#I actually managed a real drabble y’all

[walkawaytall]

Number 7 for the drabble, thank you ! :)

7. "Come on, breathe, breathe, don't you dare--"

She had planned for every scenario, every possibility, every contingency. Except this one. When Han’s body tumbles to the ground, entirely limp and damp with carbonite condensation, she’s surprised.

Perfect hibernation. That’s what Lando had said, but the man in front of her, the man who Leia has waited months to rescue, looks perfectly dead.

Dropping to the ground herself, she rolls him over, listening for any sign of life. No movement that she can see, no breath that she can hear. Come on, breathe, breathe, don't you dare—

A quick gasp and tears rush to her eyes. He’s alive.

Thank you!

[marvelstoriesepic]

Different, this time

Pairing: Fuck buddy!Bucky x Reader

Summary: After the hospital visit and the doctor’s diagnosis, Bucky is plagued with guilt. He won’t touch you again until he is absolutely sure that you’re okay. Once you manage to reassure him, you both discover what it truly means to make love, rather than just fucking with suppressed feelings. And it’s overwhelming in the best way.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: (18+) explicit sexual content, mdni; sickly sweet smut; oral (f receiving); fingering; soft aftercare; mentions of physical pain during sex (past); mentions of cervical bruising; slight mentions of medical scenes; panic attacks (graphic and mentioned); guilt; emotional distress; crying; themes of healing and emotional vulnerability; sad!Bucky; panicked!Bucky; sweetheart!Bucky; lots and lots of worried!Bucky

Author’s Note: Help, I might have ruined myself for any other real man with this. Y’all, this is my first time writing smut, so please be kind!! But I'm not gonna lie, I genuinely loved writing this. Soo I guess, this won’t be the last time you'll have me sharing some smut!! To make things clear, this is the second part to In too deep!! Btw, I was a bit nervous about whether I’d be able to get back into writing longer fics so smoothly, after the 2k drabble challenge, but I’d say I’ve managed lmao. I hope you enjoy ♡

Part One

Masterlist

The car is too quiet.

Outside, the streetlights flicker as if they’re forgetting how to glow.

You are in the passenger seat, watching the world blur past in smudges of gold and grey, your hands folded in your lap, afraid of what they might do if left unsupervised.

The car makes a soft and steady sound beneath you but everything inside feels tight. Too tight.

Like a breath, you haven’t taken.

Bucky hasn’t said a word since you left the hospital.

His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. White like fear. White like bone. White like guilt.

You glance over at him.

He’s staring straight ahead, eyes fixed, unmoving. His jaw is locked so tightly it looks like pain. There is a muscle twitching beneath the skin. Just beneath the hinge of his jaw, like something trying to break free.

The dashboard casts its pale light against his side profile. The soft stutter of passing streetlamps blink shadows across his hardened face.

You try to speak softly. “Bucky-”

“You sure you’re okay?” he interrupts, fast. Too fast. His voice is low but cracked, words splintering on their way out.

You nod before you realize he’s not looking. “Yes,” you say, slower. “I’m sure.” He’s asked about fifteen times in the last twenty minutes. But you think it actually should be you asking him.

The doctor told you that it was a cervical contusion in that although soft but clipped and clinical tone. Said that the bleeding would stop, that the pain would ease, that you were going to be fine - physically.

And the way Bucky flinched after that suggested he was perhaps doing worse than you.

He’s asked a few questions, asked how to treat it, asked what you might need, asked what he can do, but his voice was rough and close to giving out. He sat beside you in that too-white room, hands clenched in his lap, jaw locked as though he could grind down the guilt if he just kept his teeth pressed hard enough. He kept looking at your legs, at the blanket they gave you, as though he was waiting for the blood to start flowing again. As though he’d never trust your body not to break under him.

He listened when your doctor explained that it was moderate, but healing and there would be no lasting damage. You should just give it time and be gentle.

But Bucky didn’t hear healing.

He only heard damage.

He hadn’t said anything after that anymore. Just nodded, once. Swallowed hard. Signed the papers with a hand that shook so violently you had to cover it with yours.

You watch him now, his breath thinning.

“Buck,” you ease softly. “I’m okay. She said it’s healing, alright? I’ll be fine.”

Bucky shakes his head once. Sharp. A slice through the silence. “She said it could’ve been worse. That it could’ve-” He swallows loud, and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“But it’s not,” you remind him gently, almost wanting to reach out but not knowing if he needs that right now.

But Bucky doesn’t answer.

Then, you do reach for his arm, tenderly. Fingers brushing over his sleeve. But he flinches. Not from you. From himself. From the memory.

“Buck-”

“I should’ve noticed,” he snaps, and his voice breaks. Just a little. A fracture, clean through. “You said yes. You always say yes, and I- I should’ve seen it- I should’ve fucking known-”

His foot slips heavier on the gas.

The lane lines start to blur.

“Bucky,” you say again, firmer.

But he doesn’t answer.

His eyes dart from the windshield to the mirrors, unfocused. His shoulders have hiked up around his ears. His left hand twitches, his right one follows, tapping the wheel with restless, erratic beats.

His breathing is shallow. Too fast.

You can feel the swell of something too big inside him, pressing against his ribs, rising like floodwater. His grip on the wheel has gone rigid, too stiff for control. His shoulders are locking up.

“Bucky-”

His chest heaves harshly.

He blinks - once, twice - too slow.

His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle fluttering beneath his skin. His breath is sharp, teeth grinding as he sucks in through his nose and lets it out in gasps through his mouth.

“I hurt you,” he croaks, voice undone, shredded. “I fucking hurt you- I was inside you- I didn’t even see-”

The wheel jerks. Just for a second. Enough to drift too close to the lane line.

You shoot forward in your seat. Alarm ringing in your ears.

“I-” he gasps, blinking fast. “Y/n, I can’t- I can’t- I didn’t mean- I didn’t mean to-”

Reaching over to grab the wheel, you wrap your hands about Bucky’s, forcing it steady.

“Okay, okay, I got it. I’ve got you, baby. But we have to pull over.”

Bucky is trembling now. Hands frozen. Breath ragged. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, catching the glow of a red traffic light.

You guide the car gently to the side, one hand over his as you steer, the other flicking on the hazards, keeping your voice and your movements calm for the sake of Bucky’s rising panic attack even as your heart thunders in your chest.

Bucky brakes too hard and too fast, the tires stuttering on the asphalt as though they are afraid of where he’ll go if they don’t stop him. The moment the engine falls quiet, the silence screams.

And Bucky falls apart.

His head drops forward. Hands over his eyes. Whole body shaking.

He’s still in the driver’s seat but he’s not in his body. His breathing is wild. His chest is heaving in sharp and panicked pulls and you realize he’s trying to get in air but can’t. His left hand is rashly fumbling for the door handle to keep himself tethered.

“Bucky,” you whisper, already unbuckling your seat belt. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

But he doesn’t hear you. He is stuck in some dark, echoing place inside himself and it won’t let him out.

Without hesitation, you move over the console and climb into his lap, settling gently on his thighs, facing him, your knees pressed into the edges of the seat.

Your hands come to his face, cradling it carefully - thumbs brushing over the hollow beneath his eyes, the flushed heat of his cheeks. His skin is clammy, cold.

He still can’t breathe.

You press your forehead to his. Anchor him.

His eyes squeeze together tightly.

“Hey, hey. Look at me, Buck. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, choking out words you can’t make out because they all end up in a sob.

“James,” you start, and this time your voice is different. This is the sound you make when you’re scared and concerned and you need him to come back. “James. Breathe with me. You’re here with me. We’re okay.”

He shakes his head again, but it’s jerky, frantic.

“I hurt you,” he whimpers. “I hurt you. I should’ve known. I should’ve stopped-”

“No, no. Stop. Listen to me,” you whisper, voice low, brushing his tear-damp hair back from his face. “You checked in on me and I told you I was okay. I said I was fine. You trusted me, Bucky. That’s not your fault.”

He’s still trembling. Still trying to outrun the guilt in his lungs.

But you don’t move. You stroke his hair back, kiss his temples, his forehead, his nose.

His eyes finally meet yours. They are wide and wet and red, brimming with horror. He looks as though he wants to disappear inside himself.

You keep hold of his face, brushing tears away so tenderly. “It was my body. My voice. You didn’t know, and I didn’t tell you. That’s not on you. You never hurt me on purpose. I need you to hear that, Bucky.”

His chest heaves once, twice, then breaks apart with a cry. He pulls you closer, buries his face in your neck. His arms wrap around you like a man drowning.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs again and again. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes and run your fingers through his hair, slow and grounding.

“I know,” you whisper back. “I know you are. But you don’t have to be. I just need you here with me. Right now. Just breathe, Buck.”

And you guide him through it. Deep breathes. In and out. He follows.

And you hold him. As though he’s the one who’s breakable now.

****

You’ve never known silence like this.

Not the kind that’s empty. Not the kind that comes after slamming doors and burnt-out candles and sharp things unsaid. No, this silence is soft. Living. It seeps into your lungs and expands with each inhale, as though it wants to make space for something new.

Bucky is in the kitchen, stirring a spoon through a mug of tea as though it’s the most important thing in the world.

You’re sitting on his couch, knees tucked to your chest, wrapped in one of his henleys that hangs too big on you in all the right places. It’s quiet in your head for the first time in what feels like weeks.

The sky outside has folded into a kind of blue that feels more like velvet than color. The windows are cracked open, the summer breeze floating in, lazy and gold-edged, breathing over your skin like a whisper of someone who never learned to shout.

You’ve been here since late afternoon.

And everything smells like home at his place. Like Bucky. Cedar and cotton and chamomile. There’s a ticking of the wall clock he always pretends not to hate. Next to you lay the neatly folded blanket Bucky always pulls onto your lap when the AC kicks in too high.

Bucky brings you the tea like he always does and doesn’t let go of the mug until he’s sure your fingers are steady around it.

Then he sits down beside you, careful and close. His arm brushes yours and then he pulls back as though even that was too much. His eyes search yours. They always do now. As if he’s checking the weather behind your gaze before he says anything.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asks, voice rough. He probably hasn’t spoken all day before you came over.

You nod, and it’s mostly true. “I’m okay,” you say softly. “I promise.”

The TV is playing something you’re only half-watching, some indie movie with subtitles and sad music.

Bucky lets his arm drape behind your shoulders, over the back of the couch and you hear his fingers tracing the stitches in the seam of the couch. His gaze drifts to the TV but you know he’s not really watching. His eyes flick across the screen but his mind is somewhere else still. You don’t have to guess where.

That weight, that guilt, hasn’t let up.

And it’s not just the incident itself - it’s the panic he spiraled into afterward, the way you had to calm him down when you were the one who had been in pain. That’s what sits the heaviest on him, you think. That you comforted him, wrapped your arms around his trembling frame, and whispered soothing reassurances while your body was still in fresh pain.

You watch the line of his profile, the glimmer of the screen painting shadows beneath his cheekbone. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and there is a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there when you were only fuck buddies.

You’ve talked a lot. About everything. The incident. The aftermath. Your relationship. About what it all means and what it doesn’t, about what you both want and what you both fear. The hard words are behind you now, sorted and softened. And you’re not just his maybe anymore. You’re his. Official. Quietly, fully.

And still, he treats you as though you might not be. As though you’re a snowflake he caught in his hands and he’s afraid to close his fingers.

He’s still scared. Scared of doing something wrong. Scared of missing something again. Scared of hurting you again. You feel it in the way he touches you now - fingertips like feathers on your skin, always asking with and without words if you’re okay. Always watching, always listening.

He treats you like glass now. But glass that’s already cracked.

And you’ve tried to tell him again and again that you’re fine.

But Bucky has always been hard on himself. Especially when it comes to you and your well-being.

His fingers brush your shin slightly and the contact strikes, heat blooming low in your stomach.

You shift closer and Bucky’s attention snaps to you. He watches you move, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips and then darting back up, catching himself. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or habit, that reflex to hesitate.

But he’s been hesitating for weeks.

Weeks of healing. Weeks of slow walks and softer kisses and quieter touches.

You haven’t had sex since.

You wanted to. You were ready. But Bucky wanted to wait. To be sure. To be careful. To do it right this time.

And you let him. You let him wrap you in all that caution and care. Let him fuss and hover and bring you your favorite snacks, let him hold you through the night without reaching for anything more than the sound of your breathing against his chest. You let him because it’s what he needed.

But you are fine now.

Your body doesn’t ache anymore. You’ve healed. Fully. You know this because you’ve checked. Alone. With your fingers and your breath and the soft test of space. And you’ve told him, more than once. But Bucky is stubborn with his guilt, protective.

So you’ve waited. Because you love him.

But you notice the way Bucky keeps glancing at you, his eyes catching on your thighs, the shape of your mouth, the way his shirt hangs loose on your frame every time you wear it.

You notice it right now.

Moving your feet, you place them right on Bucky’s lap and feel the shift in his thigh muscle beneath you. The way his hand on your shin stills, the way the hand behind your shoulders drifts closer, then stops, fingers curling as though they’ve touched a flame.

“Movie’s boring,” you murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder, voice lazy with comfort.

He chuckles, a little breathless, a little nervous, low in his chest. “Didn’t even know what it was.”

His eyes catch yours. He’s looking at you as though you’ve said something profound.

Your hand slips up to cup his cheek, your thumb sweeping gently across the faint stubble there. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, as though your touch still startles him, still humbles him.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He swallows. Opens his eyes. Immediately, they drop to your mouth. Then back to your eyes. And again.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You lean in first.

The kiss is gentle. Familiar. Something well-loved.

He tastes of cinnamon and hesitation. He kisses you with a kind of slowness that seems almost like another apology, another question if you’re okay.

His hand finds your waist, the other brushes the back of your neck, and they hold you so carefully you want to cry. You press closer. Push into the kiss. Let it deepen.

And for a moment, with a soft groan, he lets go.

His grip tightens. His mouth opens. His body leans into yours, chest brushing chest, thighs pressing close.

His mouth moves with yours as though it remembers exactly where it left off. Deep. Thoughtful.

You sigh against him. The movie flickers behind your closed eyelids.

Your name escapes him in a breath, his hands tighten a fraction, shaking slightly. His breath stutters, the kiss deepens, and suddenly he’s pulling away.

His brows are furrowed and he looks at you slightly panting. “What are you doing?” he asks, cautious, worried.

You blink, lips swollen, a little dazed. You answer with a small, amused tilt of your head. “I’m kissing my boyfriend.”

He flushes visibly, face burning red, but he doesn’t smile, and that line between his brows doesn’t ease. His jaw flexes. “I just- I know we’ve talked,” he starts, voice hushed, breathy. “And you say you’re okay, but I just don’t wanna rush this. You know? I don’t want to push you. Or hurt you. Or do this just because I’m-”

He shifts slightly, adjusting himself. The movement reveals the hardening outline of him in his sweatpants.

“I’m not rushing, Buck. We-”

“I am though. I didn’t mean to- but it got kinda- fast, and-” He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. His voice is tight now. “I just need to be sure, doll. I need to know you’re okay. Completely.”

You press your forehead to his, arms slipping around his neck. Your voice is a soft brush. “I am okay. Really. It’s been weeks, Bucky. Everything’s healed. The doctor said it. I said it. And I’m telling you again.”

He swallows. You feel it. That pulse in his throat working hard to steady itself. He looks at you, hard. Searching. Maybe trying to see inside you.

“I just… I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything.” A rough tremor runs through his voice.

“I don’t,” you ease quickly, shaking your head. “I want this, Bucky. And I’ve been listening to my body. I’m okay.” Leaning down, you kiss his jaw, just below his ear. He shivers. “And I trust you.”

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. His voice is thick, strained. “Still. I don’t wanna rush you. Not if there’s even a part of you that’s unsure. I mean- hell, what if- what if something hurts again? I couldn’t-”

You stop him gently with a hand to his chest. “Then we stop. Just like that. And we talk. Just like we’ve been doing.”

He stares at you for a moment. And you can see how words pool behind his eyes but don’t make it to his lips.

“Okay,” he whispers then, voice coarse. “Okay. Just… don’t want you to ever feel like you have to fix me by doing this. Don’t wanna take something from you just because I’ve got issues.”

“Hey.” You shake your head, fingers in his hair now. “That’s not what this is. I want this. I want you.”

He groans, quiet and exposed, tilting his head back against the cushion. His hands grip your hips. He’s flushed, already half-hard against your thigh and visibly trying to hide it.

You smirk a little. “Let me help with that.”

His eyes widen. “Doll-”

“I feel fine, baby,” you repeat, patient, but smiling. “I promise.”

“I’m not gonna let you do something just for me.” A rasp in his voice makes his words sound slightly scratchy.

You tilt your head. “Then maybe it’s for me. Ever think of that?”

He groans softly, hands squeezing you. “I’m trying to do the right thing-”

“Then let me show you I’m okay,” you state warmly.

His eyes close. A beat. Two. Three. He breathes out, slow.

You grin, your hands tracing circles over his chest. “I’m healed. I’m ready. You’re my boyfriend. What’s the problem here?”

He laughs something broken, something between admiration and disbelief. Then he sighs, eyes soft.

“You’re really okay?”

“I am.”

Pressing a tender kiss to your temple, he whispers into your ear, voice gravel. “We’ll go slow, yeah? Real slow. And you tell me if anything hurts, or if you’re uncomfortable.”

You nod immediately and brush his cheek lovingly and soothingly at the pain that’s still lingering in the corners of his voice. “I promise.”

****

He doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t dare.

Bucky lays you down as though you’re something he’s never been allowed to hold before - as if someone plucked the stars from the sky, wrapped them in silk, and gave them to him with a whispered don’t drop this.

It’s not rushed. It’s not eager. It’s not even lustful, not exactly.

It’s love. In slow motion. In devotion. In the way he arranges your body like a painting.

The cotton sheets are warm beneath you. Bucky kneels beside you, hovering, breathing slow and tight through his nose.

His hand cups your face. And he’s looking at you as though you are light. A glowing and living thing that he’s afraid to reach for too fast, he’s afraid of casting shadows on.

His gaze is soft and dark and unblinking. You can feel how full it is, how heavy. And it warms you. Like honey across your skin. Like sunrise slowly coming alive.

You smile up at him. “Bucky.” His name sounds like an invitation. Open. Safe. As though it belongs between your lips.

“I’m here,” he says, hardly a whisper. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Throaty. Careful. His thumb strokes your cheek as though it’s still asking.

You nod. But it’s not enough, so you pull him closer. Whisper against his mouth. “I want you.” A breath. “I trust you.”

He exhales all at once, and it comes out as a shiver.

After a pause, he leans down, kisses your forehead first. Then the top of your nose. Then, back to your mouth - and it’s gentle. It’s so gentle. As though he’s practicing reverence. Reminding himself you’re real.

“Tell me everything,” he murmurs. His hand on your cheek, your waist, your thigh. “I wanna know what feels good. What doesn’t. I want to hear every sound you make. I want to see your face every second. I wanna be right here with you, baby. Every second. You don’t gotta be quiet with me. Not ever.”

You nod, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Because this is love in a language that isn’t words.

And he’s fluent in it. Fluent in you.

His fingers slide up the hem of the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt. And he pauses again.

“Can I take this off?” His voice is low. Strained. Still asking. Still making space.

You nod again. “Please.”

He swallows. You feel the tremble in his hands as he lifts the fabric slowly, cautiously, peeling away something important. He watches your face the whole time. Checks for flinches. For hesitation. For any sign that you might change your mind.

You lift your arms for him, and he helps you out of it without ever breaking eye contact.

And suddenly your chest is bare.

And Bucky hasn’t looked away from your face.

You almost laugh. Maybe you even almost cry. He’s so careful. As though he genuinely wants to memorize your expression with every inch of skin he reveals.

Only after a beat - when you don’t hide, don’t shift away - do his eyes begin to travel downward.

You watch him watching you. And it’s not hunger you see. It’s awe.

He seems to see you in full color and it makes your skin prickle with pleasurable heat.

His fingers trail down your sides, featherlight. Your ribs. Your hips. He touches you as though he’s learning you all over again.

Then his thumb glides up to brush the underside of your breast. You feel him exhale through his nose, shaky.

“God,” he whispers, rolling the words out with care. “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t say anything. Just reach up, tangle your fingers in his hair. Pull him down to kiss you again, slow and long and open.

And he melts.

He moves over you, between your legs, still careful, still holding most of his weight off you. And he takes his time kissing you, your lips, until his mouth follows the path of his hands. Trailing across your collarbone, down to the softest parts of you. Every kiss is a question. Every breath against your skin is a vow.

When he reaches your stomach, he pauses again. Resting his forehead there like a man at prayer.

He takes another shaky breath and you soothe your hands over his dark locks, treading your fingers into his hair. Your thumb traces the back of his neck, bringing him back to the present.

He exhales. It sounds like surrender. “You gotta know how much I love you, baby.”

You do. You’ve known it since that day those few weeks ago. You know it by the way he moves. By the way he treats you. By the way he touches you. By the way he doesn’t rush.

“I love you too, Buck,” you whisper sweetly and his breath is broken against your skin.

He presses a kiss to your hipbone. Then lower.

His hands are back at your thighs now - sliding under, lifting gently. He kisses the inside of your knee, then the soft skin just above it, his breath trembling.

“You’ll tell me if anything doesn’t feel right,” he says, looking up but not taking his lips off your skin.

“I will,” you promise, getting breathless already.

“And if you want to stop-”

“I’ll tell you,” you assure him, softly, firmly.

He nods.

Then he leans forward and lays a kiss over your pubic bone. So worshipful. So loving.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until his fingers ghost over the waistband of your underwear - and stop there.

“Still okay?” he breathes, so quiet, it almost doesn’t make it out of his mouth. But it carries so much. Every syllable wrapped in worry, wrapped in memory. He’s still afraid something will crack open inside you if he touches the wrong place, the wrong way.

You nod.

But that’s not enough.

“Say it,” he whispers, and there’s a tremor in his voice again. “I need to hear you say it.”

You reach for him. Take his face in your hands, thumbs brushing over the apples of his cheeks. His skin is warm, flushed. His eyes are already glassy.

“I’m okay, baby,” you whisper, your voice soft but sure. “I want you to do this.”

With a pained exhaled sound and fluttering lashes, he nods and goes to kiss your thigh again. Then the dip of your hip. Then right beside the soft curve of your center. You feel the warm puff of his breath against the fabric and it makes your hips twitch.

And then he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and pulls them down. Slowly. Unwrapping something too precious to tear.

He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t let his gaze wander greedily. He watches your face, every second of it - watching for hesitation, for discomfort, for pain. But all you give him is anticipation.

When the fabric slips down your thighs, past your knees, and finally off the ends of your toes, he sets it aside so carefully it almost makes you laugh. As though it’s something important.

Then he settles between your legs again. And he just looks.

He drinks in the sight of you, as though he’s parched. As though you’re the first drop of water he’s seen in weeks. His tongue darts out, barely wetting his lips. His hands spread your thighs wider, gently. Tenderly. As though he’s parting pages in a sacred text.

“You’re so-” he swallows. “Jesus, you’re-”

But he doesn’t finish.

He lowers his mouth to you instead.

The first kiss between your legs is featherlight. Half a breath. But it makes your whole body arch, your breath stutter.

Bucky groans softly into you - a sound of both restraint and desperate, helpless desire.

“Sorry,” you pant, chest rising too fast. “I didn’t-”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he rasps, voice dark with awe. “God, that was- do it again.”

And you do. You can’t help it.

He licks you again - slower this time. Broader. Firmer. His lips move with practice, but not routine. There’s nothing careless about the way he touches you. Every movement is deliberate. As though he’s re-learning you. Learning how you feel like being his. Utterly and completely. Studying the way your body blooms beneath his mouth.

And he keeps checking in.

He doesn’t ask again with words. He does it with his eyes, every time he lifts his gaze to yours. He does it with his hand, the way he curls his fingers around your hip but doesn’t grip, the way he strokes his thumb along your skin in circles, grounding you. The way he takes hold of your hand with his other, encouraging you to squeeze him in your pleasure.

You moan. Soft and breathy.

And Bucky’s whole body reacts - you can see it in the way his hips shift against the mattress, the way he groans into you as though your pleasure is his own.

And he’s holding himself back, still. You can see it in the tight line of his shoulders, the way his hand shakes a little as it holds your thighs open. He’s painfully hard. You can feel the heat of it, see the outline pressing into the sheets, but he doesn’t move to relieve it.

Because this moment is for you.

This is your healing, your pleasure, your gift.

And god, does he worship you.

He takes his time.

He kisses you between licks, soft and open-mouthed, as though he can’t decide whether he wants to devour you or just memorize you. His tongue moves in slow, perfect circles. Then strokes up. Down. Gentle flicks, patient and watchful. Never too much, never too fast.

He listens. Learns.

Every time your breath catches, every time your hips twitch and your fingers tighten against his hand and the sheets, he adjusts. Builds on it. Builds you.

“Tell me what feels good,” he breathes against you.

“Everything,” you gasp, struggling to take in air.

“Yeah?” He kisses your clit once, then again, light and tender. “Right here?”

You nod, too dizzy to speak, sighing softly.

He hums into you. “So good, baby. You’re doing so good.”

Your hands reach down, weaving through his hair and he groans when you pull just slightly.

He’s hard and leaking and untouched, but he still doesn’t seem to care. You’re shaking beneath his mouth and that’s all he needs.

“Bucky,” you whimper, high and trembling. “I’m- close-”

“I’ve got you,” he utters, fingers tightening just slightly on your hips. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go for me.”

And you do. You let yourself fall.

Gasping, shaking, your thighs clenching around his head and Bucky holds you through it. He stays there, mouth softening against you, kissing you through every aftershock. You don’t see him watching you. Slowing his movements. Letting you come down in your own time.

And when he finally comes up, his lips are wet and his eyes wild with wonder.

“You okay?” he whispers.

You nod. Voice gone. Words gone. Heart full.

And all he does is smile. The softest smile in the world.

You continue trembling when he climbs up your body again.

His hands frame your ribs, then your face, then your hair - as if he can’t decide which part of you he wants to hold first. His mouth is damp from you. His pupils are blown. But even with the flush of his skin, the pulse in his throat, the strain pressing hard against his boxers - he doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t even reach for himself yet.

He’s just looking at you. As though you’re art. His. And he’s still trying to build sense around that.

You lift a hand to his face. Trace his cheekbone, his brow, and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering.

“Your turn,” you whisper.

Uncertainty flashes through his eyes. “Only if you’re sure. We can stop here, baby.”

You smile warmly. “I’m aching for you, Barnes. Can’t leave me hanging here.”

His throat bobs. His cheeks burn deeper, as though you’ve spoken something too tender, too vulnerable.

But he nods.

And slowly, Bucky rises to his knees.

His fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you watch the fabric lift over his stomach, up his ribs, his chest, and then finally over his head.

And it never gets easier seeing him like this.

He’s stunning.

He is solid and sculptured and beautiful. His shoulders broad and corded with muscle, his waist lean, his skin golden in the soft bedroom light.

And still, he looks at you as if you are the masterpiece.

He hisses softly, when he frees himself out of his boxers, hard and heavy and flushed dark at the tip. He’s leaking, aching, but even now he doesn’t let that take over.

He braces above you, forehead pressed to yours, one hand sliding down to cup your face again.

“You’ll tell me,” he insists lowly, “if anything feels wrong.”

“I promise,” you respond quietly.

“And you’re sure you’re-”

“I feel perfect,” you interrupt gently. “Because of you.”

His breath hitches. You feel his body tense.

And still, he hesitates. He glances down your body, past your hot skin and the slick heat still dripping between your thighs. His fingers hover just below your navel.

“Let me- just one-” he murmurs, already sliding a hand between your legs. “Just want to make sure-”

But the moment his fingers glide through your folds, and he feels how wet you still are from his mouth, he lets out a deep, strangled groan.

His gaze jerks up to yours. Wide. Disbelieving.

“Oh,” you tease softly. “Surprised?”

He reddens deeply. Face and neck and chest. Even the tips of his ears turn pink. He twitches against your thigh.

“You really didn’t know what you were doing to me?” you whisper.

His eyes dart away for half a second - bashful. Then back to yours.

He leans in. Presses his lips to your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth. A trail of kisses.

“I just wanted to take care of you,” he breathes thickly. “Didn’t even think about- fuck, baby.”

You giggle softly, stroking the back of his neck. He groans again, burying his face in your neck and staying there for a few heartbeats, clinging to you.

But his hand stays between your legs. He doesn’t dive in. Just lingers. “Still have to make sure, yeah, baby?” he whispers into your skin.

You nod, soft. “Okay.”

And then he moves. Slowly. Carefully. He pulls his head back and his eyes fall between your legs. Then back to watch you. Watch your mouth, your eye, your breath.

His fingers dip lower, about to touch you in a way that means everything. You see his throat work around a swallow.

He sinks one finger in, soothingly and dragging it out. His other hand braces beside your hip as though he needs the ground. He stops at the first knuckle.

Watching your face. Searching. Always looking for a sign of pain.

You sigh, your mouth parting on a soft moan. Not from discomfort.

From relief. From the feel of him.

Bucky’s gaze flares.

“Okay?” he whispers.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe out.

He pushes in a little deeper. Then again. Until the full length of his finger is buried inside you.

You whimper. Arch, just slightly. His name slips out.

And Bucky stills. Blinks. As though the sound alone managed to take his breath away.

“Oh, fuck,” he exhales in a sigh. His gaze is so focused on you. He is all you can think about.

You bite your lip, watching him with stars in your eyes.

His fingers curl a little inside you and your breath catches again, back arching. And that has him groaning under his breath, leaning forward as though he just needs to be closer, deeper.

He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

And with his eyes on yours, he gently and ever so cautiously slips in another finger beside the first. This time even slower.

Your body shifts to accommodate him and he feels it. Feels the way you welcome him, wrap around him. How warm you are. How soft.

His breathing stutters.

You moan again.

And still, he stops. Right at the knuckle. Eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he rasps, halfway there to lose his voice.

“Yes,” you manage to get out, voice almost pleading. “More, Bucky, please-”

And he gives you more. Goes deeper. Until both fingers are sheathed inside you and he’s filling you just enough to make your toes curl, just enough for his name to fall off your tongue again in a way that almost leaves Bucky gasping.

He watches you. He doesn’t blink.

He curls his fingers gently, once, and when your hips lift off the mattress just a little, when your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter shut in pleasure, he groans again. Buries his face in your shoulder. Just like before.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims roughly.

You stroke the back of his neck.

His hands still inside you, as though he needs a second to breathe.

And after a few shaky breaths, he starts moving again. Fingers stroking that spot deep inside you, slow and perfect and gentle. His lips brush your shoulder. Your collarbone. He kisses your heart, trying to memorize how it beats.

And even though you feel his swollen member against your thigh, red and ready, he doesn’t move to use it.

Because you’re not ready until he is sure you are.

Not just wet. Not just eager. Ready.

So he watches you. Watches every moan. Every gasp. Every quiver of your thighs, every arch of your spine.

Until you fall apart on his fingers.

And it’s the way you come undone under the gentlest version of his touch, that truly seems to make him need you.

He slides his fingers out slowly after he guides you through your high, like an apology, like a thank you.

And meets your eyes. They are full. His voice is low when he speaks. Hoarse.

“Okay,” he starts. “Okay. I’m gonna start slow.”

You nod, biting your lip.

And he reaches down to line himself up.

There is a pause. A beat of stillness.

You feel the head of him pressing just barely against you. His breath catches. Your breath catches.

His eyes snap to yours. “Tell me if-”

“I will,” you promise, eagerness in your tone. “Just get in, honey.”

He pushes in. The stretch is slow. So, so slow.

You feel every inch of him, and he feels it, too. His mouth falls open, eyes wide, as though the sensation shocks him. As though it’s different now to be inside you, to be with you like this, now that you wholly belong to each other.

He groans - soft, drawn-out. The sound is being dragged from deep in his chest.

You clench instinctively, and he curses under his breath, forehead dropping to yours, eyes staying on you.

“Shit, baby- fuck-”

You hold onto his shoulders. His waist. Anything you can reach. You’re both shaking.

But he doesn’t push in all the way. Not yet. He pauses halfway in, breathing ragged, eyes continuing to search your face.

You talk before he can ask. “You can keep going.”

“Promise me.”

You kiss him. Sweet and slow and sure.

“I promise.”

And so he moves - just a little more - and the moan that rips out of him is wounded, as though pleasure hurts. As though being this close to you is almost too much.

But he doesn’t let himself close his eyes. Doesn’t let them move away from your face.

And when he’s finally seated fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, you both just breathe.

Still. Connected.

He doesn’t move at first. Just holds himself there - deep inside you. Anchoring himself to the moment, to your body, to the fact that you’re okay. That you want this. That you’re here.

And he’s trying not to cry.

You can see it in the way his lashes flutter, in the glassy sheen on his cheeks that catches the light.

His forehead leans against yours, breath hot over your mouth.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. One word. As though it contains a hundred.

“It’s okay,” you whisper back. “You’re okay.”

His eyes stay open. You don’t think he’s blinked since he pushed in.

They are pinned to yours like if he looks away for even a second something might go wrong. He’s watching your eyes for any sign of pain. And you know he won’t close his own until he knows you’re safe.

“I can feel how hard you’re holding back,” you start quietly, gently, fingers brushing the sweat-damp strands from his forehead. “You can move, Buck.”

He doesn’t. His throat bobs. Jaw flexing.

“God,” he breathes. “You feel so good- too good- but I don’t want to- fuck, baby, I don’t want to hurt you again-”

“You won’t. You say it firmly, but still with a sweet voice. Your thumb strokes the dimple in his chin. “You didn’t before. It wasn’t your fault. And it’s not going to happen again.”

He breathes in as though your words might soothe something broken in him. But still, he doesn’t move. Not until you speak again.

“I need you, Bucky.”

And something in him crumbles. Slowly, painstakingly, he pulls his hips back just an inch, then slides forward again, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. He’s watching, reading, studying every twitch of your mouth, your brows, every flutter of your lashes, every breath you take.

“Is that-” he breathes, “-was that okay?”

You nod, voice thick. “Yes. Yes, Buck, it’s perfect.”

And he moves again.

Tiny, tender thrusts. Gentle. Devoted.

It’s not even about pleasure, it’s about closeness. About the feeling of him. The heat of his skin. The tremble in his arms as he holds himself up above you. The way he groans, low and broken, every time he slides a little deeper.

His eyes won’t leave you.

Not even when his lashes are heavy with heat and he has to force them to stay open. Not even when his mouth opens and he exhales a shaky, stuttering breath that tells you he’s feeling everything. But he fights to keep them open. To see you.

You run your fingers through his hair, trying to get him to let go. “I feel good, baby. I’m okay.”

But he just shakes his head. Leans down and kisses you. Slow. Melting. Deep.

“I want to watch you feel good,” he says huskily. “Need it. Need to make sure.”

And then he thrusts a little deeper.

It’s so painfully careful but still enough to steal your breath. You gasp, clutching his shoulders, hips rising to meet his.

His eyes roll back. His whole body shudders. “Fuck,” he groans. “Don’t do that. God, sweetheart, you’re ruining me.”

You smile through the moan that slips past your lips. “That’s kind of the point.”

He laughs, a real and broken little laugh, but it cracks at the edges. He is overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by you.

He rocks into you again. A little deeper. A little more sure. Still slow, still soft - but he’s feeling it now, letting his hips follow the rhythm you’re building together.

You cling to him.

He is panting. Tiny tremors running through his arms. His left hand slides beneath your back, holding your closer, lifting your chest to his so your hearts are touching - so he can feel every beat of you against him.

His voice is low and trembling. “Tell me again,” he pleads, strained. “Please, tell me it’s okay-”

“It’s better than okay,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back. “I’m perfect. You’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

He kisses you. Desperate now. His rhythm falters for a second, too lost in the way your mouth tastes.

Then he pulls back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze is devastated. Open. Admiring.

“I love you,” he sighs.

And your heart bursts.

You take his face in your hands, voice breaking with feeling.

“I love you too.”

And it happens slowly. Then all at once.

He watches you fall apart as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful. As though your pleasure is a sunrise he never thought he’d survive long enough to see. As though every sigh, every gasp, every whisper of his name is another stitch holding his broken heart together.

You feel him shaking. Hear him whisper things he doesn’t seem to know he’s saying. “Shit, baby, look at you- so perfect- so good- fuck, baby-”

One of his hands grips beneath your thigh, thumb stroking soothing circles into your skin. The other tangles in your hair, holding your forehead to his as though he needs the connection to stay whole.

He’s watching your face as if it’s a map. Tracing every change in expression, every whimper and moan, every flicker of ecstasy that breaks across your features.

And you can feel it building. Low and hot, coiling tight in your belly. Your body trembling, hips lifting to meet his in soft, desperate little movements. Your breaths coming fast, faster. His name spilling from your mouth, making him shudder.

“Buck- Bucky- I’m- don’t stop.”

He falters. Just once. Just enough for him to whisper. “You’re close.”

You nod, gasping.

And that’s all it takes for him to shift slightly. Just enough to hit the angle he knows drives you insane. He leans in, nose brushing your cheek, lips at your ear. “Let go for me, my sweetheart. Please. I’ve got you. Always got you.”

And your whole body locks around him, your voice breaking into something wild and soft, pleasure cursing through your veins, hot and blinding and complete.

You come with his name on your tongue.

His eyes snap shut.

That’s all it takes.

He gasps, chokes on a breath, and then he’s gone - spilling into you with a groan that sounds like heartbreak and heaven all at once. His whole body arches, hands gripping you tight, holding on for dear life, burying himself in you. As though he wants to pour every ounce of his love into you and never come back.

His mouth meets your shoulder, kissing your skin as though he has all the time in the world.

“Jesus,” he breathes. “I’ve never- fuck- never felt anything like that.”

Neither have you.

Because this wasn’t just fucking. This wasn’t the kind of sex you’ve been having for so long.

This was something else.

This was love, laid bare. No games. No fear. No walls. Just skin and breath and heartbeats and truth.

He stays inside you. Doesn’t dare move. Not yet.

His face is tucked into your neck, breath hot and trembling.

You card your fingers through his hair, kissing the shell of his ear, the slope of his shoulder. “You okay?”

He nods. A slow, solemn little nod. Then pulls back just enough to look at you.

And the look in his eyes is too much.

As though he’s never going to recover from this. He doesn’t want to.

He brushes his fingers down your cheek and kisses you leisurely.

“I love you,” he says again, still searching for air. “More than anything.”

You whisper it back. Because you do.

Bucky keeps hovering above you even though he already brought you home. The way he presses his lips to your temple and cradles your jaw in his palm as though you’re the last delicate thing in the world.

You breathe him in. He breathes you in. His forehead rests against yours, sticky with sweat, the kind of closeness that makes time irrelevant.

“You okay?” he whispers quietly. His voice cracks right down the middle.

You nod, throat too tight for words, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t take the nod as final. His eyes scan your face as though he is trying to read between the lines of skin and breath and silence.

“I’m serious, doll,” he murmurs, a little firmer now. “You tell me if something feels off. Anything. If you’re sore, or-” he pauses, swallows a cough, “or if it hurt. Even just a little.”

Your hand finds the curve of his jaw, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone, damp with sweat and tenderness. “I’m okay,” you reassure him sweetly. “I promise, baby. I feel good.”

His brows twitch. He wants to believe you.

“I mean it,” you add, lips brushing against his. “I feel more than good. I feel amazing.”

That finally does something to him. His shoulders drop. His hands tremble a little less. But even still, his gaze keeps drifting downward - to where your bodies meet, joined in the slowest, softest way you ever have. Searching for signs of pain that your mouth hasn’t admitted yet.

And then, quietly, with a softness you’re still surprised at - he slides out of you and down the bed. Down your body.

You blink. “Buck?”

“I just wanna check,” he says, already reaching for a soft towel. “Not tryna be weird, just-” his throat bobs. “Just need to know you didn’t start bleeding again.”

You open your mouth, not able to say anything.

Taking hold of your hand, he kisses the back of it before continuing. Every movement is careful, tender, hands working as though he’s handling silk. He wipes you down with warm water, his brow furrowed with a worry so profound it makes your chest ache. He doesn’t rush, not once. His eyes move up to yours every few seconds, silently asking for consent all over again.

“Still okay?” he inquires quietly as he folds the towel, already looking like he wants to run a warm bath and wrap you in a blanket of cloud and honey and safety.

“Still okay,” you nod, voice thick with emotion.

“Good.” He exhales for the first time in what feels like minutes. “Good. You tell me the second that changes. I mean it. I’ll pull the moon out of the damn sky if it hurts you again.”

You smile watery. He kisses your thigh.

And then he lifts you, scoops you into his arms with a care that feels so incredibly intimate. Carrying you to the bathroom, he is holding you so close that your heart forgets what it’s like to feel anything but safe.

With a kiss to your shoulder and your forehead, he sets you down on the edge of the tub.

He draws the bath. He adds your favorite bubbles. Lavender and eucalyptus steam curling through the air, filled with comfort.

He tests the temperature and while it fills, he kneels between your legs, rests his cheek on your thigh, and places more kisses into the bend of your knee, your hip, your ribs.

“D’you feel it?” he asks then, quietly. Almost nervous. Voice low and hoarse.

You run your fingers through his hair. He melts under your touch.

You think you know what he’s talking about.

Because all those times you slept with each other before, it was fast, frantic, bodies tangled and pressed into stolen hours, trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

It never felt like being held in a way that spoke louder than words. Never felt like being chosen in the silence after the fact. Never felt like someone saying I love you without needing to say it.

But tonight, it did.

“Yeah,” you answer, just as silent. “It never felt like that before.”

He lifts his head. Eyes soft. “That a good thing?”

“A very good thing,” you answer, almost teasingly, grinning.

And Bucky’s smile comes wide and real. His hands move up and down your shins. He leans in. Kisses your knee. Eyes on yours.

And when he guides you into the water, hands warm at your waist, his eyes track you constantly, scanning your face, your body. Watching. Worry never leaving, but love, too - love stretched wide across every inch of his face.

He joins you once you’re settled, pulling you into his lap, your back to his chest, water lapping around your waists. His arms wind around you, tightening comfortably, his heartbeat thudding against your back.

He kisses your shoulder. Rests his head in the crook of your neck.

The bath water cradles you as though it knows how hard your body worked tonight, how loved it was, how careful the man at your side has been, every moment before and after.

Your knees are tucked to your chest, curled in his lap, spine pressed to his sternum. His arms are heavy around your waist, long fingers spread wide and warm beneath the surface of the water. One palm pressed flat over your stomach, the other stroking a gentle line up and down your thigh, so painstaking, as though he never wants to stop touching you. He holds you as though you are his heart made tangible.

You breathe together. Quiet. Slow.

The ache between your legs is not painful. It’s soft. A memory of something beautiful.

You feel Bucky’s heartbeat thump against your spine. He kisses your neck. Again and again.

Then - so quiet, so gentle, almost afraid - he asks again. “Are you still okay?”

And it shouldn’t be much. It’s just a check-in. One of a hundred he’s made tonight. The softness in his voice, the worry gathered beneath his breath - it should feel comforting.

But instead, your chest caves in.

Your throat locks up.

You blink once, twice, and suddenly you can’t see. Everything blurs.

Because he means it. He really, truly means it.

Because he loves you. So goddamn much. And he’s holding you as if you matter more than air and he touches you as if you are a living poem and you can still feel him inside you, loving you - and your heart can’t hold all of it. It’s too much. It spills over.

Because he’s been so careful. His hands were so tender and his mouth so full of praise and his eyes tracked you the way the earth tracks the sun. Because even now, when it’s over, when the candle he lit up before getting into the tub flickers low, and the air smells of eucalyptus and his thighs are soaked through with warm water, he still won’t stop caring.

And it hits you. All of it. Everything. The past weeks. The pain. The panic when you tried to scrub away the evidence alone in the very same bathroom you’re in right now and bolt out of his apartment. The way he broke through the door just to get to you, how he wiped you off with hands that trembled but never once let you go.

The guilt he carried. The way he flinched for days when you touched him back. The softness he offered even when he had none for himself.

And now this.

This perfect, intimate thing you just shared. This feeling of being held in a way no one ever held you before. It’s all too much. The bath, his arms, the way he holds your ribcage as though he’s matching your breath. The most amazing sex you’ve ever had. The way he whispered into your shoulder as he moved inside you with so much care.

You want to answer him. Want to tell him you’re okay. But nothing comes out.

You can only inhale sharply, the sound catching in your throat.

And Bucky stills. Goes completely stiff.

You don’t speak. You can’t. Your overflowing heart won’t let you.

Bucky shifts behind you. “Baby?” His voice is quiet. But not calm. Never calm, when it comes to your silence.

And you stay silent. Turning your head away.

His arms tighten and you feel him trying to look around at your face. “Hey, hey. Honey. What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Are you- did I- did something hurt again? Are you hurting? Something feel wrong?”

You shake your head, but his voice is shaking harder.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he croaks in a whisper, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, about to tilt your head, but you don’t want him to see the tears forming, don’t want him to panic. He is frantic, not sure what he’s afraid of more - your pain or your silence. “C’mon, baby, please talk to me. I- did I do something? Did I hurt you and you didn’t wanna say? Are you bleedin’?”

You can feel him check the water for any signs of red and you hate yourself for not getting your voice out of your throat. But the only thing coming up is a choked breath.

“Talk to me.” He talks fast, swallowing words, swallowing breaths. “Please, baby. You have to tell me. You’re scaring me.”

He can’t see you like this. Not with your face turned away, not with your chest shaking in silence. So he moves, carefully but with uncoordinated and frantic hands, guiding you to turn in his arms until you’re straddling him in the water, your body trembling with the force of emotion you hadn’t braced yourself for.

You try to speak, but all that comes out is a wet hiccup of a breath and a soft, unsteady sob - not from pain, not from fear, just from everything. Your chest stings with it. Tears fall. Two, three, falling down your cheeks.

And Bucky panics. “No, baby, no, please don’t cry. Fuck, I don’t-”

He’s sitting up straighter now, water sloshing around you both, almost lapping over the tub. His face crumbles. His hands scramble, checking your sides, your arms, trying to study every inch of you, to figure out what’s wrong here, where it hurts, what he missed.

“Shit, shit, I knew it! Baby I knew we should’ve waited. I shouldn’t have- fuck- I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry- please talk to me-”

“No,” you finally manage, voice cracking, catching his hands and trying to squeeze the quiver out of them. “No, no, Bucky- I’m okay, I’m okay.”

But his eyes are wide, a glossy sheen already there and you would like to kick yourself. The guilt is already spinning in those pretty blue depths, the fear and dread all bubbling and building and ready to crescendo into another panic attack.

You press your forehead to his. You breathe in, slow. You breathe out. Your hands move to cup his cheeks. “It’s not that,” you breathe, and your voice is wet and cracked and soaked in love. “It’s not- Baby, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

His breath is uneven, hectic. He doesn’t blink.

You kiss his lips. A soft, barely-there brush. “I’m just overwhelmed.”

His brow furrows. His hands pull you closer to his chest, but his eyes stay locked on yours.

“I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m not in pain. I promise. It’s just-” You break off with another hiccup of a laugh-sob. “You’re being so wonderful. And it’s been so much. In the best way.”

Bucky stills. Eyes blinking fast, jaw tight with the restraint of a man trying not to fall apart.

You pull back to look at him clearly. “I just-” you try to laugh, but it’s mostly just a breath shivering on the edge of something enormous. “I love you. So much. And it just- hit me. How much. I’ve never felt like this before. And it was just a lot, all at once.”

Bucky stares at you as though you split the earth open beneath him.

And then his hands are everywhere. On your cheeks. On your back. In your hair. Holding your face, trying to keep you in this moment with him. As though this is the most important moment in his life.

“God.” He chokes on a breath, and his lips land on your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, kissing your tears away. “You- you’re crying because you love me?”

You nod against him, laugh through your tears.

He exhales and his whole body sags with it.

“Shit,” he breathes, voice wavering. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

He presses you even tighter into his chest, cradling the back of your head. “Fuck, you scared me. I thought I hurt you again. I thought- thought I messed it all up again.”

“You didn’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “You didn’t. Not even close.”

He is breathing harder than before, but the panic is softening now, bleeding out into the warmth of your body against his.

“I just love you so much,” you repeat, voice just a small breath. “And I didn’t expect it to feel like this. This… intense.”

He nods against you. Kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then your wet lashes. “Yeah,” he exhales and there is a sheen to his voice, as though it passed through his own unspilled tears on the way out. “I know what you mean.”

You bury yourself against him, cheek to his chest, and his arms curl tight around your back. He rocks you just slightly, water lapping quietly against the porcelain, even now wanting to soothe you, hold you through it, make sense of all the things your tears said before your voice could.

His touch never stops. Always checking. Always there. One hand rubbing soft circles into your hip. The other brushing your damp hair back behind your ear.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you apologize eventually, brushing your nose against his cheek.

His laugh is soft and shattered, something frail, but there’s relief in it. Adoration. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your face up. Find his lips. It’s not a kiss that needs anything. It’s not even a kiss that asks. It’s just gentle. Soothing. Comforting. Sweet. Home.

“I’m more than okay,” you whisper softly.

And his eyes are shining.

He presses a kiss into your hair, then another. Then three more in a row because he can’t help himself. And he tells you he loves you, because he can’t help himself.

And he doesn’t let go. Not for a long time.

He won’t let you move. Not until the water cools. Not until the stars settle outside the bathroom window.

He won’t let you reach for a cloth or dry yourself off or even think about standing without him.

He refuses to let you go through one more thing alone.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable.”

- C. S. Lewis

[bangchanswolfpelt]

interest check!!

so i’ve received a few messages asking about commissions, which i haven’t gotten around to answering, mainly because i wasn’t sure how i personally felt about taking commissions or how i would go about it. i’m still a little unsure about the idea, but because i’m going through some pretty big Life Changes right now, i figured it couldn’t hurt to drop an interest check to see if it’s something y’all would actually be interested in.

even if i do start taking commissions/open up a patreon, i’ll still be trying to post normally here—it’s been a really positive escape for me when i’ve been slammed by Real Life Shit, and i don’t intend on giving that up.

if i opened up commissions, i would likely only take one to three at a time, just to keep things manageable; commissions would likely reopen once the queue was cleared out or at the end of the month. i’m not sure yet how much i would charge for commissions, or if i would charge on an hourly or per-word basis; i’m not interested in charging professional rates, but i value my own work and the work of other writers, and want to treat myself fairly as well as avoid undercutting anyone else.

patreon would likely start at $1-5. if i set up multiple tiers, it likely won’t be more than two or three; i want to keep things relatively simple and accessible. i have some ideas for benefits already, though if anyone has any ideas, i’d be very open to hearing them.

my current ideas for patreon benefits:

early access to longer works, or perhaps access to patreon exclusive fic

ability to vote in polls to determine what i write/post next

possibly priority when it comes to taking commissions ?

ability to request drabbles/flashfic for a monthly writing spree ? (drabbles: 100 words, flashfic: 500 or less; because it would be open to everyone, this would likely be for a higher tier, if i end up making more than one tier)

if this is something you would want to and could realistically participate in, please drop a reply or a message in my inbox so i can get an accurate gauge of things!💕

[kinktae]

beyond the story: bitchin’

Hi friends! I hope you are all staying safe and healthy during these tough times! I really wanted to put something out there as a thank you to just how much support Bitchin’ got. You guys really are incredible. So, although this story has come to an end, I wanted to properly close the Bitchin’ chapter by giving you all a behind the scenes look at Bitchin’ and everything that went into writing it. This includes hidden easter eggs, backstories, alternative plot-lines, and a short drabble of the Bitchin’ cast 10 years after the story’s end.

Without further ado, please enjoy and thank you again for all your love. You have all of mine.

CHAPTER ONE – PARTNERS

Ah, yes, the start of this whole wild ride. I’ve always loved the whole nerd/popular person trope in fanfics, so it was only a matter of time before I tried my hand at it too. One thing I was adamant about was not making this a “popular person turns nerd hot/confident/better” fic as its kind of one of my least favorite cliches. With that in mind, and knowing that I was going to allude to TATBILB’s contract, I decided that I wanted Y/N to gain as much from the deal as Jungkook did. No blackmail, no just agreeing for the hell of it – Y/N was going to further herself and her dreams given the opportunity.

The beginning of the chapter is where the two are most separated and dissimilar throughout the whole story. It wasn’t that they were fundamentally different, it was that they approached life differently. Y/N was frustrated at how superficial Jungkook seemed, because she believes there is much more to life than just kicking your feet up and cracking jokes.

On the other hand, Jungkook didn’t understand why Y/N was so tense and on guard. To him, life was meant to enjoy and not take so seriously. Which makes sense, given that he grew up with minimal rules and minimal worries (bare minimum partners wassup !) 

“So, do we have a deal? Partners?” There was mischievous timber to his words, the kind that made you feel as if this would all later come back to bite you in the ass.

Pushing that pestering thought away, you took his hand into yours, holding his eyes as you gave it a firm shake.

“Partners.”

God, this bit. I knew from the minute I wrote it that I was writing the ending of bitchin’ along with it. I knew this was exactly how I was going to end this story, bc the word partners has multiple means right? In chapter 1, this meant business partners, but in the final chapter… it means life partners. Idk, I’m just still really happy with this writing decision :D

CHAPTER TWO – THE CONTRACT

Dearest Yara. We meet her in chapter two don’t we? Yara is completely based off of my irl best friend Yara who is a writer and who helped me A LOT with this story. She was my biggest supporter throughout figuring out this crazy plot. It was initially only about seven parts, but with her help I managed to bump it up to 10! Everybody say thank you Yaraaaa.

You were angry, that much was evident to her. Yara was sat in your shared dorm’s living room, a thick blanket engulfing her small frame. You briefly glanced towards the TV, it was tuned into MTV, the familiar music video of Every Breath You Take by The Police playing, before directing your glare back onto the copper-haired girl.

The song reference is a direct allusion to writer Yara’s fic, which is one of my favorite fics by her. She was actively writing it around the start of our friendship so it only felt right to pay respects to her. The introduction of her character felt necessary imo bc I wanted to make sure Y/N had a life outside Jungkook. Plus, I got to use the scenes between the two girls as a way to reference the music and culture scene. Yara is especially a fan of the powerful women in the music industry at the time, i.e., Madonna, Annie Lennox, Cyndi Laupner, etc.) Yara is a raging feminist and believer in sexual freedom and libery for women, we do in fact have to stan.

“How old do you think your sister is?”

“Hey, don’t sass me. For your information, Lyanna still has all her Care Bear tapes. She threw a hissy fit when my mom tried to give them away last Christmas.” Yara recalled.

Lyanna is one of writer Yara’s past pseudonyms. She always used to joke about how whenever she read it, it was confusing because there was Y/N, Yara and Lyanna, which were technically all her lolol.

FUNNY STORY ABOUT THE CONTRACT I INSERTED INTO THIS PICTURE… Twitter found it and made it into somewhat of a meme because no one knew it came from a fic rip. I was actually rly embarrassed and even wrote some posts about how much twitter scared me on my blog LMAO. but THEN weirdly enough, I actually stumbled upon a small community on twitter who actually found my fic and would TWEET ABOUT IT!!! LIKE REACTIONS TO EACH UPDATE!!! I wish I could go back in time and remember how giddy I was the first time I found a tweet about my fic. The fanfic community on twitter gave me a new love for the site (which I had previously had removed myself from because of its toxicity) and I have met so many wonderful people because of it. People even made themselves a little twitter group chat to talk about my fics, and now we are all friends! I miss posting a chapter of bitchin’ and refreshing my twitter feed as all my mutuals would post memes and live tweet their reactions. God that made me so fucking happy.

CHAPTER THREE – THE ROLLERSKATING DATE

I love the bickering in this chapter, because unlike the bickering in the first chapter, it’s actually less hostile and more playful. Y/N is slowly letting her guard down to the very persistently charming Jungkook.

“Woah. Family of six, huh? So you have siblings then.” He noted.

“Yep. Three.”

“Tell me about them.”

Looking up from where you were slipping on your second skate, you met Jungkook’s eyes, surprised to see genuine interest in them.

I actually originally had Y/N brush him off here. I was going to wait until the drunk party scene for Y/N to open up about her family and relationship with her sisters. But then I kind of thought to myself… Why? Y/N made peace with it and doesn’t hold onto those insecurities anymore. And objectively, Jungkook hasn’t proven himself to be a bad person so… I let Y/N open herself up to him.

“Then there’s the twins, Rosa and Lia.”

“Hold on. Twins? Wait… did they go to our high school?” Jungkook asked, his interest in this conversation doubled.

“Yep. They were two grades above us.” You confirmed.

“Oh shit, yeah, I remember your sisters, they were mad hot.” Jungkook let out a low whistle, before stiffening, flashing you an apologetic look. “Uh, in a totally non-meathead way.”

You offered the scared-looking boy a small smile, shaking your head.

Some of y’all notice but, Rosa and Lia are a blatant homage to my name: Roselia. ACTUALLY some form of my name can be found in every one of the rewind series fics, including upcoming ones. I’ll give a cookie to whoever can find every single mention hehe.

“I told you it was dumb.” You laughed nervously.

It wasn’t that you cared much about what Jungkook thought but you had a feeling a guy like him, who was popular and carefree, wouldn’t be able to sympathize in the way you would like him to.

“No, I’m just… surprised, that’s all.”

Jungkook certainly was surprised. You had built up quite the impression on him from the very moment you two met. It was hard to imagine that the girl who was so unapologetically herself was ever unsure or insecure.

Somehow, the idea tugged at his heart, as if he understood you more if only just a little.

From the get go, Jungkook was extremely drawn to just how confident and secure Y/N was in herself. I knew I wanted Y/N to be unapologetically sure of herself and in her abilities. Something I didn’t want, however, was for frat boy!jungkook’s only personality traits to be liking sex and being a cocky bastard (although I am a big consumer of that trope heh). Jungkook is actually canonly incredibly insecure. He lacks a real sense of self, which is why he is so desperate for Kiri back. His relationship with Kiri at that time was a big part of what he thought was himself. He has somewhat of low self esteem tbh which is why he’ll go back to a woman who treated him unfairly. That’s why he comes off the way he does in the first chapter and why Y/N thinks he has a big ego... he’s overcompensating. He finds it so endlessly fascinating that Y/N, in all her confident glory, was actually once super insecure. He admires her all the more once she opens up about her past.

“Oh, Rosa is an intern for our hometown’s newspaper but between you and me those assholes don’t even let her write. She does coffee and burger runs for men in charge. And Lia sells ice cream at the mall.”

“What about your brother?” Jungkook asked.

“He’s training to be a cop just like my dad.”

“And your mom?”

“She works at a convenience store.”

All their careers resemble people in the latest Stranger Things season (Nancy, Steve, Hopper, and Joyce). Fun Cameo there.

“What’s wrong?” You wondered, following his eyes.

“October 16th, 1985. 6:48PM.”

“Yes. That’s today’s date and time. What about it?” You pressed, growing confused.

“Remember it.” He warned.

“Why?”

“It’s when I fell in love with you.”

This iconic line I actually got from the real Jeon Jungkook himself. While Jungkook wasn’t actually in love with Y/N here, it certainly was a cute way for him to express his admiration for her.

OH HERE’S A FUN FACT: the hickey scene at the end of this chapter where JK and Y/N kiss for the first time was actually supposed to be Yara giving Y/N the hickey like the best friend she is. Ultimately I went with JK giving it for... smut purposes... ≖‿≖ 

CHAPTER FOUR – THE HALLOWEEN PARTY

The decision for Y/N to be Freddie Krueger came from me planning to be him for Halloween. And I was! JK as Glen Lantz just followed naturally. I’ve seen some great edits of him as the character. Truly chef’s kiss.

I really liked that Jungkook came over to the girl’s dorm to get ready. I didn’t want a scene where Y/N was thrown into a situation she was uncomfortable with which is how much Nerd At A Party Scene go so made sure Jungkook stayed by her side throughout the part, going out of his way to introducing her to the people he cared about.

Tae’s character came in when I realized I needed a way to actually put Y/N’s event in motion. He was the missing link and BOY did you guys eat his character right up huh. Love that for me.

Another thing, the confrontation with Kiri was so hard to write guys, I reeaaaally struggle with girl conflict. GIRLS SHOULD SUPPORT GIRLS. However, not everyone gets along in real life so I went with Kiri being more along the lines of petty rather than outwardly a cunt to Y/N. Realistically, Kiri is popular and well liked among the greek life so being unkind to someone she hardly knows wouldn’t make sense. There’s definitely tension between these two but I tried my best to steer away from the typical cat fight/revenge porn/public humiliation trope most movies seem to follow.

CHAPTER FIVE – THE FIRST TIME

Introduction to Erik!!!! It was really important to me that Y/N had a life before Jungkook. That's why I wrote in Y/N having a fiancé. She’s not opposed to love, she just has reshifted her focus. She knows what she wants and is choosing to focus on that, which why when she realizes she’s falling for Kookie she’s so hesitant to admit it because she’s fallen down that road before. Even though Jungkook treats her with respect and acknowledges the parts of her she’s most proud of, she just isn’t willing to possibly give up her passions for love. Which is why she doesn’t immediately confess to him, even once she’s sure she loves him.

“I’m serious, nerd. You’re like… um… the sun!” Jungkook marveled, eyes growing full as the realization dawned on him.

“The sun?” You laughed.

“Yeah, like… you’re this bright, beautiful thing that seems like it’s here in front of me but is really light-years away.”

Jungkook was drunk, and although you were sure he was making more sense in his head, you couldn’t help but feel your face grow hot, unsure of how to react to his drunk analogy.

“You’re the sun, Y/N. You make the world turn for you. Never orbit for anyone else.”

And suddenly, you were kissing him, for no other reason other than you wanted to and that it felt like the right thing to do.

No real commentary here. Just love this bit. It’s probably my favorite interaction between them two ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ ) 

“Also… She’s, uh, currently dating Eunwoo.” You told Yara.

Your best friend blinked, silence falling over her.

“Yara?”

“Good for her.” She perked up almost forcibly. “Let her put up with his annoying ass.”

Yara could see the way your expression had turned dubious as if you didn’t believe her nonchalant act.

Yara turned up her nose defensively, “What?”

Ugh yes, some character development from Yara.... the flavor ! Yara (much like Y/N and JK) also struggles with love. She has a real fear of commitment and if far more comfortable with casual sex than relationships. She did develop actual feelings for Eunwoo, she just wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment so she cut him off. Fleed the scene if you will. Typical gemini smh my head.

"I don’t think the contract mentioned orgasms.” Jungkook smirked as you released his thumb.

“I say we let it slide.” You shrugged, leaning into him casually.

“You think?”

“Totally. Think of it as… a bonding activity.” You joked, resting your chin on his shoulder, peering up through your lashes.

“Damn, we’re really committed to this fake dating thing, huh.”

You laughed in the way that you hated, but Jungkook loved; it was loud and abrupt, but it genuine, and it was you.

“What can I say, I’m a method actor.” You sighed dramatically, causing Jungkook to grin before pressing a kiss to your nose, simply because he liked the way it always seemed to make you smile.

GOD THEY’RE SO WHIPPED FOR EACH OTHER ITS DISGUSTING!!!!!! I’m really happy I decided not to make sleeping together a big deal and I got a lot of feedback from you guys agreeing! I had a lot of fun with these two’s sex scenes knowing they could do it whenever they wanted.

CHAPTER SIX – THE STEM EVENT

I started the scene with smut BUT I wanted to point out that much of their time spent together is at Y/N dorm, Jungkook either napping, hanging out or doing work as Y/N would study like she always did. I liked the idea that Jungkook would get bored and would want attention from Y/N because she was so focused. Idk, I just wanted to write a love story about two people spending time together and figuring out how they fit in each other’s lives as opposed to some dramatic I mEeT HiM aNd mY LiFe bEcAmE cRaZy. There’s nothing wrong with that plot line, I just didn’t want that for these two dorks. I wanted Y/N to interact with JK’s scene and crowd but not give up her own which is why most days JK and her just lounged around in her dorm studying.

Also, I don’t know how the teacher/student roleplay made it into the smut, it just did, no further questions (ʃ⌣́_⌣́ƪ).

Then the event scene.

“You’re whipped, dude! Seriously.”

Jungkook felt his face go red, “Shut up, no, I’m not.”

“Hey, I’m not judging. I get it. That’s your girl.” Taehyung shrugged. Jungkook placed a hand on the fold up table in front of him, staring down at the information pamphlet you had worked so hard on.

“She’s just… so fucking driven and passionate about everything she does. Sometimes I look at her, and I’m just like… holy shit, what am I doing with a girl like her? I feel like she’s totally out of my league and being with me is holding her back but— I dunno, man. I just… really like her.” Jungkook revealed, voice growing small.

An unexpected wave of tenderness fell over the two boys, Taehyung throwing an arm over his little brother’s shoulder.

“I’m happy for you, bro.”

Jungkook didn’t know it just yet but dude was talking from the heart and, is in fact, totally whipped :’c

I loved the confrontation scene between the boys and Eunwoo because the boys standing up for Yara really did make everyone feel like a friend group, not just some character who happen to exist at the same time. It wasn’t just Y/N and Yara and one side and the boys on the other. They would all become friends, which is ideal to me. A boyfriend who likes your best friend and considers her a friend so you can all hang out??? Yes please.

Initially, irl Yara and I had noooo clue if Yara would end up with Eunwoo or not. That was actually the original goal actually. But after this chapter four, you guys made it ABUNDANTLY clear that you guys wanted to see Taeyara, despite the two never even meeting! Honestly, it wasn’t until this chapter was written that we decided for sure that Eunwoo was out of the picture for Yara. Part of me really wanted to keep Yara single, but irl Yara insisted on dick and frankly, she’s right. Bitchin’ Yara deserved a shot at love. She definitely has her own story outside of Bitchin’ and will experience a lot of growth in the future.

“God, I know. I do not miss that temper of his.” She chuckled, her words piquing your interest.

“Temper?”

“Oh, yeah. Have you seriously not experienced it yet? He’s got some gnarly anger issues. Not to mention all the lying…” Kiri paused suddenly, straightening up as she flashed you an apologetic look. “Yikes, I’m sorry. I totally should not be telling you this. I’m not trying to be that gross girl that shit talks her ex to his current girlfriend.”

Miss Kiri, Miss Kiri. She really acted up this chapter didn’t she. There was a lot of discussion about whether or not those things she said about Jungkook were true. Which was exactly what I wanted hehe. We come to find out that Kiri had definitely stretched the truth. She really is good at manipulation and understanding how people think and it’s why she is in the role that she is in. Messy queen.

CHAPTER SEVEN – THE ROOFTOP DATE

This entire chapter was inspired by High School Musical with Troy and Gabriella’s rooftop garden scenes. This was my shortest chapter and honestly, probably not my strongest. I definitely went into writing this with zero concept of what I actually wanted to happen. Usually when I write my chapters I have a 4k long outline of it beforehand that I go off of. Not this one though. I really just winged it and I tried my best to write a chapter that really showed off (dialogue wise) just how this couple bounces off each other. I do really like some of the banter they have in this chapter.

You had taken note a little wooden popsicle stick poking up from the soil of the yellow flowers. Acacias, they were marked. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you considered his words.

Yellow acacias stands the value of true friendship and can indicate a secret love! I thought that was very appropriate given these dummies' relationship.

“So, you probably know why I brought you here.”

You nodded.

“You’re proposing, right?”

“Yeah, I– oh, shut up.” He laughed, the serious mood shattering as you joined him.

Even though I knew they were going to have a semi serious talk, what with Y/N asking about what Kiri had told her, these two dufuses realistically are just too comfortable with each other to stay serious for too long.

“Hey, I said that out of frustration, I didn’t really mean it. I’m sure she’ll come crawling back soon.” You attempted to comfort him, hoping to sound sincere.

“Even if that’s true, I’m not entirely sure I want that anymore.”

“What?” You blinked. Jungkook shrugged.

“What about us?” He met your eyes, causing your breath to hitch.

“What about us?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, noting the way the timber in your voice had become higher pitched as if panicked.

MORE FUN FACTS LMFAO: I typically do this thing with unplanned chapters where I just go for it and write and usually it works out. But when I wrote this down I remember stopping and being like ??? WHY DID I JUST WRITE THAT ??? I don’t like deleting my writing so I had a serious think to myself about whether this was going to be the moment Jungkook confessed or not.

Canonly, I decided that Jungkook did in fact mean ‘us’ in a romantic sense, but because of the way you perceivably panicked at that possible meaning, he decided against taking the conversation in that direction, instead speaking about ‘us’ in a platonic sense. Poor kookie :(

“Stop. Listen to me, Jungkook, you’re a fucking great guy, okay? You’re charismatic and funny and care about your friends… sure, you almost ruined my event, but it was mostly to defend my best friend when Eunwoo got too pushy, right? You’re a good guy, meathead. I know I joke about your ego, but I really believe you’re capable of more than you think you are. Seriously, Kiri is so lucky to be the object of your affection.”

Jungkook watched the way the sun’s orange light kissed your face, a bittersweet feeling growing in his chest as he contemplated the object of his affection. Just a couple of months ago, he would have had no doubt about who held his heart, but as you held his stare, he found himself unsure and yet, entirely sure all the same.

“Jungkook? You okay?” You frowned, catching in the sadness in his eyes.

“Hm? Yeah, yeah. I just… realized something.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“…It doesn’t matter.” He smiled, the gesture hardly reaching his eyes.

It’s in this moment that Jungkook decides that there is no way you hold the same affection towards him that he does to you. He mistakes your words of comfort as you pushing him away. You are so kind and encouraging and Jungkook loves you so much that hearing you insist about him ending back up with Kiri hurts him so bad.

But you are still unsure about your feelings and genuinely believe that's still what Jungkook wants. You’re just being a supportive friend!! :( It isn’t until the end of this chapter when Y/N has her talk with Yara that she realizes, oh man, she’s in deep.

CHAPTER EIGHT – THE MISTAKE

BLAH. This chapter is so BLAH, you know? Having to write this chapter was SO HARD. I texted irl Yara complaining about how much I hated having to put my characters through this and that I wanted to just end the story on chapter 7 and keep them happy forever. BUT ALAS! I had planned for this to happen from the start.

You tasted like the mint of your favorite brand of toothpaste. He imagined if he had caught you any later then the mint would have been accompanied by the taste of coffee, knowing the way you rarely started a day without a cup.

God, he had missed the taste of you.

What you guys didn’t see is Jungkook spending the night with Kiri, and immediately kicking her out, freaking out as the weight of guilt washed over him. He knew he had done nothing wrong, that you weren’t his real girlfriend, and that getting back together with Kiri was exactly what he had signed up for. It was what he should’ve wanted. But it wasn't… because you were what he wanted. And that was exactly what he was going to tell you as he marched over to your apartment.

But he panicked. His mind already decided that your answer to him would be no– that you didn’t feel the same. So he kissed you. He had you in the only way he was allowed to. He was selfish and impulsive and so incredibly scared that he ended up hurting the person he loved the most.

Initially though, I had Jungkook get back together with Kiri, not that he slept with her right before sleeping with Y/N. But I decided TEEHEE let me just make everything erupt into flames. However, I didn’t realize just how angry with Jungkook you guys would get. I remember thinking DAMMIT WAS THAT TOO SCANDALOUS?? I knew I was going to have to work hard for Jungkook to redeem himself to my readers.

“She wants to get back together.” Jungkook swallowed dryly, eyes wavering between yours as if to gauge your reaction.

“…Oh.”

You shook your head.

“I mean, wow! That’s… That’s great!” You smiled, something tearing apart inside you as the words left your lips.

“Y/N–”

“Seriously! This means it worked, right? This is exactly what you wanted to happen.” You enthused, turning your head so that he couldn’t see the way your eyes had welled up.

Jungkook’s heart was pounding in his ears, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around you.

“Yeah… yeah, no, you’re right. We did it.” He replied monotonously.

GOD THIS PART IS SO UNBELIEVABLY FRUSTRATING! JUST ADMIT YOU LOVE EACH OTHER YOU MORONS! This entire situation is so convoluted because there's so much information missing and not being expressed, I seriously want to ring my own neck rereading this bit.

“Are you mad?” He called out cautiously, a heavy feeling falling onto his chest.

“Why would I be mad?” You quipped back sharply, causing Jungkook to flinch. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“I just thought… I mean we’ve been fooling around a lot lately, so I didn’t know if—”

“If what? I had feelings for you?” You scoffed. “Please, as if I’d ever fall for you.”

And there it was— everything Jungkook already knew but had been so afraid to hear. Of course, you didn’t feel for him what he felt for you. How could he have expected anything different?

IDIOTS!!! THEY'RE BOTH IDIOTS!!! I don't know how y'all put up with this for so long. Forgive me.

CHAPTER NINE – THE BREAK

Okay I actually love this chapter. And for many reasons. Let me break down the three scenes for you guys.

Scene one: Kiri confrontation

Kiri is definitely an opposing antagonist. She is constantly working against Y/N because of their interests directly conflicting. BUT. I would argue that the biggest antagonist to this story is the inner ones – Y/N and Jungkook's lack of ability to admit their feelings constantly holding them both back from their happy ending. That being said, a confrontation scene between Y/N and Kiri was MUCH needed. While I suppose I can understand why Kiri doesn't like Y/N, that doesn't change the fact that she has been disrespectful and catty. So miss Y/N had to put Miss Kiri in her place (•̀ᴗ•́)

Scene two: Yara and Tae at the library

Fanservice. That is all. LMFAOOO y'all reallllyyy wanted it to happen and who am I to deny my people what they want. It was really fun getting to explore my side characters and develop them through interactions outside the two main characters. IRL Yara also mentioned giving bitchin’ Yara and Tae their own chapter as a joke and I was like LOL BET. I fully was going to but then I got the idea for the next scene and was like ahh ok maybe not the whole chapter.

Scene three: Meeting with Erik

So. This was a SUPER last minute decision. Like, it wasn’t until I was writing this chapter that I planned on Erik making an appearance. I saw a tweet with someone saying their bitchin theories and they mentioned Erik appearing out of nowhere and I was like,,, HOLD ON!!!! That could be kind of spicy ≖‿≖ 

I knew for a fact JK was NOT going to be forgiven in this chapter; I needed a way to lay the situation out between the two dorks without trying to seem like I was trying to sway my audience in a way that didn't make sense to the story. Y/N was rightfully angry. But she wasn't only angry about the timing of the sex. She was angry that Jungkook went back to Kiri at all and there was no way she was going to admit that. So who better to lay it all out than calculated, unbiased third party Erik. He deserved some character development after all.

I also liked the idea that Y/N had, in theory, “romantic options.” Losing Jungkook didn’t mean the end of her life. Having my female lead stand on her own was very important to me.

CHAPTER TEN – THE END

RIGHT OF THE BAT I needed Jungkook to suffer. So that whole scene where he tries to interact with his old group only for his presence to make everything awkward MMMM yes, sweet revenge on my part.

You were surprised. His hair was no longer shaggy and long like you remembered it. Instead, it had been freshly cut, looking healthy and neatly styled for the first time since you met Jungkook.

THE WAY SO MANY PEOPLE COMMENTED ON THIS LINE “but Y/N liked it long?!?”  IS SO FUNNNYyyyy. So let me clarify a thing. Jungkook had always wanted to cut his hair right. The only reason he didn’t was because Y/N told him not to. With Y/N no longer in the picture to convince him out of it, he cut his hair. That’s really all there is to it skfjsjf.

You know, I had written this part around the time I had just finished up the third ch believe it or not. And it was COMPLETELY different. I had it planned that Yara and Y/N ignored him throughout class and Yara had gone back after the bell rang to go verbally assault JK. And as the two hashed it out, only then was that when Jungkook would realize that he liked Y/N after Yara literally spelled it out for him.

“You like her, dumbass!” Was what I had written Yara saying. I really had written him in denial for ten chapters, I was a whole sociopath (���﹏╥). But ultimately, I decided that Jungkook came to that conclusion on his own and the decision to apologize to Y/N would have been made over winter break.

“You said Kiri came over asking for you back, yet you still came over and slept with me the next day. Even though the two of you had sex the night before. Do you understand how that makes me feel?”

“I’m—”

“Like garbage!" You emphasized, the white paint of the door somehow irritating you further. "I felt like I was something you threw away and picked back up whenever you felt like getting your dick wet.”

Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, and you tried your hardest to not let your emotions get the best of you.

“Not to mention to everyone else, it looks like you cheated on me. Which makes me look like a fucking idiot." You scoffed.

Jungkook said nothing in reply, which somehow made it easier to say all you should have said that day in your room.

“It just sucks to realize that someone you once cared about sees you as nothing more than a toy. It fucking sucks.”

Man :( writing this hurt my heart. I really, really, love bitchin!y/n and writing her hurting freaking stinks. But she had to speak her mind. She deserves the chance to get everything off her chest with the way Jungkook hurt her.

Your heart and mind were in constant paradox, torn between wanting him back and wanting him to know just how much he had hurt you. Your mind ultimately won the battle, of course, but as Jungkook stood just a few inches of drywood apart pouring his heart out, it was hard to say which major organ was responsible for your next words.

The creak of the door being pushed open sent Jungkook's eyes wide, revealing your hesitant form. You had your arms crossed over your chest as if to guard the contents inside of it.

You looked like an angel underneath the bathroom's blue fluorescent lights, beautiful and lovely, a stark contrast from your next crushing sentence.

“I slept with Erik.”

Hehe. Ofc my girl Y/N had to have a rebound!!! She knows that life goes on. However, as I wrote in, she definitely regretted it. It was kind of the same situation that Jungkook was in where he pursued something just because it was familiar and a distraction and not because he really wanted it. Both Y/N and Jungkook are flawed characters but that’s okay! If anything, Y/N’s mistake of sleeping with Erik is what allows her to forgive Jungkook. Knowing first hand how complicated their entire relationship really was.

“I don’t need you… but I don’t think I want a life without you.” You finished shyly.

Your eyes were locked with his when suddenly a small noise escaped him, eyes pulling away from yours as his head moved to attempt to hide the way his eyes had grown wet.

I got this line from one of my best friends after her ex broke up with her. It made me physically sad and really sympathize with her so I quickly wrote it down into my notes app to save for later LMAOOOO. Knowing that you are your own person and life will inevitably go on after losing someone, but that your heart still wants and is pleading for the one person you can’t have. SO SAD. I’m happy I got to use this line in one of my fics.

The note Jungkook wrote Y/N,,, imagine him not being able to sleep one night over winter break so he just writes down everything he should have told Y/N while he still had the chance…. I’ll for real cry dude, he’s so cute. Also, the line about him buying you fluffy Halloween socks for Christmas went over people’s heads I think but HECK I THOUGHT THAT WAS SO FUNNY AND SWEET (because Y/N bought Christmas socks when it was Halloween teehee).

"Are you two dorks done crying?" Yara’s voice rang out suddenly, causing both of you to jump apart.

"Yara, you creep! Privacy, dude! Ever try knocking?" You sniffed, wiping at your face hurriedly.

"What? Like you were peeing with Jungkook in the bathroom? Please." She waved you off, walking back into the living room to give you two some privacy. She did say Jungkook had 15 minutes before she’d have to come back in after all. "Anyway, Tae will be over in 10 minutes for the Saved By The Bell marathon that’s on so you guys are more than welcomed to join." She called out from her newly seated position on the couch.

I included this scene with Yara because things were getting too serious for my liking ngl. Plus the idea that the four of them would all come together at the end for a much needed reunion made my happy bitchin heart soar.

Jungkook let out a laugh, his palm finding your cheek, eyes locked on your lips. You were preening for his kiss, mouth parting slightly as you anticipated it.

“Partners?”

The question took you by surprise, eyes widening at your not so pretend lover.

Idiot.

“Partners.” You smiled softly, eyes shiny and brimming with tears as he kissed you for what must have been the millionth time, but still somehow felt like the first.

UGH I LOVE THEM I REALLY DO. I was so happy with how this final scene came out :( They’re partners, they really are I miss these boneheads.

AND NOW, I PRESENT THE CANON FUTURE OF THE BITCHIN UNIVERSE...

10 YEARS LATER

Let’s be honest, Jungkook popped the question the day of graduation, he can’t imagine a life in which you wouldn’t be beside him

You said yes (shocker)

Cue Jungkook being the most wonderful partner and respecting your wish to finish your residency program before having the wedding

You absolutely kick ass at being a neonatal surgeon

Also, Jungkook started a film company! It’s small but he loves what he does and works with colleges and helps out the film majors with resources and equipment <3

SO IT'S THE DAY OF YOUR WEDDING RIGHT

Yara and your sisters are helping you get ready, with your best friend as the ever so reassuring maid of honor

And by that I mean you’re as calm as a cucumber and Yara is one wrong move away from having a stroke

“Y/N… Don’t freak out....The catering company put in two orders of shrimp instead of chicken and steak.”

“Yara, it’s okay.”

“NO ITS NOT???? THIS IS YOUR WEDDING DAY AND YOU’RE GETTING CRUSTACEANS.”

Y/N making Yara take a seat and practice some breathing exercises so she doesn’t upset the baby

Oh yeah, Yara is 10 weeks pregnant

Taehyung is the dad lol

Yara and Taehyung have been together ever since that day at the library hehe <3

They moved in together and adopted a cat and everything (sweet boy Tae wanted a dog but Yara’s afraid of dogs and Tae would do anything for that woman so Yeontan the cat it is)

Yara refuses to put a label on their relationship even after all this time, and Tae doesn’t ask for one. They’re happy and dedicated to each other and don’t feel the need to put pressure on something that’s already so perfect

Yara is actually violently in love with Tae but still scoffs when Y/N tries to bring it up

“Oh my god, you’re so in love with him”

“Huh??? you must be sick or something. Get well soon, damn :/”

Yara likes to come up with different labels for Taehyung every time she has to introduce him. Among her favorites are roommate, rent sharer, baby daddy and penis lender

Speaking of Taehyung, he’d have a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder as he tries to calm down the panicking groom to be

“JK, breathe.”

“What if she doesn’t show up? What if she doesn’t want to marry me? What if I pressured her into this and— and I’ve freaked her out and now she hates me?”

“Dude, you guys have been engaged for eight years. She’s had her opportunity to run. She’ll show up.”

Taehyung scruffing up the younger man’s hair reassuringly, which only flusters him more because DAMMIT he wants to look perfect for you and now his hair is messed up >:(

(You like him no matter what his hair looks like though)

Jungkook literally swallowing down a sob as you walk down the aisle and he lays his eyes on you for the first time

You having a dumb smile on your face the entire walk over because your husband to be is crying and you haven’t even exchanged vows yet

The entire audience going all sobby when you finally do exchange vows because they’re so beautiful and real

The ten years together has not been easy— from financial struggles as you tried to support yourself through med school, to personal conflicts when Jungkook wanted to start a family already

But you guys figured it out

You always do

He’s your person. And you are his.

Y/N’s sisters Rosa and Lia are a WRECK— even your dad is tearing up

Your family loves Jungkook and have been counting down the days until you guys married, let’s be honest

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Jungkook punching the air with a “FINALLY!” before kissing the hell out of you

The cutting of the cake inevitably turning into a food fight

The shrimp entrees turning out to be pretty damn good

Yara catching the bouquet and wagging her brows at Taehyung suggestively

Jungkook pulling you aside to take photos of you outside the venue because you look so so pretty and he loves the way you smile when he’s the one behind the camera

The party is in full session, your siblings tearing up the dance floor like the extroverts they are

You and Jungkook are sat at the head of the room, hands intertwined underneath the table as you watch a tired and painfully sober Yara swing her bare feet onto Taehyung’s lap, requesting a foot rub

Watching your pregnant best friend and her lover together, you turned towards your own, smile impossibly wide

“What?”

“Let’s have a baby.” You’d grin, so stupid happy

Jungkook’s eyes going round and immediately jumping up from his seat because god that’s all he’s ever wanted

Being tugged out the room by a giddy Jungkook, one of your heels flinging off somewhere behind you.

“What’s happening? Where are we going?!”

The two of you find yourself in a storage room somewhere on the hotel floor

“Jeon Jungkook, what the hell—“

His mouth find yourself, kissing you in a way that couldn’t at the altar

You kissed him back without questions, arms wrapping around the man you now called your husband

“I love you.” He’d sigh into your neck, his hot breath causing you to shiver

“I love you too.”

“Let’s make a baby.”

“Yeah let’s— wait, right here? Right now?!”

Jungkook merely nodding as his mouth found the exposed skin of your chest

“Meathead, we can’t just ditch our wedding to have sex!”

“Why not? We did our marital duties. Now it’s our guests' job to get embarrassingly drunk and make a fool of themselves on the dance floor. No one will even miss us.”

“Isn’t baby making what our honeymoon is for?”

“Screw that. I’ve done my waiting. Let’s start our family, nerd.”

Jungkook kissing your protests silent before you inevitably give in and let him take you right there and then, your wedding dress hung around your hips

Husband and wife coming together with shaky breaths and hushed moans as they promise the rest of their lives to each other, making every argument, struggle or moment of uncertainty leading up to now totally worth it

Walk of shame back into the party with nervous hair fixing from you and a proud grin from Jungkook

Yara figuring out exactly why you two had sneaked off to, flashing the newly weds a knowing smirk

The night of your wedding, Jungkook surprises you with a present

You unwrap it in confusion, only to see that it’s a glass frame and inside of it is the wrinkled and worn out lined paper the two of you had scribbled on many many years ago

Jungkook hangs up the contract right above your bed as per your request, smiling as he does and jumping on him the moment he puts down the hammer bc dammit it you’re too heckin excited to make love with your sentimental loser of a husband

And yes, by the next month, you are pregnant and incredibly happy

And of course, your daughter and Yara’s son grow up to be best friends, not a family holiday passing by where they aren’t told the story of the totally bitchin’ way both set of their parents got together

[onesussybaka]

Blurry Vision (Noco fic)

This is just an AU drabble that I wrote last night to satisfy an urge to write again. I might make this into a fic series, but I doubt it will be told in a linear fashion (A lot of fiction is written with a clearly defined linear narrative, so I figured this was important to mention). 

About this AU: 

Gen 1 are around 24-26. 

Only seasons 1-3 are canon. 

Cody is an accountant at an accounting firm while Noah is a hotshot celebrity writer.

Anyway, hope y’all enjoy it. 

The last time Cody was this stoned - actually, it had been so long ago, he completely forgot the feeling. 

He was sitting on Noah’s floor, his back leaning against his couch. He sighed. He hadn’t felt this carefree since college, probably even earlier. He was tempted to snag some corn chips from the coffee table, but was drawn to the book that laid there instead. It was one of the books Noah wrote. He grabbed the book and propped it open on his upper legs. It was the first one he wrote, too. Only a year and a half after Total Drama World Tour had finished. 

The narrative itself was something straight out of an apocalyptic nightmare. The depravity of the world he wrote portrayed a sadistic game in which peer was pitted against peer. In the end, however, only the mentally fittest were able to outwit the devious show runner. 

For some reason, it never sat well with Cody. 

“Huh. I knew that book would be a ticket to my success,” a droll voice interrupted his thoughts, “I knew going on three seasons of hell would finally pay off.” 

Cody turned to see Noah sitting on the couch, his leg crossed as he sipped on a martini he fixed in the kitchen. “Hey, Noah, I was just wondering...why does the smart character always win in your books?”

Noah looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Cody rubbed the back of his head. “Uhhh...you do remember how it all went down, right? No one ever tried to stop Chris back then. Like we all went along with the idea to just play the game and be humiliated on TV.” 

Noah sighed, his trademark surliness returning in high gear. “Alright, Cody. I think you’re a little zooted for your own good.” 

“Huh? No, I’m just asking you a question, man.”

Noah set his drink on the coffee table, trying to feign vapid annoyance. Underneath the disguise, however, he was surprised and caught off-guard by Cody’s intrusion of his privacy. He knew he could fix this situation without making a larger mess. 

“Uh, there’s no real reason. Trust me, don’t look too deep into it. People try to assign meaning to everything, Cody. It’s a dense way of looking at life.” 

Cody concentrated on the other young man’s words for a moment, allowing them to sink in before his focus was shattered. “Anyway,” Noah interrupted, “Don’t eat those corn chips. Let me treat you to a feast prepared by one of the best chefs in the whole country.” 

Cody managed a smile. Still as goofy looking as he did as a teenager. “Oh, really? You’d do that for me? Awesome! Thanks, Noah!” 

For Cody, it was painfully clear that Noah thought his question was bullshit and something he didn’t want to aggravate the issue further.

[tuanyiems]

Cookies and Cream

Yugyeom x Reader (f) fluff x smut words: 4k plot: annoyed by some (really just one) of your gratuitous “self-care” rituals, he decides to teach you a little lesson about indulgence, established relationship!au warnings – dom!gyeom, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, overstimulation, praise kink, squirting a/n – sorry for the delay, coincidentally I also had to work overtime for work this week lol now if only I had Gyeom too…but in other news, got7 is coming back in 3.5 more hours!!!!!!!!! I’m so excited y’all!!! // part of Le Chocolatier drabble series, which you can find the masterlist for in my blog. feel free to read this as a one-shot or part of the series, in any order you want <3

It’s 9PM on a Friday when you decide to turn off your work computer and call it quits. When you blink, the blue shadow of your screen still flickers behind your eyes and for the past two hours your right lid has been twitching every few minutes. When you stand up from your office chair, the world spins and you are briefly nauseated. You swallow down the feeling with a huff, throwing on your jacket and purse.

It’s quiet on your floor, everyone else having left already. It’s been like this the entire week ever since your project manager proposed a new venture and put you in charge of actually making it happen. Yugyeom tells you to just quit, but you figure it’s partially your fault too. You don’t know how to say no. 

So instead, you stop by the convenience store next door and buy yourself a couple of bath bombs. As an afterthought you throw in a box of Ferrero Rocher at checkout.

It’s another thirty minutes when you finally get home. Your whole body aches from being crouched at your desk. As you kick off your flats, Yugyeom greets you with a much too eager smile.

“Babe!” he exclaims, his black hair practically bouncing with every step towards you. “The boys are having game night tonight!”

You let out a yawn as you put your things down. “Sounds great, Gyeom, you go have fun.”

He let out a pout, “You don’t want to come with me?”

You answer with a tired smile and only grow even more weary when you see his infamous puppy dog eyes. “Gyeom,” you plead softly.

“I’ve barely seen you all week. Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I missed you baby!” You pull him into your arms, nestling your face in his chest. You take a deep breath, his distinct warm bergamot tones filling your senses. You truly have missed him. Two years in and coming home to him every night still isn’t enough. Boy, are you in deep, huh?

“Then come with. Someone needs to put Bambam in his place. He bought a PC and suddenly thinks he’s a gamer,” you feel the rumble of his chest as he squeezes you closer.

And you feel your own resolve breaking the longer you stay in his arms, but when you blink, your eyes still sting from the strain of overuse and fatigue.

“But…I bought bath bombs.”

Yugyeom pulls away slightly and you offer up a weak smile. He knows you’ve been working hard this week. He assumed you would enjoy letting go and playing games for the rest of the night, so your rejection blindsides him. He was really looking forward to spending time with you and the guys. From above, he can see the bags under your eyes more clearly and you do look tired.

“Are you sure?” he offers up one final plea and you answer with a firm nod.

“Go and have fun for the both of us,” you assure, pulling away and heading towards your shared bedroom.

“Are you sure?” Yugyeom repeats, following after you like a shadow. “Want me to stay in with you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you pull out a pair of mismatched pajamas from your drawers. “Please, I don’t think I can handle all your energy right now.”

“Hey!”

“You are the love of my life,” You press a kiss to his frown and watch how easily the corner of his lips lift. “I love you, I love you, I love you, but please Gyeom, go out and have fun and I’ll enjoy myself at home and when you come back, I will welcome you into my arms and we can have the whole weekend together, just us. Okay?”

Seeing your exasperation, Yugyeom puckers his lips before breaking out into a boyish grin. “Oh alright! Go have fun with your bubble bath, I guess.”

“I will,” you press one last kiss to his lips before shooing him away.

It’s not long before you finally have the apartment to yourself. Humming, you slowly disrobe as you make your way to the minibar, breaking out a glass of wine. And just as you are about to sashay over to the bathroom, you pause and decide to take the whole bottle with you.

Impeccably timed, the water you left running is filled to the perfect level as you enter. Taking in a deep breath, you smile as you sip at your wine. The bath bomb you bought fizzes in the water, dispersing in the hot liquid in pastel purple and pinks, and fills the small room with the aroma of vanilla and lavender. For a convenience store bath bomb, it does its job perfectly, which is great because you honestly needed this one win for the week.

When you finally sink into the water, it feels like heaven on your aching muscles. For the first time in what feels like this entire week, you feel your shoulders untensing from the heat of the water.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. 

And you almost fall asleep right there before you remember the chocolates sitting at the edge of the tub. Picking up one of the golden orbs, you bite at the curve of your lips and admire the crinkled foil before your eyes shift furtively to the bathroom door like a thief. Despite being alone in the apartment, you can’t help feeling like a child up to no good.

Yugyeom has a, well, disliking towards convenience store chocolates. He believes they dishonor the art of chocolate making with their “sick capitalist greed” (even though he happens to own a chocolate store). As a result, you very rarely ever ate chocolates that were not made by Yugyeom, himself, which was great because who doesn’t love free, expensive chocolates? But sometimes, you missed the taste of other chocolates.

Especially, Ferrero Rocher. Back in high school, these were your “expensive” desserts. Almost every month, they were your go-to treat whenever you were nursing your period pains and hormonal mood swings. When you entered adulthood and your self-care treatments became more expensive, so did your taste in chocolates.

But now, here you are, savoring the chocolatey, nutty flavor of convenience store goodness on your tongue while your lover is away like a wife with a dirty secret. Your life has come full circle.

You giggle, hand already tearing the wrapper off another piece before the taste of the first is even fully gone. Man, did you miss this flavor. If you could have it your way, you’d put Nutella in everything! The hazelnut spread was like crack! You make a mental note to buy yourself a jar on your next grocery run. 

With the delicious taste of hazelnut glazed over your tongue, you sink back into the tub and watch mindlessly as the pastel water swirls around you. 

Suddenly, the door creaks open and a hand pops through with your pink bra hanging by the strap on a finger. Yugyeom pushes open the door, revealing his amused face.

“So eager to kick me out that you left a whole trail of your clothes on the floor?” 

You smile up at him before sinking your lips into the water.

“And here I was thinking you’d be so lonely by yourself,” he pouts, setting your bra on the sink counter and approaching you.

You sit up straighter, lifting your head fully out of the water, as he gets closer. “I left a trail so you could find me.”

“Too late for your lame excuses,” he chuckles, sitting at the edge of the tub. His eyes follow your movements as you hug your legs closer to your chest. Most of your makeup has washed off, though the ghost of your eyeliner still tints the ends of your eyes, and though your lipstick has rubbed off, the inside of your lip is awkwardly wine stained. The ends of your hair are wet by the water and the strands stick to your skin in clumps.

And you are so beautiful. Not because you look particularly different in this moment, but because you look so real. It makes him think back to when the two of you first started dating. You had been so nervous, waking up early to put on makeup before he could see you and wearing lingerie every time he slept over. Back then, you’d even refrained from your regular self-care routines because you had been so worried he would think you were too high maintenance. 

But now, he is blessed to have you here, completely bare to him, literally and figuratively. All curled up in the tub, smiling up at him without an ounce of fear—it makes his insides all gooey. You do that to him.

The guys had given him a hard time about leaving game night early, but now that he’s here, he’s sure he made the right choice. 

“Babe,” your soft whisper breaks him out of his reverie. Your eyes brighten when he meets your gaze. “Wanna join me?”

Yugyeom closes his eyes, tilting his head up, and lets out a loud exhale. “You are perfect.”

You giggle, nose scrunching, until you hear the sound of crunching plastic. You watch, in slow motion, as Yugyeom’s gaze drops to the floor and the both of you freeze.

You blink up, swallowing. The residue of chocolate suddenly tastes sour in your mouth.

“Is that…” The words get caught in Yugyeom’s throat. But his silence feels worse when he’s staring at you with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Gyeom, I-I can explain!” the words come jumbling out of you in a rush, your mouth suddenly dry.

“You…You…In our house, babe?” 

“All the stores were closed by the time I left work. I just-I just wanted a quick snack!”

You feel like drowning in your own guilt when Yugyeom looks at you so sadly.

“You could’ve asked me to bring you home chocolates. Unless,” he pauses and a frown forms on his face, “you didn’t want to?”

You hurry to stand in the tub, water splashing from the sudden movement, but you don’t care. You twine your wet, raisined fingers between his.

“Baby, I love your chocolates! They’re my favorite, you know that,” you squeeze his fingers, ignoring the cold air around your bare skin. 

“Do I?” he sulks, looking back at the half-eaten tray of Ferrero Rocher.

You sway to the side, angling your body so your eyes meet his again. “I went into the convenience store to buy bath bombs and grabbed these chocolates at checkout as an afterthought. If I knew I was going to crave chocolates when I saw it, I really would have called you. But it was already late at night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Yugyeom sighs. “You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re allowed to eat and love whatever you want…but just so you know, you’re never bothering me. I will make you chocolates even if it’s the middle of the night and you’re on the other side of the world.”

“Gyeom,” you pout, endeared by his words even as he’s saying it with a frown on his face. You press your palm to his cheek, guiding his lips to yours. “I love your chocolates, and I love you.”

Finally, Yugyeom smiles and you meet his with your own. It’s not long before he’s edging his tongue through the seam of your lips, tangling in your mouth. It’s been too long since you’ve been able to taste him on your lips like this. The quick morning kiss goodbye could only keep you going for so long.

You’ve missed this so much. You’ve missed him. How long has it been since the two of you had sex? A week? No, ten days? For the both of you, that was like an eternity.

You can feel your hunger stirring against the pliant muscle of Yugyeom’s tongue. You forget to breathe as he sucks at the bottom of your lip until it is red and swollen. It’s not until your lungs feel like they are burning that the both of you break away with heaving breaths.

Yugyeom makes a face of disgust despite the shine of your saliva on his lips. “You taste like that stupid generic crap.”

He kicks at the tray of chocolates on the floor and you giggle.

“I don’t know, Gyeom, it seemed like you were enjoying the taste,” you tease, tongue poking slyly out the corner of your lips.

It’s then that he realizes your bare state and a smirk replaces his frown.

“You wanna have a self-care night, right? Let me teach you something about self-care.” Without another word, Yugyeom taps twice at your thigh and like a trained puppy, you jump for him. Clinging to his neck, you wrap your wet legs around his waist and let him carry you into your bedroom.

You let out a squeak of surprise when he tosses you roughly onto the mattress.

“If you want to indulge, I’ll give you something to indulge in,” Yugyeom grabs at the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head before flinging it across the room. You watch with hungry eyes as his hands move down to his jeans, veins protruding up his arms as he undoes his button. You can’t help the disappointment that fills you when he stops there.

His brows arch at your expression. “Only good girls get rewarded, baby.”

“I’ll be good for you,” you plead, crawling to the edge of the bed to meet him. He cups your face in his large hands sweetly.

“You promise?” You nod eagerly, making him scoff at your desperation. “Good girls don’t break their promises, so keep that in mind.”

“I promise,” you breathe out as Yugyeom trails his fingers down your cheek before grabbing you sharply by the chin.

“I don’t know, kitten, it seemed like earlier you didn’t even want me in the house. Feels like you didn’t miss me at all.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his gaze, brows arching with concern. He points his nose in the air haughtily, but if experience has taught you anything, there was definitely a hint of hurt in his words.

You touch your fingers to his wrist softly. “I missed you so much,” you utter softly. And contrary to the gentleness of your voice, your gaze is strong and sure. It’s only when Yugyeom’s lips twitch into the slightest of smiles that you relax into his touch again.

He pinches your chin between his thumb, forcing your head to tilt back further. His eyes returning to their dark, demanding gaze. “What exactly did you miss so much, kitten?”

“Everything—your touch, your taste, the way you make me feel wanted and loved and safe and warm,” your eyes glaze over, conflicted between giving into your lust or your love, and feeling it all jumbling inside your gut. Both your chest and your core aches for him and it’s so apparent in the way your body seems to melt into the grip of his hand. “I miss feeling you inside me. No one else can make me feel that good.”

“Oh, I’ll make you feel good tonight, kitten,” he smirks, releasing your chin. “Spread out for me baby.”

As soon as he utters the command, you are rushing to the pillows. With your head sinking into the silk pillowcase, you open your legs wide for Yugyeom to admire. And he admires, taking his sweet time to follow you onto the bed, eyes glued to the heavenly sight of your cunt just absolutely glistening with lust for him.

His mouth waters just looking at you spread out for him. “Pretty pussy, so wet for me already.”

He trails his hands slowly up your inner thighs and you are practically vibrating, careening for more of his touch. Yugyeom smirks as he stares at your pussy. Even in his peripheral vision, he can already tell you’re on edge. Brushing two fingers up your wet pussy lips, he spreads your folds apart with the V of his fingers.

Your shaky inhale is audible, much to Yugyeom’s satisfaction.

“So impatient, kitten,” he chuckles darkly, enjoying the way your cunt clenches around nothing. He lifts his fingers off of you and raises it to his mouth. He watches you closely before releasing a low moan at your taste on his tongue. When you bite your bottom lip and watch him quietly, Yugyeom releases his fingers with a pop and lifts his brow. “You’re really trying to keep your promise, aren’t you?”

You nod fervently, making him laugh.

“Then as I promised, good girls get rewarded,” he smiles, a shine in his eyes that promises mischief.

With that, Yugyeom presses his two fingers back between your legs and you release a loud sigh at the feeling of his fingers stretching your walls. The ache is delicious and you find yourself whining a little too loudly at just his two fingers alone. You’ve been so wound up this entire week, the sudden stretch of his two fingers is almost overwhelming. Already, your walls are quivering around his digits.

You feel your cheeks heat, eyes diverting from Yugyeom’s gaze to the ceiling. When you hear his dark chuckles, you know he’s noticed too. You’re already so close, it’s embarrassing. When Yugyeom curls his fingers into your soft, velvety flesh, a moan releases from your throat as you feel a fluttering straight in your core.

It feels too good too fast and soon you are whining, palms flying to cover your face as the knot in your core tightens.

“Gyeom, wait, I-”

“Aw, is kitten going to cum already?” Yugyeom coos sadistically, fingers curling faster against your walls. “What’s the rush baby? I haven’t even tasted you properly.”

“Please,” you whine, tensing at your abdomen in a sorry attempt to fight off your orgasm. 

“Missed me that much, baby?” he laughs, feeling your walls squeeze against his digits.

“Yes!” you admit, feeling the telltale signs of your cunt contracting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits you, making your body quiver with pleasure. Heat spreads across your limbs as you ride out your high. 

Yugyeom’s fingers continue to stroke against your pulsing walls as he watches you cum on his fingers. His smirk grows when you open your eyes again, looking at him with surprise. Your hands come to his wrist.

“B-babe,” you stutter, body shaking from his continued ministrations. “It’s too much.”

“Shh,” he strokes his fingers softly against the swell of your walls while his other hand gently lifts your hand from his wrist. “You can do this, kitten. Be a good girl for me.”

You swallow, letting his fingers intertwine with yours as a thrill runs down your spine. Finally, you give a small nod, and he smiles at you with crescent eyes.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers encouragingly. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, baby. Show me how you cum, okay?”

You nod, squeezing his hand as he presses a third finger into your sopping hole. As soon as you’re stretched by his third finger, you can already feel your core tightening. Your heart races in your chest as Yugyeom curls his fingers into you faster, chasing the delicious high that is just tipping you at the very edge.

You let out a whimper, eyes squeezing as your walls tighten around him for the second time. His fingers dig into the perfect spot inside of you over and over until you are exploding with pleasure. All thoughts leave you as your mind fills with hot white pleasure.

As you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm, the fog slowly lifts from your mind and you are relieved to find Yugyeom’s fingers have stopped moving inside you.

“You did so great, baby,” he praises you and you feel yourself glowing from his words.

And then you feel his fingers move again.

“Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pulling his fingers out of you. He smiles, coming up to press a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re amazing, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “I love seeing you cum around my fingers.”

You pout, running your fingers through his hair. “Only for you.”

You feel him smile against you before he moves to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You can do one more for me, kitten,” he murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver, and he can already feel you arching into him. “I missed your taste, baby.”

At those words, you groan. God, you missed his tongue on you.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” he chuckles, brushing his wet fingers between your folds. You whine, nodding. “Such a good girl. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“I know,” you exhale, already shivering from his touch. You watch him with hooded eyes as he smiles from your admittance.

Slowly, he makes his way back down your body, tickling your skin with butterfly kisses down your neck and sucking red bruises down the valley of your chest. Planting a sweet kiss to your mound, Yugyeom pulls away to blow air at your glistening folds, admiring the way you shiver at the sensation.

Finally, with eyes on you, he dips down and licks a stripe up your pussy. He smirks with satisfaction as your eyes flutter close. He taps your thigh, bringing your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

You whimper, nodding, and you rise on your elbows, gaze fixed on him. Pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, Yugyeom gives you one last smile before pressing his lips around your clit. You suck in a breath as he laps at the bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue in intoxicating circles. His mouth feels so warm and soft around you, you can’t help the sigh of pleasure that escapes you.

“God,” you moan, feeling the tightening of your core once again.

Yugyeom answers you with the press of his fingers at your entrance again. You let out a loud moan, feeling your walls quiver at the familiar intrusion. Despite yourself, you find your body clenching around his digits. 

The room fills with your heavy panting and the loud squelch of his fingers thrusting into your sopping entrance. But you can barely hear anything, your brain buzzing from oversensitivity. It almost hurts, how good he makes you feel. When he groans around your clit, it sends vibrations straight to your tightening core.

“Gyeom!” you whine, eyes prickling with tears as he sucks harder.

Your legs shake out of control when he curls his fingers against your g-spot, sending you hurtling into another orgasm. A guttural wail of his name leaves your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut. Tears run down your cheeks as your head hits the pillow and you shake against the mattress, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure erupting throughout you. Wave after wave of hot pleasure spreads across your skin and Yugyeom watches in awe as your pussy squirts all over him and down his bare chest.

“Fuck, baby!” He laughs when you finally come to. “You just squirted!”

You feel your cheeks heat as you look down at his wet body and the mess on the sheets. “I-I did,” you mutter, suddenly shy.

“Don’t get embarrassed on me now, kitten,” he smiles reassuringly at you. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever done, babe. I just want to eat you out forever now!”

You suck in a breath when he dips down and laps at your cum. You shiver at the sting of oversensitivity, pushing his head away. 

“Too much, Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your thigh before sitting back up. 

The smirk returns to his face as his eyes darken again. “Too much, kitten? But I’m just taking care of you. I know you love your self-care nights so much.”

Your eyes grow wide as you follow his hands. You swallow, seeing the bulge of his jeans. And despite having orgasmed the hardest you ever have just moments ago, you find your pussy clenching against air.

And the ache for your boyfriend returns, tenfold. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses his red, hard cock to your swollen pussy. A little indulgence never hurt anyone right? After all, you had a very rough week. 

[imaginedhaven]

Reluctantly Rooming: Part One

Link to Masterpost

This was supposed to be a drabble, but there will be at least two more parts because the two other drabble prompts I’ve received so far all fit perfectly into the same theme as this one!

The prompt:

“I really would’ve liked it if you told me your parents were coming to town.” / “I really would’ve liked it if you put underwear on before coming into the kitchen.” 

I did tweak the precise wording as even in an AU I couldn’t picture a world where Rowan or Aelin’s parents were still alive into their adulthood, but I hope this meets the spirit of what my anonymous prompter was looking for!

If y’all have any more prompts or suggestions you would like to throw my way for things you would like to see as this relationship develops, my ask box is always open! But without further ado...

~*~*~

Aelin stretched her arms over her head with a yawn as she finally gave up on sleeping in. Her shift at the bar had run long, even more so than usual, and yet it seemed she still couldn’t sleep past ten in the morning no matter what she did. Perhaps it was time to invest in blackout curtains, after all.

Thankfully, even managing to sleep this late meant that she wouldn’t have to deal with her roommate as she started her day, so she slipped out of her bedroom and into the bathroom wearing nothing but an oversized shirt a former boyfriend had left behind when he left her. The guy had been an ass, but the shirt was the most comfortable thing she had ever slept in, and so she had long since decided it would be fine to keep.

As she glanced at the wreck that was her hair in the mirror and decided to leave it until she was more awake, she gave quiet thanks once more that Rowan would be off to his corporate job at wherever-it-was and not around to critique her messy hair and her messy life. They had been living together for about three months now, ever since her cousin Aedion had left his house behind for another deployment and Rowan had suddenly relocated from Doranelle. In theory it was meant to be a temporary arrangement, Aedion doing a favor for a friend since he wasn’t around to live in his own room, but if Rowan had actually made plans to move out yet he hadn’t informed Aelin.

Not that Aelin was doing much better in that regard. She had spent a year and a half now living in her cousin’s spare bedroom and working dead-end jobs. She felt she had a better excuse, though, since she was actually related to Aedion and was still trying to get her bearings after everything that had caused her to leave Rifthold.

Shaking her head in an attempt to dislodge that line of thinking, Aelin instead bent over the sink and hastily washed her face clean of the remnants of makeup that had lingered from the night before. She had crept back into the house sometime after three in the morning, and it had been late enough that her usual shower had been absolutely out of the question, so instead she had made do with sleepily swiping a washcloth over her face before dragging herself to bed. If her reflection was any indication, the effort had failed miserably.

Once she deemed her face to be clean enough for now, Aelin padded down the stairs with another yawn, intent on making coffee. After the late night she had had, she would absolutely need it if she had any hope of getting through her day.

Keeping her eyes on the floor in front of her to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally trip on something in her exhausted shuffle to the kitchen, she passed through the living room and successfully resisted the temptation to curl up on the couch for another nap. Instead, she finally reached the coffee machine that was sitting on the counter and began looking for wherever the hell Rowan had stored the coffee beans in his latest reorganization of the kitchen. Grumbling about men who were entirely too interested in organizing cabinets, she flung doors open at random until she saw the container resting on the very top shelf.

Damn Rowan and his freakishly tall self, he had hidden the coffee away where she could barely reach it. She was too exhausted still to find wherever he had tucked her stepstool away, though, so instead she sighed and reached for it. She let out a quiet noise of triumph as her fingertips brushed the container, edging it closer and closer to tipping off the shelf until she could grasp it more fully. Beans obtained, she set the container on the counter beside the coffee maker and froze when she heard a throat clearing behind her.

Fuck. In her exhausted daze, she had forgotten that it was Saturday and that Rowan wouldn’t be at his corporate job. Aelin took a deep breath to help steady her nerves and turned to meet his furious pine-green eyes.

She had not been expecting to also see a pair of dark eyes glimmering with amusement, but when she did it took everything she had not to immediately flee the kitchen.

The dark eyes belonged to a woman with equally dark hair and pale skin, lips painted red and curled in a smirk that immediately set Aelin on edge. “Why, Rowan,” she purred, sultry voice curling around the same accent that Rowan spoke with, “I wasn’t aware you had… company.”

“I don’t,” Rowan replied, voice clipped with barely-restrained irritation. “Aunt Maeve, this is my roommate. Aelin.”

“Um. Hi,” she managed as she felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. They barely spoke, but she had overheard Rowan talking about his aunt before. The woman had raised him, as his own parents had died when he was young just as Aelin’s had. It appeared they were still close enough for her to come all the way from Doranelle to Orynth just to visit.

And Aelin had just met her wearing nothing but an oversized shirt, with her hair tangled in a wild halo around her face. There was no way for her to salvage this first impression, not now.

Suddenly her humiliation flared into anger. Why should she make a good first impression? This wasn’t any relation of hers, and Rowan hadn’t even bothered to tell her he’d have a guest over. It went completely against the house rules he’d been so insistent on having, and she couldn’t possibly be held responsible for what had just happened.

Her anger only sparked further as Maeve laughed, the humor in her voice not reaching those dark eyes. “It’s a pleasure, I’m sure,” the woman replied.

Before either of them could say anything else, Rowan stood. “Aelin. A word?”

She nodded quietly and one of his hands closed around her upper arm as he pulled her into the living room. Once they got there, he turned to face her, eyebrows drawn together in anger and one hand carding through his platinum hair. “You couldn’t get dressed before leaving your room just one morning?” he hissed.

“I thought you wouldn’t be here,” she replied hotly, struggling to keep her voice to a whisper as well. “Besides, if you were going to be like this about it I really would’ve liked it if you told me the woman who raised you was coming to town!”

“Yeah, well, I really would’ve liked it if you put underwear on before coming into the kitchen, and yet here. We. Are.” As he bit out the last words he grabbed her arm again, tugging her closer as he towered over her.

Aelin froze again, just as she had when he had alerted her to their presence. “How did you—?”

“You’re wearing a shirt and nothing else, Aelin. Did you really think it would cover everything when you were stretching your arms over your head?”

Fuck. So not only had she made an absolute fool of herself, she had exposed herself to a woman she hadn’t even met and to Rowan as well. And to think she had thought her morning couldn’t get any worse.

Finally, Rowan sighed. “Look, just… go upstairs and put some clothes on. Real clothes. I’ll start the coffee for you and deal with my aunt. Deal?”

Aelin nodded and darted up the stairs, not stopping to try to hear how Rowan was going to try to explain this to the woman in their kitchen.

By the time she had dressed and tamed her golden waves, Maeve had left and Rowan was sitting on the living room couch, two mugs of coffee steaming on the table in front of him. She swiped the one that was clearly meant for her, choosing for once to ignore the fact that he had to have touched her favorite mug in order to prepare it for her and instead inhaling the scent of the coffee. It had already been sweetened judging by the smell, and she blinked at her roommate over the rim of her mug.

“What?” he asked.

“You put sugar in this,” she accused.

Rowan snorted in reply. “Of course I did. I learned in three days you take your coffee as sweet as you can make it.”

It was completely true, of course, but Aelin wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of saying as much out loud. Instead she took a small sip of her coffee, moaning softly at the taste. It was perfect, of course, and it was infuriating how he had picked up on such a small detail of her morning routine when they barely interacted.

After a moment of silence, Rowan continued. “My aunt won’t be coming back,” he revealed. “I may have yelled at her for showing up unannounced and uninvited before you woke up, and you showing up as you did only solidified my argument for why that was a terrible idea.”

Aelin laughed. “So I actually did you a favor?”

“Don’t press your luck,” he retorted, but she took satisfaction in the almost-concealed smile that she barely saw cross his face. “I’m still annoyed with you.”

“Oh, come on,” she grinned. “You learned how I like my coffee, I saved you from overbearing parental figures. Maybe we can even figure out how to be friends.”

“What did I just say about pressing your luck?”

“Please, I press my luck every single day. I make a point of it, in fact. It usually works out.”

Aelin drained her coffee mug and set it back on the table before glancing over at Rowan. As she watched, he slowly shook his head. “You are absolutely unbelievable. You know that, right?”

Aelin laughed. “Of course I do. It’s all part of my charm.”

“I’m sure it is,” Rowan replied, obviously skeptical.

“What? It is! Two days ago you wouldn’t even talk to me, and look at us having coffee together like roommates who actually like each other.”

Rowan glanced at his own mug of coffee and smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” she grinned. “Who knows, maybe we can actually learn to like each other. We’ll find the way together.”

Rowan sighed. “As long as it doesn’t involve you escalating from flashing my aunt to stripping for my coworkers.”

“Now there’s a thought,” Aelin mused.

As Rowan’s eyes widened in fear, Aelin doubled over laughing. “Gods help me, you actually thought I would do it!”

Rowan slowly shook his head. “At this point? I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire

[sparklingpax]

Sweet Bother, That’s What You Are

A.N: 

(starring my two TFP OCs, Paxie and Sharpflint, who will be getting sketch posts um.........eventually o///o’’)

-HIIIIII So. Potentially the first of many drabbles with these two <3 There’s no official story story, really....just whatever comes to mind if I feel like writing it! ^w^

-I actually managed to find the first time I did a drabble for them, idk, kinda dumb, but thought I’d link in case you were interested ^^’’ 

-This one’s kinda dumb too I apologize but I wanted to write it so

-Sorry for grammar, punctuation, word usage, spelling, etc mistakes......it’s late and I’m falling asleep and my brain is on Full Sunshine Happy Things mode so I’m just trying to dump all that into this story >:3 

-What planet are they on that has metallic trees and rocks?? uM?? uh--ok well,,,,,,same planet as the last one sorry I’m not very creative idk why I need so many trees for my writing anyway lmfao akjdjsd

-So when is this set then?? Ok so. After the war; in this universe here, which is not an au btw (or is it?? idk?? the events are assumed to be exactly the same as prime and other aligned continuity stuff just with these two inserted in the background if that makes any sense at all,,,,) Paxie was from one of the first generations after the war; Sharpflint fought in the war as an Autobot so,,,theres that. 

-May I just note for the record so no one asks or makes assumptions, their relationship is fully inteded to be really good friendship & it’s Not romantic. Sorry if I made it confusing in the writing sdjsdj basically I love writing romantic stuff but for once I want to write a Good Friends dynamic ^w^ hope thats okie!

-Also no Sharpflint is not actually old, he’d be more like a 35-year old and Paxie’s might be 25-ish. If you wanted to visualize it in human years I guess because we’re all........human..? She’s just fooling around 😹✨

-SHOUTOUT TO Y’ALL WHO ENCOURAGED ME TO START POSTING MY DRABBLE IDEAS!! I hope I do not disappoint too much ^^’’ 

-hhhhh & it be Short™ o///o but I hope you like it!!! thanks for reading!!! :)

///

Paxie kicked a stray rock back into its place on the side of the road and pouted. Arms folded behind her back, she did her best to tune out whatever Sharpflint was on about. Why?

“—and Primus fragging heck, Paxie, you know that as your friend—no, respected elder and mentor—I do not want to find your corpse on the side of the highway because you refuse to learn that—”

Yes. That. Because he was lecturing her about how strongly he disagreed with her personal stance in the Natural Form movement. However, she was not truly annoyed at all. It was a peaceful afternoon and she’d managed to convince Sharpflint to ditch patrol to walk with her. 

I’m going to have some fun here--after all, I’m giving up my free day, the one day I don’t have classes!!

Suddenly, one of his words registered in her mind and she got an idea. 

Paxie tapped his arm. He came to a halt alongside her, breaking off abruptly to give her a scathing ‘WHAT.’ However he swallowed that, too when he saw her face.

“You got one thing right, salty engines,” Paxie started, feigning frustration.

Sharpflint narrowed his yellow optics—he absolutely detested that ridiculous nickname.

“Oh?” He muttered back, half annoyed. “Enlighten me.”

Paxie shook her head, heaving a dramatic sigh. “Well, you’re old. But you’re not my mentor—you’re too old to be my mentor. I’d need a spry, young, whippersnapper like myself! In fact—wait—”

She did a shushing motion and looked around. Sharpflint moaned quietly, rolling his eyes hard. He waited for her to continue roasting him.

“Yes…yes, I can hear it!”

He decided to play along, folding his arms as he towered over her. “Hear what, Paxie?”

“Listen!! I can hear the high concentration of salt in your attitude rusting your rotor blades!!”

Frag me, Primus why.

“I can hear it from a mile—”

Sharpflint picked her up, smirking as her words melted into surprised yelping. He hoisted her over his shoulder, gripping her legs as the rest of her body hung over his back, and eyed the tree a small ways ahead of them. His grin grew wider.

“Old, huh?”

“Yes!!” Paxie was laughing now, gasping for air.

“Well, then, I’ll just show you how us elderly were taught to run!”

“FLINT!!!”

He swung her in a circle before racing ahead to the tree, prompting more giggled cries. His eyes glinted while his shorter friend shouted, playfully indignant, and demanded to be put down.

“I’ll snap you in two, you robot stick!!”

“Try it, tiny!! You’d barely leave a scratch!”

“OH—” Paxie narrowed her optics and whacked his green plating, still laughing. “SO SAYS ‘MR. INSULTS ARE RUDE’!! WOW!!”

Sharpflint let out a laugh himself, reaching the tree. Sure I said that, but I never said I couldn’t joke around…

“Hey, what are y—WAHHAHHHHHNOONONO—”

The two mechs had made it to the tree, so Sharpflint naturally tossed Paxie just high enough for her to land in one of the branches. As he’d hoped, she latched on and balled up against the metallic surface, optics wide with shock.

Take that, you adorable little scrap. Sharpflint nodded to himself, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his head back to take in the view. Paxie started giggling again, wailing down at him to help her off the branch .

“I’m only as old as the middle of the Great War!”

“You’re a salty, rusty sack of bolts!!”

Sharpflint sighed, turning away. “You and Mr. Tree can keep each other company until I come back here for patrol….” He pretended to think deeply, then calmly finished, “Four days from now.”

“Fine! You’re only as old as the youngest old bot from the war!!”

“Three days.”

“You’re a not-so-old dork!”

“Hmmm….” Sharpflint let the silence sink in, as if he were actually deeply considering her words. Paxie sighed audibly.

“You’re my favorite old dork--the best friend I could ask for!”

At this, Sharpflint turned and regarded her, beaming down at him. He unfolded his arms, chuckling lightly.

“I was going to let you down anyway, you know..” he said a little more quietly, feeling a little warm after her previous comment. The purple-white mech grinned back down at him.

“I know! I just wanted to say!”

Paxie was his closest friend, even if she was young, and didn’t know how bleak life could be—which was half the reason they ever got into fights in the first place anyway. Sometimes it’s hard to see eye-to-eye with someone who’s led a completely different life than your own. Both Sharpflint and Paxie were aware of that.

All that same, she was sunshine and openness.

Paxie was…simply put, a great friend.

Sharpflint cracked a small smile—not a smirk, but a real smile.

“You want to meet again at Silicon’s tonight?”

“Only if you’re paying!”

Sharpflint heaved another sigh, slumping over. Well, what else was to be expected? After all, the helicopter mech had thrown his friend into a tree. He couldn’t say no.

Well, no, he could, really should...but it would be rude—

“Oh, dear Primus,” he murmured under his breath, continuing to gaze up at Paxie, still hugging the tree branch for her dear life.

“Yay!! Silicon’s!!” Paxie cheered like a young sparkling, then cut herself off as her celebratory motions caused the branch to sway a bit too much. 

“Thank goodness for frequent paychecks…”

But above all, thank goodness for friends. Especially the ones that drive a bot nuts. Paxie, I’d give my life for you. 

[silverlightqueen]

Mischief Managed: Riddikulus

Across the United Kingdom, millions of children attend school every day, studying Maths, English and Science, but deep in the Scottish Highlands, a lucky thousand schoolkids get to study Potions, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Whilst the rest of us learn names like Shakespeare, Avogadro and Fibonacci, they learn names like Goshawk, Bagshot and Scamander. Whilst we learn how to do algebra, how to analyse poems and how photosynthesis works, they learn how correctly use a Conjuring Spell, how to brew a Draught of Living Death and how to fly a Nimbus 2000. And naturally, school children will always find a way to misbehave, to get up to no good, to make mischief, but when you add spells, potions and magic into the mix? Let’s just say... they get up to more than just mischief. Welcome to Hogwarts.

hogwarts!au, ot7 x y/n - comedy

Rating: PG15 (brief mention of sex and genitalia, profanity)

Word Count: 3k+

a/n: check the masterlist before you read!! here is the first instalment of my new hogwarts drabble series called Mischief Managed! I really hope y’all enjoy this, lmk what you think and hmu if you wanna be on the taglist! x

silverlightqueen masterlist

Riddikulus (Boggart Banishing Spell)

Type: Charm

Pronunciation: rih-dih-KUL-lus

Description: A spell used when fighting a Boggart, "Riddikulus" forces the Boggart to take the appearance of an object the caster is focusing on. Best results can be achieved if the caster is focusing on something humorous, with the desire that laughter will weaken the Boggart

Etymology: Latin word ridiculus, "laughable" (but perhaps "absurd" or "silly" in this context)

Notes: The effect of the spell seems to rely primarily on the state of mind of the caster. It doesn't actually change the shape of a boggart into something humorous, but rather whatever the caster is concentrating on at the moment of the casting, as when Neville was thinking of his grandmother's dress. Presumably, Mrs Weasley couldn't take her mind off of her fears for her family, so the Boggart was changed into other members of the family rather than something humorous

‘Good morning, students,’ Professor Lupin’s clear and calm voice echoes through the classroom, cutting all conversation short as we look up at the newest teacher to take on the ill-fated role of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. ‘Good morning, Professor,’ we chorus back, watching as he walks down the steps, his dark brown robes billowing out behind him.

The second his foot touches the floor, the wardrobe in the centre of the room shakes, all of us jumping at the sudden noise. We watch as it continues shaking sporadically, its short wooden legs colliding with the worn floor, the noise echoing around the room.

‘Intriguing, isn’t it?’ Professor Lupin asks into the silence, all of us still and watching, waiting for the wardrobe to move again. ‘Would anybody like to venture a guess… as to what is inside?’ Lupin drawls, his words met with a few moments of silence before Kim Namjoon raises a hand. ‘Is it a boggart, Sir?’ he asks, a smile breaking across Lupin’s tired face. ‘Very good, Mr Kim. Can anybody tell me what a boggart looks like?’ ‘No one knows. Boggarts are shapeshifters. They take the shape of whatever a person fears most. That’s what makes them so…’ Jeon Jungkook trails off, face serious as he looks to Professor Lupin who nods and finishes the sentence for him; ‘so terrifying, yes, Mr Jeon.’

I feel a pair of hands land heavily on my shoulders, making me jump in shock, and I turn to give Park Jimin a dirty look for taking advantage of the tension in the air, the boy giving me a mischievous grin in return. ‘Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart. Let’s practice it now – without wands, please,’ Lupin says, everyone freezing with their hands halfway into their robes, hands falling back to our sides. ‘After me. Riddikulus!’ he says with his chin jutted out, enunciation clear and loud. Everybody repeats after him, a loud chorus of ‘Riddikulus’ ringing out into the air, but I feel a little stupid to do so, and so do the other Slytherins around me, it seems – there is silence from our corner of the group.

‘Very good. A little louder and clearer this time, please, and can we have our dear Slytherins joining in too?’ Lupin says with an amused glance over at us, the rest of the class turning to look too, and promptly looking away when Min Yoongi pushes himself away from the wall, daring them to say something. ‘Listen. Riddikulus!’ Lupin says, and I push down my pride to join the others in repeating after him, ‘Riddikulus!’ ‘This class is ridiculous,’ I hear Jimin muttering behind me, our friendship group stifling our laughs with the sleeves of our robes.

‘Very good. So much for the easy part. You see, the incantation alone is not enough. What really finishes a boggart is laughter. You need to force it to assume a shape you find truly amusing,’ Lupin explains, and despite myself, I’m intrigued to see one of these boggarts in action. ‘Let me show you an example. Hoseok, would you join me, please?’ he says, turning his kind smile to one of my (only) friends in Hufflepuff house. The Hufflepuffs generally aren’t that bad, definitely more bearable than the know-it-all Ravenclaws, though even they’re easy to deal with than the Gryffindors, with their stupid bravery and lack of self-preservation.

Jung Hoseok looks like he might wet himself, his usual sunny persona disappearing and replaced by a pale face and scared wide eyes. ‘Come on, don’t be shy,’ Lupin prompts, and Hoseok’s friends push him forward, the boy stumbling towards the wardrobe. ‘Now, don’t tell us aloud, but just have a think about some of the things that frighten you the most, so you can prepare yourself for the boggart,’ Lupin says kindly, Hoseok nodding nervously as another Hufflepuff, Kim Taehyung, whispers, ‘we’ll be stood here all day; he’s scared of everything.’ Giggles ripple around the room as Lupin leaves Hoseok to think over his fears and comes to stand in front of us.

‘The thing you must remember about boggarts is that they will transform into your worst fear. Some of you may not even know what that is – we’re all scared of bugs and heights and things like that, but what about the things we don’t think about or encounter regularly? There is no way of knowing what your boggart will turn into, because we all have more than one fear, so make sure you are thoroughly prepared to use the incantation as soon as you face the boggart. Understood?’ Lupin says seriously, a shiver running through me as we all nod – no one’s laughing anymore.

‘Right, Hoseok. Are you ready? Have you had a think?’ Lupin calls to the Hufflepuff boy, who nods reluctantly, gulping. ‘Here we go then, wand at the ready. One… two… three!’ Lupin says, waving his wand at the wardrobe, which creaks opens slowly. We all crane our necks to see what’s in there, but it’s dark and there’s nothing to be seen. Hoseok looks like he might faint, the hand holding his wand shaking. And then we hear it; a little hiss.

Before anyone can register it, a snake is slithering out of the darkness of the wardrobe, thick, green and black, leaving a trail of slime behind it as it glides across the floor towards Hoseok, who’s frozen in terror, watching its forked tongue poke out from its mouth, letting out loud and threatening hisses. ‘Think, Hoseok, think,’ Lupin prompts, and the boy seems to wake up, nodding as he lets out a meek, ‘Riddikulus!’ It works, though, and suddenly the snake is transforming into a balloon, the kind that entertainers make at children’s parties, Lupin swiftly grabbing onto the string it’s attached to before it can float up to the ceiling.

‘Are you trying to send us a message, Hobi?’ Yoongi calls to the Hufflepuff, the boy looking considerably less scared as he turns to us with a smile. ‘Yeah. Anyone’d think you’re just as scared of us,’ I grin, the boy laughing. ‘You guys aren’t anywhere near as scary as real snakes.’ ‘Yeah? I’ll show you scary,’ Jimin says threateningly, a small smile on his face, and Hobi rolls his eyes amusedly, grinning as Lupin watches our exchange with interest.

‘Wonderful, Hoseok, fantastic job. Now, can we form a line?’ he says, our classmates sprinting to the front of the line before he can even finish speaking, and I roll my eyes at their eagerness. ‘Come on,’ Jimin says, hooking his arms through mine and Yoongi’s, dragging us towards the middle of the line. Our classmates move out of the way for us, and I thank them with a smile, Yoongi and Jimin exchanging an amused glance; they always tease me for being nice to people, saying it’s unlike a Slytherin, but I beg to differ – I’d say it’s very Slytherin to be nice to people, knowing that being nice gets people to like you, do things for you. The typical Slytherin way is to get people to fear you, but I’d prefer them to love me – it’s better to have people willing to do things for you, though I guess a little bit of fear doesn’t hurt every now and then. I think I’ve found a good balance between the two.

‘You Slytherins. Think too much of yourselves to rush into the queue, and then push in front of everyone else,’ Kim Seokjin says from where he’s stood in front of us with Hobi and Namjoon, the three of them turning to us with big grins. ‘Shut it, Kim,’ Yoongi says with a grin, holding out a fist for the three of them to bump theirs’ against. Jin’s a Gryffindor, one of the very few of them that I can stand to be around for longer than ten seconds, and Jungkook is another, simply because I’ve never laughed more at anyone than I have at those two when they’re together. They’re like a slapstick comedy duo, and I guess they can be nice, sometimes. Considering we’re in different houses, we actually spend a fair bit of time together – maybe too much time. We share nearly all our classes, and Jungkook’s on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team so I see him at practices and at matches, and we all sit together in the Great Hall from time to time, with Hoseok, Taehyung and Namjoon too.

Namjoon’s a Ravenclaw, and it shows in lessons. Outside of lessons, though? It’s a wonder he's still alive, if I’m being completely honest. The boy is clumsier than anyone I’ve ever met. But he’s kind, and you can actually have an intellectual conversation with him – intellect is something they have in common with us Slytherins. The school’s all about ‘interhouse relationships’ and ‘Hogwarts unity’, and they’re always pushing that stupid agenda onto us, so we’ve got a few friends from other houses – not many though. We Slytherins are an exclusive people.

‘God, Taehyung must have run to get to the front,’ Jimin says, all of us turning to look where he stands in front of Professor Lupin, wand at the ready, face determined. Lupin releases the balloon, the room falling silent as we all watch with interest, wondering what Taehyung’s worst fear is going to be. The boggart turns and spins in the air, a big blur before him, and we all wait with bated breath. And then it turns into Taehyung. ‘He’s scared of himself?’ Hobi asks, all of us looking at each other in confusion. Before we notice that the boggart Taehyung is… morphing before our eyes. His back becomes hunched, his skin sagging and taking on a leathery texture, his healthy dark curls greying and thinning, strands of it actually falling to the floor, his broad and strong body becoming shrivelled and small, and when he smiles, his sparkling perfect white teeth yellow completely and some of them fall out, leaving atrocious gaps. He’s aging.

‘Oh, my God,’ Taehyung whispers, face covered with horror, and we all burst out laughing. His worst fear is aging. As though he can’t bear to look at himself like that again, he calls out the incantation, waving his wand, and the old (ugly) boggart Taehyung becomes a younger, more handsome Taehyung, not like the one we know now – more like a Taehyung in his mid-20s. He’s so handsome I feel myself swooning a little, Yoongi side-eyeing me amusedly as I rub at my nose, trying to cover how much my face has heated up. All of the girls and some of the boys are just as flustered as me, and now Taehyung looks pretty impressed with the effect that handsome boggart Taehyung is having on us all.

He makes his way over to us with a grin, and I instantly shake off my flustered state, rolling my eyes at his smug face. ‘D’you see how handsome he was? I’m betting I’ll look like that in ten years’ time,’ he says proudly, the boys all exchanging amused glances. ‘y/n’ll happy then,’ Jin says with a grin to me, and I nudge him with a scowl, Tae raising an eyebrow at me. ‘Don’t, Tae, I swear, I’ll hex you,’ I say warningly, brandishing my wand at him, and he just holds his hands up, grinning smugly. ‘You’re scared of aging?’ Namjoon asks the question we’re all wondering, and Tae sighs with a roll of his eyes. ‘I’m scared of aging badly. I want to still be handsome and… use my body properly when I’m old,’ he says with a smirk, the double entendre plain, and I can’t help but scowl at him when he turns his amused eyes to me. ‘Please never talk about wanting to still be able to have sex when you’re old. I don’t want to ever picture old you with your dick out,’ I say bitingly, everyone laughing, including Tae, as we picture the boggart we just saw attempting to have sex. I shudder, shaking away the thought.

‘Look, look, it’s Jeon’s turn,’ Namjoon says, our attention turning to the front where Jungkook’s stood in front of Lupin, who holds Jennie’s boggart in his hands – it was a load of bugs before, but she turned them into dumplings. ‘Ready, Jungkook?’ Lupin asks, the boy nodding, before Professor Lupin throws the dumplings up in the air, and they stay up there, slowly transforming into Jungkook’s boggart. It drops to the floor once it’s transformed, and I crane my neck to see what it is, only able to see flashes of metal here and there, my peers all in the way. ‘What the fuck is that?’ Jimin demands, and when I catch sight of it, I burst out laughing, Tae, Jimin and Hobi not understanding why me, Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi are practically wetting ourselves with laughter.

‘What is it?’ Tae demands, but none of us are in any state to answer him, Jin rolling on the floor as Namjoon clutches at his stomach, Yoongi’s shoulders shaking as tears run down my face, our laughter echoing around the room. By the time I’ve managed to compose myself, Jungkook’s turned his boggart into a small bonfire, which Professor Lupin is attempting to contain so that it doesn’t set fire to the entire classroom, which is all made out of wood, by the way (I know the school’s old, but it really wouldn’t kill them to do a little refurbishment).

Jungkook makes his way over to us, looking sheepish when he sees the way we’re laughing at him. ‘Don’t laugh – I’m genuinely terrified of them,’ he says embarrassedly, setting us off again, and the three purebloods in our friendship group don’t look too impressed at being left out of the joke. ‘What was it?’ Hobi asks, and Jungkook sighs. ‘A microwave,’ he says quietly, the four of us being hit with another wave of laughter. ‘Why… the fuck… are you scared… of microwaves?’ Jin demands between laughs, and Jungkook looks at his feet, face red. ‘I always have been. They could just blow up at any moment,’ he says in a small voice, and as much as I do feel for him, I cannot stop laughing.

‘Sorry, hold on, I hate to interrupt you muggles and your little inside joke, but what the fuck is a… microwave?’ Jimin demands, and we all shoot him dirty looks. ‘We’re not muggles, Jimin, don’t say that again. We’re just as much wizards as you are,’ I say coldly, and he holds his hands up apologetically. ‘I know, sorry, you know I don’t mean it,’ he says honestly, and I nod, biting back my annoyance. Jimin was raised in a pureblood household, as were Tae and Hobi, but neither of them had quite the upbringing that Jimin did. Slytherin pureblood families are… maybe the worst you can ever encounter – they’re proud, rich, privileged and thrive off their supposed ‘supremacy’. Jimin was always taught that purebloods were the only wizards that deserved to be wizards, that half-bloods were dirty half-breeds and that muggle-borns were an abomination to the wizarding race. Joining Hogwarts, he was exposed to more ‘dirty half-breeds’ and ‘abominations to the wizarding race’ than ever before, and he even became best friends with two half-bloods – myself, and Yoongi. He’s trying to eradicate the views that were instilled in him all his life, and I understand that he can’t help it sometimes, that the words come out before he can correct himself, but that doesn’t stop the way I get annoyed with him. The others control their anger better, and it surprises me sometimes, considering Jin and Namjoon are both muggle-born – I would think they’d get more annoyed than anyone, but they handle Jimin’s stupid comments well.

‘A microwave is an electronic kitchen appliance,’ Jungkook says, the three purebloods looking at him blankly, and he sighs. ‘It’s a machine that cooks food,’ he says simply, the four of us stifling our laughter. ‘So you’re not scared of… I don’t know, getting injured in a Quidditch match, or dementors, or even You-Know-Who, but you are scared of… a machine that cooks food?’ Tae asks, and Jungkook lets out an irritated noise. ‘They can blow up at any moment!’ he repeats, all seven of us bursting into laughter now, and Jungkook sulks for a few moments, his scowl quickly becoming a grin as he joins in with our laughter.

‘Right, students, I’m sorry but that is all we have time for today! Class dismissed! Lupin calls out amongst complaints and grumbles, but I’m secretly relieved; I’d rather not have everyone find out my deepest, darkest fear. We all head towards the door, Professor Lupin bidding us goodbye as we leave. ‘I wanted to find out your guys’ fears too,’ Jungkook says as we step into the corridor. ‘Why? Wondering one of us might be scared of an electrical appliance too? Maybe a fridge? Or an oven?’ Jin teases, the boy shoving him. ‘You’re all teasing me, but Tae’s scared of getting old!’ ‘That’s nowhere near as bad as being scared of microwaves. What is scary about microwaves?’ ‘They can blow up at any moment!’

[godofplumsandthunder]

This was written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club​ Freaky Friday Drabble Friday! I barely made the deadline, but am super happy with this idea. Like the title suggests, it’s a body swap theme. So naturally I did a body swap with Bucky Barnes and Lance Tucker. I hope y’all like this as much as I did while writing this. Every page break represents a shift from Bucky to Lance or vice versa. 

James Buchanan Barnes, a.k.a Winter Soldier, Bucky, and Lance Tucker were household names. Everyone knew the assassin, best friend of Steve Rogers, Captain America. Everyone also knew Lance Tucker. Cocky, egotistic, gold medalist who is always seen with countless women. His life seems like a never-ending party.

Bucky Barnes knows who Lance Tucker is. He covets his entire life. For Bucky, Lance represents everything he's not. Bold, socially outgoing, loved, worshiped. Sure, Bucky knows that he has you his trustable girlfriend, but, wouldn't it be better, more fun, to be with hundreds of girls, instead of just one? Wouldn't his life be so much better if he had all of this?

Lance Tucker, who on the outside his life would appear to be wonderful, hates his life. Sure, he has fame, and countless women, and is always seen at a party, but what happens when the high wears off? The easy shag goes home? He's left alone. With no one, he can trust or love. Because Lance learned from a young age that when you are famous, people only get close to using you. Lance hates his life, but in his mind, it's too late to change it.

Both men, secretly wanting each other's lives. But realizing that their wishes will never come true. Or can they? Cause, after all, the universe might have its own agenda.

=======

Bucky feels different. He wakes up without remembering a nightmare. This should have been his first clue that something was wrong. He also wakes up and his left arm isn't hurting. It has not not hurt for over 70 years. This is sign number two. He rolls over a finds some young blonde laying in your spot of the bed. This is when he loses his shit.

"Who the fuck are you?" Bucky starts to go into full Winter Soldier mode, grabbing the baseball next to the side of the bed. Definitely not his bed, he notes.

"Really, we literally just fucked like 2 hours ago, and you can't even remember my name? The news was right about you. You really are a grade-A dick. No one wonder no one wants to be with you. Don't even bother with breakfast." The young blonde, who Bucky still doesn't know how she is, gathers her items, put her clothes on, and slams the front door shut behind her. Bucky needs a long shower, and a nice cup of coffee, if he wants any hope of making sense of what's happening.

=====

Lance wakes up with a body wrapped against him. Not in the "I just fucked the god of gymnastics" way. Rather in a way that radiated love. He looks down at you, and he can tell that you look different than the blonde he invited back home that night. At least Lance thought it was a blonde. He slips out of your arms, determined to figure out what the hell was going on. As he slipped out of your arms, you let out a little grunt, rolled and spooned his pillow. Not wanting to let the scent of him to fade. And this is what confuses Lance the most. Not once, in all of his conquest has a woman, or for that matter, a man reacted how you did when he left the bed. Like they were glued to his presence. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Lance finds the bathroom and looks into the mirror. That's when he noticed he was missing an arm.

"What the fuck happened to my arm?" Lance yell woke you up. It would have woken up the whole complex if it weren't for the noise proof walls, made to withhold the screams of a certain super-soldier. You come rushing over to see the love of your life confused. And this worries you. Bucky hasn't had a really bad day for a little while now.

"Bucky, are you okay?" You thought that maybe your voice and your presence would calm him down. But it didn't, it made him worse.

"Who the hell is Bucky?" This scared you. It's been a REALLY long time since Bucky's had problems with his memory. So you did the only thing you could have down in that situation.

"F.R.I.D.AY., initiate the 'Bucky's lost his marbles' protocol." Terrible name, Stark chose it, but it will get the job done. Gas started to fill the room where Lance was in. His vision started to blackout, and his body went limp.

======

When Bucky went to go take a shower, he was met with one hell of a surprise. Most people aren't ready to look into a mirror and be met with someone else's face. Even Bucky, the former fist of Hydra, who saw pretty much has seen everything, was surprised. Until he realized who's face was looking back at him. It was the one and only Lance Tucker. The world-renowned gold medal gymnast, playboy, and partier. Sure, Bucky should have been worried, but he saw this as his chance to finally have the life he has been coveting for the longest time. Y/N and the other avengers will figure out what happened and fix it promptly. But in the meantime, Bucky, or should he say Lance now, was going to have a fun time.

Bucky gets dressed in some tight and gaudy tracksuit. He grabs the keys to some overly priced car and drives his way to the closest open bar. He's really gonna have fun with this, Bucky thinks to himself.

=====

Lance wakes up with a pounding headache and handcuffed to a hospital bed. He searches the room and sees you, sitting dutifully in the chair next to the bed.

"Oh, good, you're awake Bucky. I have someone that's here to talk to you." She steps outside and brings in a grandpa, of all people.

"Hey, pal, do ya remember me?" Lance's confused face was answer enough to the elderly man. "I guessed you probably wouldn't. I look a little older than the last time you saw me. But it's me. Stevie. Steve Rogers. And you're Bucky, James Buchanan Barnes-" The old man continued to talk, but Lance drowned him out. He wasn't in his body. He wasn't Lance. He was Bucky Barnes. Reformed assassin, and new avenger. "And this is your girlfriend, Y/N." The old man manages to get Lance's attention again with that simple sentence. Lance should probably have been freaking out. But he's been wishing for a new life for the last few months, being sick of what his life consisted of. And it seems that the universe had answered his prayers. He'd deal with the consequences later. But for right now, he'd gladly accept your love and Bucky's life.

====

Bucky probably overdid himself on the alcohol. It was the first time in 7 decades that the alcohol was actually affecting his body. He's been bar-hopping for the last 5 hours or so. Getting absolutely wasted on any substance he can get his hands on. Bucky's currently trying to convince another skinny, fake, blonde to come home with him.

"Come on baby. Don't you want to know what's it like to bed the famous Lance Tucker? You know gymnastics isn't the only event I got a gold in?" It was a terrible pickup line. For most sane people, it wouldn't have worked. But for the blonde, the bragging rights were reason enough to sleep with Bucky, well Lance. So that's how Bucky found himself behind the wheel of his car, extremely intoxicated driving his way back to his bedroom to finally taste that blonde.

Finally, Bucky thought, he was living.

====

With Lance finally realizing what was going on, he was able to convince Steve and you that "Bucky" had his memories back. How he was able to fool Steve was beyond him, but it got him out of the hospital. You called into work saying you were sick so you would be able to watch after "Bucky". He looked fine in the hospital but you wanted to make sure he was really okay. So that's why you planned a Harry Potter and cuddles marathon.

Lance was watching Harry Potter, with you cuddled into his side. His right arm around your shoulders. Sure, this technically wasn't his girlfriend, but he liked this. This felt more comfortable than some cheap hook up from the bar. It felt domesticated in a good way. Halfway through the first movie, you look up to your boyfriend, which talk about dreamboat, and say, "I love you Bucky. I hope you always know that."

Lance, knowing in part that he had to keep up appearances said, "I love you too, Y/N". But even as he said it, as foreign it might have seemed, it truly felt right saying it.

=====

The body-swap continued on for another two weeks. And Lance was loving every single moment of it. He felt love, real love, for once in his life. It was nice knowing that he had friends and a girlfriend who was with him to be with him. Not to worry whether the people who surrounded Lance were with him because they wanted to or if they wanted something. Lance felt like he died and gone to heaven. And he wishes that this will never end.

Bucky, on the other hand, was living in hell. And after the high of newness and excitement of the newness of this situation wore off, Bucky realized that he's the loneliest he's been in quite a long time. He's soon realized that as soon as the buzz wore out, and the dame he picked up from the bar left, he was alone. And this hurts Bucky. He doesn't get to wake up to your beautiful smile in the morning or hear your heartwarming laugh. Hell, he's even missing the stupid memes that Sam would always send to him.

One night, after having one too many drinks, Bucky finally snaps. "God, or whoever is out there, please give me back my life. I've learned my lesson. My life was good. Please," Bucky sobbed himself to sleep, wishing that he was back in his own body and longing for your warm embrace, once more.

=====

The universe has its own plan. And often, it is a way for us to learn something. The next morning, Bucky and Lance woke up in their own bodies again. Bucky woke up with a new dedication to his girlfriend, who very soon will hopefully become his fiance, his friends, his teammates, and even his own body. He recommitted himself to being present and realizing every single blessing in his life.

Lance, on the other hand, woke up with a dedication to change his life around. He would work hard for it because he learned that drinking his way through life was no way to live. He would work hard so that he could have a wife, and a family to come home to after a hard day at work. And, thankfully, Lance would have that one day.

The universe has its own plan. We might not know where we fit in it, but every single one of us is where we are for a reason. Some, like Bucky, need to be reminded of that every so often. Others, like Lance, need to find their own place. The place of true happiness will always be shown if we are willing to look and work hard for it.

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

if you’re still doing prompt requests i’ve had a thought that might be good for it: basically what if turning snatcher blue with his attack didn’t actually make him vulnerable but some part of him was genuinely surprised and impressed by the out of the box loophole hat kid thought of that he “let it count”

Thank you for the request! This ended up being the shortest of the lot so far, though that’s to be expected given the nature of the request. And I feel the need to let y’all know that Snatcher’s voice sounds super different when heard through a laptop’s shitty speakers. Like wow, it didn’t even sound like him. (I checked a Youtube vid to make sure I got his fight dialogue right, I was real close by the way.)

Blue

Despite how long Snatcher had been abiding by his self-imposed rule of ‘anyone who enters his forest is as good as dead’, he’d never killed a child. A few teens, some of them young teens, sure, but never an actual child. Normally they had parents or guardians who made sure they stayed away from the forest. Or failing that, the spookiness of the place – doubled up on at the borders – coupled with the fence and myriad ‘DANGER’ and ‘KEEP OUT’ type signs kept them from entering.

Hat Kid however clearly did not any adults trying to keep her safe anywhere nearby. Nor did she seem to have much fear at all towards him or anything in the forest, it was admirable. It almost made him wish he didn’t have to kill her. But he would, he couldn’t just let her leave and there was a first time for everything.

When it came time for it, he stole her hat, sealing his victory because that’s where all her power came from. But even without it she proved rather nimble, dodging his attacks. A bit frustrating but unsurprising given what he’d seen she was capable of. That was fine though, she couldn’t dodge forever.

“You’re probably waiting for me to turn blue, aren’t you?” he taunted because why not? “Sorry kiddo, blue doesn’t suit me. And I guess that makes me invincible, huh? That’s too bad!” He chuckled to make sure it really stung.

She stuck her tongue out at him in response; kind of cute in an annoying way. Certainly, a very brave move considering the circumstances. It really was a shame she had to die, huh? So much potential wasted. Oh well, wasn’t his problem.

He kept throwing stuff at her and she kept dodging. But during his next barrage of exploding potions she somehow managed to get her hands on one without it going off. How, he wasn’t sure he hadn’t seen it amongst all the explosions. He did however see her throw it right at him.

He flinched as it hit him, exploding. It didn’t hurt but it wasn’t pleasant either. Even knowing he shouldn’t be damaged, he looked down at himself anyway – some instincts stuck around even after death. He was… covered in the blue potion.

“Did you just colour me blue with my own attack?” Astonished, he looked back up at Hat Kid. “This can’t count, right? Surely that doesn’t count.” There was no way it did, he wasn’t actually blue, just covered in blue stuff. … No one else he’d ever fought had done such a thing to him even though all of his previous opponents should’ve been much more aware of the ‘blue equals vulnerable’ law of magic than an alien who’d just learned it days ago. And she was just a kid too. …

Peck it! Let it count. He was a lawyer; in a courtroom such a thing would’ve counted as a loophole in the law. So, he’d abide by it, he’d let himself be vulnerable to attack. Why not? It would add a bit more drama to the fight and he needed some of that in his life occasionally. There was still no way she’d beat him though because he was done going easy on her, she clearly didn’t need him to.

For this drabble event.

[illshowyourhurricanes]

In The Line Of Fire (Part 3)

Taking a break from requested drabbles for today to bring y’all the finale of this three-part series, brought to you from this prompt by sarahseleckywritingschool on Instagram. In part one, we saw Billy at Arthur’s place, and in part 2 we got a glimpse of seeing things through Ryan’s eyes (and get a glimpse into his mind). This is my first real foray into writing for Logan, and it is a doozy. He’s a beautifully written, complex character and I hope I did him and his story some justice. Parts one and two can be found in my masterlist. Please let me know what you think, I’m anxious about this one!

Trigger warning: mentions of / drug use and angst. All the angst.

Rating: R

Word count: 1649

Tag list: @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @logan-deloss @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @bicevans @maydayfigment @thisisparadisemylove @delos-destinations @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes

If anyone would like to be added to or removed from my tag list, please just send an ask!

Hugest of the huge special thanks fot @the-blind-assassin-12​ for encouraging and convincing me an infinite amount of times to actually write this.

The orange flame coming from the light blue lighter Logan held in his large hand reflected in his dark, glossy eyes. Leaning back in his chair, his feet crossed at the ankles and propped up onto his solid wood Scarborough desk, his gaze rose to land on the small baggie of white powder lying just to the right of his feet. Logan Delos was deep into his latest relapse, back off the straight and narrow illusion of a filthy rich, capable, responsible mother fucker and heir of a multi-million dollar empire. No, Logan had hopped onto another wagon, one that took him to places nothing or no one else could touch. He was in love with what it did to him, the instant rush of euphoria, being on top of the fucking world with his ego swelling with confidence and purpose—the rush followed by the numbing of the bullshit and the descent into the reprieve of the constant buzzing in his brain. A warmth spread through his veins and he knew that he was Logan Delos: untouchable, desirable, anything he could ever wish for right there at his fingertips for the taking. 

He was Logan Delos, a man that others chased and craved like he chased and craved the drug there at his feet. A fuck, a needle, sleep, repeat; Logan lived a lavish, hedonistic lifestyle and he was in control; he decided when he’d do the drugs, how much he’d indulge in how often. He decided. 

That point in his life had passed. Logan was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar, not even to himself. He was a failure, a junkie, the regrettable piece of shit his father had no qualms reminding him of. Here you are, Jim. Take a look at your son. 

Logan’s lip curled in disgust at the mere thought of his father, and the only reason he let himself think of that wretched bastard as his father was strictly biological. He had never and would never be a “dad”; he didn’t have the capacity. “You’re a disappointment,” he muttered, words James Delos had directed toward Logan so many times, he should be desensitized by now. Should be. “You’re a piece of shit, Logan. This company will never be yours. You’re a junkie.”

A junkie. Logan flicked the light blue, plastic Bic lighter on, lifting his thumb seconds later and extinguishing the flame. He was mesmerized by the immediate lighting and extinguishing of the flame, allowing himself to get lost in the simplicity and complexity of creating fire with one finger. The spoon he used for cooking the powder down into a liquid was right there by the baggie Logan was considering. Fuck it, he thought, and he tossed the lighter onto his desk carelessly, feet hitting the floor and propelling his chair closer toward the table. 

One large hand scooped up both the baggie and silver spoon— Logan relished in the fact that one of Jim’s overly expensive, custom made silver spoons was a constant in his heroin kit— a whisky tumbler half-filled with days’ old water, and a hypodermic needle. Leaning down closer to the desk’s mahogany surface, the baggie was unzipped, spoon perched between his thin and index finger on the ready. The tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration, he tapped the plastic bag until he was satisfied with the amount of white powder that spilled out into his spoon. Baggie set aside, traded out for the needle, he drew up a small amount of water, slowly filling the spoon, the remaining water shot out into the garbage can kept under his desk. 

He needed that lighter again, and he carefully reached for the spot it had landed when he’d tossed it, the far corner of his desk. He balanced the spoon precariously as he retrieved the lighter and an expression of arrogance and pride passed over his features, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. Logan was ritualistic in the way he used heroin, and preparing it was a big part of that. This was one of those times Logan preferred not to experience; his craving had turned into a need, an essential substance with a vice so strong, it brought with it an overwhelming anxiety. His hand trembled as he held the lighter beneath the spoon. His palms were damp with sweat; he was agitated and his arm itches like he’d been covered in fire ants. The Delos estate could have been on fire and Logan would remain sitting with the task at hand. Nothing else mattered. 

Finally, the heroin was liquified. Eagerly, he dipped the tip of his needle into the shallow solution, slowly drawing the drug into the syringe. He dropped the spoon with a clatter, turned the needle point upward and tapped on the side of the syringe. Tiny air bubbles appeared atop the solution and Logan slowly, carefully, tediously applied pressure to the plunger until a drop of the solution dripped from the needle. Any air had been evacuated. It was time. 

Logan was shaking, both from anticipation and need. Small beads of sweat were beginning to appear at his brow. With his sacred drug—his lifeline— he pushed his desk chair back, standing and taking long strides to reach the other side of his expansive bedroom. 

He didn’t even pause as he flipped the light switch to illuminate his walk-in closet, full of expensive designer casual wear, but mostly with suits— Brioni and Gucci, Tom Ford and Burberry. Neat rows of impeccable shoes were lined up perfectly by shade and style. But Logan noticed none of this. He had tunnel vision, and  he went straight for his tie rack. He needed a silk tie, easy to knot yet strong enough that it wouldn’t break while serving its purpose. 

Snatching a tie he knew would do the trick, he allowed it to unroll itself as he left his closet. Holding the capped syringe between his teeth, he used both hands to hold each end of the necktie to his upper arm, at the halfway point of his elbow and bicep. Deftly, he knotted it around  his arm securely, but with enough give to unknot easily when it was time. An authentic Stefano Ricci, Jim. 100% silk. Easily over $1500. Your junkie, ticking time bomb, fucking failure of a son doesn’t skimp on the details: designer ties as tourniquets to shoot up his pure, white heroin. Only the best for a Delos. Right, dear old dad?

He felt his lip curl in disgust as he sat back in his chair, syringe still held between two rows of perfectly straight, startlingly white teeth. Pumping his left fist several times over— open and squeeze, open and squeeze— he watched as his skin below the tourniquet began to discolor. With two long fingers of his right hand, he struck his forearm several times, barely noticing the very visible track marks at the crook of his elbow, the newer one that was halfway up the inside of his forearm. He was looking for a vein. 

Bingo.  

There it was, popped out and bulging, an inch below the crook of his elbow, a long patch of skin free of any track marks or puncture wounds. Not for long. His teeth gave way as he reached for the waiting syringe holding the one thing in his life that gave Logan back the love he felt for it. If— when— it killed him, he’d die feeling un-fucking-touchable. His only regret would be missing the opportunity of Jim Delos’ horrendous smile at the sight of his only son’s corpse. 

It was miraculous the way Logan could manage to steady his shaking to inject. He bit at the orange cap over the needle, spitting it off to the side. Holding the syringe precariously like a cigarette between forefinger and middle finger, he dipped his head to hold a dangling part of his tie between his teeth, just as he had the needle. 

With one sting of the needle puncturing his pale skin, Logan yanked his head back, the loose knot he’d tied in his RIcci necktie unraveling and falling away. It was a deep red, the color of ox blood, and a bitter laugh escaped from low in his throat. And then, Logan pushed the plunger. 

By the time he finished and tossed the used needle and syringe to the side, Logan was only able to lick the residual drop of blood from his arm when the rush began. There was the familiar warmth coursing along with the circulation of his blood, from the core of his body down into the tips of his toes and fingers. Without a warning, Logan felt and indescribable euphoria that nothing could hold a candle to, not even an almost violent orgasm causing his entire body to quake. 

Heroin was a paradox. With the euphoria came a sense of calm and a heaviness of his body. With the pleasure would come the pain. Everything eventually collided, but Logan relished in the crash. He needed it, and he accepted that. The only thing he could rely on was something that would never refuse him what he sought out. The only thing that wouldn’t pulverize his heart and his pride, wound him with a hole too deep to heal. 

The heaviness and calm gave way to any sense of strength, Logan’s head falling back and rolling from side to side at the back of his leather desk chair until it fell slightly to the right. He was unable to keep his eyes from closing, long hair falling over his forehead as he nodded. An amalgamation of jumbled, broken thoughts floated through his mind, past the fog of disorientation that would inevitably fade into sleep: Wrong… this is the wrong door.. where’s the fucking.. it’s the wrong world. This is all an illusion. 

[thelazyhermits]

A Comforting Presence

Here’s that Tamaki drabble I promised. I hope y’all enjoy it! ^-^

Not long after your first year at UA comes to an end, Amajiki and Togata surprise you with an unexpected visit. At first, you assume it’s because they came to play with Eri since the blond often likes to come see her at the dorm and will often bring his best friend along for the fun.

While they do end up playing with the silver haired girl, that isn’t the reason for their visit. They actually came to ask you for a favor.

Now that they’ve graduated, the heroes have begun making plans to find their own apartments close to the agencies where they’ll be working. While they have managed to find places to stay, they haven’t started shopping for the proper furnishings for their new apartments.

That’s where you come in. Apparently, Amajiki wants to do some shopping while his schedule is free but doesn’t want to do it alone since it makes him nervous going to stores with large crowds and having to talk to sales clerks.

Naturally, his first solution to this problem was to ask Togata to go shopping with him. Unfortunately, the blond’s schedule is currently booked up so he can’t even though he would very much like to.

Wanting to help his best friend, Togata suggested that Amajiki ask you to go shopping with him instead since he knew the dark haired boy was comfortable around you. He even volunteered to come along with Amajiki today since he knew his friend would be too nervous to ask you himself.

Of course, you are more than happy to accept their request. While you wouldn’t consider yourself an expert when it comes to shopping for this kind of situation, you’ll do whatever you can to help the dark haired boy.

And, that’s how you find yourself at the mall with Amajiki a few days later. Unfortunately, the day you both choose to come happens to be a busy one, so there are plenty of people at the mall.

Unsurprisingly, Amajiki is not a fan of this situation. This is evident in the fact that he’s standing as close to you as he can and that there’s a slight trembling of his shoulders.

A concerned frown forms on your lips. Wanting to provide some comfort to him, you slowly move to grab his hand, making him jolt in surprise.

When his wide eyes swivel to meet yours, you give his hand a soft squeeze. “If the crowd is too much for you, we don’t have to stay, Amajiki. We could always come on a different day when we know the mall will be less busy. There’s no need to push yourself just to go shopping.”

Thankfully, soon after you tell him that, the trembling of his shoulders begins to wane before eventually completely ceasing altogether. His gaze flits this way and that before finally meeting yours. “I...I’m okay. I can handle it.”

After briefly hesitating, he averts his gaze as he quietly continues, “I need to be able to handle it. I need to get over this fear now that I’ve graduated and become a pro hero. A real hero wouldn’t be scared just because of a crowd.”

Your frown grows as you move to softly pat his head with the hand not holding his. “Being a hero doesn’t mean being fearless, Amajiki. Being nervous around strangers and crowds doesn’t make you any less of a hero. It makes you human. Everyone has fears, even heroes.”

Amajiki bites his lip. “Do...Do you, Sensei?”

The face of a man you wish you could forget briefly flashes in your mind at his question. “Yeah….I do.”

While you know he wouldn’t push you for details, you decide to give them anyway, hoping that by doing so the dark haired boy won’t feel as bad about his own fears. “I get scared whenever someone tries to push me against a wall and holds me there. That happened to me a lot when I was in the underworld, so it brings back a lot of bad memories for me.”

His eyes widen at your confession. They shine with clear pain and guilt as he meets your gaze.“I’m sorry, Sensei. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Shaking your head, you give his hand another squeeze. “It’s fine. It’s not like you pushed me to tell you, and I know you didn’t have any bad intentions when you asked. So, you don’t need to apologize, Amajiki.” 

He opens and closes his mouth a few times before finally replying, “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Your expression softens. “You’re one of the most trustworthy guys I know. That’s probably why I had such an easy time telling you about my fear.”

Red colors his cheeks as he quickly looks away. “T-Thank you very much.”

After making sure he really is okay with staying, the two of you head further into the mall to begin shopping. Thinking it might help him relax, you offer to hold his hand whenever he’s nervous, but the flustered boy quickly tells you that it won’t be necessary.

However, despite saying that, it doesn’t escape your attention whenever he occasionally moves to stand closer to you or how he sometimes lightly grabs the hem of your shirt as if worried that he’ll lose you in the crowd if he doesn’t. You find this extremely adorable but refrain from commenting on his actions since you know it’ll only embarrass him.

Fortunately, despite his earlier nervousness, Amajiki does eventually loosen up once you both start visiting stores. At first, you handle talking to all the sales clerks and asking any questions he has, but eventually, you convince him to try it out himself since you know this is something he wants to work on. Plus, you figure it might be easier on him if he has you with him for backup just in case.

As expected, the taller boy is a total bundle of nerves the first time he tries to approach a sales clerk to ask her a question, but thankfully, he manages to find one that’s incredibly patient and understanding. So, the conversation goes a lot better than he was expecting.

You make sure to give him a big smile and a head pat later to show him how proud you are of him working on conquering his fears. Unsurprisingly, this results in a lot of blushing and stuttering on his part.

A few hours into the shopping trip, you have to make a trip to the restroom. After telling Amajiki where you’re going, you leave him in the store the two of you are currently in and head for the nearest restroom.

Not long after you later exit the restroom, you find yourself regretting leaving Amajiki in the store since you find yourself accosted by three punks before you can make it back to the store. You mentally reprimand yourself for allowing yourself to get boxed in like this, with your back to the wall while the men surround you.

Considering how smoothly this happened, you figure they had planned this beforehand. Maybe they saw you enter the restroom alone and thought you’d be an easy target.

In any other situation, you’d say they were dead wrong, but unfortunately for you, they used the worst possible formation against you. While you’re thankfully not currently being pressed against the wall by any of them, it still makes you incredibly uncomfortable to be boxed in like this.

Doing your best to steady your shaky breathing and ignore your pounding heart, you narrow your eyes. “What do you want? I have someone waiting on me, so I don’t have time to waste on you.”

All three men grin while the one in the center with the green mohawk answers, “You mean that little string bean? Honestly, don’t you think you could do way better than him? A babe like you should be with a real man like me.”

All you can do is roll your eyes. “No thanks. I’m perfectly fine with the company I'm came with, and for the record, I would never choose a creep like you over a great guy like him.”

As the two guys on either side of him snicker at your dis, the green haired man scowls as he takes a step closer to you, further invading your personal space much to your distress. “You got a lot of nerve, bitch. Don’t think you can just say whatever you want and get away with it.”

In a blink, one of his hands tightly clamps down on one of your shoulders and shoves you further against the wall. Immediately, your body stiffens as your throat tightens. 

Despite having learned proper breathing techniques to help in these types of situations, you’re still having an increasingly hard time catching your breath. You know you need to keep a cool head, but all you can think about right now is Mumei’s barriers and how he’d use them to slam you against hard surfaces whenever he punished you.

While you don’t remember everything about your time in the underworld, you’ve unfortunately recovered several of your memories that involved Mumei and his cruel punishments. Despite how hard you try to forget them, they continue to fly to the forefront of your mind the longer you remain pressed against the wall.

“Let her go!”

It’s the sound of a familiar voice that breaks through the fear-filled haze that had enveloped your mind. All you can do is stare with wide eyes as the man with the mohawk gets shoved back by Amajiki who places himself in between you and your assailant. 

Immediately, after you’re released, you push yourself away from the wall but choose to remain behind Amajiki as you attempt to steady your breathing and stop yourself from shaking. Keeping your eyes on his back helps you since it reminds you that you’re no longer alone like you were for all those years before coming to UA.

Because his back is to you, you miss the rare, furious expression Amajiki is currently sporting. However, you definitely notice the obvious anger in his voice when he speaks. “Leave. Now.”

Much to your surprise, rather than try to pick a fight with the UA graduate like you expect, the punks nervously take a few steps backwards. Considering their initial impression of Amajiki, you wonder what kind of face he’s currently making for them to react like this to him.

After sharing a look, the green haired man and his friends run off without another word. For them to not even try to pick a fight with him proves just how much Amajiki scared them which you find incredibly surreal since intimidating is not a word you’d normally use to describe the dark haired boy.

As soon as the punks are out of sight, Amajiki immediately turns to face you. Instead of the scary glare that the other men saw, all you see are his dark eyes shining with obvious worry for you. “Are you alright, Sensei? Did they hurt you?”

Any remaining tension in your frame fades away at the sight of his concerned expression. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you find yourself hugging the startled boy.

“S-Sensei?”

The corners of your lips curve upwards at the cute, squeaky tone his voice gains at your actions. It’s hard to believe that the same voice sounded so angry and imposing just a few minutes ago.

You bury your face in his shoulder as you quietly sigh into his shirt. “Thank you for coming to my rescue, Amajiki. I’m sorry for doing this when this kind of contact usually makes you uncomfortable, but can we stay like this for a few minutes? Please?”

There’s a brief pause before his arms slowly move to return the embrace. They give you a soft squeeze. “Yeah. We can stay like this for however long you need.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest as you squeeze him tighter. “Thank you.”

Even though you could hug him longer, you decide to release him after a few minutes since the two of you are in a public place, and you don’t want to risk drawing unwanted attention since that would definitely make him uncomfortable. After you eventually release him, you notice the deep frown he’s wearing.

Before you can question him about it, Amajiki bites his lip. “I’m sorry. If I had come looking for you sooner, you wouldn’t have had to go through all that.”

Your expression softens. “It’s not your fault, Amajiki. Besides, if anything, I should be thanking you for coming to my rescue as quickly as you did since I wasn’t even gone that long.”

His cheeks turn pink as he averts his gaze. “I had a bad feeling. I thought I was just worrying too much, but I still wanted to see you just in case something was wrong.”

Smiling warmly, you move to gently ruffle his hair. “I’m glad you did. Thank you for being my hero, Amajiki. You were really cool.”

Cheeks once pink are now scarlet. The dark haired boy quickly ducks his head in an attempt to hide his face. “I-I’m glad you’re okay, Sensei. If you had gotten hurt because I failed to protect you, I…”

One of his hands moves to clutch the front of his shirt right above where his heart is. “I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.”

Those words are muttered so quietly you barely catch them. Once they properly register in your mind, you immediately move to rest your hand above the one he’s using to clutch his shirt while your other hand softly strokes his hair. “Even if something like that had happened, it wouldn’t have been your fault. The only ones deserving of blame would be the creeps who were harassing me.”

Giving his hand a strong squeeze, you continue, “Thankfully, nothing bad happened because I had you looking out for me. It’s all thanks to you that I’m alright now, so you should raise your head and be proud of yourself, Amajiki. Don’t let thoughts of what could’ve happened diminish what did happen.”

Amajiki slowly raises his head, so he can meet your eyes. After a brief pause, he gives you a slight nod. “You’re right. In cases like this, I need to focus on the good things I accomplished rather than the mistakes I made.”

Realizing the dark haired boy is recalling the advice you gave him back in the summer, you can’t help but smile broadly. “That’s exactly right! Just keep thinking about the fact that the reason I’m smiling right now is all because of you.”

The corners of his lips curve upwards just a tad, forming the smallest but also one of the cutest smiles you’ve ever seen. The fact that there’s still a light flush coloring his cheeks just makes it all the more adorable. “I’m glad. If I can make you smile, then I know I’ve done something I can really be proud of.”

Warmth envelops your chest as you practically melt at his words. How dare this boy be so adorable. Who gave him the right?

Unable to help yourself, you give him another hug, making him squeak in surprise. “You are extremely good at making me smile, Amajiki, and that won’t be changing anytime soon. I can promise you that.”

[la-muerta]

fic writer game

Got this from @faejilly​!

Fandoms: I’ve only properly written for Shadowhunters and I’m dipping my toes into the 陈情令/魔道祖师 fandom as well. (It’s actually really nice to be writing for 陈情令 even though it’s hella stressful lol. I’ve missed doing research in Chinese for fun stuff) 

Number of fics: 92 works according to AO3, but now that I’m glancing through a couple of them are actually collections of drabbles/ficlets and some of them are art. So 90-ish?

Fic I spent more time on: All Realms of Where and When Beyond, but also because it’s my longest fic. The actual plotting didn’t take that long, and because it was high fantasy in a vaguely medieval setting most of it was just pure imagination. The only things I remember researching was how to climb a mountain/rock face without tools, the process of building ships, and some geographical things when I was planning the world map.

Fic I spent less time on: If we discount really short things like drabbles, some fics just write themselves?! I wrote 50 First Dates in three or four days and the one-shots that I wrote for Bingo Flashbang in a couple of hours tops, notably Love & Other Drugs, The Kingdom by the Sounding Sea, and Heat Wave.

Longest fic: All Realms of Where and When Beyond, at 106,491 words.

Shortest: I have a small collection of drabbles (100 words each), so those.

Most hits: All Realms of Where and When Beyond, currently with 36,145 hits.

Most kudos: Also All Realms of Where and When Beyond, currently with 1,878 kudos. 

Most bookmarks: Also All Realms of Where and When Beyond (what a shocker!), currently with 592 bookmarks.

Total words combined: Currently 988,547 words. Hitting that million soon! lol

Fic you want to rewrite or expand: I wrote outlines for continuations to Monsters and certain dark things. I still might write the sequel to Monsters, but the sequel to certain dark things got real heavy, and... I don’t know. I need to be in the right headspace for that one.

Fav fic you wrote: I like most of the things I’ve written. But I think I’m most satisfied with how All Realms of Where and When Beyond and Monsters turned out.

Share a bit of your WIP or idea if you have anything planned: Oh no, I have so many, where to start? LOL. Well, the only one that’s halfway through posting is walk the plank (into dark water) for the 陈情令/魔道祖师 fandom. It’s probably a bit ambitious because I’m going to do three POVs (alternating chapters) and I’m still trying to find the voice for my third narrator, Jiang Yanli.

As for Shadowhunters fandom, I’m trying to finish all my Bingo squares first. I’ve written 7 out of 25 *hides* But I did manage to hit one bingo! And I have three squares planned but they’re going to be long-ish I think, instead of one-shots.

tagging: @sfjessii, @ladymatt, @ladyoxymoron, @bytheangell, @themimsyborogove if y’all want to, and anyone else who would like to do this! 

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

TWDG Writing Challenge Write a drabble every day of November

[We’ve still got 2 1/2 days left of October! Soon the challenge will begin!]

Rules [sort of, I guess]:

1. Write a drabble every day of November following the prompts listed above. As I’ve said before, it’s okay if you miss some days or if you only want to participate a couple times in this challenge! Also, if you write more than 100 words, that’s okay, too! I’m not going to go around counting all of your works and then tsk-tsking you because you went over. If you feel like you have more to say with your stories, then please do so! 

Besides, let’s be real, look at who made this challenge. If I actually manage to write exactly 100 words without going over, it’ll be a miracle. Let’s just say that the 100-word thing is a minimum, m’kay? That’ll make me feel better when I end up posting 300-500 word “drabbles.” 

2. Tag each of your stories with #twdgdrabblechallenge so that I can easily find them to reblog, and make sure to tag me, too! I want to read what you write!

3. They don’t have to be masterpieces. This isn’t a competition and it isn’t supposed to be stressful. This is meant to exercise your writing skills and give you an opportunity to test out different writing styles, write different characters, or share ideas that maybe wouldn’t work for a 1k+ fic but are perfect for a drabble. 

4. Write what you want to write. If you want to write all 30 days about Louis or Violet or your favorite ship or about a character from a previous game, then do it! It might be fun to try and find a way to apply each of the prompts to a single character or ship, or you can go with the flow and write about whatever character/ship comes time mind that day. 

5. Have fun! Again, don’t stress out. If you miss a few days, fine! If the writing isn’t perfect, fine! If you don’t know what to write so you end up jotting down 100 words of absolute absurdity, fine! This challenge is meant to be fun and to encourage you to write. 

I look forward to reading what y’all come up with! 

If you have any other questions, feel free to ask! 

[paintingwithdarkness]

Wow I seriously love all your fics - thanks for writing! Could I request #2 with bluepulse?

“Please, don’t cry! I can’t stand to see you cry.”

“Surprise!”

Instantly, lights flicked on, blinding Bart, and a dozen different people jumped out at him from behind various pieces of furniture in the Allen’s living room. Bart flinched, feeling a surge of adrenaline sing through his veins and immediately took up a fighting stance. Upon none of the figures moving to attack him however, Bart’s eyes quickly roved the room and he slowly relaxed his posture, confused, but no longer fearing for his life.

A brightly colored, handmade banner hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BART!” was painted across it in neon, the same shades as the handful or so of balloons that were floating around, tied to the backs of chairs and wrists. A huge stack of carefully wrapped boxes and bags with vibrant paper sticking out from their tops were piled on the coffee table in front of the couch. Everyone in the room with exception to himself, was wearing one of those pointy, polka-dotted party hats, huge smiles on their faces, hands thrown out wide as if presenting all of the gaudy decorations to Bart.

As his eyes traveled around, Bart met gazes with Grandma Iris, Grandpa Barry, briefly with each of the twins, Bianca and Alberto Reyes, Milagro, Cassie, Tim, Garfield, Virgil, and last but not least, Jaime, who had one of the biggest smiles on his face Bart had ever seen.

A strange feeling welled up inside Bart’s chest. Entirely against his will, a laughing sob escaped his throat and tears spilled down his cheeks. His house key, which he’d still been holding, dropped to the carpet with a muted clink as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth.

The smiles melted off of everyone’s faces at Bart’s reaction. Uneasy glances passed between his teammates, and pitying looks appeared on the faces of the adults. Jaime immediately rushed forward to wrap Bart up into a hug.

“Oh Cariño, I’m sorry! Please, don’t cry! I can’t stand to see you cry,” his boyfriend begged, rocking him back and forth, trying to soothe the tears away.

That ugly laugh-cry escaped Bart again. He wasn’t upset per say, but the surprise party was definitely overwhelming. It wasn’t something he had been expecting, and the sentimentality of it all had just hit him all at once.

Jaime gently shushed him, rubbing his back and trying to comfort Bart the best he could, but the tears kept flowing. Bart couldn’t turn them off. His emotions were running wild and he didn’t even know exactly what it was that was making him cry to begin with.

“I can’t stop!” he managed to get out between strangled noises and gasps for air. Bart’s lungs were heaving in an effort to catch an efficient breath, unlike the ease he had when running. He was starting to panic.

Luckily, his boyfriend got the memo quick enough and managed to open the front door again from where Bart had just come in, and shuffle him out onto the porch to get some fresh air.

Once he was outside, Bart started taking in deep lungfulls of clean air while Jaime stood beside him and gently rubbed his back. It didn’t make any sense. Bart didn’t understand what had him so emotional. It was a surprise party; everyone had them.

And then it hit him. Everyone except Bart had had a surprise party. Growing up in a post-alpocalyptic wasteland hadn’t exactly given Bart the chance to experience a proper birthday. In fact, no one in his time had ever really celebrated them. They just weren’t important, what with trying to just survive each day. A lot of people probably wouldn’t have even made it to their twenties. Bart was one of the fortunate ones to have lived to thirteen. The Reach didn’t keep calendars, and once the invasion had begun, no one really continued keeping track of the date. Bart didn’t even know what his actual birthday was. The best he could figure was sometime between September and November. Once fall passed each year, Bart knew he was older. The birthday that Batman had come up with for Bart’s papers to live in the current time period was just a guess. Bart had no idea how accurate it actually was or if it was even close. He would find out, along with all of his new friends and family when this time’s version of him was born in 2043.

Bart eventually managed to catch his breath. He raised a hand to wipe the tears off of his cheeks and cleared his throat a few times, trying to get rid of the large ball of cotton that had seemingly gotten caught there.

“You okay, Amorcito?” Jaime asked him, once he noticed that Bart was no longer crying.

Bart nodded his head. He didn’t trust his voice.

Jaime hesitantly wrapped him into a hug, which Bart instantly reciprocated.

“I thought you would like the surprise party,” Jaime said, gently stroking his fingers through his auburn hair. “I didn’t know it would upset you. I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” Bart mumbled against his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Just overwhelmed me s’all.”

Bart pulled back from the hug so that he could look Jaime in the eyes. The older boy still looked guilty. Bart knew he would have to elaborate.

“We didn’t really celebrate birthdays in the future,” Bart said. “I don’t even know if today is my real birthday. The Reach didn’t keep calendars and no one else had a way of keeping track. The best I can guess is that my birthday is in the fall. The weather always started getting colder around the time I gained another year.”

Jaime was giving him a sad smile now. Bart didn’t want pity.

“This is the first real birthday that anyone has thrown for me. Sure, the Garricks and Gram and Gramps used to get me little presents and stuff, and you always used to buy me extra food on my birthdays when we would go out to eat somewhere, but this is the first party that’s ever been mine.”

Jaime’s smile turned happy. “Claro, Cariño. What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t throw you a birthday party? This is the first time we’ve celebrated your birthday since we started dating. I had to make it big.”

Bart gave him a little laugh. “Thanks, Babe. The party looked super crash. Sorry I got a little emotional on everyone.”

Jaime stepped forward to give Bart a kiss. The younger boy could feel his smile against his lips. When Jaime pulled away, he gently stroked his thumb over the swell of Bart’s cheek and left his hand there, cupping Bart’s jaw.

“I’m glad I get to be the one to throw you your first birthday party.” Jaime gave him another quick kiss before pulling away and grabbing Bart’s hand.

“We should probably go back inside,” Jaime said, “and let the others know that you’re okay.”

Bart nodded. “Hope you got enough cake, ‘cause I am hungry.”

Jaime laughed. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t get enough cake? Mom make three.”

Bart instantly brightened up. “The kind with the custard inside?”

Jaime’s smirk answered the question.

“So crash! Let’s go!”

Here it is, Anon! Sorry if it’s not as angsty as you were looking for. All of the requests I’ve gotten seem to be for angst. Guess y’all like our boys to be sad and soft.

But yeah, thank you for the compliment! I write all of these little drabbles for you guys! Having your support makes it all worth it.