Rare Collection of 100 Introvert Quotes That Will Make You Feel Understood
Dear introverts, it’s difficult to understand you. Many people don’t comprehend that solitude and feeling alone are different things. As an introvert, you know that your solitude is a sacred space where you can recharge. We encourage you to have a look at these amazingly thoughtful and profound quotes, which will resonate with all introverts.
(Jimin’s crush comes over to his house to help him out after he suffers an injury that leaves him with limited use of both hands.)
Warnings: 6000+ words of smut,Jimin POV, I’ll let you guess what kind of smut takes place
“I can’t believe you managed to injure both of
your hands on the same day.” Hoseok’s girlfriend, Sophie, stifled a laugh while
she said it. “I can’t tell if you are dumb or just unlucky.”
Jimin sighed. He had been stupid and drunk
when he and Jungkook went out into the street to play with fireworks. One
went off too close to his hand, burning his right palm requiring a trip to the
emergency room where his injury was cleaned and bandaged. The doctor gave
him a lecture about drunk people and explosives and how fortunate he was not to
have blasted off his fingers.
While exiting the hospital, Jimin immediately
tripped over the curb and landed with his full weight onto his left hand
resulting in a small fracture and return trip to the emergency room to get a
splint to immobilize his other hand. Now, every time Jimin saw
someone, he had to suffer the embarrassment of explaining what happened. People
had a hard time not laughing when they heard how he managed to get hurt twice
in one day.
“Does it hurt much?” you asked him.
“Not really. As long as I don’t bump into
anything or use my fingers too much, it’s okay.” At least you seemed to be genuinely
concerned about his well-being. That’s one of the reasons Jimin liked
you, you always seemed caring and sincere. The other main reason he liked
you was because he thought you were incredibly hot. There were plenty of
nights Jimin stayed up fantasizing about what it would feel like to be with
you. He wanted to ask you out, but had been waiting until there was some
indication that you were even the slightest bit interested in him. He was
starting to think that maybe he had a chance with you, but he felt neutered
with his injuries, unable to do things like casually touch you and see how you
would respond to his advances. Jimin resolved to make a move as soon as
he had full use of his hands again.
“You can’t be serious Y/N, it wasn’t even my fault.” You ignored Jimin’s voice as you stormed away from him and walked into the kitchen. The only thing you wanted to do right now was get away from him, but it seemed that no matter how far you got from him he would just appear right behind you again.
“Yes, Jimin, I am serious. What would make you think otherwise?” Your tone was bitter, anger flooding through you and exiting in the form of words. There was no other way for you to release it so you just had to deal with trying your best to stay calm and not completely flip out on your boyfriend. Jimin sighed loudly before speaking again, causing you to turn around and look at him.
“She was just a fan, fan’s get close. It’s not my fault.” He argued. You rolled your eyes, feeling more anger rise at the fact that he was trying to defend himself over this. The picture had been all over twitter and it seemed that ARMY’s were going crazy over it. They had been tweeting it at you, waiting for some kind of reaction, but you held back until the moment he got home and you could confront him about it.
“It’s your fault that you didn’t try to ask her to move, and it’s your fault that you didn’t mention me, you know, your girlfriend.” You said.
“God you always get like this.” Jimin’s tone surprised you, and you couldn’t help but feel a little taken aback by his words. There wasn’t anything about it that was very different, just a slight undertone of frustration that you weren’t used to. Jimin was always calm with you, even now while you were practically yelling at you he was keeping his normal tone.
“What do you mean I always get like this?” You asked.
Imagine demon!Dean beating a guy up to death because he touched you and he got jealous.
“She’s pretty.” you said softly, trying to hold back the hint of bitterness and pain in your voice. Or jealousy for that matter. You couldn’t blame her, who knew with how many women Dean had been with ever since he became a demon.
“And probably his type. But it shouldn’t bother you now, should it chipmunk?” Crowley raised an eyebrow as the both of you didn’t take your eyes off of the demon playing darts as the blonde waitress gave him another drink with a rather flirtysmile might you say.
“Not now, not ever.” Crowley finally turned to look at you “You are not his girlfriend, (Y/n). Never been, yet you are bothered so much by this. I wonder why.”
You scoffed, turning to glare at him “As if you don’t know. Dean is probably the most oblivious man in the world but you never were Crowley. Why would you use this stupid nickname on me if you didn’t?”
“Guilty.” he flashed you a smile, downing his drink “But he’s no longer the man that you remember, love.”
“Right, so that’s why you wanted me here?” you scoffed “And don’t you dare deny it to me Crowley. You didn’t even blink in surprise when you saw me. You’re letting yourself get caught and sooner or later Sam will come walking in as well.”
“I must admit- the only thing that did surprise me was the fact that moose didn’t come in right after you.” he shrugged “But probably- it’s time to finally put him on track-” he looked at Dean “And make him realize how little he is leaving for just how much.”
“Hell? Oh wow, yes Crowley that really is everyone’s dream kingdom.”
“It is one, nonetheless.” he winked at you and before you could say a thing he had vanished right in front of your eyes. You scoffed at him but didn’t have the chance to question him when you turned your head and your eyes locked with his green ones. And just like always they made your heart skip a beat. Because maybe you were always friends but your love for him was undying.
You held your breath as he set his glass down and raised an eyebrow at you. He said nothing to the rest of them men he was playing with and casually strode towards you “(Y/n)” his voice was as rough but a lot more cold “Fancy seeing you here.” and the smirk on his face made it all worse.
“Is it?” you asked in a low voice and his smile dropped.
“What do you want here?” he asked serious.
“Oh so Crowley didn’t tell you?” you scoffed a laugh “He knew I was on your tracks with Sam, he should be here very soon. I managed to get a lead and thought if I could convince you to come back without him having to hurt himself but… I don’t think there is a point in trying.”
“I told you to stay away.” he shrugged casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets “Not my fault you don’t listen.
“You told Sam to let you go, not me. And I thought there was a chance here but- I was wrong obviously. I’m curious how you didn’t see this coming, or even more that Crowley didn’t speak to you about his plans. Whatever those may be. What happened? Don’t you guys tell everything? Oh no, don’t Dean, secrets are bad, they ruin relationships. We know it better than anyone.” you went from sarcastic to completely serious.
He scoffed, putting on a smirk on his face and rolling his eyes “Don’t care what his game is, I am not his toy. I have my own plans and I’m glad that… he made it easier for me.” he looked
“What do you mean?” you frowned when you noticed the predatory smile on his face “Made it easier by letting me find you?”
“I’ll let you know soon, now follow me and let’s out of here. You’re drawing too much fucking attention with those shorts.” he took hold of your arm, dragging you up as he glared at a few men behind you that had been sneaking looks at you.
“Like hell.” you hissed, snatching your arm from his “Why does it even matter to you? Especially now, I am nothing to you. So what if they look? I am free, Dean, hell they can even touch as much as they want to.” you said angrily.
His eyes darkened as he looked “Let’s go. Now.” he said in a low almost growl but you weren’t having any of it.
“Why?” you scoffed a laugh “So that you can kill me now? Or so that she doesn’t see us talking?” you motioned with your head to the blonde that already had her eyes on you. You tried so hard not to show how much this was hurting you.
“She has nothing to do with this. Come on.” he tugged, holding your hand again.
“Right, of course she doesn’t.” you scoffed “With how many have you been exactly all these months?”
“You’d want to know, wouldn’t you?” a satisfied smirk was on his face.
You didn’t have the chance to speak though because another voice spoke up “Is everything alright?” it was a guy you had seen checking you out ever since you came in.
“Yes, everything’s fine actually. My friend here was just leaving.” you gave Dean a look “How about you buy me a drink and we can talk?” you gave him a smile that made his grin widen.
“Yes, of course sweet cheeks.” he wrapped an arm around your waist.
“You’re gonna lose that hand buddy.” Dean growled, and you both stopped before you could leave.
“Excuse me?” he raised an eyebrow “Did you just threaten me?”
“No, I was giving you a friendly warning.” Dean shrugged with a casual smile.
“Yeah, right.” he scoffed, arm tightening on your waist just to mock the demon and for a second you got scared when Dean’s smile completely fell.
“But you obviously don’t listen very well.” he scoffed and before you could realize it he had grabbed the man by the collarof his shirt and pinned him against a pillar.
“And now- you get to see what I mean when I say that you shouldn’t have done that.” and even if you expected it you jumped when he threw a powerful punch at the man. And the another, and another and another without letting him do a single move. You were almost scared for his life when you saw the mark on Dean’s arm burn that angry red as he kept hitting the guy, blood covering his fist and groans and moans of pain filling the bar along with hushed whispers from other customers.
“Fucking asshole, think you could ever have a piece of that?” he scoffed a laugh, punching more “In your dreams!” another punch “She’s too pure and perfect for a bloody jackass like you. You would never stand a fucking chance.” he growled, punching him more.
You could barely make out any of the things he said after that as the sounds were too much to handle. People shouting, some cheering and encouraging him to keep going. And then you heard her.
“Dean, stop!” she screamed but he didn’t listen to her, as he kept punching with groans himself “Stop! You’re gonna kill him!” she screamed but it didn’t seem to have a single effect on him at the moment.
“Would serve him fucking right.” Dean growled, grabbing his bloody face and making the guy look at you “Do you see that? Do you see her?” he said through gritted teeth “She’s great isn’t she? And you’d really want a piece of her tonight but that would be it. You had some gruesome thoughts for her after that though, didn’t you?” he turned his head to look at Dean “Didn’t you?” he roared and he gave him a weak nod.
“Just like I thought.” Dean smirked “For the first, I’d really just break your hand and maybe face. But for this-” he looked at him darkly and your breath got caught in your throat. If he killed him right there in front of so many people he’d draw all the wrong attention.
“Dean!” you screamed “No, no don’t!” you exclaimed and as surprising as it was for everyone, it caught his attention and he glanced at you over your shoulder. You looked at him with wide eyes, shaking your head in fear.
“Seems like your lucky day, bastard.” he growled “You’re very damn lucky that she can have this effect on me because trust me your death… it would have not been easy. And she would never give you a single glance because you know why?” he smirked in an almost sinister way “Oh you know why.” he laughed, pushing him to the side and he fell on the floor. He looked down at him for a second, smirking before with a roll of his eyes he turned around and looked at the rest of the customers.
He didn’t say a think, he only scoffed at them and walked towards you.
“D” you found yourself whispering as you stared at him with wide eyes “You would have-”
“I should have.” he growled “Hope you fucking understand I am not playing games here, (Y/n).” he grabbed your jaw with one hand and your heart leapt to your throat when he brought his face closer to yours, your lips only an inch away. You knew what he wanted to do but he stopped himself, looking from your lips up to your eyes. He smiled slightly, running his thumb over your lower lip.
“You are mine, and I’ll make sure everybody knows it from now on.” he said in a low rough voice and you frowned. You knew in what way he meant it, you were no fool with what he had almost done but it still confused you. You were always friends and on top of that even if he didn’t care at the moment as a demon… what really held him back from forcing a kiss out of you? IT felt as if for a moment you saw your own Dean flash through his eyes.
“Only. Mine.” he said in a husky voice in your ear and you felt shivers run down your spine when his teeth grazed over it “I’ll wait in the car.” he added and let go of you, almost leaving you to try to recover from the shock.
But you only had another one coming once he’d left and the waitress spoke to you “You are (Y/n)?”
“Why-” your voice was hoarse as you looked at her “You know me?” and the look on her face only said yes, making you realize there was only person that could have spoken about you to her.
The sound of something steadily beeping in your ear brings you back to the surface of consciousness. You wade through the murky waters of your mind, trying to keep your cool when the simple task of opening your eyes turns into a losing battle.
Why can’t you open your eyes? Why does your body feel so heavy?
You grow more frantic as your body fails to follow through on any of the commands you direct at it. It’s not until you realize that something is restraining your arms that an overwhelming tidal wave of memories wash over your body and send you back underwater.
Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: witch!au (sort of based on the secret circle), smut, comedy, slight angst Warnings: dom-ish!jimin, magical sex rituals (so slight blood play, breath play, temperature play), rough sex, cumplay Word Count: 10k+ Summary: Theonly reason you agreed to do this magical ritual with Park Jimin’s Circle was for the sake of your own Circle - to strengthen your individual magic. Yes, that means you’ll have to fuck him, but no, you weren’t happy about it because you hate Park Jimin. Once again, you were only doing this for your Circle.
The other day
I was seeing a lot of people complaining about hate in both the ‘Katsudeku’ and
‘Bakudeku’ tags, but to be honest, I didn’t see it. I suppose I must have the
right people blocked.
But, it did
get me thinking about things that people love to bring up when discussing the “p r o b l e m a t i c” elements of this
ship. Two big ones in particular come to mind.
already been discussed to death, and I hope to jeezus I never have to talk
about it myself. Yes, Bakugo told Deku to jump off a building. It’s horrible
and despicable and I would never defend such awful behavior. It was simple
shorthand for Horikoshi to establish Bakugo as an unremorseful jerk. Congrats,
dude. It worked.
thing, however, is something I could talk about at length.
So I will.
is a goddamn long post. Pour yourself a drink.
(A/N): I decided why the hell not do a poly relationship?
Can you do an imagine where the reader loves Bucky/Steve, but he has a girlfriend and when the reader decides to move on he gets jealous or something ? ( please make it angst at first and then really fluffy at the end ) thank you 😊
You sip at your drink sadly, your spirits had been depleted hours ago and all you wanted to do was go to your room and sleep until Sunday but seeing as how this was Bucky’s 100th birthday that would be rude. So now here you were, drinking all alone in the corner of Tony’s bar as everyone danced and had a fan-fucking-tastic time, or more specifically Bucky and Steve.
You wanted to growl in annoyance when you looked over at the rugged super soldiers, all tall and thick and- God no, you needed to stop thinking like that. They were your teammates for Christ’s sake and here you were, ogling at them. It’s not like it would ever work out anyways…they had girlfriends and damn good looking ones too. Steve had Sharon, beautiful, slender, badass Sharon and Bucky had some girl named Dot, some cute curly red haired, green eyed innocent little thing and well- you had no one but yourself and a bottle of scotch.
With a dry chuckle you drink another shot, allowing the burning liquid to soothe your pain.
You had no right to be jealous, they were never yours to begin with, what made you feel entitled enough to dictate who they dated or fell in love with? The last one sticks to your tongue, making the burning in your throat a million times worse.
What if Bucky and Steve both fell in love with someone other than you? What if they settled down, finally started a family, and you never got the chance to tell them how much you loved them? Tears begin to pinprick your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, this was a joyous occasion, it was Bucky’s big one hundred for fucks sake, you couldn’t cry now but you could drown your sorrows in your lovely scotch. You take another swig of the burning liquid, allowing it to simmer in your mouth before gliding down your throat, leaving an even more unpleasant burning feeling. You cough a but, trying to rid your throat of the horrid burning when suddenly there’s a hand upon your shoulder, grasping it gently.
“Heya,” You look back only to come face to face with a stranger- but a rather attractive one at that. “I’m Brent,” You smile to the best of your ability, cringing lightly at yourself.
“(Y/N)’s a very pretty name,” You blush a bit. God, you were blushing, how sad are you?
“So um- I saw you over here drinking scotch alone and I thought maybe you’d like to go dancing with me?” You let your eyes linger on the man, brown hair, blue eyes, a gorgeous jaw and the perfect height; he was like the love child of Steve and Bucky himself and you were more than attracted to him.
“I can’t promise I won’t step on your feet,” Brent chuckles as he takes your hand in his, gingerly as possible as though you were made of porcelain.
“A few broken toes is no big deal,” You laugh as you make your way to the dance floor, the intoxicating music slowly starting to get to you. All around people were dancing, some more reserved but for the most part everyone was grinding on each other, having a damn good time and well- you deserved to have a damn good time too. Immediately Brent’s hands settle upon your waist as you slowly begin to move to the best of the music. A little grind here, a little grind there. Before you know it the two of you are practically dry humping and amidst other people as well. It felt so dirty but it felt oh so right too. You bite your lip as you allow yourself to succumb to the moment, to let yourself finally be free of anything other than Brent’s hands upon your waist and the way his cock ever so deliciously-
“(Y/N).” There was a dangerous growl, low and throaty and more than intimidating. You slowly open your eyes, feeling rather drunk on the music and Brent, and you slowly focus in on the two figures ahead of you, each one with their arms folded over their chest in an almost defensive manner. “(Y/N), can we talk to you? In private-” It was Bucky. It was Bucky and Steve both standing there, staring at you disapprovingly. Oh god- what had you done? What was wrong? Did they somehow did out about your love for them? Or maybe it was something worse?
A million thoughts start swimming through your mind as you slowly step away from Brent, giving him a soft apology before stepping up to the two super soldiers.
Their gaze upon you was scary, a dark almost predatory like look to them. You’d seen this look a thousand times before, usually directed at Tony or some enemies but never you. God- to get them to look at you like that meant you had to have done something horrible. Guess you’d be finding out in a few minutes…
The elevator ride up to Bucky and Steve’s shared floor was tense, with one soldier on either side of you, making you feel small and rather childlike. There was an almost angry air surrounding the two of them and it scared you more than anything.
You replayed the last week in your mind, trying to figure out what you had done wrong. You had done all your training sessions, every mission was a success, you had bought Bucky a birthday present; what else was there that you could have messed up? Your throat runs dry as the elevator dings and both soldiers make their way out, thus forcing them out with you.
“You guys-” your voice is shy and timid at best. “What’s going on? Why are you so angry?” Both Steve and Bucky chuckle, shaking their heads as though they were amused.
“You really don’t know why were angry?” Bucky’s tone sends shivers down your spine, and not the pleasant kind either.
“How about the fact you were essentially fucking some stranger right on the dance floor, does that ring a bell?” Steve’s tone is just as dark and it scares you more than anything else.
“I-I’m sorry, everyone else was doing it, I-I thought it was okay,”
“All that man was trying to do was get down your pants,” For some reason now is when your nerves return, full force at that too. You went from scared and helpless to confident and angry in only a matter of seconds.
“And why do you care Rogers? Maybe you should focus less on me and more on that girlfriend of yours,” Steve growls as he suddenly lunges for you, pinning you to the wall behind you.
“What if I don’t want anyone down these pants, hmm? What if I want you all to myself, ever thought of that?” You gulp as you look at Steve, at the dark look upon his face and the intimidating look in his eyes. “What if Bucky wanted you, what then? What if we both want you but you’re too fucking oblivious to all our attempts?” You look to Bucky who shares the same look with Steve, dark and intimidating.
His words don’t even set in for a few moments as you play them over and over again in your head, mulling each word, syllable, and vowel meticulously.
"Wait…you both- you both want me?”
“Fuck yes,” Bucky growls, his voice lower than you had ever heard. “Wanted you since the moment we laid eyes on you doll,” You squirm withing Steve’s grasp, looking between the two men uncomfortably. It wasn’t exactly nice to be pinned by Steve or to have him and Bucky glaring straight daggers at you.
“What about Sharon and dot?”
“No,” Bucky shakes his head. “They don’t count- they’re not you, they’re not as special,” You gulp as Steve’s face looms over you, his rather scary gaze only making your heart rate increase.
“This isn’t some kind of sick joke?” You whisper timidly, a bit too scared to know the answer. If Bucky and Steve were lying that meant a world of heartache for you but if they said yes that meant a million other things- two personal furnaces to keep you warm at night, more coffee to make in the mornings, more love to share and receive-
“No, how many times do we have to say that we want you (Y/N)?” Steve’s voice is right beside your ear, sending almost pleasurable sparks up your spine.
You sigh shakily as his words finally set in, Bucky and Steve wanted you, the two men you’d fallen in love with wanted you just as much as you wanted them. Steve goes to say something else, his lips in a near snarl when you pounce upon him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you hug him tightly. The man must have been thoroughly taken back by your sudden moves but only a moment passes before he’s melting into your embrace, any trace of anger having immediately been wiped from his system.
“You can get in on this too Bucky,” You mumble from your place in Steve’s neck. There’s an almost disbelieving chuckle and suddenly another pair of arms wrap around you, making the hug that much better. Bucky’s head nuzzles against yours and your unable to stop the happy chuckles that falls from your lips as Bucky sweetly kisses your lips, soothing any nerves or fear you previously had.
“Save some for me Barnes,” Steve chuckles as Bucky breaks away, licking his lips deliciously. Without a moment to waste Steve kisses you, his lips just as soft and sweet as Bucky’s. at this point you felt high on whatever was in the air right now, lust? Love? Whatever it was you were definitely feeling it but the sudden thump of music floors below you pulls you out if your almost high. You pull away from Steve, much to his dismay.
“Bucky, what about your party?” Bucky smirks as he takes your hand, gently guiding you out of Steve’s embrace and down a hall.
“I was thinking we could have a little party Of our own,” The soldier gives you a little flirtatious wink.
“But what about everyone else and-”
“What birthday boy wants birthday boy gets, right?” You nod your head, biting your lip. “And I want you naked and on my bed in a minute, you Better be ready for us doll,” Bucky smirks as he gives your ass a light smack as you walk into his bedroom, more like jump into the room due from the almost heart attack Bucky caused you. “One minute doll,” Bucky gives you one last wink as he closes the door, leaving you to get ready for not only him but Steve as well.
You bite your lip as your fingers tremble to remove your shirt. You didn’t even know what you were to Bucky and Steve, special, you knew that much but that was it, there was nothing else to go on. But one thing was for certain at this point; this was going to be one hell of a night.
Two pairs of arms wrapped around your waist snugly, two warm chest pressed against you, one to your front and one to your back. You hum softly as you nuzzle into the closest body; Steve. His warmth radiated off his body in waves, overtaking the freezing room and keeping you more than warm. Bucky was pressed behind you, his scruffy face nuzzled into your neck, his breath gently hit your skin as he breathed in and out.
You groan softly as you try to stretch your limbs but with two super soldiers glued to you that was kind of hard.
“Bucky- Steve,” You poke each man’s cheek in an attempt to wake them up. “Come on, I gotta go make breakfast,”
“You don’t have to make breakfast,” Bucky whispers into your neck as he pulls you a little closer. Apparently a poke to his cheek had been enough to wake him up unlike Steve who was now burrowing into your chest like a dog or cat of sorts. “You can lay in bed with us for the rest of the day,” You smile softly as Bucky kisses your ear, his lips barely fluttering against your skin.
“So no coffee or bacon?”
“There’s that pancake house down the road, once Steve gets his lazy ass up we’ll go there, sound good?” You go to reply when suddenly an equally sleepy voice penetrates the air, making both you and Bucky chuckle softly.
“I’m awake you ass,” it was times like these, when the three of you could simply be- no worry of the media or the other avengers, no worry about hydra or aliens from other dimensions- that you realized you loved your boys more than anything in the world.
I have several problems with the concept of privilege. I actually surprised some audiences when I say that I don’t actually accept the discourse of white privilege. I actually offer a different discourse, and let me explain why.
Firstly, look at the things that are called privileges. The things that are called privileges are actually rights to things such as healthcare, being treated fairly if you’re pulled over by a police officer, being treated fairly in a criminal justice system, to have access to employment, housing. As you go down the list, you begin to realize, it’s something weird about calling privileges something that every human being would like to have on the planet. Neoliberalism wants to call them privileges exactly because neoliberalism wants to take them away from everybody, Black and white. And so if you can get enough people feeling guilty for what they should actually have, then it’s easier to take things away from everybody and give more to those who are wealthy.
The second reason I have a problem with the privilege discourse, it’s a distortion of the concept of privilege. We’ve often heard the expression, for instance, “it’s an honor and a privilege to work with you.” When you hear something like that, the thing about privileges that people often don’t understand, is that privileges are good. It’s a privilege, for instance, to serve if you’re patriotic. It’s privilege to be in the company of people you respect. Privileges are actually good things, so the idea of telling you that you’re supposed to feel bad about good things is, as Fanon would argue, sick.
The third problem with the white privilege discourse is exactly what we’ve seen play out historically. Then it just gave an opportunity for whites to simply talk about their privilege and still not do a damn thing about the system of injustices that are around them and the rest of us. So it bleeds into a form of narcissism, and of course the thing about narcissism is that it puts whites back into control because they can control their cathartic emotional life in terms of how they respond to to the charge of privilege. But they go home to a system that remains intact.
What I actually argue is a more constructive way to deal with this issue is the concept of license. Now people may say what do you mean? If you think about the basic thing of what a license is, when you get a license, it means whatever you’re doing is protected by law. So what happens is in mundane examples for instance if you have a license to drive a car, and you’re pulled over, it is established that you have the license to drive a car. Whether you’ve done other things while driving the car is another matter. The thing about license is that a license is legitimate right to use a certain power.
So if we think of the most extreme example of how a license works, try to imagine a license to kill. If a person has a license to kill, and in many contexts, many people when they’re designated soldiers or mercenaries have a license to kill within that context. Now let’s just say that you’re born with a license to kill say, all except other people who have a license to kill. If you’re in a framework like that, so long as you’re killing anybody outside of that category, then you don’t have to give a reason for the killing you’ve done, you just have to show a license. If you think about it historically, and I’m using that because it’s the most extreme example, if you look at the history of white supremacy, it’s a history of large communities of white people who can pack a picnic basket, get together, drag predominantly Black men and women, there are other contexts in which large groups of Native populations were wiped out, but the main thing was that they could drag these people, they could eviscerate them, lynch them, and throughout the entire process pose for pictures that are put in newspapers with them committing those acts. So when you think of that example, it means that the legal authorities will not act upon that precisely because the perpetrators, and the license here becomes the designation white.
Now I give you one more example that’s really crucial because of contemporary debates. One of the ways that there has been a form of fascist attack, particularly on Black people and on women, is this phony defense of free speech in a war against political correctness. But they’re not defending free speech and what they call political correctness. Political correctness is a term developed by the American right. It’s a right wing concept just like white privilege was developed by whites. This was a way in which the right wanted to undermine the efficacy of political institutions. But if you look carefully at what they call political correctness, it’s not actually political, it’s moral. In other words, the examples they would use is if people are going to judge certain people as immoral for the things they say. That is very different than politics.
What’s striking if you look for what they’re fighting for, it’s for an assertion of legal apparatuses and structures that will give them not free speech, but licensed speech. In other words, licensed speech is to be able to hurl your words in an action of harm. The way I usually formulate it, free speech doesn’t mean the right to be a schmuck, it’s an adult responsibility in a world that actually expands the capacity of other people in terms of human flourishing. However, the childlike adolescent licensed speech comes down to a thesis: I just wanna do or say what I want. It’s defended to the point where saying or doing what you want can lead in very real ways not just to harm but to the death of others. As we know in the case of Emmett Till for instance, the words of the woman who gave the testimony were used for the lynching of this 14 year old boy. And there are many other examples. If you look at Trump, Trump is not about free speech, he is the manifestation of the adolescent fantasy of many whites to return to a world in which they had the license for liberty without responsibility.
And this comes back to Fanon, because he understood the distinction between liberty and and freedom. As a therapist, a patient would come to him precisely because although the patient may have liberty, if the patient has insufficient control or understanding and her or his own life, and the relationship that person has with the social world, that person’s freedom will be impaired, although there are no formal shackles over her or his hands and feet. This is the crucial thing that is missing from Anglophone discourses around issues of freedom and around the excursion of racism. There is in freedom always a responsibility and a demand for one to take on the task of bearing the burdens but they’re not burdens in the negative sense. they’re burdens in the elective sense, in the good sense or what’s called election in the Bible. There are certain burdens that are a function of responsibility that make us into better human beings.
You had always been close to the guys…well at least six of them. You had worked as an intern at BigHit when the guys were trainees and eventually debuted. However, you moved onto a bigger and better job, but still managed to stay good friends with the group. You somehow ended up at JYP in hopes of being a manager one day. But you were still one of their treasured friends, and they valued your input towards the group.
You don’t know when the feelings started. Well to be completely honest, you didn’t even realize you had these feelings for Namjoon. But what Hoseok said was true. You were always shy around him, but somehow making him happy became important to you. You noticed all the subtle things about him and studied him like a book unconsciously. Before you knew it, you knew all the things he loved and all the things he resented.
But he became increasingly cold towards you. He never really treated you like the other boys, who were always open and friendly with you. And maybe that’s why you fell for him. Because you had to figure him out and he was always on your mind. He became your favorite puzzle to solve and once it was solved, it became your hobby making sure the puzzle stayed whole and beautiful.
As always, this miniseries is dedicated to @stylesunchained. Thank you so much for reading the first two parts! I hope part three is just as enjoyable for you all.
Let me know what you think! Happy reading.
Although Harry had been disappointed to not receive your personal phone number, he still called “Megan” the next day to set up an appointment to see you. The earliest you can see him for a consulting appointment is in two weeks, and when Megan breaks the news to him, he nearly chokes on his morning tea.
There wasn’t a logical way to see you sooner. There wasn’t a way to spin it in order for him to pop into your shop, especially considering he still had to sign the final papers to make the house his. How could he explain to you that he hadn’t quite sealed the deal yet, so you’d be decorating a completely hypothetical space? He’d already felt like an idiot in front of you, getting caught snooping around your bookshelves, and he wasn’t too keen on feeling like that around you anytime soon.
So, he waits.
He busies himself with packing up the items he knew he wouldn’t need: small, decorative sculptures, a majority of his books, the picture frames that littered nearly every spare surface of his home, his summer clothing that he knew would be completely unnecessary for at least five more months. Once he gets news that the final papers are ready to sign and the house is his, he cleans every nook and cranny of his current house, figuring it might as well be good to spruce it up for the new owners. He meets old friends for lunch, he takes his mother out for dinner, and he begs his sister to come over for a movie night.
And, of course, he reads. He reads the book you spoke so highly of, immersing himself within the worlds of each character, wondering which one you connected with most. Did you cry at the same parts he did? Did you have the same pit in your stomach that he experienced whenever the subject matter turned particularly dark? He needed to know what happened next, reading late into the night, promising himself he would go to bed after he finished the page he was on, but knowing he wouldn’t stop until he could no longer open his eyes.
The two weeks pass, but they feel more like a month and a half than they do a fortnight.
When the day of the meeting comes around, he peeks into the storefront, smiling at your name on the door. He meanders around your shop after checking in with Megan. She nods when he states his presence - a meek little thing with big brown eyes and a nervous giggle - and notifies you that “Mr. Styles is here,” via the bulky black telephone on her desk. He can feel the girl’s eyes on him as he walks around, recognizing some of the pieces from your website.
“Hi!” your voice echoes from behind him, your heels clicking against the concrete floor.
Harry turns around, fully expecting a normal salutation to escape his lips, but instead, his voice catches in his throat. You’re wholly professional, the version of yourself he saw in the magazine shoots. Cropped black pants with pointed-toe heels, a blazer rolled up to your elbows.
You look like you run the place - which, of course you do.
“How are you?” you ask before kissing his cheek and bringing him in for a hug.
That’s a bit better, he thinks to himself, remembering how previously, you’d greeted Nick more lovingly than you had Harry.
“Good, good,” he takes a step back from you, hoping your perfume had transferred onto him so he could smell you on him later - so he could pretend that reality wasn’t against him and that your scent was stuck to him for reasons other than a professional greeting. “Yourself?”
“Excited!” you clap your hands together. “Before we go back, let’s walk around a bit so you can get a sense of where I’m coming from, design-wise.”
He nods, pretending not to have already extensively researched “where you’re coming from,” and follows you until you stop in front of the mock room setups, pointing out some of your favorite pieces.
“Marble is really in,” you explain, tapping a stone coffee table. “But I try not to overdo it. If you like the look of marble - if you like this exact table, even - this would be the only marble piece I’d choose for whatever room.”
Taking his chin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry nods, inspecting the table and picturing it in his new living room. He likes it. Come to think of it, he liked everything. And it wasn’t just to appease you - there was no reason to like a chair just because you liked it - but he could envision nearly every piece in his new home.
“Just got these lamps in,” you turn one on. “I’m obsessed with them. Might snag them for myself,” you smile, clicking the remaining lamp on.
“How often does that ‘appen?” Harry smirks, raising an eyebrow.
“More often than it should,” you laugh. “I’m on this kick of deep greens, navy blue, and gold. Realize it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea, but if you see anything you like, there will almost always be different colors available,” you fluff a throw pillow, adjusting its position next to another.
Harry nods, imagining what his new place would look like decorated with a darker color scheme. He’d never been one for bold rooms - white was his go-to, with him being more concerned about how comfortable the furniture was instead of the color of the walls. You’d done Nick’s living room in bold, dark colors, and Harry loved it. It was his home, he’d told Harry. It wasn’t just a place he stayed and passed the time until he found somewhere else to live. It somehow felt right, even in the summertime, which Harry had initially worried about after seeing it for the first time. The home had Nick Grimshaw written all over it, and Harry was envious of how easily his best friend’s personality was packaged within every room.
He’d wanted that for himself, and you would be the one to give that to him.
He relishes in watching you work the room. You’re completely in your element, answering a couple of questions from Megan when the girl timidly approaches, letting her know that she was free to take lunch just as soon as your meeting with Harry wrapped up. You thank a middle-aged man for his order when he stops in to retrieve a rug, running to hold the door open for him as he heaves the rolled-up carpet over his shoulder. You make a joke with him as he leaves, winking at him with a smile and a wave of your hand.
Were you always this beautiful, or had Harry neglected to see how effortless your charm was?
No, that couldn’t have been the case. He’d noticed right from the second he laid eyes on you that you were something special; something different.
You lead him to the back of the expansive store, asking him questions about his current living space, wondering what pieces of furniture he wanted to keep and which he wanted to ditch.
“Oh my gosh!” you stop abruptly in the doorway to your office, clutching Harry’s shoulder as your eyes widen. “I didn’t even ask you if you wanted anything to drink! Water, coffee, tea?” you shuffle to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room, opening it and then closing it again. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I jump the gun sometimes. Get excited over the idea of a new space to transform and all that,” you laugh, rolling your eyes at yourself.
“Water would be great, thanks,” Harry smiles. He tries not to touch a hand to where you’d touched his shoulder, but he was worried you’d burned a hole through his shirt, what with how hot the area felt to him now.
He notices the familiar smell when he walks into your office, nodding his head when he sees that you’ve got yet another Diptyque candle burning on top of a filing cabinet - he can tell it’s pomegranate without even reading the label. He inspects the decor, loving the juxtaposition of clean lines set against rustic elements which make the room feel comforting and clean.
You pull out a chair with brightly colored fabric across the cushions, offering it to Harry before placing a bottle of water in front of him and walking to the opposite side of your desk.
“Okay,” you wake your computer up, scooting your chair closer to the screen. “I normally take clients through my portfolio so they can see the spaces I’ve completed, before and after I’ve gotten my hands on them.” You adjust the large monitor so Harry can view the screen as well. “Does that sound alright?”
“Of course,” he rubs his hands on his knees. “Whatever you normally do.”
You click on a file, asking Harry if he could see the screen properly. You show him your bigger projects - cafes and restaurants, along with office buildings - as well as clients who had hired you to renovate their houses. You mention how you tend to be inspired by patterns and colors, along with custom fabric you use to reupholster vintage, antique furniture.
“Do you reupholster them yourself?” he asks.
“The smaller pieces, yeah,” you nod, taking a sip from the cup of tea in front of you. “Like that chair you’re sitting on. I usually spend my free time refurbishing the pieces I find. I’ve done chairs, side tables, desks - all that,” you go on, clicking open a picture of one of your completed pieces. “Stopped doing the big stuff when my schedule got busier. Now, I work with a father-and-son team and they do the couches and loveseats,” you click again, a picture of you and two men sitting on a couch in what seems to be a workshop. “There we are,” you chuckle, quickly moving on to the next picture.
Harry knows that he can’t ask you to go back - what would you think of him if he’d insisted upon you showing him the picture again, just so he could see the way your legs crossed one over the other at the knee; how you smiled so easily, your eyes bright and your arms wrapped around the shoulders of both men. You were happy - genuinely happy - and it was a look you wore well.
“So which pieces from your current place do you want to keep?” you ask, meeting Harry’s eyes when he looks up from his lap. “If any…”
“Thinkin’ maybe,” he pulls at his bottom lip. “I’d wanna start fresh? To keep consistent?”
“Perfect,” you nod, minimizing your portfolio and bringing up a calendar. “Okay then,” you begin, moving the monitor back to its original position. “I’ll need to see your new place before I do any work-ups for you. Is there a time this week I can come and see the space?”
Harry’s heart jumps at the thought, even though your intent is purely professional.
You’d said the words, though.
You wanted to come over to his house. To his place. To his home.
“All I ‘ave is time,” he smiles. “So whatever works for you.”
Two days later, Harry finds himself waiting for you at his new property, the wintery London rain keeping him indoors as he paces back and forth in front of the large window overlooking the drive. It was just like London to rain on such a day - a day that should’ve been filled with bright sun to match the occasion - but he was used to the drizzle, no matter how much he didn’t agree with it.
His phone rings, the vibration in his back pocket causing him to jump. An unknown number flashes on the screen, and when he picks up, he’s surprised to hear your voice on the other line.
“So sorry, Harry!” your plea causes him to smile. You sound different on the phone - your voice is less smooth, but he lets the sound of it was over him, regardless. “I promise I haven’t stood you up! My shoot on the other end of town ran long, but I swear ‘m on my way! The GPS says ten minutes.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles. “I’ll be here. Drive safe, alright?”
You say you will and apologize again before hanging up. He grins as he looks out the window, biting his lower lip and furthering the dimples in his cheeks.
You’ve got his number saved in your phone.
He’s got your number now.
Whether it was your business phone or your personal phone didn’t matter. He had a direct line to you, and you to him. Knowing that he’d most likely never use it for reasons other than strictly professional, he felt nearly giddy as he saved your number, creating a new contact for you.
When you arrive, he’s surprised to see that it’s in a van with your logo on the side. Why - based on everything he knows about you thus far - is that the thing to make him hard? And why does his stomach flip so dramatically when he sees you step out of the driver’s seat, dressed in a worn-in flannel and jeans with paint splatters on them? You shuffle quickly over to the passenger’s side, shielding your eyes from the rain. When you emerge into sight again, you’ve got your arms full of materials like folders, tape measures, and a ruler. You laugh as you run up to the front door, shielding your papers beneath your plaid shirt.
How was Harry supposed to make it through the afternoon without a full-on stiffy with you looking like that?
“Hi,” he smiles when he opens the door, the security system beeping throughout the empty house.
“Hi!” you jump into the foyer, trying to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry - I hate being late!”
“Not a problem,” Harry assures you, noticing the pencil tucked behind your ear.
“And I’m sorry for looking suck a mess,” you peel your boots off with one hand, clutching your supplies close to your chest with the other. “Just set up a shoot and didn’t want to be even later in the name of looking presentable.”
Harry looks down at his hoodie and torn jeans, his hair flopping down onto his forehead, “Look more presentable than I do,” he chuckles.
You scoff, placing your boots neatly together, just as Harry did at your flat. He smiles at the unnecessary gesture, appreciative that you didn’t even bother ask whether or not he’d prefer you take your shoes off. Not that he’d have a problem either way - you could traipse mud and leaves all over his new home and he’d thank you for it.
“‘ve got the measurements and whatnot,” he explains as the two of you walk into the kitchen. “The original contractor has the blueprints and sent them over so we’d ‘ave ‘em.”
“Great,” you nod, inspecting the cabinetry from afar. “Think today’ll just be me scoping out the rooms, taking some measurements just to double-check,” you run your hands through your hair after setting down your armful of materials onto the counter. “Not that I don’t trust the contractor’s numbers. I’ve got my own system, though. Years of doing this makes me a creature of habit,” you smirk, flipping open a folder labeled STYLES, H. in bold letters. His heart jumps, thinking that you could’ve been the one to write it. “Wanna help me measure?”
“Of course,” he nods - maybe a bit too eagerly - as you reach for your tape measure and clip it onto the back pocket of your jeans.
The two of you walk through the empty house in your socked feet, Harry remaining quiet until you say something. You inspect each room, writing down how many windows are in each, commenting on where some crown molding will need to be replaced, recommending that the carpet be taken up and replaced with real hardwood to give it a more modern feel.
“Which colors are we thinking so far?” you inquire, unclipping the tape measure. Pulling out the free edge, you hand it to Harry, your fingertips touching his while you cock your head to the other side of the room with a smile. He’s frozen for a moment, willing you to reach out and grace your hand over his once more, but he’s snapped out of it by you walking away from him. He follows your lead, walking to the opposite wall from the one you’re standing against, holding the bulky measure down against the floorboard.
“Like the thought of a dark blue for this room,” he looks around, squatting on one knee when he reaches the wall. “Cozy livin’ room ‘n all that.”
“Good, good,” you grin. “Don’t want you to be swayed by my own likes and dislikes, but I promise you it’ll look good.” You make a quick chart with the ruler you’ve brought on the inside flap of the manila folder, muttering something about always needing to have straight lines, no matter if it was written in on an official document or the inside of a folder. It makes Harry smile, the admission of your quirk. “And if not, we can always change it. Paint is easy to change.”
“Don’t think’ll want t’ change it,” Harry assures, walking slowly backwards with the free end of the tape between his fingertips, crouching down once you’ve met him to measure the width of the room. “Whatever you’ve shown me so far, I’ve loved.”
You peek up through the hair that’s fallen down into your eyes as you scribble more numbers onto the folder, smiling at him in a way he forces himself to remember. His heart pounds in his chest - so much so that he hopes you can’t hear it - and he finds it difficult to swallow the lump that’s housed in his throat.
You work easily together as walk through each room, speaking vaguely about the initial ideas both of you had for the house. You don’t try to sell Harry on one idea or another - you offer a suggestion and if he doesn’t like it, you offer another until he’s comfortable. He feels relaxed, especially once you assure him that nothing is set in stone and that your feelings won’t be hurt if he doesn’t like something you suggest. This is his home, you remind him. It’s all up to him.
“What was the shoot about?” Harry asks as you measure the windows in what will eventually be his bedroom.
“Uneven decorating. Odd numbers look better,” you explain, sniffling slightly. “Always want to have one, three, or five of something, unless it’s like a side table or lamps. But anything on a wall - like framed art or pictures - and table decorations like figurines or candles look best when there’s an odd number of them.”
“You allowed to tell me which publication?” he smirks slyly, leaning up against the wall.
You twist your mouth, trying to conceal a smile. You think on it for a second, tucking your pencil back behind your ear. “Promise not to tell?” you reach out with your pinky, a pseudo-stern look on your face.
“Promise,” Harry links his pinky with yours, trying to conceal his smile by keeping his lips pressed tightly together. How could he say no to a pinky-promise imposed by a gorgeous woman? There were laws against it, he thinks.
“I’m serious!” you scoff, dropping your hand to your side. “I’ll know it was you if you say anything. If you even mention it to anyone - especially Nicholas Grimshaw - I’ll never speak to you again.”
He clears his throat, rubbing his nose twice. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to wear the same stern look you’re sporting. When he opens his eyes, you’re still staring at him intently.
“Swear,” he nods.
“And then you’ve gone and broken a pinky promise, too. Which in my books…” you raise your eyebrows and shake your head with a twitch of your pointer finger in front of you. “It’s HGTV Magazine. From the US.”
“That’s like a major TV channel there, innit?”
“Yeah,” you nod slowly, your eyes widening at the thought. “Now they’ve got magazines. And paint. And furniture. And decor. ‘ve got the market cornered over there. Huge, huge company. Like…massive.”
“And you’ve never been featured in the States, ‘ave you?”
“No,” you nearly whisper.
“That’s a big fuckin’ deal, then!”
“Guess so,” you chuckle, running your hands through your hair. “Thanks for that.”
“Absolutely,” Harry laughs, knocking your shoulder with his knuckles. “Congratulations. It really is a huge deal.”
He knew you were successful, but hearing about how you set up the studio to look like a living room today and would be going back tomorrow in order to get your portrait taken in the room makes him realize just how successful you are. A four-page spread, including an interview on how you’d taken London by storm and your influences would be seen within the American market soon. Their words, not yours, you assured Harry.
As the two of you walk through the rooms on the second floor, he asks how you started within the industry. You explain to him that you went to school to be a financial advisor and specialized in small business accounts. You were a pencil-pusher, you told Harry, and you were stuck in an office all day long. You’d spend your weekends refurbishing antique furniture, finding that you’d had a knack for it. It made you happy - so happy that it was the only thing that got you through the monotony of your work week. Although you loved your clients and always enjoyed the pride that came with their wins, you weren’t especially happy in your job. Something had to change.
After agreeing that all of the light fixtures upstairs would have to be replaced, you went on to talk about how even though you saw how much stress your clients were under running their own businesses, you couldn’t shake the feeling of wanting to begin your own business.
“Put my life savings into my first shop,” you flick off the hallway bathroom’s light. “I was eating Ramen nearly every night. Went without electricity in my apartment for a week because I didn’t ‘ave enough money to pay for lights at the store and lights at home,” you laugh. “Feels like such a long time ago…”
You started out selling furniture and other decor items. It was tough, but little by little, you made progress. Eventually, one of your regular customers asked if you were interested in working with her as an interior design consultant for her company. It helped get your name out, and soon you were redesigning spaces for people you could’ve never imagined.
Harry admires how smart and brave you are - he can understand how scary it is to go it alone without knowing the results. He was going through it right now. He was in a more privileged position, sure, but he was still unsure of what the future held, and he could appreciate how much courage it took to start over. It made him look at you in a different light - a light that allowed him to see the struggle you’d gone through, working you way from nothing to one of the best in your field. He’d envied the confidence that you sported when it came to your work and wondered if he, himself, would ever feel that.
Once you’re finished taking down all of the information you need, you follow Harry back downstairs.
“Still raining,” you frown, gathering all of your materials. “Does wonders for the hair.” You pretend to flip it over your shoulders. The natural state of it brought out by the weather makes Harry want you all the more.
“Ye’ look great.”
You tut, rolling your eyes a bit, but thank him nonetheless. “So, ‘ve got to take off,” you state, your body language pulling you back to the foyer. “But I really am so excited to get started on the mockups,” you hop a little. “It’s a beautiful space and we can start from scratch, which is when I have most of my fun.”
“‘m excited too,” Harry smiles.
“‘ll have Megan call you when I’m done with the renderings,” you slip your boots back on. “Should take no longer than a week. So count on next Thursday?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “And congratulations again on the magazine - really is a big deal.”
You tilt your head to the side, all of your features softening. “Thank you, Harry,” you smile coyly. You squeeze him a bit as you hug goodbye, the materials in your arms pressed between the two of you creating a barrier that Harry would rather be without. “I had fun today.”
“I did, too.”
He watches you run to your work van, leaping over a particularly large puddle. He laughs to himself as you struggle with your keys before unlocking the driver’s door, diving into the vehicle with a sigh that he can’t see. He watches as you push your mussed-up hair back, noticing him standing in the front window. You wave with a knowing smile before turning on the engine and backing out of the drive.
It’s that smile - that sly smirk - that pushes Harry over the edge that night.
He didn’t want to touch himself, but he’d been rock hard ever since he saw how beautiful your ass looked in your paint-splattered work jeans as you ran to the car. He didn’t want to defile you in his mind as he stroked himself in the shower, water running down his shoulders and back as he faced away from the spray. He didn’t want to moan your name as his balls tightened, the images of you naked and begging for him littering his mind to the point of no return.
But, he did.
He had to.
Nobody would know - it would be his secret - but if he didn’t jack off to the thought of you, he was sure he’d lose his damn mind.
He pictures you sporting the same upturn of your lips from earlier as you ride him, your flannel from that day still on, yet unbuttoned to reveal your breasts as you grind down against him. You know what you do to him, and your smile tells all. He imagines how beautiful you’d sound as he gripped your hips, slowing your movements to nearly a stop while he pushes up into you, groaning at the gasp you give him in return.
He’d never wanted to be inside someone as much as he wanted to be inside you. He wants to feel your breath against his ear, his name across your lips, your fingertips gripping his shoulders. He wants to know what you taste like - sweet, probably, like the candles you burn. He wants to know how warm you are; how wet he can make you by just the touch of his lips to yours. He wants to hear your moan - feel it vibrate down his cock while he’s in your mouth, that gorgeous pout of yours wrapped around the head of him.
He wants it all, but he can’t have it, so his hand will have to do.
A part of him feels guilty when he cums on the shower wall, his splotchy vision and ringing ears indicating that he gave in too quickly. But, fuck. What was a man supposed to do? You’d smelled so good; your stories never bored him; you were becoming a global success and you’d accepted to work with him.
And your ass? In those jeans?
He was done before he ever began, as far as that was concerned.
He walks out of the shower on shaky legs, a white bath towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he takes his head in his hands and grunts.
“Fuck’r you on, Styles?” he asks himself.
He leans back onto the covers, his feet dangling off the edge of his bed that he’ll soon replace with another one, based upon your recommendation. He falls asleep that way - sleeps deeply, too, his hair wet and his towel coming undone after he shifts slightly in his slumber. It’s a deep sleep, one that doesn’t produce a memory of a dream, and Harry is thankful for that.
He doesn’t think he could take another night of dreaming of you.
Not if he wasn’t able to turn those dreams into a reality so that his mind could stop wandering day in and day out…
The Five Times You Lay Your Eyes on Bucky || Bucky Barnes
Relationship: Biker!Bucky x reader
Summary: The five times you lay your eyes on Bucky.
Word Count: 1.8k
A/N: honestly I wrote this on a whim and I kinda love it ???
The first time you lay your eyes on Bucky you’re just starting your late night shift at the diner. Your eyes lock with his as you tie your apron around your waist, blushing as he sends a wink in your direction.
It was Friday night, which meant it was busy with intoxicated people flowing in from the pub across the street to the diner in search of some greasy food to satisfy their cravings.
You were overwhelmed, serving five tables all at once, trying to get their orders out in a timely fashion while refilling their drinks. It’s not like you meant to do it on purpose, you were just rushing through the orders that your hand knocked over a man’s drink as you took their menu.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” you stumbled out as you grabbed a towel, patting down the table before grabbing the now empty cup from it’s position on it’s side, a rough hand catching your wrist, “you better be gettin’ me a new one for free,” the man spat in your face aggressively before pushing you harshly away from the table making you stumble.
Tears formed in your eyes as you mumbled out an another apology, being cut off by an unfamiliar voice halfway through, “that’s no way to treat a lady,” the voice barked behind you, but it didn’t make you cower, it comforted you.
“And if you’ve got a problem with her you best be comin’ to me first,” whoever was behind you spoke again making the man nod his head before apologizing to you repeatedly.
You quickly walked away behind the counter, footsteps following you as you finally looked up to see Bucky’s concerned eyes ghost over your face, “he didn’t hurt ya, did he doll?” He asked in a gentle voice, nothing like he sounded just seconds ago.
Tears had spilled past your eyes and onto your cheek as you nodded, unable to form a sentence, still in shock and completely overwhelmed, “I promise he won’t be botherin’ you no more,” Bucky said again, a smile appearing on your face as he wiped away a stray tear.
“Thanks, Bucky,” you croaked as he let out a small chuckle, “anytime, doll,” he winked before he made his way out of the diner, a small group of men following him as they got onto their bikes, engines roaring to life.
Your eyes met Bucky’s one more time through the glass as he did a small salute with his fingers before riding away into the night leaving you with butterflies in your stomach and a hurricane of thoughts in your mind.
The second time you’d seen Bucky was walking home after a horrible date, your arms crossed over your chest as you kicked a couple of stray rocks and twigs with your heel clad shoes, not caring if they were getting scuffed all the while mumbling about how much of a prick your date was.
“Rough night?” A voice brought you out of your thoughts as you turned to your left to see Bucky leaning against his bike, arms crossed over his chest as his leather jacket and black jeans hugged every muscle.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” you chuckled dryly as you stood on the pavement in front of Bucky, “Lemme guess,” Bucky smirked as he straightened out his posture, “all talk no action sorta guy?” He guessed as you dropped your head, chuckling, “how’d you guess?” You asked almost rhetorically as Bucky shrugged his shoulders, “lucky guess,” he said as he moved to grab a helmet.
“How ‘bout I give you a ride home?” He suggested, holding out the helmet to you as you thought it over, “why not,” you shrugged before Bucky got on his bike, you following his actions as you loosely wrapped your arms around his torso, “you’re gonna have to hold on tighter than that, doll,” he chuckled as you tightened your grip on him as his engine roared to life once more.
“Thanks for the ride,” you said, passing his helmet to him as he smiled, “it was my pleasure, darlin’,” he said before you both fell into a sort of awkward silence, “well, I should get going,” you said as he nodded his head, “yeah for sure,” he said but you didn’t move.
You turned around taking one step before turning around hastily walking over to Bucky, giving him a kiss on his cheek, “thanks again,” you whispered as a blush crept over your cheeks, “like I said, anytime, doll,” he said, his breath fanning over your face from your close proximity.
Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers moved a strand of hair behind your face, “better get home before your parents start to get worried darlin’,” he whispered as you nodded, practically skipping up the steps to your home.
The third time that your eyes landed on Bucky was when you were grabbing the mail on a Sunday morning, fluffly robe, cat pj pants, and koala slippers. Your heart kicked as his eyes landed on yours, a smirk making its way onto his face.
You cursed yourself for stepping out of the house in the state you were in, hoping that Bucky would continue to mow the neighbours lawn instead on striking up a conversation with you.
Luck was not on your side as Bucky jogged up to you, smirk not faltering.
“Mornin’ stranger,” he chuckled as you grabbed the multiple envelopes from your mailbox, “mornin’ Buck,” you giggled as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest, the tank top he was wearing left little to the imagination.
“You mowing lawns now?” You teased as he chuckled, “Mrs. Braverman needed a strong, handsome fella to help her out,” he winked as you rolled your eyes, “then get back to work, Barnes,” you said walking back towards your front door.
“I sure will, kitten,” he shouted back as you sighed knowing you had just gotten a knew nickname from him, “never again,” you mumbled to yourself, stepping inside the house, swearing to throw out those dreaded pyjama pants.
The fourth time you saw Bucky was when you walked passed an ally hearing someone groan in pain as you did. You told yourself that you should just ignore it, that it wasn’t a good idea to get mixed up with whoever’s business it was.
That was until you heard a man snicker, “should’a thought twice ‘bout challengin’ me, Barnes.”
You took a deep breath mustering up as much courage as you could before venturing into the alley, your heels clacking along the pavement, echoing so much that it got the men’s attention.
Bucky was on the ground, face bloodied as three men stood over him, “what’re you doin’ here, little lady,” one of the men snickered, coming closer to you. He reeked of body odour and whiskey, almost making you sick to your stomach, “let him go,” you said sternly, eyes flickering over to Bucky’s whose were pleading for you to just run.
“Or what?” They taunted as you rolled your eyes, “you really wanna beat up a lady? Go ahead,” you smirked as all the men snarled before brushing past you, “you’re lucky your girl saved you, Barnes,” they spat, “next time you won’t be lucky,” they barked before leaving the alley.
“Are you crazy!” Bucky gasped as he jumped up, slightly limping towards you, “don’t you ever do that again, ya hear me, doll?” He said, hands cupping your face as his desperate eyes searched yours.
“I couldn’t let them hurt you,” you whispered, his thumb rubbing over your cheeks as he closed his eyes, shaking his head, “let’s get out of here,” he said as you nodded. You wrapped your arm around his torso as he wrapped his around your shoulder for support before you made it to your house.
“Sit,” you commanded as he did what he was told, sitting on the covered toilet as you grabbed a bunch of medical supplies, “you’re lucky my parents are doctors,” you joked as you began cleaning his face, “that I am,” he mumbled, watching your concentrated expression as you moved on fixing him up.
“There,” you said, throwing the last piece of bloodied tissue in the trash, “all done,” you smiled as Bucky examined his face in the mirror, “you’re real good at this, sure you don’t got anyone else to practice on?” He half-joked as you chuckled, “I’m a fast learner,” you smiled as he brushed some of your hair behind you ear, cupping your jaw with his hand.
“Thank you,” he mumbled as your eyes fixated on each others. Everything around you seemed to still as Bucky slowly leaned in, until his lips were just inches from yours.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your tippie toes as you closed the space between the two of you, connecting your lips in a gentle kiss, Bucky’s free hand pulling you closer to him.
“You’re very welcome,” you winked as you pulled apart, leaving Bucky’s head spinning.
The fifth time you saw Bucky he was stood outside the carnival entrance, flipping a coin as he leaned against the wooden fence, eyes searching for your own. The second they met yours he dropped his coin and pushed off the fence to embrace you in a hug.
“You came,” he said, awestruck by your presence, “I told ya I would,” you said, wrapping your arms around his torso as he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leading you inside.
It took weeks of convincing, but you had finally agreed on going on a date with Bucky. You were hesitant, not because you didn’t like him, but because your parent’s would surely have heart attacks if they found out you were going out with the town’s bike gang leader.
“I’m, uh, really happy you’re here,” Bucky said shyly as he intertwined his fingers with yours, a blush creeping up onto his cheeks, “is the infamous Bucky Barnes blushing?” You teased, tilting his chin up with your index and middle finger.
“Am not,” he said defensively, pulling you towards the ferris wheel, “I’m just a little cold,” he tried to cover up as you giggled, “whatever you say,” you teased as he wrapped his arms around your torso.
“It’s so beautiful,” you said in awe as the ferris wheel reached the top, “not as beautiful as you, doll,” Bucky quipped as you hid your face in the crook of his neck in a desperate attempt to hide your own blush.
“Oh is the infamous [Y/N] [Y/L/N] blushing,” Bucky mocked your previous words as you narrowed your eyes at him, “you’re lucky you’re cute,” you said as he pulled you closer to him, “ditto,” he mumbled against your lips before pressing them in a passionate kiss making your toes curl.
“You should sneak out more often,” Bucky chuckled as you whimpered at the loss of his lips against yours, “less talking more kissing,” you mumbled before threading your fingers through his hair as he happily pressed his lips against yours again.
Needless to say it was a bit difficult to keep your hickey’s covered from your parents as they scolded you.
Thank God for fall or else your parents would be livid about the marks on your thighs.
Hii! I know it’s been forever since I wrote something and I’m very sorry. There’s been so much on my mind lately and so many things that made me feel overwhelmed and I just needed to sort it out. This is kind of very loosely based on ‘Love me or leave me’ by Little Mix because someone requested it. I hope you like it. I plan on writing a second part.xxx
“Well, maybe I don’t fucking care anymore!”
It seemed like his booming voice made the whole house vibrate. It seemed like it cut right through Y/N. His words felt like he took a knife and rammed it into her heart and to top it all off he twisted it slowly so the pain had time to spread.
These last weeks felt like nothing but pain for her. He was never home and even when he was he somehow wasn’t. She let him in and he pushed her away. He pushed her so far away she couldn’t feel him anymore.
“Why are you still here then!?”
She had had enough. If he didn’t care anymore he could walk out the door and never come back.
Harry scoffed, turned around and walked up the stairs. When he slammed the bedroom door shut Y/N could feel the last bit of connection between them slipping away completely.
It’s never been this harsh. They slammed doors and yelled hurtful things before but it’s never been like this. Somehow this felt final.
She didn’t know how it happened, how everything between them began to crumble. But it did.
She didn’t feel his loving touch in at least three months. She didn’t hear his loving words in at least three months.
They fought almost every day and when they didn’t fight they didn’t talk to each other at all. Mornings were spent alone and cold, both waking up at their own times without a good morning kiss or a cuddle or anything at all. Nights were even worse. They went to sleep in the same bed but facing away from each other. They never solved their problems before bed. They broke their rule every single night and went to bed angry.
And even though right now Y/N might think it would be better if their paths would part she also knew she wouldn’t recover from it. Harry was the love of her life. She knew she could never be happy without him.
And so she broke down. Ugly sobs and fat tears. The whole weight of the last few months finally got too much and she couldn’t take it anymore. She was sure she’s never cried this much in her entire life. She was sure she never felt so hurt but numb at the same time before.
She didn’t know what the hell went wrong. What she did to push him away. What she did that made him stop loving her. He doesn’t love you anymore.
Those were the words that constantly replayed in her head, after every fight. He hates me.
She couldn’t find another explanation. That was the only reason she could think of as to why he wasn’t interested in fixing things between them.
When she met him she was sure he was the most wonderful person she’s ever met. He looked at her as if she was the most important thing on earth. He cooked the most delicious dinner for her. He held doors for her. He made her laugh and feel appreciated.
When she really got to know him she was knocked off her feet. He was the most gentle and loving man she could have ever imagined. He was there for her. He was the place she ran to when the world overwhelmed her. He was her happy place. Her home.
When things got a bit rough they stuck together. They were a team. They faced everything together and fought through it.
Y/N was the happiest girl ever. She thought she found her forever. Her happily ever after.
Until the perfect relationship began to change into great, then good, then normal and then…
Into whatever they had now.
She couldn’t take it anymore. And the worst thing was that there was no way out of this hell. They can’t go back to where they’ve once been. And parting ways? No fucking way could she survive without him.
It was three hours and twenty tissues later when Harry finally exited the bedroom and came down the stairs. Y/N was standing in front of the big living room window which had a view over what seemed like half of London. Her back was turned to Harry, her hair messy and her frame slightly shaking.
She knew that whatever would come now would change everything. She knew that they reached a point were something had to happen. Anything.
Harry took a deep breath and took the last few step towards her. Y/N closed her eyes when she felt his warmth. She hadn’t felt it in so long.
When he reached his hand out thread his fingers through hers she flinched. Harry could feel his heart breaking at her reaction to his touch. He closed the gap between them and pressed his chest flush against her back. That’s when Y/N started to cry again. Her whole body shook with the force of her tears and the whimpers and sobs seemed to get louder with every passing second.
“Shhh.” Harry tried to calm her and finally wrapped his arms around her from behind.
He nuzzled his face into her neck where she always smelled so good and that’s when he realized how long he hasn’t done that.
Y/N moved her arms so she could intertwine both her hands with his. She didn’t remember the last time she held his hand. She used to love his hands so much, always playing with his fingers and kissing his knuckles.
Harry kept pressing tiny kisses to her shoulder and squeezed her tighter to him every time a whimper left her lips.
They stood like that for at least ten minutes before Y/N turned around in his arms and hugged him again. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his hands stroking softly over her back while her hands were fisting his shirt. She couldn’t get close enough. She needed him closer. Her hands wandered down underneath his shirt to touch his skin. Harry shuddered when her cold hands touched his skin but he knew she needed this. She hasn’t felt his skin in forever. It almost felt foreign.
When they finally pulled away from each other both of them were scared to let go. This couldn’t be it. They needed each other.
“We have to talk, Harry.” she whispered and pressed her forehead against his.
“I know, my love.” My love.
Was she still his love?
She thought he hated her.
They sat down at the kitchen table across from each other. Both of them couldn’t be fast enough to reach out for each other again and when their hands bumped against each other they both laughed softly. For the first time in months.
None of them wanted to be the first to say anything. Until Harry finally couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“I didn’t mean anything that I said earlier. Or… in the last few weeks. God, what is happening with us?”
“I don’t know, Harry. But it can’t keep going like this. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Me neither, love. I know I didn’t show how much it was affecting me but I want you to know that I feel just as broken as you do.” Broken.
Is that what they’ve become?
“I… I thought you hated me. During all these times you pulled away or turned your back towards me, I thought you hated me.”
Harry’s free hand reached out to hers so he could clasp her hand in both of his.
“I never ever hated you. Not for a second. And I never will.”
Y/N felt like a huge weight was lifted from her shoulders and she felt like she could breath again.
“I love you so much, darling.” Harry whimpered.
Her head snapped up so she could look at him and when she saw tears running down his cheek she reached over the table to wipe them away.
“I love you too, Harry. So much.”
Harry removed her hand from his face and pressed gentle kiss to ever knuckle.
“What are we going to do, love? I want to fix this. I want to go back to being the happiest couple ever. I want to go back to being happy with each other.”
“Me too, Harry. God, I’d do everything to get back to what we once had.”
They stared into each other’s eyes until Y/N cleared her throat and diverted her eyes to the table.
“I-I think we need a break.”
Harry’s whole world stopped in that moment. His mouth fell open and his brows furrowed. He pulled his hands from hers and a breathless ‘no’ left his lips.
“No.” He repeated after a moment.
“Harry, listen. I-”
“No!” he shouted.
Y/N flinched and her ears began to ring like every time he raised his voice at her. Her eyes closed and tears began to dribble down her cheeks.
“Do you think I’m stupid? I know exactly what’s going to happen when we do that. You’re going to realize just how unhappy I make you and that you are so sick and tired of me and you’ll never come back. Or you’ll find someone else who makes you laugh more than I ever did. God, I’m going to be gone for two weeks for promo. Is that not enough distance and space for you?!“
“Harry, I need time okay? I need time to take care of myself. I need time for sorting things out. I need time so that this all can work again and if you’re honest, you need it too.”
He laughed humorlessly and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You will have that time when I’m gone.”
“I-I don’t think two weeks are going to be enough.”
His eyes caught hers and she swore she’s never seen him look at her like that. So sad but angry at the same time.
“Two weeks are nothing, Harry.”
“There’s been times when you couldn’t go a single day without me. There’s been times where two weeks without each other seemed like the end of the world.”
She closed her eyes and tried to control the tears which constantly blurred her sight.
“I don’t think we can sort anything out in two weeks.”
“I don’t think we can sort anything out when we’re away from each other.”
He closed his eyes briefly and sighed.
“No fucking way!”
This time it was Y/N’s turn to sigh.
“One month. And not a single day longer.”
She caught his eyes for a moment before she nodded.
They sat in silence for several minutes, both didn’t know what to say.
“I-I thought I’d stay in a hotel for the two weeks before you’re gone and then I’ll come back.”
“No. Please, I-… I want to know you’re safe. You’ll stay here and I’ll stay with Gemma.”
“If that’s okay with you.”
“No, it’s actually not.”
She looked at him with the saddest eyes he ever saw and he shook his head and and sighed.
“I’m gonna go pack some stuff and then you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”
“Harry, I did not suggest a break because I want to get away from you as quickly as possible. I want to fix this. And I feel like some distance is the only way to sort things out. Or at least make the first step.”
He didn’t say anything but just left the kitchen and went upstairs to pack a few things. For some reason Y/N couldn’t help but feel guilty. Of course she knew he wouldn’t be happy with taking a break, she wasn’t either. But she hoped he could at least understand where she came from.
When he came down the stairs half an hour later with two big duffle bags Y/N almost felt like crying again. She watched him, how he placed them beside the front door, wiped his tears away, took a deep breath and turned around to make his way to the kitchen so he could say goodbye but she was already standing in the foyer. They stared at each other for a few moments before Harry cleared his throat and removed a greasy strand of hair from his face.
“I’ll go now, I guess.”
“Yeah.” Y/N nodded and sniffled.
He looked at her for another few seconds before he let out a frustrated sigh.
“Can I at least get a hug?”
He saw the surprise on her face but she nodded anyway and took the last few steps towards him. She slung her arms tightly around his neck and pressed her body tightly to his and Harry wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed her to his chest. He pressed kisses to her shoulder and neck and stroked over her back in gentle patterns.
When they pulled away a bit Y/N reached up to cup his cheeks and stroke over his skin.
“I love you. Nothing changed about that and nothing is going to change. I don’t want you to worry about me breaking up with you. I couldn’t imagine life without you.”
Harry pressed his forehead to hers and pulled her body even closer.
“Will you say goodbye when I’ll leave for New York? Don’t think I could leave without seeing you before.”
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
Harry sighed but nodded.
“C-Can I kiss you?” he asked her in a whisper.
She leaned in and connected her lips to his as an answer, his bottom lip slipping between hers. She kissed him four times before she pulled away a bit to look up at him again.
“I love you. You know that, right?”
She nodded and smiled softly at him.
“I love you, too.”
Harry gazed into her eyes for another few seconds before he pressed a few gentle kisses against her lips again. He pulled away from her then and took his duffle bags.
“I’ll let you know when I’ll leave for New York. You can call me or come over anytime you need, okay?”
“Okay. You can come over or call as well. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”
He nodded and opened the door.
“Take care, yeah?”
“You too, love.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
And just like that he left.
How do you think the IPRE settled in together when stuck in the Statblaster? Like before and/or after they get along?
There is… SO MUCH potential here…
The Starblaster was not designed with a hundred years in mind. The trip was only supposed to be two months, which is the only reason any of them could come up with for why there is only one bathroom on the entire ship. And no one can get Merle out of the bathroom once he’s locked himself in there. He’ll insist that it’s time that he pampered himself and turn the room into a personal spa for hours. All pleading, yelling, and threats are met with only delighted laughter and the slight hint of lavender.
The first time Taako and Lup have a fight - a real fight, with screaming and wrestling and things catching on fire - the rest of the crew can see their lives flashing before their eyes. It’s terrifying, and everyone is afraid to leave the bedroom they’ve holed up in. Davenport is frantic; they’d insisted on being chosen together or not at all, he thought they liked each other, what is he going to do if they kill each other every cycle… The crew ventures out a few hours later to find the twins in the kitchen, sharing an entire plate of chocolate chip cookies. Taako asks them where they’ve been, and Davenport locks himself in the cockpit for a few hours.
Lucretia is not the best at interacting at first. She can, and she does, but she’d rather be writing and so she almost always is. And she writes everything - including entire conversations between other crew members, word for word. A rule has to be established that Lucretia’s notebooks are not to be stolen for any form of blackmail or sabotage because they keep disappearing only to show back up in the middle of an argument. Lucretia makes the effort to keep slightly less accurate notes. (She only sometimes resorts to blackmail herself.)
It soon becomes apparent that Lup and Barry are research enablers, meaning that neither one will be the Voice of Reason when it is three in the morning and the research would be better served by the researchers getting some sleep. They once manage to keep each other going for three days straight on nothing but coffee, and Taako has had enough. He drags them both to his room, tosses them on the bed, and lays on top of them to trap them. He has done this to Lup many times; it’s an adjustment for Barry. It happens often enough that Barry gets used to it.
Nobody can agree on music. There’s an entire month where wildly different musical genres are played over the intercom at high volume in a passive-aggressive standoff. Everyone knows that the classical and opera music is Davenport. To everyone’s shock, Barry is responsible for the metal contributions. No one is sure who keeps playing “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” - everyone thought it was Lup until she suddenly turned and blasted the nearest intercom speaker to pieces when they were entering hour two. Davenport knows that the feud is over when someone mutters a line from a song from his favorite opera, and they all join in; the performance becomes increasingly enthusiastic and dramatic, and the crew butchers the song mercilessly.
There are bad days where the worst happens, again and again, and while those never get easier, the crew falls into a routine for those too. Everyone takes comfort in different things; Magnus likes physical contact and will cuddle with anyone who’s willing. Davenport stays alone for a while, until he has the composure to face his crew again. Barry doesn’t like to break down in front of the others but he does break down; eventually, Lup and Taako are allowed to see those moments. Merle does his best to remain positive, even goofy, in the hopes that it’ll raise a laugh out of the others; Lucretia eventually convinces him to talk to her honestly, and it helps. It always helps Lucretia to talk to Merle, to try and sort out what she’s feeling. Taako has to be reminded to eat, and to leave his room. Lup is angry, powered by rage until she wears herself out and then she’s quiet; it helps to have someone close by, and Magnus is always willing to sit extra-close.
Eventually, they all have the same favorite day. The first day of the new year - no matter what the last year was like, the first day of the new year is always good. Everyone is home again, and whoever was missing is brought inside and put in the middle of the big couch in the living area, immediately squished between everyone else who can physically fit. All of the furniture is pushed together because no one wants to be any farther away than they have to and usually Lucretia (but sometimes someone else) brings out all of the journals from the past year. And they recount everything - good things, bad things, inside jokes and injuries - so whoever was missing doesn’t miss anything. Eventually Davenport has to go back to the cockpit to navigate whatever new world they’ve ended up in, but just for a moment what’s happening inside the Starblaster is much more important than what’s happening outside of it.