused on the road ahead of me. What little road I could see for that matter. Which wasn't exactly much. I had checked the forecast earlier in the day with the report of it showing that there was to be only clear and blue skies. By the amount of downpour before me you would think there was a tear in the sky if that was how rain fell. I just needed to hang tight for a few more miles until I reached my exit to stop for the night.

I had been driving for nine consecutive hours and it wasn't until the third hour I realized I was not cut out for long distance driving. The plane ticket I turned down from my father was starting to look like a missed opportunity. I opted out for Cooper's sake. I just rescued the little guy a few short weeks ago and I didn't have the heart to leave him alone so soon.

Despite having only six more hours of this painful drive I needed out of my car. A hot shower and a bed was calling my name like a siren's call was to a dazed sailor at sea. I was fervidly drawn to it. Granted, I wasn't exactly going the speed limit in my own defense. Simply because I chose to be a cautious driver not a careless one unlike the dip shit behind me. Cooper and I were going to get to Sonoma, California in one piece if I had anything to do with it! I had no intention to speed in the rain even if it annoyed the person behind me. After all I was driving down a one lane road there was literally nothing else I could do but drive forward.

Taking a glance up at my trusty Garmin my gps projected that at this rate I wouldn't make it to my hotel for another hour and a half. Ahead of me the sky was starting to look like a terrifying shade of gray and to top it off the dismal weather was becoming more and more hard to drive in. I could barely see the paint on the pavement. My defrosters seemed to have given up on me as I began to notice that my rearview mirror fogged up as though it was twilight hour.

I needed to pull over to try to wait out the heavy rainfall. The only problem was that I did not know where I was nor could I see where the road even had an end. The cheap gas station coffee was starting to wear off and the pep talks could no longer motivate me. The words of encouragement quickly transitioned into self deprecating quips of "I can not fucking do this!"

I was too far from home to turn back now and hearing a lecture from my dad despite being well beyond the ages of even receiving one, certainly would not stop him from scolding at my absence. I am more than certain that fiancée number three would not mind if I missed their prenuptial celebration. Especially if arriving on time meant I would be showing up dismembered. It was official I was going to die in this storm.

All of sudden like I called upon a bad omen my tiny Kia Forte jerked forward. I thought I accidentally stomped on the gas pedal too hard without realizing it. When it happened again I knew exactly what it was. Clearly the driver had mistaken this for a game of bumper cars. I laid the palm of my hand on the center of my steering wheel and relentlessly pressed my horn. Not sure what that was going to necessarily ward off , but I had to try something in the efforts that they would leave me alone.

Cooper's head shot up from his bed in the backseat. He looked just as displeased and annoyed as I felt. Why wouldn't they slow down? Is the question I could not figure out. I don't know if it was all the Stephen King that I read, but my paranoia was increasing as I started to settle on the possibility that they were now following me.

Maybe I was tired?

Maybe my imagination truly was getting the best of me?

Or maybe whoever that person was also suddenly decided to take the same random exit as I was taking.

I didn't think. I veered my car off to the right and got on the first breakaway from this seemingly endless road. I had no idea where I was headed at this point and neither did my Garmin. It made multiple attempts to reroute itself, but even that could not locate where I was. I took an unexpected detour by driving off into the middle of nowhere with a now stalker in my midsts.

Adrenaline now filling up my bloodstream. I gave my steering wheel the death grip and drove as fast as the tire tracks of my car would guide me. On a midsize billboard to my left I saw a logo for a gas station and a non franchised bed & breakfast saying it was right up the road. I was taking a chance by trusting that the establishment was clean and safe. I just needed to go where a crowd of people would be. The battery on my phone was likely dead and yes this was now becoming the opening sequence for a King novel. I'd laugh if my heart wasn't fluttering as fast a hummingbird's wing.

I managed to make out lights ahead as I neared the petrol station first. However, it just about looked abandoned. The dim white lights flickered around the desolate parking lot. I saw only two freight trucks parked side by side and I immediately thought

. . .hell no.

I kept driving forward in the hopes that the bed and breakfast sign wasn't last updated in the early nineties. I nearly combusted from relief when I finally saw it. Several cars and mini vans lined up with people inside of them probably doing the same thing that I was. I didn't plan on staying the night I just planned on staying long enough to hide out from the rain and from the trouble that still followed my trails.

Luckily there were free parking spaces close to the entrance. It was still hard to make out what the place truly looked like. From my view in the car the rain made it look like it was a melting oil painting. In a swift motion I put my car in park, turned my ignition off, reached in the back to grab Cooper and grabbed ahold of my purse in the other arm. I bolted out of my car for the door.

It felt as though I was running through a hurricane. I was completely drenched. I could barely keep my eyes from closing as I ran up the slippery steps in my worn Toms praying that I wouldn't eat concrete. There was an awning over the door that offered relief from the storm's cruel embrace . Looking down at the fuzzy brown welcome mat I noticed a quote was scribbled out on it.

"some beautiful paths

can't be discovered without getting lost."

As I reached for the doorknob I couldn't help but notice the intricate design. I'm aware of how wrong the timing was to fawn over something so utterly mundane. I just could not conceal the fact that I was a sucker for antiques roadshow and architectural designing. Growing up with a dad that built and reconstructed vintage furniture one might pick up on the interest. It was a white privacy doorknob with hand painted roses, with a Victorian long plated silver keyhole. The sound of distant car door slamming snapped me out of my daze. I turned my head in the direction of the sound low and behold it was that same car. Crazy thing is I didn't see anyone by it.

Instinct guided me forward considering my brain was scrambling with worry. I ushered myself inside and it was as though I fell into a pink wonderland. From the pink carpet to the multicolored pink pinstripe wallpaper. Hot pink roses seemed to have been the main theme for the lobby. There were various black and silver picture frames with photos of pink roses hanging on every wall. On every surface my eyes could catch, red and pink plastic roses sat in circular olive green vases. It was certainly....something. I thought I was doing the most logical thing by coming inside, but it quickly dawned on me that I saw no one around.

"Hello?" I cautiously called out.

I paced myself as I walked up to the front desk, simultaneously looking around for any potential red flags. My right arm was going numb, my little guy was tiny but felt like I was lugging around a sack of potatoes. I wandered away from the desk to poke my head around the place. There was a entry way that led to a dinning area with a handful of seats adorned with of course pink table settings. I was standing next to a spiral staircase to what I assumed led to the rooms. There was only one door that held a sign for a bathroom. Perhaps there was a power outlet I could use long enough to charge my phone to call my dad.

The same door I walked in swung open and droplets of rain was blown in by the wind. A shiver rolled down my spine, sending a myriad of sparks that shot through my body. Turning around a strange sensation filled the pits of my stomach. It felt like butterflies and moths had taken up space there. Excitement and fear. I just stood completely mute like I had never seen a man before. Well to my defense I hadn't seen ones that look like him in my town. Without even seeing my reflection I had an inkling as to the state of my appearance. I was utterly perplexed by how he pulled off the kissed by an ocean look. To embarrass myself further of course my dog chose that moment to shake water off of his fur on to me.

"Really Coop?" I tried to hide my disgust, but he got it around the corner of my mouth! The good looking stranger offered a half smile that probably pitied my overall state.

"Is the black Kia parked out yours?" Even his voiced oozed sex appeal. He angled his frame so he could face me. There was about an arm length of distance between us. His eyes practically bore into my face I suppose waiting for me to say something. Must have been the buzzcut, the facial scuff, or the fact that some creep was still parked outside waiting to do who knows what. But my thoughts were not where they should have been.

I blinked and straightened up my posture. "Yeah why?" I finally answered.

It was a causal question, yet it felt completely random like there was something else to it.Neither of us spoke for a few seconds.The silence was so thick it would take a hacksaw to cut through.

"Well I'll be damned! I didn't think I would get to see you until after you got back from your trip in California." A woman most likely in her late sixties came rushing down the stairs for him. She draped her arms around his body clearly taking him by surprise. Her cotton candy colored pink bouffant made up for most of her height. Sebastian returned her embrace. Although it looked extremely awkward considering he stared at me the whole time and I stood there watching.

"Moe's old truck didn't give you too much trouble did it?" She asked.

"No it still got some life left in it." Sebastian's jaw went slack and he looked from her to me once more. Only this time he was looking at me with a cold glare. Realization suddenly crashed into me like a wild horse.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan fic #sebastian stan fandom #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian oneshot #Sebastian Stan #sebby stan #bucky barnes imagine #sebby Barnes #sebastian stan fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bucky fandom #bucky barnes fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #sebbytrash #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan story #sebastian stan marvel #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fluff #sebastian stan smut #bucky barnes

[writerofthecourt]

bento boxes, from me to you

pairing: miya osamu x reader

summary: osamu receives a bento box from you. it’s too bad you can’t cook to save your life

warning: some swearing

a/n: i just wanted an excuse to write about food. also, writing out kansai-ben is so hard. how do other people do this??

Osamu loved food.

Of all the things in this world, food was probably one of Osamu’s top priority, triumphing even over his own twin brother. Then again, there were plenty of things in this world that Osamu loved more than Atsumu, but that was a conversation for another day. In any case, Osamu really loved food, whether it be cheap convenience store egg sandwiches, hearty tonkatsu ramen, or his mom’s home cooked meals. He had no particular preference when it came to food. To Osamu, all food was delicious and should be appreciated equally.

So imagine his surprise when he had entered his classroom from early morning practice, only to find a sizable bento box sitting on top of his desk, daintily wrapped in a simple blue cloth. Suna, who was also in his class, walked in following Osamu and raised a curious eyebrow at the box in question.

Now, Osamu was no stranger to receiving gifts from fans, it came with the territory of being a starting lineup member on a nationally recognized volleyball team. Nevertheless, he still made it a habit to never accept gifts in the form of food. Inarizaki fans could be a bit enthusiastic, and he didn’t want to set a precedent. One bento box today could mean eight bento boxes tomorrow, and he didn’t want to waste all of that food.

However, his wariness soon transformed into amusement and delight once he saw the little note and familiar handwriting peeking out from underneath the bento box. Grabbing it, Osamu read your note.

‘samu, 

you need more than just yakisoba bread for lunch! good luck with practice this afternoon, i’ll be cheering you on

-love, [y/n]

p.s. there’s enough for ‘tsumu and suna if they want. sharing is caring

Osamu fondly smiled at your note. He couldn’t wait for lunch.

When lunchtime finally rolled around, Osamu was beyond excited to uncover what kind of culinary concoction you had cooked up for him. Although he was more than capable of cooking himself a proper lunch, volleyball practice usually left him too sore and exhausted to put his culinary skills to use. His parents were also too busy with work, often leaving him and Asumu with some money to buy lunch before heading off to their respective workplaces.

Therefore, to have a home cooked meal for lunch after so long, excitement didn’t even begin to describe what Osamu was feeling at that moment. While his face remained neutral, the anticipation that radiated off of the grey haired Miya was evident enough for Suna to give him a weird look as he pulled up a seat next to Osamu’s desk.

“Hey,” Atsumu greeted as he entered the partially busy classroom and situated himself on the chair of the unoccupied desk in front of Osamu. “The hell’s that?”

“I think [Y/N] made him a bento box,” Suna explained as he unwrapped his own bento box. After a quiet prayer of thanks, Suna dug into his lunch and contently ate away at his humble meal of rice, seasoned vegetables, and grilled salmon.

“Ugh, couples,” Atsumu groaned, tearing open the plastic packaging of his store bought katsu sandwich.

Rolling his eyes at his twin’s behaviour, Osamu offered up a quick prayer of thanks as well before he unwrapped and opened his bento box. What he was greeted with was truly…something.

Noticing Osamu’s blank stare, Atsumu and Suna looked down at Osamu’s lunch before the blond Miya burst out into a deafening guffaw that made the other students of the classroom glance at the trio with strange looks.

The bento box, while containing the usual rice, vegetables, and proteins, also shamelessly gave away tell-tale signs that you weren’t exactly skilled in the kitchen. The carrots and cucumbers were sliced hilariously uneven, the tamagoyaki looked like a misshapen lump of egg, and the poor, poor octopus sausages. Yet the greatest offender would have to be the nori decorated illustration you had tried to top the rice with. Was that supposed to be him?

“Oh my god, i-it’s ‘Samu!” Atsumu wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “I-I always knew ya were ugly, but I-I didn’t think [Y/N] would actually agree with me!”

“We have the same face, dumbass,” Osamu retorted with a scowl.

Atsumu continued to laugh away, clutching his chair for support while Osamu glared daggers into his brother’s face. Suna, on the other hand, simply whipped out his phone and snapped a not-so-stealthy picture of Osamu’s lunch. He stared at it for a bit before grimacing.

“Yikes,” Suna whispered as he expertly tapped away at his phone before returning it to his pocket and resuming his lunch.

Osamu scoffed at Atsumu and Suna’s antics. Surely, it tasted better than it looked. Gathering a little bit of everything, Osamu shoved the ball of food into his mouth and immediately regretted it. The rice was overly mushy, the tamagoyaki was too sweet, the sausages were burnt, and the vegetables had a bitter, medicinal taste to them. Simply put, everything was terrible.

Shooting up from his desk, Osamu immediately charged out of the classroom, looking pale and sweaty, with a hand over his mouth to prevent his food from making a reappearance.

Watching Osamu leave, Atsumu and Suna looked at each other in horror before glancing back at the supposedly innocent bento box. They then proceeded to back away from it as if it was now emanating some sort of dark and menacing aura.

“…I’ll give you ¥500 if you eat a piece of the tamagoyaki,” Suna challenged.

“Bet!”

Atsumu quickly followed after his brother.

As the school bell rang, signalling the end of the day, Osamu slowly packed up his things, being careful not to make any sudden movements that would further upset his stomach. Despite everything Osamu had gone through, he still managed to somehow finish off your bento box, not wanting to let your hard work go to waste.

Practice was in thirty minutes, and Atsumu stood outside of the classroom door, yelling at his brother and Suna to hurry it up so that they wouldn’t be late.

“Ya look like shit,” Atsumu remarked once Osamu and Suna exited the classroom.

I feel like shit, Osamu thought, clutching his stomach as it let out an upset rumble.

Before he could even respond, a sweet voice from down the hall redirected his attention.

“‘Samu!” you called out as you reached the three volleyball players. “And ‘Tsumu and Suna, of course.”

Osamu smiled as you wrapped your arms around his waist and beamed up at him. He greeted you back before placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“Whipped!” Atsumu mocked as Suna, who stood beside him, made a whipping motion with his hand.

“Yer just mad that ya can’t make any lasting relationships and that yer last girlfriend broke up with ya for a co-worker,” Osamu shot back immediately, not missing a beat.

Atsumu stared at his brother in shock, failing to say anything in retort. With an angry huff, he marched towards the direction of the gym, calling for Suna to follow after him. Suna simply rolled his eyes before nodding goodbye to you and Osamu as he headed off to catch up with Atsumu.

You waved Suna farewell before leaning against your boyfriend as he led you to a less populated section of the hallway.

“So,” you began eagerly. “Did’ja like the bento box I made ya?”

“Yeah,” Osamu flawlessly lied, no longer looking at your face as the guilt consumed him. Reaching into his bag, he held out the bento box for you to take, all neatly wrapped up in its signature blue cloth once again.

“That’s great!” you beamed while taking the bento box from him. “I stayed up all night making sure that it was perfect. I wasn’t sure about the seasoning, but I’m glad it turned out well!”

As you animatedly chattered away about all of the steps that you had gone through in order to make his lunch, Osamu couldn’t help but notice the several bandages covering your fingers.

“What happened to yer fingers?” Osamu asked, his voice laced with concern. He took a hold of your hand, running his thumb across the smooth texture of one of the many bandages.

“Oh,” your face began to heat up with embarrassment, “I-I kinda cut myself while cooking, but it’s okay! Yer worth it, ‘Samu.”

“What d’ya mean by that?” he asked, confused by your last statement.

“Well, yer always hard at work with volleyball,” you explained with a proud look on your face. “Tournaments are coming up soon, and I know that practice will only get tougher from here on out! I just wanted to help ya in any way that I could. A growing athlete needs a proper meal, so…”

Smiling shyly to yourself, you no longer looked at Osamu, choosing instead to stare off to the side in embarrassment at your own confession. Osamu couldn’t help but feel his heart palpitating in his chest. All this effort, all those cuts, they were all for him because you loved and cared for him.

“[Y/N],” Osamu whispered, leaning down to wrap his arms around your frame.

Stop it, he told himself. Tell her the truth.

Digging his face into your neck, Osamu placed a soft kiss on the exposed landscape of your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “Thank ya. I’d be more than happy if ya kept cooking for me, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Shaking your head, you brought up a hand to run your fingers through Osamu’s soft locks. “Not at all! I’d be happy to!”

Osamu smiled. “I’m glad.”

He was so fucked.

As the week went on, your bento boxes became a permanent fixture in Osamu’s life, greeting him every morning as he entered the classroom, its soft, blue cloth taunting him and mocking him as he pushed himself to eat every single one of your meals. Atsumu called him crazy for putting himself into this situation, while Suna took some sort of sadistic pleasure in recording his struggles with your cooking.

“Just tell [Y/N] the truth!” Atsumu told him one time during practice when Osamu had to sit out due to severe stomachaches.

How was he supposed to do that? How could he tell you the truth after nearly a week of putting on this lie? Besides, every time he tried to work up the courage to tell you the truth, you would just smile at him as he handed back the empty bento box, giggling in pure happiness when he told you that he had eaten everything because your cooking was so good. Every time he saw how accomplished and happy you looked, he felt his resolve crumble.

He was weak, he knew that, but he wasn’t going to admit it to Atsumu of all people. At least he couldn’t die from eating your food…right?

“Yer gonna die if ya keep eating [Y/N]’s food,” Atsumu proclaimed as he, Osamu, and Suna made their way towards the gym for practice. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind, but ma and pa would be bawling their eyes out.”

“Shuddup, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu snapped back. This situation was already causing him enough physical and emotional stress as it was, and he didn’t need his obnoxious twin brother to make it worse.

“I’m just sayin’,” Atsumu said, raising his hands up in mock surrender. “I mean, it’s kinda impressive with how much ya been puking lately.”

“Listen, I know her food’s bad, but what am I supposed to do about it?” Osamu angrily asked as the three of them reached the entrance of the gym.

Atsumu paused for a moment, bringing a hand to his chin to contemplate as if he actually had a brain up there in his head. “Hmm, tell her the truth? Ya could try that.”

“I’m not gonna do that-”

“Uh, guys,” Suna interrupted, pointing to a familiar figure behind them. There you stood with a large tupperware filled to the top with poorly shapened onigiri balls, all made the previous night and meant to be shared with the Inarizaki volleyball club.

Tears rolled down your face, indicating that you had heard their conversation. Without a word, you ran back into the school, leaving a shocked Osamu behind.

“[Y/N], wait!” Osamu called out as he took off after you.

“Oi, ‘Samu! What about practice—and he’s gone…”

An awkward silence soon enveloped the air before Suna spoke up. “…¥1,000 says that they break up today.”

“Not now, Suna.”

As Osamu chased you through the empty school halls, he had never been more grateful for all his years of volleyball, as his superior height and stamina allowed him to easily keep up with you and eventually catch you.

“[Y/N]!” Osamu shouted as he managed to grasp your shoulder, pinning you against the wall in some remote corner of the staircase.

“Let me go, ‘Samu!” you seethed, trying to push him away. It was a difficult task considering he was basically a wall of lean muscle. “I don’t wanna talk right now!”

“No, please! Just listen to me,” Osamu desperately tried to explain. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want to hurt yer feelings after ya had worked so hard on those bento boxes-”

“I’m not upset about the bento boxes!” you snapped harshly. “Sure, I’m a little upset about that, but I’m a lot more upset with the fact that you didn’t seem to trust me enough to tell me the truth!”

Osamu quickly shut his mouth after that.

“I-I thought this relationship was built on trust and communication,” you continued wobbly, a new wave of tears falling from your eyes. “Did’ja really think that I’m not mature enough to handle some criticism? Like you needed to lie in order to keep me happy? D-did’ja really have no faith in me?”

Processing your words, Osamu came to the realization that you were right. Did he have no faith in you? Of course not, Osamu thought the world of you. You were always the mature one in the relationship, always finding out ways to calm him down after a fight with Atsumu or cheering him back up when the pressures of school and volleyball weighed heavily on his mind. At that moment, Osamu knew he was wrong.

“[Y/N], I-I’m sorry. Yer right,” he admitted as the shame and guilt began to creep up on him. He looked at your tear-stained face and gave you a sombre smile before wiping your cheeks clean. “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.”

“No, yer not a shitty boyfriend,” you said as you hugged him, finally calming down after your emotional outburst. “Ya were just trying to protect my feelings…”

“Yeah, but I went about it the wrong way. I shoulda just told ya from the beginning. I’m sorry.”

You sighed as you buried yourself deeper into Osamu’s chest, his warmth and scent calming you down further. “I accept yer apology. No more lies, okay?”

“Yeah,” Osamu agreed softly before cupping your face to capture your lips in a tender kiss. As you melted into the kiss, you brought up a hand to tangle in your boyfriend’s hair. After the two of you separated, you both chuckled at each other’s dazed and out of breath state.

“If yer free this Sunday, why don’t I come over to yer house and teach ya how to cook,” Osamu suggested as he rubbed the skin underneath your pretty eyes.

“Isn’t that yer free day? Don’t ya wanna rest?” you asked him seriously.

“It’s fine. Cooking’s fun, and it’ll be even more fun with ya there. Besides,” Osamu grinned, remembering your words from a week ago, “yer worth it, [Y/N].”

You smiled, knowing exactly what he was referencing. “It’s a date then!”

The following week, Suna and Atsumu gathered around Osamu’s desk as per their usual lunchtime routine. The two of them warily glanced at Osamu as the grey haired Miya brought out an all too familiar bento box wrapped in a blue cloth.

Saying a quick prayer of thanks, Osamu unwrapped his bento box and began to eat away at his meal of rice, salad, and crispy karaage chicken. Atsumu and Suna stared in shock as Osamu devoured his lunch with a pleased smile and delighted hum.

“Uhhh, are ya seeing this shit, Suna?” Atsumu whispered to the middle blocker in bewilderment.

“Maybe he’s built up a resistance to it,” Suna reasoned, continuing to cast Osamu a strange look.

Sneaking a peek at Osamu’s lunch, Atsumu and Suna’s eyes widened at the delicious and aesthetic display of food: fluffy white rice, crisp and crunchy vegetables sliced up in perfect uniformity, and perfectly fried karaage chicken shining with sauce.

“O-oi, ‘Samu, let me have a bite,” Atsumu demanded, feeling his mouth water at the enticing sight and smell of the food.

“What the hell? No,” Osamu answered back, pulling the bento box away from Atsumu’s immediate range. “[Y/N] made this for me.”

“Don’t be greedy, ya stingy bastard,” Atsumu snapped, lunging out of his seat to make a grab for the bento box.

A fight soon broke out between the two Miya brothers as the other students around them all sighed and shook their heads in amusement. Just another day at Inarizaki High.

Meanwhile, Suna, who had remained in his seat, silently pulled out his phone and began to record Osamu shoving Atsumu’s face away with his elbow, keeping his precious bento box out of the blond’s reach.

“WorldStar,” Suna whispered as he zoomed in on Atsumu tripping over some desks in a desperate attempt to grab the bento box.

Just another day at Inarizaki High indeed.

fun fact: atsumu never got his money from suna, and kita made osamu run five laps around the school when he finally showed up for practice

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu reader insert #miya osamu #miya atsumu #suna rintarou

[plush-anon]

You worked at joanns? 😍 dream job

In all fairness, a large part (and I do mean a LARGE part) of why I enjoyed working at Joanns were the managers.

The store manager was a guy named Richard, one of maybe two or three men who worked there total, and this man was practically a saint as far as retail goes.

This was a man who would, with no hesitation, get on the floor to help customers, or hop on the registers to check customers' purchases out, or pop on to the cutting counter to cut fabric. He remembered the names of regulars, would chat and smile while getting shit done, and was the type of guy to speak slowly and softly when we had shitstains explode at us measly peons for not giving them the full cost of an item back in a return (ex $200) when they used a coupon to purchase an item to begin with and only paid a portion of the cost (ex. $150). No joke, this actually happened to me on Black Friday with a man who stood at about 6 foot with a crewcut and a snarl (the military Karen, if you would)

Richard, of course, stood at about 6 foot 5 inches, and reminded me of a ginger grizzly bear in some ways. Very few customers continued to be assholes when they asked to speak to the manager and Richard came over, smiling wide. He encouraged us to chat with the customers while we worked the cutting counter - it was a good way to learn about what they were making, encouraged general conversation and lent itself to a better environment for everyone, worker and customer alike, so we weren't just awkwardly standing in silence the whole time.

The assistant store manager (aka his second in command - we had two other assistant managers, but she wielded more power than both of them) was Farrah, and she was basically Cool Wine Aunt, but with weed. She was open about smoking it (but not in a pressure-the-underlings kind of way, but more of a 'yeah, it calms me down' kind of way) but never on the clock, and was just really chill in general. She was also a 'jump on the registers' type of manager, and on occasion would take the closing staff out to get a drink from the texmex place next to us in the shopping center, and cover one for each of us - particularly during the Holiday Clusterfuck of October, November, and December (their Frozen Kahlua Mudlslide was my alcoholic drink of choice - they also had these spicy chicken strips that were amazing with it, but I digress).

Both of them were amazing people who would support and back us up without hesitation (if they weren't dealing with corporate or stock trucks coming in), and both routinely worked 15 to 20 hours UNPAID overtime during the Holiday Clusterfuck so that we the underlings could get more hours without Corporate jumping up our ass about going over budget.

They were also refreshingly upfront in our monthly meetings about profits and meeting them, as well as why company policy was the way it was, and how to work within the boundaries so we got more hours. One of my favorite moments was when they said the fabric sales essentially covered their own cost (production and delivery); the rest of the cheap crap in the store was what covered our paycheck and electricity, so hawk it as much as you can if you want extra in the bank (paraphrasing here, but that's not that far off what they actually said tbh).

With some Karen-y exceptions, the customers were honestly pretty chill. There were two women from a nearby church who bought well over 200 yards of cut fleece to make no-sew fleece blankets for children and the poor in December (it took forever to do, but they were so cheerful about it and told some funny anecdotes in between, kept the counter clear as soon as they were cut, etc. Took them three carts to haul everything to the register XD).

There was the slew of quilters making everything from baby blankets to anniversary gifts to quilts for their grandkids attending the local university that they could wear to football games in the colder weather, while still showing team pride. They always bought quarters and eighths and the end of the bolt for half price, digging thru our remnants bin for something they might have missed they could get for half price. They always talked about what they were working on, and spoke in great detail on their kids or cousins or niblings or grandkids. I saw so many pictures on phones, in wallets, and they loved them to absolute pieces.

There were cosplayers making their first costume to comicon, halloween goers trying their hand at making their own outfits, and a few furries making custom suits for order or just updating their own personal outfit. There were the usual school and church Christmas plays that needed costumes, and folks making custom table runners and place settings for family holiday meals.

One notable young man bought out 30+ yards of our 65" inch wide bolt felt for JEWELRY projects he was making as a part of his business and as a part of his art program (you can major in art with a concentration in jewelry making, and he was using it for that). He didn't leave a card, but the pictures he showed us were STUNNING.

We had a few elderly mothers come in with their daughters, to pick out fabrics so they could make their own wedding dresses, or quinceanera outfits, or veils; they showed us the patterns they had, or the pictures they were basing the designs off of, and all of them were STUNNING. (One came back in with the finished dress in the bag, this intricately beaded poofy dress that had to have taken days, hot pink and shiny).

We had local restaurant owners pop in for re-upholstery projects and curtains and vinyl; same with teachers and deck dads and furniture restoration workers that would gush about the design, what they had planned. Some would bicker with their spouses on the pattern, but it felt good-natured on the whole.

We had some elderly men come in to peer over our sewing machines - "How much it run for? My wife's birthday is coming up and her old machine's about done, and I want to surprise her. She had a Singer, but she hates the electronic screens on some of these newer ones, they hurt her eyes." - and moms coming in to sew some custom bed sheets for their kids - "My son really likes the new My Little Pony show, but he's a little shy about it. Do you think the blue's okay? Only he like yellow more, but they don't have any back there and he doesn't MIND blue really but - Actually scratch that, how wide is the fabric? My pattern says it needs to be at LEAST 22 inches wide, does it say on the box?" - and people coming up with some WILD craft ideas that were always a delight to hear them gush about - "So this MAY seem crazy, but I can turn these plastic pumpkin trick-or-treat pails into SNOWMEN heads with felt like this. We fill them with treats for the kids since we don't have a fireplace and they like it fine, but someone said I should sell these on Etsy and people really like them! But I've run out of pumpkins, and you have NO idea how happy I am that you guys still have some left."

The group we had to work with was also pretty crafty; a few were chronic call-outs, some a bit lazy, some perpetually done-with-this-nonsense, but we were mostly on the same page on shift, and all of us were crafty as heck. The employee discount was a blessing AND a curse, lemme tell you.

Stock was the best part, for me. Hours before the store opened at 9 AM, we would rip open the boxes and stuff everything onto the shelves, organizing anything the closing shift missed the night before along the way, updating new stickers or shuffling pegs over for new product arrangement, etc. We could listen to music or podcasts as we worked, and I ended up impressing some of them bc of how fast I tore through everything some mornings (the music definitely helped out there).

I was actually about to be promoted to assistant manager after 6 months, but then I got my job with the university, and they had federal health benefits AND dental, so... yeah, no contest there. Richard actually laughed when I told him I'd been hired at the university and was giving my two week notice, since it meant he didn't have to do the slew of paperwork that accompanied new assistant manager hires. He congratulated me on the job, especially the health benefits - he said that was a perk worth leaving any job here for. I nearly cried with relief that he wasn't mad.

He and Farrah chipped in and got me a small music box that plays Man of La Mancha's Dream the Impossible Dream on my last day. It still sits on my desk at work.

It was honestly my favorite retail job out of the bunch I've suffered through. Surprising at first, since I initially received a rejection email bare HOURS after my interview with Farrah, but about a month later (as I trawled endlessly through interview after interview, desperate for anything those first few months ), I got a call back from them asking if I was still interested (which I was, bc hey a job!). They remembered me specifically bc I had missed my bus to the interview, called ahead to let them know I would be late, then walked the whole way there in the rain to get there. (It was only about a mile and a half away, so not a terrible journey, but flooding is an issue in our flat-ass city; I looked like a drenched afghan hound holding a useless umbrella, so enjoy that imagery).

They were particularly impressed by the calling-ahead part.

Unfortunately, both of them ended up moving on to different paths over the year after I left - apparently they had been friends with benefits (? I say hesitantly, since I ran into one of my coworkers at an art show later on and she spilled the beans there - she was a bit flighty in nature though, and got caught up in gossip a LOT, so who knows. Lovely brocade custom projects though), and his ex girlfriend had called corporate on them and got both fired.

I think Farrah came back some time later, but the damage was done after that - the new manager came in and operated SOLELY to corporate policy. A LOT went to pieces in terms of store cleanliness, order, and general camaraderie after that - the new fabric counter folks look and sound dead inside, and barely interact with customers (not even a 'whatcha making' in passing, which is kind of sad - the stories I got helped to pass the time, and kept me from using up all of my Set Conversation Phrases for customers that actually WOULD leave us standing in silence). Corporate also stopped some of the smaller store policies that made our job easier and gave the customers a little something extra (the 'end-of-the-bolt' discount - if, after the customer orders say, 2 yards of fabric on the bolt, and there's say, a half yard "remnant" left on the bolt, we can sell them the remnant for half-price. A LOT of quilters LOVED this, and we did too, since it saved us from filling out the remnant tag and printing a sticker later on).

Just goes to show how important good management is in a business; especially when it can kick a store previously part of the top 50 stores in the NATION (while being a medium store at that - smaller place, NOT Hobby Lobby size like the Large stores) to something much less pleasant. I could be rose-goggling the situation thought - retail is still retail, no matter how nice some aspects are - but it still sticks with me as to how good he experience was even taking into account that it WAS minimum wage retail.

Food for thought, lads, food for thought.

#plush gets personal #joanns #joann fabrics #employment #retail hell #or well #not so much hell for this one #retail... purgatory? yeah that'll work

[mynameiscarat]

Happy

Another hurt/comfort fanfic about Jacob Thrombey. For @rainbowninicono with best wishes!

I hope school stuff is not too wrong.

Jacob hated this place.

Harthmoor High school was, actually, a good school. Academic level was one of the highest in the state. Halls were clean and full of fresh air, posters were hanging on the walls. Varieties of clubs was impressive - not only baseball and photography clubs, but also clubs for animal lovers, literature fans, writers, young programmers, dancers and other oddballs. All the teachers were adequate. Bullying was inescapably banned.

But it was still public school. School, which kids of cashiers and civil cervants could attend. School, where cafeteria was furnitured with plastic tables, at which kids were eating pizza and drinking cheap fizzy drinks. Nothing compared with his previous private school, which was full of oak furniture, which kids of merchants, politicians and even aristocrats attended.  Where they were fed with three-dish meal. It was a history lesson, and a teacher, chubby emotional man, was talking about general Sherman. Jacob didn't listen. His phone slighly buzzed again. Jacob received another message in Facebook - from a student Alex Lopez, who was going to apply for a school board seat. Jacob knew it, as well as his classmates. Yesterday they all had to sit through candidate gathering in an assembley hall, and Alex Lopez was talking the most of the time about his project of plastic sorting in school and climate change awareness. Immediately after that Jacob found Alex Lopez in Facebook and started harassing him. He was calling him eco-terrorist, saying that climate change is a lie. He also said enough about Alex’s origins, American schools and white governance in them. Firstly Alex tried to calm him down. But today his attitude changed at last. Jacob waited for that. In a message that Jacob received now was said: «I know who you are, and I know where you are. Soon you will be very sorry, fucker». Jacob smirked. He truly believed that this Mexican guy could do nothing to him. Satisfied with work done, Jacob put away his phone and looked at a girl on the front desk. Her name was y/n y/l. Jacob didn’t like his classmates, noisy, giggly, active kids. You were only one person who didn’t annoy him. From the first view you didn’t differ much from others. But there was something in you. Maybe, dignity. Maybe, calmness or cleverness... or kindness. And also you were beautiful. Just beautiful. History lesson ended. His classmates didn’t hurry, collecting their stuff and talking about their plans for weekend. Unlike them, y/n left classroom almost immediately, only saying goodbye to a couple of people. Where were you rushing? Maybe, to the club? Or were you going home? Jacob didn’t know where do you live. He was still thinking about you when he was going home. He was heading to this block of rental apartments. He now lived in one of those. Small rooms, tasteless pictures on the walls and laundry in the basement. Jacob still didn’t really believed that it's his home now. “Hey, you!” - he heard. Jacob turned back and saw Alex Lopez. He wasn’t alone. With him was tall, muscular, dark-haired man with tattooed hands. His eyes narrowed. “Is that him, bud?” - the man asked Alex calmly. Alex nodded. Jacob knew that he had to run now, but his legs suddenly went numb. He opened his mouth, preparing to say something contemptuous, but it was too late. Alex’s friend approached him, grabbed his shoulder and rose a hand. Then was a terrible pain in his face, and everything turned black.

Pain stayed with him, when he was out, and became even worse, when he woke up. Not only his face was burning - he felt, that his legs were severely bruised. Probably Alex’s friend strongly kicked him, when he fell. Slowly, very slowly Jacob sat and touched his face. Some blood left on his fingers. Then he searched for his phone. It was still in his pocket... but it was broken in two pieces. Jacob was of the verge of crying. Partly because of the pain. Partly because of this situation. He didn’t get used to paying for his words. But mostly - because of the phone. It was an expensive model. Jacob knew he won”t get new one very soon. Jacob tried to stand up but failed. He was terribly dizzy. The world were going dark before his eyes. He blinked a couple of times, then tried again. His own name was dinging in his ears: «Jacob, Jacob!» “Jacob!” A sudden realisation hit him. He turned back and saw you, rushing to him. “Y/n... “- mumbled he.

Your hands touched his shoulder delicately: “Jacob, how are you?! What on Earth happened here?! You nose is bloody!” Jacob sighed: “I’m so dizzy...”  “Can you walk for 5 minutes, just 5 minutes? I live around the corner. I will help you. Here, have a paper tissue”  Jacob wiped his face clumsily. Tissue quickly became red. “Come on. - you gently urged, helping him to stoop up. - I took your bag, don’t worry.” Soon Jacob more or less recovered. His head was heavy as a cauldron, his feet hurt, and he was sure his nose is broken, but he fully regained  consciousness. And then he realised what’s going on. He was leaning on you, his y/n, you were almost hugging him and whispering: “Just a bit more... Watch out, there are doorsteps. Here we are!” - and you both entered a little white cottage with a garage and a lawn with carefully cut grass. Jacob suddenly found himelf on a couch in a room that looked like a living room. It wasn’t that big or luxury, like rooms in Harlan’s house. But there were plants on the window, nice painting above TV, colourful carpet and book shelves. He didn’t recognized any grandfather’s books there. And then you appeared again. You were holding a little basin, filled with water, a towel, a box with court plasters and head pills. “I will clean your face now, okay?” - you asked with worry in your eyes. Jacob nodded and closed his eyes.   You were so delicate. With a corner of soft towel you cleaned his nose from blood, and then sponged his cheeks and forehead. Jacob was floating in this feeling. Then you touched his nose so ligtly that it wasn’t painful at all. “Nothing is broken. - you said softly, sticking court plaster next to his nose. - How”s your head?” “Hurts.” “Take a pill then, here. Maybe anything else hurts?” “Legs... I was punched. But there are probably just bruises... don’t worry.” “Then rest a bit. Shall I call your parents?” Jacob shook his head no. You did everything to help him, there’s nothing left to do. Jacob knew, that his parents would worry, but he didn’t really care now. Part of him wanted to punish them. It was also their fault... their fault that he’s stuck in trashy school, completely broke, without a possibility of getting a new iphone, and anyone can beat him up if he wants. Now he just wanted to stay in this cozy room for a while - wtih you. You carefully settled on the edge of a couch, trying not to disturb him. “Jacob, tell me, who attacked you?” - you asked. And before Jacob could answer, you lightly stroked his bruised hand. A minute of tense silence passed. Now Jacob knew for sure that he had to try. So he gathered all his bravery and said: “I will... but tell me firstly... will you go out with me?" You gasped: “Oh god, really?”  And the next moment you snuggled to Jacob, still being very careful. “Jacob, dearest, of course I will! I liked you immediately as you arrived in our school. I wonder what happened to you?” “It’s.. a terrible story.” - he smirked, bringing you closer to him. To his own surprise, he didn’t remember himself being that happy back in Thrombey’s house.

#jacob thrombey #jacob thrombey x reader #jacob thrombey imagine #knives our imagine #hurt/comfort #knives out x reader