#[[And I might have to avoid looking in a mirror or someone peeking out]]

[elliesfavbae]

Summer camps and dead mouses, Part 3 series

Summer camp with enemy to lovers Ellie Williams.

part 1, part 2, part 4

synopsis: You went to a summer camp for the first time. Among many people, you've met someone who seems to hate you - her name is Ellie Williams. Suddenly, she starts to avoid you completely. What happened?

pairing: mean!Ellie Williams x reader

warnings: use of y/n, Ellie is a bitch, swearing

note: sorry it took me so long to post this! I didn’t have my laptop with me while I was away and returned literally yesterday

wc:3500

About fifteen people are gathered in a circle with a bottle in the middle. You look up; the dark sky peeks through the gaps in the trees. It’s a cloudless night, with stars twinkling brilliantly above. Since you’re deep in the woods, far from any cities, the sky is a stunning tapestry of stars. It’s so different from the view you have back at home in the city.

Your reflections are interrupted by a deep voice. “Quiet, everyone! Let’s start the game.”

The person who just spoke is the first to spin the bottle. He’s a boy around your age, wearing a simple beige t-shirt and light jeans that are pretty worn out and dirty at the bottom. He reaches out to touch the bottle and spins it. The glass revolves for a few seconds before it lands on a girl. You try to make out her features in the dim light of a few flashlights, but it’s hard to tell if you know her. You don’t think you’ve met her before. Does it even matter?

Since it’s the first round, the pair is quite shy about making the first move, but the girl’s friends push her toward the boy, and they finally muster enough courage to connect their lips. It’s a simple kiss, a peck even, but that’s enough to make the crowd cheer.

You cringe at the thought that every round of this game might be like this. Half of us are probably adults already or at least 17. You start to regret playing this childish game.

You scan the faces around you, trying to read their expressions, when your eyes land on Ellie. The second you look at her, she quickly turns her head in the opposite direction. Was she looking at you? You quickly push the thought away. No, why would she? Especially after claiming many times that she hates you. She was probably looking at someone next to you, or something.

The girl on whom the bottle landed spins it again. It lands on another boy, whom you recognize from archery yesterday. The boy spins the bottle once more, and it lands on a different boy, one you don’t know.

“Wait, what?” You whisper to Olivia next to you. You don’t understand what just happened. What are the rules?

“You’ve never played before? One of the people who just kissed spins the bottle. Once it stops, the person for the next round is picked. Then, that person spins the bottle to find a pair for themselves,” she explains quietly. “Get it now?”

To be honest, you’re not entirely sure you understand, but you’ll catch on. You nod.

You miss the moment when the previously picked people kiss. One of them spins the bottle, and it lands on a blonde, muscular girl. Wait, you know her—it’s Abby. She’s wearing the same braid she had before.

“Alright.” Abby reaches out to spin the glass bottle. The material catches the light, casting shimmering reflections around it. It spins for a while before it begins to slow down. You’re sure it’s going to land on your friend on your left, but it turns a little more and lands on you.

“Y/n,” Abby says with the same friendly smile she gave you while rock climbing. ‘So she remembers me,’ you think.

You shift closer to her, feeling everyone’s gaze fixed on the both of you. You try to return the smile she’s offering as you both lean in. You close your eyes when you’re close enough, and she’s the first to press her lips to yours.

Her lips are surprisingly smooth and soft. You feel her kiss your upper lip, so you mirror the motion with her lower one. You catch a hint of vanilla in her scent. The moment is brief, though. She pulls away quickly, and you follow suit. You try to sneak glances at the people around you to gauge their reactions. Some cheer, some laugh—not in a mean way. One reaction stands out, though. It’s Ellie, her face filled with… anger? Her face muscles are tense, her jaw clenched, and she’s definitely looking directly at you. You don’t have much time to analyze as a voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Y/n, spin the bottle.” You reach for the cold glass. You spin it, but you no longer care where it lands.

Your mind returns to Ellie. What was that about? You definitely didn’t just imagine her anger. Maybe she was jealous of Abby?

“Damn.” Olivia laughs quietly.

“Did you see how Ellie looked at me?” you whisper back.

“That’s what I meant—she looked furious.”

“Yeah, I’ve got no idea why, though.”

“What? You just kissed her ex.” You look at her in disbelief.

“Abby was dating Ellie?” You widen your eyes, and she nods.

“A few years ago, yeah.”

That makes sense. Ellie is still jealous of her ex, and a girl she despises just kissed her. You feel a strange sense of victory—you managed to annoy her without even trying.

You refocus on the game. Abby is once again in the middle, leaning in to kiss another girl. When did this happen? It doesn’t matter. You glance at Ellie, searching for any sign of anger on her face. This time, aside from her usual scowl, she seems completely unbothered. It doesn’t make sense; Abby is kissing someone else again, but there’s no trace of anger from Ellie. You’re utterly confused.

The game continues as if nothing happened until you feel a pressure in your bladder. You look to your right at Olivia, but she’s deeply engrossed in a conversation with a pretty girl by her side. You decide not to interrupt and simply just let her know where you’re going. She nods in understanding.

You get up and head into the dark woods with only a flashlight in hand. Once you can’t hear the chatter, you figure you’re far enough. Unbuckling your pants, you hope not to encounter any animals, let alone people.

You wipe your hands with a wet wipe after you finish, walking back toward your friends. Oddly, you can’t hear anyone anymore, even as you get closer. You’re sure you took the right path. When you reach the circle, everyone has disappeared. It’s clearly the same spot, evidenced by the worn circle on the ground. You flash your light around, searching for anyone. You come closer and nearly jump out of your skin—a figure is lying on the ground. You squint and, to your horror, it’s Ellie.

“Get this shit off my face!” she screams, squinting her eyes. You turn off the flashlight.

“Where is everyone?”

“They went back to the camp.” Even in the darkness, you can sense her disdain. “Why do you care?”

“And why are you still here?”

“And why should I explain myself to you? It’s none of your business.” Her frustration is palpable. She’s so infuriating.

You decide to head back to camp, but you realize you don’t know the way. You stand there, pondering what to do.

“Why are you still here?” Ellie asks again.

“I don’t know how to get back to the camp,” you admit, and you hear Ellie groan.

You hear a quiet “fuck me” before she stands up. You turn your flashlight back on. It seems she’ll accompany you back to camp. She’s holding something in her hand—a sketchbook. You try to look closer and make out a few blurry sketches of a person and a drawing of a night sky.

“Do you draw?” you ask without thinking. Ellie quickly hides the journal behind her back.

“No, I don’t.” She’s clearly lying.

Okay, whatever. It’s a shame, you think. If she weren’t such a bitch for no reason, she could be a pretty cool person. She dresses nicely, you hate to admit it, but she’s actually attractive and seems to have some interesting hobbies.

You walk in silence, just holding your flashlights. You look up at the night sky. The sky remains cloudless, with stars shining brightly. Some are larger, brighter than others. Some are blinking, as if they might extinguish and never be seen again.

The silence between you and Ellie is suffocating. You take a deep breath before speaking. “Look, that red shining dot is Mars. My dad used to teach me some astronomy stuff.”

Ellie actually looks up. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s Antares, not Mars. Mars isn’t even visible in this part of the sky right now. Guess your dad is an amateur.” She says it so nonchalantly, as if she didn’t have to think before speaking.

Mars, Antares, whatever. At least she didn’t tell you to ‘shut the fuck up and never speak to her again’ like she usually does. You decide to pursue the topic. Maybe this conversation could be more than just a few minutes of insults, and besides, you can’t stand the silence.

You didn’t lie—your dad did try to teach you about astronomy, but it was so long ago, you barely remember anything. You try to recall anything he told you about it and speak up again. “Whatever. At least you can see the North Star and the Little Dipper. It’s my favorite star. It’s fascinating that the North Star always stays in the same spot. Did you know it’s one of the brightest stars in the northern sky?” You point to a bright star, pretty sure it’s Polaris. Well, you can’t really see the Little Dipper, but it’s probably somewhere nearby.

“Polaris isn’t in this part of the sky either.” Ellie chuckles, clearly proud of herself. “It’s Spica. Pretty basic stuff. I thought everybody knew that. At least you got the facts right, but if you want to show off, make sure the whole thing is true.”

Her ego is inflated even more than usual. You wish you’d never brought up the topic. What’s worse—and you hate to admit it—is that she seems to know quite a bit about astronomy. Suddenly, Ellie speaks up. She sounds more… lost in her thoughts? 

“My favorite star is Tabby’s star. It’s a big mystery for astronomers. You can’t see it now, but it’s blueish. Some scientists think it might be used by aliens as a source of energy because of its unusual energy drops,” she clears her throat, “I mean, whatever, it’s not like I care about stars.” However, her tone betrays a genuine interest.

And that’s the first time she’s spoken to you for so long without offending you. Wow.

You notice you’re close to the camp gate. You feel relieved—you won’t have to endure Ellie’s presence and self-aggrandizement any longer.

You split up without saying another word.

Finally, you find your roommates, and you don’t bother hiding your annoyance. “Why did you leave me in the woods?!”

“Y/n? Sorry, we thought you’d already left with someone or something,” Leah, a girl from your room, apologizes. 

Right, you didn’t inform the girls from your room about leaving, just Olivia.

“And where’s Olivia?”

“Oh, she’s a little busy with that girl at the moment…” Emma looks suggestively to your left, and as you follow her gaze, you see Olivia clearly flirting with the same girl from earlier. You’ll have to talk to her once she’s done.

“But you’re back in one piece, after all,” Leah says again.

“Yeah, but at what cost?” You dramatically roll your eyes. “Ellie had to walk with me because I didn’t know the way.”

“That’s pretty nice of her, isn’t it?”

“No, I mean yes, but she was being a bitch, as always.”

“Oh, I know. I saw the way she looked at you when you kissed Abby!” So not only you and Olivia noticed!

“I mean, I probably wouldn’t be too thrilled if someone kissed my ex…”

“Abby and Ellie were a couple?” Leah asks, shocked.

“Yeah, why do you think Ellie is acting like such an ass around the main counselor?” Emma continues. “A few years ago, Ellie broke up with Abby. It was a big deal at the camp. Rumor has it Abby cheated on Ellie with a guy—Owen, I think.”

It all makes sense now. You swear the click in your head was so loud it could’ve been heard by everyone. Ellie broke up with Abby, so she wants to get back at her. That’s pretty petty.

“Why does she keep coming back here if that’s what happened?”

“She still has friends here and knows everyone. But honestly, I don’t know either.”

Well, she shouldn’t concern you. You push her out of your mind and try not to think about her again.

You can hear the counselor blowing whistles from afar, and after a few minutes, the camp director announces, “The Treasure Hunt is over,” right, you forgot about the Treasure Hunt, “and the winners are Ryan and Max from the third group. Good job!” The crowd cheers.

You sigh and look around as the counselors line everyone up and start counting heads. A few people are missing, but after a minute or two, they all return from the dark woods accompanied by counselors. Your friends were right—everyone made it back safely. That’s quite impressive.

You walk back to your cabin with your roommates and some other campers, gossiping about everything that happened tonight. When you arrive at your room, everyone is so tired they immediately head to bed, forgetting any pre-sleep chatter.

***

It’s the next morning. When you open your eyes, you remember everything from the night before—Abby, Spin the Bottle, Ellie… You can’t quite explain it, but when Ellie talked about the stars last night, she seemed… different? It’s strange to say, considering she only said a few sentences and managed to offend you in half of them. But it’s like she revealed another side of her to you. She doesn’t seem like the type to discuss nerdy interests, at least not until yesterday.

The day passes like usual. You’ve already been to archery, basketball, and now it’s time for biking. You would never have guessed that biking would be your choice among all the available activities, but Olivia’s convincing made it sound promising. Apparently, if you’re nice enough to the counselor, they might take you to a shop outside of the camp, in the nearest village. Sure, there’s a store on the camp, but its prices are outrageous, and their selection is limited to sugar-free imitations of real food.

You arrive at the bike shed with Olivia. You’re not really focused on your surroundings, too absorbed in laughing at Olivia’s story, until you reach one of the bikes. Just as you’re about to take it, you notice someone else’s hands on it. You look up and, of course, they’re Ellie Williams’. Her auburn hair is tied in a bun, spilling out of her helmet and covering her freckled face.

You brace yourself for another round of insults, but to your surprise, she drops her gaze when your eyes meet, removes her hands from the bike, turns around, and walks away to find another vehicle. The odds of a meteor striking the camp right now seem more likely than this.

For the next minute, you expect her to return and scold you for taking her bike, but nothing happens.

The rest of the activity is uneventful. Instead of visiting the shop, you go to a different spot by the waterfall and take a twenty-minute break to play cards with other campers. Ellie doesn’t join you; she spends the time talking to her friend. She doesn’t even look at you the whole time.

Tonight’s evening activity is team challenges. You’re divided into groups of twelve and compete in various games. You’re lucky to be in a group with some of your friends. Ellie is there too. It’s as if fate insists on you two crossing paths. Except this time, Ellie seems determined to avoid you. She stays out of your way—sitting out the Capture the Flag challenge and Tug-of-War, and then disappearing when she swaps groups with another girl.

You discuss it with Olivia later. “It’s just weird how she went from being a total asshole to suddenly avoiding me!”

“I mean, I’d be happy if I were you. She finally stopped bothering you. Maybe she just got bored of being a bitch?”

That does sound rational. You’re not even sure why you care so much.

“You’re right. I should be glad she finally let it go. But she even hid from me during the challenges today. I mean, she seems to love competing and gloating after winning…”

“Y/n, I don’t want to sound rude, but have you considered that maybe it isn’t about you? Maybe she’s having a bad day, or she’s upset about something else,” Olivia says suddenly. You think about it and feel a little embarrassed. She’s right—the world doesn’t revolve around you. Ellie’s behavior could be due to anything. Maybe that counselor she was flirting with earlier? Or Abby? “You seem like you can’t get her out of your head, though.” Olivia giggles.

“What? No, I totally hate her.” You roll your eyes and join her giggles.

After that, Olivia excuses herself and disappears to meet with that girl from yesterday. Seems like they're practically inseparable since the Treasure Hunt.

You go back to the cabin on your own, where you meet your other friends.

***

Another day passes by. Everything seems normal, Ellie doesn’t bother you anymore. From the meanest bitch you’ve met, she turned into someone who seems afraid to even talk to you. At first, you wonder if anything has happened. No one changes so drastically without a reason. You even ask a person or two if they know what happened, when you realize it’s not your problem. You’re overreacting, she might be just in a bad mood, it’s only been a couple of days.

It's evening already. After a day full of activities, you have hungrily thrown yourself at the pancake plate. You and your roommates are excited for tonight’s evening activity, it’s a bonfire; you can’t wait for the s’mores, singing and gossiping by the bonfire.

You’re leaving the dining hall, when someone runs up to you and pats you on the shoulder.

You turn around and see it’s Abby, smiling as always. You smile when you see her, too.

“Hey y/n, how you doing?” She starts walking next to you, you can feel a faint scent trailing behind her. It’s like a mix of fresh forest air and vanilla, probably it’s her shower gel.

“I can’t wait for the campfire tonight,” you admit.

“Right… That Treasure Hunt night was fun, wasn’t it?” Memories of that night flood your mind again. Looking at Abby, you remember Spin the bottle game, your kiss.

“Yeah, except the fact I had to walk back to the camp with Ellie by my side.” You sigh and look at Abby, her brows furrow a little. Right, you probably shouldn’t have mentioned Ellie to Abby. “God, sorry, I probably shouldn’t be talking about her…”

“What?” Abby seems genuinely confused.

“I mean, you guys seem to still have some unresolved stuff going on…”

“What? No, we’re totally cool now.” Abby laughs it off. Her face is relaxed, she seems to be telling the truth. “Want to sit down?” Abby points in a direction and your gaze follows her finger. She’s pointing at just some overgrown bushes.

“In the bushes?” You don’t understand.

“No, there’s a bench inside,” Abby chuckles. Right, you remember now - it’s the spot Olivia showed you earlier.

“Oooh, right. Sure…” As you walk closer with Abby by your side, you remember the things your friend told you about this spot. Like a romantic hideout or something?

You start wondering if Abby took you here purposely, knowing about this place’s reputation. It’s not like you don’t like Abby… Sure, she’s attractive, kind and stuff, you’re just not interested in her in that way… Maybe she got the wrong idea of you two after the kiss? You probably should tell her what you feel.

You fight your way through the thorny plants and both sit down on the wooden bench.

“So, as I said, me and Ellie are fully over.” When you’re just about to pick up the feelings topic, Abby starts talking. Guess you will have to try another time.

“Are you sure? Because I thought that when we kissed that night, Ellie got, like, super pissed off,”

“Really? I mean, it wasn’t about me, for sure.” Abby shakes her head. Well, if it wasn’t about Abby, then about what? You realize you’re sitting pretty close to Abby. Did she move closer to you? Abby puts her hand up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Your hair is so pretty,”

When you’re just about to respond, someone comes up to you, their steps are heavy.

“Abby? Y/n?” A familiar voice reaches your ears. Not in a calm tone, though. You quickly jump away from Abby and look up. At first you think it might be Olivia, but it’s someone much more unexpected. It’s Ellie.

TAGLIST: @lI17284839 it wont let me tag u:(

@littlelittlebear

@diddiqueen

@kl1q

@abslvr111

@slut4els

thank u for all the support pookies!!!

[daengtokki]

𝐿𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒

Kim Seungmin/Female Reader

wc: 11k

rating: mature/explicit ಇ

comments: thanks everyone for the likes and reblogs and feedback! (´︶`) knowing someone is enjoying my fics makes writing seungmin so much easier. technically this is the last part, but not really...

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆ ⋆｡ ﾟ｡ ⋆

→ Blind Date

→ Second Date

→ Third Date

Part 4 of 4

Seungmin goes quiet after that, relaxes against the arm of the couch. You’re on the opposite side, doing the same. You watch each other carefully , but nobody makes a move, and nobody starts to speak.

You wonder if there was something you could have done to avoid all of this drama. Four and a half months of wondering; of being so down you can barely make it to work some days. Both of you have been really bad at this.

“Yes, I know it’s complicated.”

-

Counting the days and weeks until Seungmin comes back to you has been excruciating, sometimes anxiety inducing, and the only thing really keeping you together.

As of today it’s been 136 days since you spent the night with him. Twenty weeks, almost, since you looked at him face to face—touched him, kissed him, desperately wanted to confess how you’ve already fallen for him, and you never want to leave his side again.

But he did text you three days ago.

A part of you feels like giving up, because maybe this has gone on for far too long.

It’s nothing that Seungmin has done. He hasn’t said anything to you about things likely not working out. He talks to you in the same sweet, cheery way he always has when he actually has time to text, or call. You don’t resent him for his lack of communication, ever, because you know his lifestyle is worlds away from yours.

But the part of you that’s crazy about him sits and thinks: he can call for a five minute conversation, ask me how I am before I completely fall apart. You think…why hasn’t he messaged back? It takes a few seconds.

You hate having these thoughts. But you’re only human, and you have so much empty time to think about him.

It’s just not the same for him. It might never be the same for him.

Right now you’re staring out of your classroom window, completely lost in thought. The kids are working quietly, and it’s honestly the first time all day where you’ve been truly alone in your head.

There’s a loud knock on the door, and it makes you, and your students, jump.

“Come in…”

The door opens slowly, and the face that peeks through the door is a familiar one.

“Hey,” Choonhee waits a moment, then enters and closes the door behind her. She grabs a chair and finds a spot to sit directly in front of, across your desk.

“Hi, what’s up?”

“I’m on my way out, but I wanted to see you before I left. I keep missing you, and you’re not answering my messages.” The look she gives you is a little bit questioning, and a little bit irritated.

“Sorry, I’ve just had a lot on my mind. I’m trying to get out of this slump.”

“Slump? The same one you’ve been in for the last…” she gestures vaguely at nothing, “month? Maybe longer, I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” you manage, but it comes out shaky. You feel your throat tighten, and the air is pushed out of your lungs. Your eyes sting with tears. You can’t do this here.

“Hey hey, I’m sorry.” Choonhee starts to stand, “go pull yourself together, I’ll watch the class.”

You inhale deeply and make your way to the restroom. Luckily you have it to yourself, because when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror, tears are starting to stream down your cheeks. The result of bottling up until you explode.

Talking to Choonhee about this was always an option, but you haven’t. For some reason, you didn’t want her know how deep the cut is that Seungmin has made in you.

Her blind date was probably never supposed to turn into this; something serious, something you want, maybe more than anything you’ve ever wanted. You feel stupid and childish about it, because you know who he is. Sometimes you have to remind yourself that it was him that initiated date number two, and three, sort of, otherwise you’ll convince yourself you somehow forced him into all of this.

It takes far too long for you to finish crying and clean yourself up, but she’s still sitting there waiting when you return.

“I’ll be over tonight, and we’re going to talk it out. Okay?” She says.

You nod, eyes still red, makeup probably giving you two black eyes.

“I have to get going, I’ll see you later. Your phone went off while you were in the bathroom.”

You watch her as she walks out, then look to your students. In a few minutes, they’ll be dismissed. And you can go home and finish the crying that you’ve started.

First, you sit and poke the screen of your phone. It’s just a text message.

No, it’s not just a text message. It’s Seungmin. Choonhee probably looked, but all she would’ve seen is the contact name for him; SM.

Weeks ago, you almost changed it to Minnie, but you didn’t. The impersonal, secretive SM remained. You unlock your phone and open it.

I hope you had a good day. You’re just leaving work, I think…if I have my time right

And just like that, he pulls you back up, and back in. He says the right thing at just the right time. Although today, he he did miss it by a few minutes.

Now you battle with whether or not you text him back immediately, or wait until you get home. Neither feels like the right thing to do. You stare down at the message until it’s time for you to dismiss your class, thinking of what to say to him.

It’s personal. He took note of the time, and remembered when it is you usually leave.

Part of you feels like crying again, but your heart is fluttering. You hate this.

———

“I got your favorite!” Choonhee starts unloading the bag of food she brought with her. “Don’t look so defeated over there.”

She let herself in while you sat folded up on the couch. You’re still looking at your phone, trying to figure out what to say to him. Should you keep it casual and tell him your day was alright? Lie?

No, you could tell him the truth; that it was a rough day, and you’ve had a lot of days like this lately because you haven’t seen him in such a long time. But you have no idea how he’d react to that. Maybe he would feel guilty about not texting more, or feel bad because he’s been too busy to see you when he is in Seoul.

Or maybe he would feel overwhelmed by it, and decide enough was enough.

Seungmin—the Seungmin you know, at least, has always come off very laidback. Open when he needed to be, but not overly so. He’s a little bit reserved, but so many moments with him have been…cute.

And Chicago. It’s been so long since Chicago—long enough that the memory is fading a little. You have to think back on it and keep yourself there, in that moment, to remember all the detail. It’s all still there, in your head.

Finally, you start to type.

“Hi Minnie. I had a rough day today…I hope I get to see you again soon.”

You stare at it until Choonhee clears her throat in an attempt to get your attention.

You read it once more, then send it.

“Okay, dinner is served. Eat and tell me what’s been bothering you.”

You set your phone face down on the table and take a few bites before getting into it. Starting the conversation will be the most difficult.

So you just start.

“This is a little bit my fault, isn’t it?” Choonhee listened quietly, but you could tell she wasn’t expecting this to be about him. “I pushed this on you. I knew he spoke to you back in…June? I think it was June. But I didn’t know you saw each other again after the first date.”

“Yeah, there was a second date. And a third. And, well…ya know.”

Her eyebrows raise, “what? Fourth, fifth?”

“No, we slept together.”

She’s silent for a long moment, but her eyes remain fixed on you.

“When I went home in July. Remember?”

She’s still silent.

“I haven’t seen him since then.”

“Seungmin doesn’t like opening up to people. He doesn’t do that. Or he didn’t, at least. Are you sure you didn’t just…dream it?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I didn’t dream about having sex with him and then convince myself it really happened.”

Choonhee throws her hands up and waves your remark away, “okay I’m sorry, I’m just…surprised. I mean, even the multiple dates is a little surprising.”

“Then why did you even set us up?”

She shrugs, and then struggles to find the right words, “I don’t know…you were both here, and alone. I didn’t want you to spend the holiday by yourself. I thought you’d like him…I guess I was right. I’m not usually good with matches.

“So…are you saying I should just move on?”

“No, absolutely not! Text him right now, and tell him you want to see him when he gets home. He doesn’t get to fuck and run. I don’t care who he is.”

She goes quiet for a few seconds, but you can tell she’s frustrated and deep in thought. “I knew you’d like him. I’m sorry, I made this mess. If he doesn’t get himself together and talk to you like he should, I’ll go find him myself.”

———

By the time your text message gets to Seungmin, he’s home, undressed, and about to hop into a very hot shower. He smiles when he reads Minnie, because in the far too few messages exchanged, you’ve mostly called him Seungmin. His smile fades when he reads the rest.

He knows he’s been bad at this. Not just bad, actually—he’s been pathetic. He’s ghosted you, and strung you along for weeks.

No, he thinks. It’s been months of sporadic texting. Every time he was home, or close to home, he ignored you. Not maliciously, of course, and ignored is a strong word. He messaged you, but it really was the bare minimum. Especially after the last time you were together; you gave yourself to him, and Seungmin took all that he could.

Now he can’t admit to you how much it scared him.

He sets his phone down for now, and climbs into the shower—because once again, his mind, body, and everything in between is tired.

He’s so tired, he feels like he could cry. Maybe if he just let go, let himself wrap around someone and cry into their chest, he would feel better.

———

“When did he text you last?” Choonhee is cleaning up the table, throwing things into the sink, and generally doing a terrible job of tidying. But she means well, and you let her at it. “Has it been a while?”

“Three days ago, before today. He sent a message while you were in my classroom earlier.”

“Oh, is that who the buzz was? Did you answer back? Maybe you should just make him wait around.”

“I replied right before we ate, only because it took me a while to figure out what to say.”

You’re back on the couch now, phone in hand, eyes staring at the stagnant message thread. Figuring out his schedule is tough sometimes, and you try (and usually fail) to stay off of Twitter and fan sites. Right now you’re sifting through them, though—looking for anything new.

You pull up a few airport photos from earlier today. Seungmin is hidden behind a mask and a hat, but you can see his eyes. He looks tired.

It makes your heart sink. You return to your message thread again and read through the last few texts; they feel more and more impersonal as time goes on, and that makes your heart sink, too.

Maybe he is pulling away from you.

“I know saying this won’t help, but do not let this take over. Don’t let him get into your head like this.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Choonhee grabs your arm and shakes it furiously, “he’s just a guy!”

———

Seungmin is flat on his back, covers fluffed up all around him, a pillow under his head, another under his feet. No matter what he does, he’s uncomfortable. He desperately wants and needs to fall asleep, but it’s alluding him. His brain won’t shut up.

The room is chilly, and that’s usually what does the trick. Cold room, warm bed, and he’s out like a light.

He picks up his phone and reads your text again.

Hi Minnie. I had a rough day today…I hope I get to see you again soon.

If only he could figure out what to say back to you. There are so many things he wants to say, and so few ways he can think of to type it out.

Even if he were to see you face to face, he’d be lost for words. Seungmin is not one to let people in, but he has already let you in.

And now he’s stupidly pushing you away.

He pulls up a photo of you and stares at it. This wasn’t the way he planned on relaxing, but his hand is finding it’s way under his shirt anyway, touching his stomach, slowly moving downward until reaches the waistband of his sweatpants.

Thinking of your one night together, somehow still vivid in his head after all this time, is enough to get him hard. And looking at you…he runs his hand down the length of his cock, grabs tight, and strokes himself slowly. The breath he lets out is shaky. He has to be quiet.

———

“Is he?” You look at her, only slightly defeated. “…just a guy?”

“You slept with him, you should know.”

“He’s not.”

The look she gives you is almost enough to make you rethink what you just said.

“I promise you, beneath everything, he’s like any other guy you’ve dated who got too close, freaked out, and disappeared.”

You shake your head. Then your phone buzzes in your hand, and the feeling makes your heart jump to your throat, and your stomach sink all at once. You don’t immediately move your eyes to the screen—you can’t.

“Was that him?”

Now you look. SM. You nod.

you still want to see me?

You will see him again, and you’ll tell him exactly how you feel.

“What did he say?”

You turn your phone so Choonhee can read the message. She rolls her eyes.

“He sounds like a guy. I’m sorry I got you into this…but, you are going to see him again I assume.”

“Yeah, of course.”

———

It’s not until you’re in bed, hours later, that you open his text in an attempt to answer. But it might be better to do this in the morning, because sending one and waiting for his reply is going to keep you up all night.

You stare anyway, trying to get your thoughts in order; your words, your feelings. Do you want him to know how you really feel now, or when you have him in front of you? Can you even get the right words out when he’s in front of you?

You open your notes app and begin working on a reply.

You know I want to see you, Seungmin. I’m trying to be patient and understanding, but it’s so hard when you’re on my mind every day. I hope you’re getting some rest, and I hope you’re doing well. And I hope I can see you before you leave again.

You fall asleep writing. And in the morning, there he is again. One text message sent at 5am.

I’m so sorry. I should have made time for you in October, but every time I wanted to ask you, I froze, I don’t know why, I have no excuse

For a moment, you think you accidentally sent the rough draft of your text in your sleep. You didn’t. This was just him, awake before dawn, finally giving you something sincere. Now you have to rethink your reply.

The typing notification pops up while you’re reading over his message again. Still awake at 6:45.

I remember you telling me you wake up at the same time every morning... Good morning

You feel like crying again. But not like yesterday.

“Good morning” is the best you can come up with this early. He’ll have to wait.

———

Seungmin falls asleep, eventually, but not comfortably.

He gets up from bed to clean himself up, change (he’s warm now, so he opts for less clothes), and hopefully he’ll still be a little bit tired by the time he hits the bed again.

At 4:45am, his body decides he’s had enough. Now he’s awake, eyes still closed, bed far too warm. He throws off the blankets and flips onto his back.

Immediately, and not surprisingly, Seungmin’s thoughts turn to you. You’re sleeping soundly, he hopes, unlike him. He imagines you in the bed he’s never seen; curled up, tucked in. Maybe if he was there with you, he could sleep.

Every time he gets back home, he tries to push himself again, and he fails. He did it in October, and then again in September, right before his birthday. He knows he can’t keep doing this to you.

He pulls out his phone and opens your message thread.

…I hope I get to see you again soon

Seungmin stops thinking and just types:

“I’m so sorry. I should have made time for you in October…”

He stops and reads it. October. He was busy with the album release, but if he looks back in his messages again, he can count the number of texts he sent on one hand. You sent just as many…well, one more than him. That last message he didn’t even reply to. You must have been fed up with him and his lack of communication. And you had every right to be.

“…but every time I wanted to ask you, I froze, I don’t know why, I have no excuse.”

This part is true. Seungmin is almost freezing again right now.

“I don’t know how to explain…”

Now he thinks.

“…how all of this is making me feel. Maybe I’m…”

Seungmin backspaces the last sentence before he even finishes it. And then he hits send.

At 6:45, he’s still wide awake. He remembers you telling him your alarm is always set for this time, so he sends one more message.

And you reply. He was right, you were awake. Just a good morning, though. He’s sure it’s far too early for you to deal with his wishy-washy bullshit.

———

When he doesn’t text again by lunch time, you decide he’s waited long enough. And you can’t waste time, really. He might not be in town for long.

“I want to see you, and I will see you. Today, tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. But I need it to be soon. Neither of us are allowed to be nervous anymore.”

It’s better, you decide, than whatever you wrote last night.

He’s silent as you drift through the rest of the school day (you assume he’s having trouble thinking of a reply to that), and right as the class is gathering their things and leaving, another teacher sneaks in and approaches you. Then you realize it’s not a teacher, but you recognize her. She’s a secretary you’ve spoken to a few times before.

She nods to you and smiles. “I know you’re on your way out, but there’s a visitor for you, a parent who insisted I bring them right to you. It seemed important.”

You have very specific times for parent/teacher visits, and this is not one of them. And there is nobody else who would visit you. You’re confused. “Okay, send them in…I guess.”

You look down at your phone—you doubt it, but maybe you missed a text message or a call. No, nothing.

“Hello.”

The way his voice floats over to you almost knocks you out, and when you turn to meet his eyes, your throat refuses to let you release the air in your lungs.

“Your last text was very insistent. I know this probably is not the best approach…but I haven’t been doing a very good job of anything lately.”

Still you just stare at him, lost for words. You look around your classroom, then down at yourself. This is not how you wanted to see him again, but do you have any room to complain?

He takes a few steps toward you, “was this a bad idea?”

You manage to shake your head and swallow. And then you realize your legs still work, with some effort. Two steps later, your arms wrap around his waist, your face disappears in his sweatshirt, and you squeeze.

His tiny, relieved laugh is music to your ears, and then his hands slide across your back until he’s fully embraced you.

You keep him there for a long time, and he doesn’t protest or try to pull you away. When he does speak again, it’s a question.

“How was your day?”

You slowly release him, but making eye contact is a bit of a challenge. “It’s better now.” So you fall apart when he does show up; no strong words, no looks of disbelief at his absence. You knew this would happen.

“Where can I take you? Home? Or…anywhere you want.”

“Home is good.”

“Okay, there’s a ride waiting for us.” He moves his hands up and over your shoulders, and he rests them on either side of your neck. “I understand if you’re angry with me, and if you stay that way.”

“I am. I don’t want to be.”

Seungmin leans closer, and he moves painfully slow, but eventually he makes it to your mouth. His kiss is light and short, but he keeps going back to peck at your lips, over and over, until you open up and hold him there.

Finally, clear memories of Chicago fill you up. His scent and his touch pull you right back, and you hope he remembers it like you do.

———

It feels like your first date. A quiet car ride, a slow ride up the elevator, an awkward, unsure walk down the hallway to your apartment door. Then walking into your messy living room.

“Are you hungry? I can order something for us,” he says as he’s carefully removing his shoes. “And we can talk while we wait.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’ll make some coffee.”

Seungmin doesn’t follow you to the kitchen, like he’s done a few times before. Instead, he sits on the couch, situating himself so he can still see you.

You try not to look at him as you work, but you fail, several times. He smiles every time your eyes meet, but it’s a sad smile. It’s not one you’re used to seeing.

“No small talk,” you tell him as you hand him his coffee. “I’ll lose my mind.”

“No small talk.” He nods.

“Where have you been?” You start, staring down at your mug. “Not physically, I know that already. I mean…in every other way.”

“Uhm—“ Seungmin thinks. His face twists a little, probably in confusion. “Where have I…”

“Mentally,” you can’t take your eyes off of him now. “Emotionally.”

“Oh, okay I understand.” He clears his throat, adjusts himself. “It’s been hard to keep my thoughts organized lately. It’s not just that I’ve been busy with work…I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I’m sorry.”

Seungmin shakes his head, “I could’ve fixed it, I’m sure. If I would’ve just talked about things with you a while ago, I probably would have slept easier.”

“I kept you up?”

“Yes. Well, thinking about you. I do think about you, all the time, even if I haven’t kept in touch. But I’ve been over complicating things, I think.”

“Talk to me now. Please.”

You think you can see his cheeks turning pink. His eyes are wide and shiny, but he’s unsure.

“I know, Seungmin…it is hard. It’s been hard for me, and I feel like it’s been a little more difficult for you. I kept everything to myself all this time, up until yesterday.”

He gives you another questioning look.

“Choonhee forced it out of me.”

He nods, sets his coffee down, and swings his legs up on the couch. Something about him making himself more comfortable puts you at ease. You remember him mentioning before that he felt relaxed being here, alone with you. "I don’t feel any pressure here." You hope he still feels that way.

“Tell me what you told her.”

“She did most of the talking.”

“Then what did Choonhee tell you?”

“That you’re just a guy, and I shouldn’t let you get to me like this.”

Seungmin actually nods at that—but he’s not looking you in the eyes now, so maybe he’s just…thinking about it. Or maybe he’s agreeing. You don’t know where this is going yet.

“I am just a guy, she’s right. I don’t want to be just a guy, though. Not to you.”

“Oh…”

“I thought I knew what was going on when we were together in Chicago, and I thought I knew what I wanted. I’ve been thinking all this time that if this couldn’t be a normal, traditional relationship, you would not be happy, not satisfied. And you’d tell me you weren’t interested in me anymore. I thought you would tell me you couldn’t do it.”

You almost interject; tell him that’s never what you expected of him. You wouldn’t never do that. Why didn’t you say that before? Instead, you used the hypothetical “if you weren’t who you are” question on him. You remain quiet, though, hoping he continues.

“…what I’ve been doing isn’t much better than what I’ve been afraid of. But you’re very smart, and I always knew that.”

You just smile at him, waiting for more.

“That’s why you were so worried when you found out who I was. You know this is much more complicated than that.”

Seungmin goes quiet after that, relaxes against the arm of the couch. You’re on the opposite side, doing the same. You watch each other carefully , but nobody makes a move, and nobody starts to speak.

You wonder if there was something you could have done to avoid all of this drama. Four and a half months of wondering; of being so down you can barely make it to work some days. Both of you have been really bad at this.

“Yes, I know it’s complicated.”

He’s biting his lip. Tapping his foot. It’s almost touching you, and you want to stretch your leg out until it does, but right as you tell your brain to do it, his leg slides back. He sits up and leans forward, falls to his knees, and crawls across the couch.

Before you can squeak his name out, he’s straddling you, arms on either side of your waist. And then the full weight of his body is on you. Seungmin sets his head down gently against your chest and relaxes.

You freeze for a few seconds. You have fallen asleep on this couch with him before, but this feels like much more.

He doesn’t say anything, not even when you set your hand on his head—rake your fingers through his hair, wrap your other arm around his shoulders. He sighs, though.

When it feels like you’re drifting off to sleep, he finally speaks. It’s muffled against your shirt.

“You just want me, right?”

“What?”

“Even if nobody is allowed to know. And we can’t go out in public, and I have to pretend you don’t exist.”

“Seungmin, I know that we can’t have a normal relationship. I just want you…and to know that you want me.” You say the last part under your breath.

“I do.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I promise I’ll be better. And that I won’t be afraid to talk to you, and tell you too much.”

“You can tell me whatever you need to.”

“I don’t usually talk much…to anyone.”

It never occurred to you that he didn’t have someone to talk to when he was feeling down, or having a bad day. A bad week. He’s been bottling everything up, just like you have. Maybe for a very long time.

“You can talk to me about your bad days, Minnie, or when you can’t sleep. And about your good days. I would like to be that person.”

“Am I the reason you had a rough day yesterday? Have you had a lot of those?”

“Yeah, I have had a lot of bad days because I missed you.”

“You can tell me about your bad days, too. Even if they were bad because of me.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Seungmin laughs, and it shakes your whole body. “Good.”

☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The next morning is almost normal. Your alarm goes off at its regular time—6:45, and you’re tired, which is also normal. The room is chilly, and it’s so warm under the blankets that getting up is nearly impossible. An ordinary morning. The one thing that makes it different is that Seungmin is there when you open your eyes.

The alarm doesn’t even make him stir, but when you finally turn it off, he groans.

“I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

“Are you going to work?” He asks, eyes closed, voice raspy with sleep.

“No, not today. I found someone to cover for me.”

He smiles and reaches his arm toward you, and he feels blindly around where he thinks you might be. “Why are you so far away?”

You move closer and grab his arm, “I’m right here. Go back to sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

…

Sleep eventually finds both of you again. When you wake back up a few hours later, he’s still there, breathing deeply, melting into your bed. You need to get up, but you wait a little longer. You really don’t want to wake him right now.

When he eventually wakes up on his own, he’ll feel better.

You close your eyes. And again, you fall asleep.

…

Something warm against your forehead wakes you up for a third time. Your eyes open and all you see is skin; Seungmin’s neck, his shoulder. The collar of his shirt is loose enough that you can see the start of his chest.

You pull him closer and push your face into him. He smells good. He smells like sleep and sweat and whatever leftover cologne is still stuck to him from yesterday.

Part of you still wants to keep your guard up. He’ll be gone soon, and then you’ll have to wait and see if his confidence and trust in you remains, and if he’ll really feel comfortable telling you the things he doesn’t tell anyone else.

“I can start,” you say, face still in his chest. You move up toward his neck and set your lips against his skin.

“Start what?”

“After we were together last, in Chicago, and we didn’t…use a condom. I did get a morning after pill, and I took it.”

He pulls you away so he can look at you.

“My period came really late after that, so I thought it didn’t work. And I was really scared. But I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t tell you because we hadn’t talked very much that week, and you didn’t need that on your mind anyway.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that alone.”

“Everything turned out okay.”

“You can talk to me any time you need to, even if I’ve been quiet.”

You nod, and you really want to believe him.

“Too soon for babies.” He whispers, just loud enough for you to hear him. He has a little smirk on his face, but he’s avoiding eye contact and staring at the little bit of space between you.

“You want them?”

“Hm?” Now he makes eye contact, and his ears are slowly turning red. “Uhm…yes, I always have. Do you?”

Having kids isn’t something you’ve thought about much (aside from the scare you had in July), because you haven’t met anyone you would want to have kids with. Well, until now, because looking at Seungmin and the sweet smile on his face is making you want them immediately. But you know that’s not possible for him.

“With the right person, yeah.”

“I’m sure someday I’ll be able to do that. Have the time to be there, for both of them. You and baby. I couldn’t be gone all the time and leave you alone.”

He stops for a second. You wonder if he’s even hearing himself speak.

“…Seungmin?”

“It was my turn to tell you something personal.” He brings his hands up to his face and rubs his cheeks, then his eyes. “Just in case I’m the right person.”

The conversation feels like too much, too soon. But you like it. He’s only been open with you like this once before: on your second date, when he admitted to being worried you’d like his friends more than him. You thought that was silly then, and now…you’re not sure you could like anyone more than Seungmin.

“…and if I’m your right person.”

Seungmin smiles and hides his face in the pillow.

———

As the day goes on, you wonder how long he’ll be here with you. Every time he looks at a message on his phone, you assume that will be his cue to get going—to start saying goodbye. But he’s still here, and he seems content.

It was his idea to stay, and he insisted on making breakfast.

“What do you normally do on your days off?” is what he asked as you sat and ate.

So it’s been a regular day off, aside from the fact that Seungmin is also here with you…eating, cleaning, sorting laundry, watching tv, and eventually, catching up with schoolwork.

He sits down next to you on the couch when you open your binder and pull out a stack of papers. He watches quietly as you shuffle though them, putting the pages in order before you start to look them over properly.

He picks the next one up before you get to it. “How old are your students again?”

“They are eight…a few are nine.”

“I don’t remember my English classes being this complicated when I was…older than them.”

“You should see their math homework.”

“Oh, I was very good at math!”

“Yeah?” You look at him, give him your full attention. “There’s so much I don’t know about you.”

“Not even what’s on the internet?” Seungmin leans back against the couch, and pulls you with him.

“I’ve read a few things. But I’m sure you’re a lot more complicated than your fun facts.”

“I hope so.” He grabs you around the waist, “what were you good at in school?”

“English…” you laugh. “And I did pretty good in my German class, and history.”

“Do you speak German, too?” He’s holding you tight, head resting on your shoulder.

“No, I’ve forgotten almost all of that.”

“Why did you come here, to Korea?

You turn yourself to look at him, disturbing his resting head. But he keeps his arms around you.

“So close to Samseong-Dong?”

“I felt like I needed to start over after I graduated college, and this seemed like the perfect way to do it. I actually almost went to Japan.”

“Why didn’t you? Where did you go to college?”

“Northwestern University. And I missed a deadline. Luckily, I already had applications submitted to a few different programs here and nearby.”

“And you chose here?”

Seungmin’s hands wander throughout the entire conversation, stopping when they reach just below where the hem of your shirt hits.

“They chose me.”

“That’s very lucky.” They slide underneath and up your back, “maybe we were meant to meet each other.”

“I’m not sure I believe in things like that.” You move yourself closer to him, until your face is inches from his.

“I don’t either, really. Fate, and soulmates. I’ve been called a…uhm, I don’t remember the English word. A negative person.”

“A pessimist?”

“Yes. Maybe sometimes I am, but…not always. I can be positive. I just like to be realistic.”

“A pragmatist.” You lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Mhm, both of those P words. I did get lucky, though.” He pushes forward, gently coaxing you to your back.

“Was it there before?” You ask. He’s hanging over you, studying your face. “Before Chicago, after I asked if you would date me?“

“Was what there? You mean, did I like you?”

“Yes, but…more than that. Or was it spending the night together?”

“It was before that. That’s why I wanted to spend the night with you.”

You nod, trying hard not to beam up at him. But his hands are on your sides, and his fingertips are moving so delicately over you, you can’t help but smile.

“When was it there for you?”

Your heart starts beating a little faster. You have no answer ready for him except the truth.

“When you gave me Pochacco.”

“On our first date? At the coffee shop?”

You throw your hands over your face and nod, “yeah, at the coffee shop.”

“I felt kind of silly giving him to you, I thought you would think it was silly, too.” He pulls your hands away so he can see your face again.

“It wasn’t.”

“So PuppyM wasn’t silly either?”

“No, I love him. And your denim jacket you left, that’s hanging on my bedpost. I love all of your gifts.”

“Oh, I forgot about that jacket!”Seungmin comes down and settles himself against you, face in your neck, hands wondering more.

“You can have it back, if you want.”

“No, you keep it. But I do need something of yours to keep with me.” His hands slide under your shirt and across your stomach. He tickles your side again, then stops when he reaches your hip.

You’re surprised at his restraint.

“I’m sure I have something for you.” You set your hand over his and slide it up his arm. Then back down.

His fingers twitch and push under your shorts. As ready as you were, and as much as you wanted him to make that move, your breath still catches in your throat.

He props himself up with his other arm and looks at you. His fingers touch lightly over your underwear, taking his time, getting himself where he needs to be.

But you’re not taking your time. And it’s Seungmin touching you, so your body is already on fire. You push your hips up and push his hand harder against you.

His fingers slide up and sneak beneath the fabric. He moves slowly, and he’s watching you carefully, as if you might protest.

But of course you don’t. You grip his arm and slide your hand from his bicep down to his wrist, moving with him as his fingers slip inside of you.

“Am I doing okay?” He leans closer and whispers. He doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling out and sliding back over your clit, making you choke on your answer.

You manage a shaky mhm and Seungmin giggles into your ear. His fingers stay put, making soft circles around you, keeping his touch as delicate as possible. Then he takes them off again, and he pushes back inside.

The reach of is fingers is enough to hit just the right spot, and when you jump from the pressure, he does it again and again until he gets a moan out of you.

You lift your hips into his touch and pull him down for a kiss. Your grip on his arm tightens and he eases up, but barely. His mouth is working its way across your neck now, leaving you free to moan.

“Do you do this a lot?” He says as he nibbles across your ear and cheek. When he gets to your lips, he hangs above you and holds your gaze. His thumb slides over your clit again, like he wanted to remind you of what he was talking about.

“Uhh…hmm?” You slide your hand up and grab a handful of his hair. “Yes.” You laugh and knead your fingertips into his scalp—it makes his eyes roll back. He’s in your neck again, savoring his little massage.

“Do you think about me when you do it?”

His question sends another wave of pleasure through you. His fingers slip inside again, pressing hard. His thumb is on your clit, wet and sliding easily and hitting everywhere you need it to.

There’s hot, heavy breathing in your ear, and a sweet whisper, “do you think about me, hm?”

“Every time,” your climax hits fast, and Seungmin knows he’s succeeded by the way you’re pulling at his hair.

He holds himself up just enough to watch you squirm beneath him. His touch softens even more as you start to relax, and when you stop and stare up at him, he comes down and kisses across your forehead and down the side of your face. He lets you catch your breath before moving to your lips.

“Really?” Seungmin blushes and tries to stifle his laugh in your neck.

You nod slowly, “that was…very good.”

“Thank you.”

“Too good, maybe.”

“I did some research.”

“You did not.” But when you think about it for a second, it does seem like something Seungmin would do. “Did you?”

“Just a little. In case I’d get to try it out on you someday.”

———

Seungmin looks carefully across your desk, touching the books stacked there, the loose sheets of composition paper, the notes and pencils. He sits in your chair and opens the drawer—inside are a few notebooks, all used and full. He shuffles things around a little, searching every inch.

Now he gets up and moves to your bookshelf. It’s more of a trinket shelf, though. Seungmin only runs his eyes over this, until he catches sight of a snow globe. He picks that up and shakes it. Inside is the Chicago skyline.

He stares at it for a long moment, then returns it to his spot. His attention turns to you, on the bed.

You just smile at him. He keeps looking around.

The next stop is your bedside table. You sit up when he sits down on the edge of the bed, run your hand down his back. As soon as he opens it, he whispers an ooh, and reaches inside.

“What did you find?” You laugh.

“Me,” he holds up three photocards with his face on them.

You take them from him and fall back on the bed, “you”, and look deeply at paper Seungmin.

“Hey, I’m right here…” he pushes your hand away and bends down to kiss you. “Real me.”

The next thing pulled from the drawer is a journal. He looks it over, but doesn’t open it.

“That’s you, too.”

Seungmin points to it, and his head tilts, “this is me?”

“Yeah, almost every page.”

His face goes from confusion to understanding, and then it falls a little.

“You should add one more page.”

“I will.”

The journal goes back in, and then his fingers close around something small. When he pulls it out, it catches the light and throws a reflection across the room.

“Oh, I haven’t worn this since last time.” You sit up and Seungmin hands you the bracelet. It’s only a tiny gold chain, but at the very end of it is a star charm.

“This.” He says, and he watches as you unclasp it, wrap it around his wrist, and close it again.

☾⋆⁺₊⋆

An hour after Seungmin left your house the last time, he sent you a text that just said “I’m home”. That was a first, and it felt like a good omen. But only time would tell. He never really had a good start with keeping in touch.

But he also said goodnight. And then he said good morning. And sometimes he called just to tell you instead of texting.

Actually, this morning, almost two months later, he called early in the morning, when you were still asleep. You caught his name on the lock screen before you picked up, but you still lacked the energy for anything more than a groggy morning Min.

Luckily, he can make up in enthusiasm what you lack some days.

“I’m sorry, you’re still asleep,” he whispers.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just being lazy. What are you up to this morning?” You also caught sight of the time before answering: 10am, way too late for you to sleep in.

“Catching a flight home, from Thailand. Waiting around.” Now you can hear the sleep still lingering in his voice.

“Oh right. I forgot you were there…I did see some photos. You looked very handsome in your safety glasses.”

“Thank you,” he laughs. “I was calling to…uhm, say good morning, and also to see if you would be home tonight.”

“Minnie, I’m always home.”

“That’s true, but it would still be rude to just show up unannounced.”

“I give you permission to show up unannounced.”

“Can I have a key, too? Oh, that reminds me…uuh, well, actually I’ll just talk to you about it later.”

“Okay, don’t forget. And yes you can have a key.”

———

This is the first time you’re not nervous about Seungmin coming over. Well, not as nervous as you typically would be. You’re still a little on edge—a little worried about how you look and about how your food is going to taste.

He didn’t mention anything about coming over hungry, but you’re taking the initiative anyway. If anything, he’ll have something to take home with him.

A soft knock at the door. You know his soft, steady knock, and you never have any other visitors, so it’s him. But for some reason you stand there stupidly, not moving, not saying anything, because you know it’s really him on the other side of your door.

Finally, after a few seconds, you take a breath. “It’s open.”

The door swings open.

“Hi,” Seungmin closes it quietly, takes off his shoes and looks at you from across the room. “It smells very good in here.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten so…”

“No, nothing since lunch.” He takes a few long strides toward you. Big blue sweatshirt, matching sweatpants, a big smile. “So I’m very hungry,” he embraces you and squeezes you tight against his chest. “How have you been?” He relaxes, but he doesn’t let you free.

“I’ve been okay...I’ve been good.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t visit around Christmas—oh!” He bends down and kisses you.

He kisses for a long time—long enough that you think you might end up in bed before you even eat dinner. But he slows down, and then releases you.

“Happy new year! A little late.” He comes down again for one more kiss, and then makes his way to the kitchen. “What did you make? Something American? It smells like something American.”

“Yes. It’s very American.”

“Should we eat first, or talk?”

“I’m sure we can manage both.”

———

The two of you stare at each other from across your tiny kitchen table. Seungmin sips his tea. You just watch and wait, because this is his conversation.

“Do you want me to start? Something about you having a key to my apartment?”

“Ah, yeah. Yes, I should have a key, but I was thinking of a different apartment.”

“Oh, like yours? No, you don’t have an apartment. Or do you?” You lean a little closer, “secret apartment?”

“No, no secret apartment,” he laughs. “But I thought it would be nice if you lived closer. Closer to the city, and closer to me.”

“That would be nice, but I’m not sure something closer is in my budget.”

“I know,” Seungmin smiles—there’s always something so clever and knowing about his smile. “I figured you might say that. I could help.”

“You want to help me with rent? Expensive rent. That’s kind of serious.”

“I do! It is serious. I am serious.”

“You are?” You sit back in your chair and study his face. He’s still smiling and nodding at you.

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it for…almost two months. And I found somewhere I think would fit very well.”

“Closer to you?”

“Much closer. I could walk to you.”

You’re thinking, but you’re not really thinking. The obvious answer to this is yes, even though it’s hard to just come out and say it. The idea of someone else helping with rent, or helping with anything, is foreign to you. “I would like to be closer to you.”

Seungmin looks at his phone, pulls something up on it, and then slides it to you across the table. “How is something like this?”

You trust Seungmin’s taste and judgement, but you still want to look it over thoroughly. Distance, yes, but also the size, the layout. And you do not have enough windows in this apartment. You’d like more windows. If he’s as serious as he looks, it might as well be worth whatever money you’re both going to put into it.

“How about this one?” You pull up a different listing.

He looks it over, “still very close. Oh, two bedrooms. Maybe the extra space would be nice.”

“It is a little more, sorry (Seungmin shakes his head when you say that), but it has a bathtub instead of just a walk-in shower. And it’s own laundry.”

He laughs, “I could do my laundry faster if I bring it with me. And the kitchen is nicer.”

“I miss having a bathtub.” You hand him his phone back. “But are you sure this isn’t too much? I know you said you were serious—“

“I am…I want you to know that I’m very serious. I think this is a good way to show you. And it’s also very practical.”

“You seemed so unsure before. I just want you to be…good. I want both of us to be good.”

“I’m very good.”

“This is a little crazy, isn’t it? All of this.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll call about it tomorrow.”

“No, I can. Let me do that, at least.”

———

“Minnie?”

Mmhm?

You sat on the couch after dinner, and it didn’t take much time before he had you on your back. He lifts your shirt as far as this position will allow, letting his fingers dance over you—making you squirm a little from how soft his touch is.

Forming the words you want to say is much harder than you thought. They’re dancing around in your head; you’re moving them back and forth, but every way it comes together feels like too much or not enough. Maybe right now just isn’t he time.

“What’s wrong?”

You pull your shorts down, open your legs for him, then shake your head. “Nothing.”

Seungmin reaches down and feels you, slips his fingers inside, then slowly pulls them back out. He smiles against your mouth and pushes in again, just to feel how wet you are. “Are we okay here…are you comfortable?” He asks sweetly. His fingers are still inside, moving delicately.

You nod, but suddenly you remember that you are not good, and you’re not ready. “Shit, no we’re not good. We need a condom this time.”

“Oh right, we should be safe. Tell me where they are,” he adjusts his sweatpants and very carefully lifts himself off of you.”

“In my black bag, under my bed.”

You listen as he slides it out and digs around. The contents of that bag are a mystery, but the condoms you bought back in Chicago, both boxes, have to be in there still. You’re not that bad at unpacking, but if it’s something you don’t use, you’re definitely going to forget I’m about it under there forever.

When he comes back in, he has one in each hand.

“I’m….not sure which one is for me.” His voice seems a little dejected. He’s looking down at them as he approaches you.

“Oh Minnie, they were both for you. I bought these a while ago, when I didn’t know which would fit you better.”

“Oh,” he finally makes eyes contact again. His face softens a little. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s okay, come here.” You spread your legs again and wait for him, “I’ll put it on for you.”

He crawls back onto the couch, settles between your legs, and opens both hands, palms up, in front of you.

You take the right one and rip it open. Seungmin looks like his mind is suddenly full. His eyes are big and soft.

“Min, what’s on your mind?”

His hands are already on his sweatpants, pulling them down his hips.

“You are.”

You touch him, slide your fingertips down, and then back up. The condom goes on easily. “Does it feel okay?”

He nods and adjusts, makes himself comfortable, and lifts your legs until he has more room. He pushes in a halfway, then leans over until you’re almost nose to nose.

“Minnie?”

“Hmm?” He sets his forehead against yours.

“There’s only you.”

“Just me?” He pushes his nose into yours, “only me?” Pecks at your lips.

“Just us.”

“Only us.” Seungmin pushes the rest of the way in, waits a moment, then begins to fuck you slowly and deeply, “you’re all mine.” He whispers in your ear as he drags his lips over it.

It takes you a second to pull yourself together. Each thrust sends you upward and knocks the breath out of you, but you manage a nod.

“Tell me,” he quickens his pace. The couch shakes the end table, and you can hear the clatter of things falling to the floor. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

It comes out shaky, and it’s not good enough for you. But Seungmin is still smiling. You try again

“I’m yours,” you grab the back of his neck and hold him still, “I only love you.” Your hand grabs hair and pulls—lips close on his before he has a chance to speak.

But he sighs into the kiss. He slows down, and it feels like he’s melting into you more and more with each thrust. What little skin is exposed between the two of you slides together, damp with sweat, and Seungmin kisses every part of you he can get to in the position he’s in.

He tries to get rid of your shirt, but he can’t stop, and he has to stop to make any progress—so you clumsily lift it, and your bra, until you’re free.

His hand slides up your ribs and his fingers graze over you, but for now he just watches how he’s making your body move under him. He seems hypnotized, but eventually he blinks, and then his eyes are fixed on yours again.

The room is quiet—no ambient noise from the tv, no music, nothing. The only sounds are the heavy breaths and soft moans you’re sharing. The condom is slowing him down, keeping him here much longer, and everything feels good in this position; good enough that you’d be satisfied staying like this as long he needs it.

He made you come last time, and now you want to do the same for him.

You lift him off of you until you can see him better.

He looks you in the eyes again, satisfied and smiling. “You feel so good,” he’s back down again, mouth on your chest, kissing down until he can close his lips around your nipple. He licks and works his way back up, stopping at your throat and staying there, his warm breath hitting you. “You love me?”

Your heart jumps. It was already racing, but now you feel it everywhere. In your throat, your chest, your head. You don’t think you’ve ever told anyone that before; not so soon. It’s been a year, but tonight is only the sixth time you’ve seen him and touched him. Everything else has been texts, phone calls, video calls.

It doesn’t matter. You said it because it felt right, and it still feels right.

“Yes.”

Seungmin slows his pace. His exhales turns into a string of soft, dulcet moans. He lifts himself upright and holds your hips as he rolls into you. He comes quietly. You wouldn’t have even realized if you weren’t looking right him.

The satisfied look on his face makes your stomach swirl. You watch Seungmin smile before your eyes close, and you can hear him whisper something to you while you’re coming down from your own high.

He pulls out and carefully brings your legs together.

“What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything, love.” He sits you up next to him and pulls your t-shirt over your head, “I was just…” he pulls you close, “nothing, it’s not important right now.”

“Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yes, I’ll stay.”

———

It’s been a long six weeks. You’re a little stressed out, but you’ve been holding yourself together very well, you think.

This apartment has been your only home for more than three years, so packing your things up and preparing to leave has been a little bit emotional. Almost everything is out of here and all that’s left are a few things you’re taking along on the last car ride.

Before this, everything was moving in slow motion and it was killing you. Now, it won’t slow down. You’re happy, and you’re grateful for everything that Seungmin has done for you…and it’s still sometimes hard to believe he’s doing it all just for you. But it’s so much all at once.

He told you he would stay tonight—your first night there. You haven’t received a text telling you otherwise, so you’re hoping he will be there when you arrive. You do have to remember that you’ll be there alone most of the time, though.

Some things will remain the same.

———

The elevator ride up is long, and you think back to you and Seungmin—your first date, bringing him home with you to your 5th floor apartment, thirty minutes out of the way, just to have him to yourself.

That was probably a good indication that he liked you. You just didn't realize it at the time.

You finally stop at the 17th floor.

The original apartment you looked at was unavailable when you called the next morning, so Seungmin insisted on taking everything into his own hands while you were at work. He knew what you were looking for, but he went overboard.

This apartment has the windows, the bathtub, and laundry room, but it also has double the space—and three bedrooms. When you asked what you were supposed to do with all of the extra room, Seungmin shrugged and said we’ll figure something out.

You don’t even own enough to fill up half of it. Everything that required any sort of muscle; the bed, the living room furniture, it all stayed behind. Most of the things in this apartment are new, or they will be new.

Before you have a chance to explore any further than the kitchen, you hear a very faint, soft knock on the door. You know it’s him and you run to open it, but he punches in a code on the doorknob, turns it, and peeks in before you get there.

“I tried to beat you here.” He smiles.

“You almost did.“

He closes the space between you and pulls you into a hug. “How was your day? Did the movers get everything here?”

“It was alright, and…I think so, but I haven’t gotten any further than this.”

“Just alright? I know it’s been a lot lately.”

“I’m better now that I’m here, and you’re here.” You take his face in your hands and squeeze his cheeks, “let me see, smile.”

Seungmin smiles widely and dramatically, and then bends down to kiss you. “How do I look?”

You pull him back for another one, “still handsome.”

He picks up the bags he walked in with and sets them on the kitchen chair. “I brought us dinner, and a few things to make you feel more at home.” Seungmin is pulling the food out of the bag, piece by piece. “So you didn’t see the bedroom yet?”

“Not yet, why?”

He shakes his head and smiles, “we’ll see it later.”

“What did you bring me?”

“Oh, let’s see!” He starts digging in the other bag.

You watch as he carefully places an assortment of things along side the food. There’s a candle, two candles, a small picture frame, but you can’t see the photo from where you’re standing. A stuffed dog. Another stuffed dog. One of them is Pochacco, the other is a mystery, but he does look familiar.

“That’s all for now but I do have more stuff to bring.”

“Well, we have plenty of space to fill.”

He beams at you, grabs one of the stuffed dogs, and pulls you against him. “This wasn’t mine, but I have one just like it.”

“I like him, he looks like you.”

Seungmin laughs and looks at Daengmo, “yes, he kind of does.”

———

When the sun goes down, and you’re both full and relaxing, you begin to feel even more nostalgic for the conversations you had and the memories you made with him at your old place, on your old couch. You have to work on new memories now.

He’s facing you on the new couch, eyes closed, slow, steady breaths. The flicker of the tv is hitting his face, making his cheek and the soft brown of his hair glow.

Very slowly, you reach your foot out and touch his.

Seungmin’s eyes open, and he gives you a sleepy smile, “how was dinner?”

“Good.” You sit up and move closer to him, “we should go to bed while you’re still sleepy.”

He groans and shrugs his shoulders.

“We gotta go see the bedroom, remember?” You grab his hand and pull a little, and he immediately gives in.

The bedroom is warm and cozy, like it’s already been lived in. You know Seungmin came in at some point and made it this way; the curtains are pulled, the soft amber lights are clicked on, and one of the candles he brought is lit on the bedside table. Both of the stuffed dogs he brought, and your PuppyM, are already laying on top of the pillows.

The bed is made, but not too made. The blankets are loose and fluffed up, ready to crawl into.

“How does it look?” He sounds a little more awake now.

“It looks perfect, come on.”

He shakes his head, “If we don’t brush our teeth now, we will never get back up to do it.” He smiles and kisses you softly.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

———

The lights are off, the candle is out. Seungmin is facing you in bed.

“Are you awake? Did you lose your sleepy?”

“A little.”

He scoots closer until his arm can drape over you. The bedroom is bigger, and the bed is bigger, too. You’re sharing one side just to be close to each other.

“It will come back soon.”

You set your forehead against his chest and feel it move steadily with each breath. It's quiet for a long time, and now sleep is really escaping you. You should be able to relax like this; you’ve shared a bed with him a few times before, and you haven’t slept as well since. And you’re tired—too tired. Maybe too exhausted for sleep.

You wonder if he’s awake, or if he’s quiet because he thinks you’ve finally drifted off.

You run your hand gently over his arm, waiting for a reaction. At first, he doesn’t make a move or a sound, but when you slide your hand back up, he moves his leg against yours.

“Can’t sleep?” He whispers

“Did I wake you?”

“You didn’t.”

“Then no, I can’t sleep.” You prop yourself up on one arm and look down at him. It’s dark, but you can just make out the details of his face.

He flips onto his back and pulls the covers away. “Are you uncomfortable?” Seungmin asks and places his hand on your cheek. He’s warm, his eyes are warm. His mouth parts slowly and turns into a smile. It’s a tired smile. “New bed.”

“New everything.”

“Except for me.”

Your hand closes around his, then you turn your head to place a kiss on the inside of his wrist. “Thank you for being here. I know you’re on a tight schedule.”

Seungmin pulls you down on top of him. His face is in your neck, kissing playfully and lazily, but the way his hands are exploring you is anything but lazy.

“You’re cold,” he stops, wraps his arms around your waist, and holds you there. “You need to be warmed up.”

You get your hands underneath his shirt, “you’re warm enough for both of us.”

“I can share.”

“Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Yes, I would love that,” he laughs softly and disappears in your neck again.

The stupid question bounces around in your head. His warm lips on you are starting to make your head fuzzy, and you wonder if you should just forget it. But now he’ll get it out of you somehow.

“Will you sing for me?”

He pulls back to look at you. Seungmin’s face lights up. It could light up the entire room. “You want me to sing for you?” If he was sleepy at all before, he’s not now. You’ve managed to wake him the rest of the way with a simple, stupid, request. But it wasn’t stupid at all.

“I always have, it just never seemed like a good time.”

“Right now? Should I sing now? Maybe it’s too quiet, and the walls might not be very thick.”

“In the morning?”

He nods, “yes, I’ll sing for you in the morning. What should I sing?”

“Surprise me.”

“We talked about singing together before, remember?”

“I remember,” you wrap around him and pull the covers back up in an attempt to get him sleepy again. “But I’d rather just hear you.”

☾⋆⁺₊⋆

[yorshie]

omg they’re all so good its hard to choose…

2 + 15 for leo on the blurb list??

—noirleo ♡

Hello! Glad you're back! Ahhh, nice prompt choices! Let's see if I can't get some jealous Leo being a sassy s/o out of em. Thank You for Requesting on Blurb Day! (edit: ....hm..... how do I always come right back to spicy leo. *looks at map in confusion*) @noirleo

It seems someone had pressed Leo's buttons a little too much at the casual soiree the Police Chief had put together to celebrate the holidays. You weren't sure if it was the newly graduated cadet that tried to retrieve you a drink, or Vern sloshing over you in a half drunken side hug, but when you caught Leo eyeing you out of the corner of your eye, you knew something had him rankled.

You gave him a questioning look of your own, eyes dodging to the side in a clear prompt to follow you, and you watched as he gave you a small nod before seemingly returning to the conversation he was pretending to have.

Ten minutes later, washing your hands in the half bath on the second floor, you were not surprised to hear the click of the door relocking behind you.

"Took you long enough, Blue." You said over your shoulder, reaching for a towel to dry your hands, only to stop and catch yourself against the counter at the sudden way Leo stepped up behind you.

His beak dipped to blow cool air against your ear, plastron a hairs-breath away from your back, his hands mirroring your own pressed against the marble countertop. "Sorry," he breathed, nuzzling into your pulse, "had to speak to Vern about something before I could get away."

Vern? Shit. You closed your eyes, breathing in deep at the feel of Leo's lips pressing a chaste kiss against your shoulder. "Should I be worried?"

Leo hummed, the sound usually low and soothing, but in the inclosed space it brought upon a shiver strong enough to knock your arms against his.

You could feel the smirk he pressed against your skin, his beak nuzzling in search of skin. "What if I promised I was on my best behavior." He raised his head, leaned down to set his jaw on your shoulder to meet your eyes in the mirror, "just for you?"

You huffed out a single chuckle, looking away from his eyes, searching for the movement he was trying to cover, and spying his hands slowly moving towards your hips. "Why do I not believe you?"

"Vern's fine," Leo blinked, long and slow, and by the tilt of his head you knew he was aiming to misbehave. For a moment you wondered if he'd somehow gotten tipsy-

"Is this you being jealous, Blue?" You asked, gaze flitting between his lazy eyes and the slow movements of his hands he wasn't even bothering to hide now.

"If I told you I was, would you let it go?" He asked before turning his head to the side and nudging your head with his beak, grip surprisingly soft as he finally reached his goal, palms sliding against the material of your clothes covering your hips. You went to cover his hands, curling your fingers over his own to hold him in place.

"I might be tempted to do so," You countered, leaning to the side to avoid his teeth when he nipped cheekily at your ear. He swayed to follow, abandoning his original plan to simply snuggle against your neck once more.

"You smell good." He whispered, pressing another kiss before slowly releasing you. "Can we head back home, though? I can't exactly tempt you very well in Chief Vincent's powder room, after all." He gave you a little smirk, one side of his mouth tipping further up, blue eyes trailing down your body.

You swallowed, tongue peeking out to touch your upper lip before to managed to answer, "go... give the Chief our goodbyes, I'll meet you by the door."

Leo pressed one last kiss to your shoulder, blue eyes holding your own in the mirror, and between blinks he was gone, the door locking once more behind him.

[starleska]

Can we get a Wally Darling x Reader with scars, not like self-harm scars but scars from an accident or being attacked before. It's something I'm very self conscious about so I'd love to see some fluff with Wally would be nice.

oh what a lovely ask!!! of course anon, i'd be happy to oblige 🥰💖 as always with asks like this there's only so much detail i can glean, so i hope you don't mind my taking liberties with your request! content warnings for: references to implied past violence, mental health difficulties, and invasive behaviour. don't worry though, i promise this is sweet and fluffy :3c

Wally Darling x Reader with Scars headcanons

💖 unlike with most people, you never needed to tell Wally why you have scars: he never asked. for as long as you've had your scars you've been fielding off countless questions, both well-meaning and invasive - so when you move to the Neighbourhood, you're prepared for the temporary deluge of questions from your new neighbours. but Wally doesn't even do a double-take. he greets you with the same placid warmth he does everyone, but with a familiarity that makes you feel like you're old friends. it's been so long that you've encountered someone who doesn't make your scars the focal point of your first meeting, and you wonder if he's pranking you. but when you finally work up the courage to ask Wally why he hasn't asked about your scars, he looks baffled. "Oh? But it's your face," says Wally, his eyes crinkling in confusion. "I know what your face is. Why would I need to ask about it?" 💖 despite his incuriosity regarding your scars, Wally is highly sensitive to your insecurities. some days are harder for you than others; no matter how honest the reassurances of your new friends are, you spend some days locked inside your house, avoiding mirrors and reflective surfaces. the first couple of times Wally came looking for you, but you just didn't answer the door, hoping he'd go away. the third time, you mustered up the courage to peek through the peephole...but found no one there. however, when you turned around - there stood Wally, with an angry-eyebrowed sleeping-eye mask covering the upper half of his face. "Hello, neighbour!" says Wally brightly. "I thought you might like some company, so I borrowed this from Frank." The sight of Wally in a sleeping mask in the middle of the day is so absurd, the dark cloud hanging over your brain dissipates, and you burst into giggles. grateful, you guide Wally over to your sofa, where the two of you chat cheerily well into the afternoon - with Wally never removing the mask, of course. you have such a good time, you completely forget to ask how he got into your house without a key. 💖 Wally enjoys the tactile presence of your scars. you've been unfortunate enough to encounter individuals who've wanted to be intimate with you because of your scars - something which makes you terribly uncomfortable, given the circumstances in which you received them. but the first time Wally touches you, he reaches for your cheek and cups it softly, as if holding something impossibly delicate. with his other hand, he gently traces the outline of your scars, his short tongue sticking a little out of his mouth in concentration. "Textured," says Wally. "Like Impasto. You know - you paint real thick, and it makes the painting stand out?" He smiles at you. "You're like a painting!" i hope you liked this one anon :3c

[sarahs-secrets2]

In Your Wildest Dreams Chapter 2 ˋ♡ˊ

introduction & masterlist ❁ ❁ chapter 1❁ ❁ taglist

duke!leon x fem!reader

easier than it looks, is that jealousy i see mr. kennedy?

word count: 2.1k

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Aunt Agatha's house was bustling with staff running around while suitors began to line up to formally start their courtship. Your mind was elsewhere though as you sat in your room, getting ready for the promenade. It had been decided you and the Duke would meet to show everyone that the two of you were “officially” courting. Little did they know of the ruse established just the night prior. 

“Dear,” your Aunt cracked open the door, letting herself in. The staff who helped you get ready quickly scurried out to give you both privacy. “Might you be gracing us with your presence in the tea room? A group of suitors eagerly awaits your arrival." Your gaze was fixed on the mirror, spritzing a perfume onto your neck. Your eyes meet hers in the reflection, her expression was one of confusion. Aunt Agatha was the last person you could sneak something passed, she was observant to a fault, always taking notice of the smallest details. Hence why she asked, “Where do you presume you are venturing off to?”

Your eyes avoided hers, finding ways to busy your attention by flattening out a ruffle in your dress. “Promenade,” you waited for a reaction, to which you received none. “With Duke Leon of Clyvedon.” Turning around in the chair to face her now you could see evidently she looked pleased. 

"I am most delighted to see you’ve taken such a liking to the Duke. Her Majesty shall be positively elated once she witnesses her matchmaking skills working so well, and so early,”

“Is it possible to dismiss the suitors to tomorrow perhaps?”

“Why of course I’ll attend to them at once. Now go,” she laughed as she helped stand you up from the chair, “I will not have my niece miss out on becoming a Duchess because she is behind schedule.” And with that, you were sent off quickly in a carriage to meet the still ever-mysterious Duke Leon. 

On the other side of town, the infamous Duke rolled out of bed, hastening to get ready quickly. For you see, the Duke was not in his bed hence the late arising. The night prior, after the ball, Leon had found his way and ended up with a “lady of the night”. Plush red bedding surrounded him as he was reminded of the sinful activities that had occurred just hours ago. The girl stirred awake at the sound of the Duke getting dressed, her head peeking up from the covers as she hid her body under the sheets. 

“Where are you going so early?” she beckoned him to come join her back in bed.

“Promenade,” Leon was curt, he knew after today all eyes would be on him until you found your official husband so this was his last opportunity to have a night of fun. The girl seemed confused at the Duke’s answer as he was not known to partake in social events of the season, so whatever reason he was going it must have been of the utmost importance to him. Leon was out of the door and quickly hopped in his carriage, heading straight to the park to see you. 

Now it may seem distasteful of the Duke to partake in such sinful activities, but as an established man who has no intention of marrying, this was all routine for him and many other men of the sort. Just because he had a ruse established with you did not mean he was going to stop on your behalf but just halt his discreet activities until it was all said and done. 

The park was vibrant, with a large portion of society in attendance at the day’s promenade. While waiting for the Duke you found yourself engrossed in a conversation with Lord Redfield. It was innocent, being a gentleman Lord Redfield saw you waiting under the willow tree and approached you. 

“Are you waiting for someone?” the voice caused you to jump a little as you turned around to see who it was. 

“Ah, Lord Redfield,” you smiled as you curtsied. Lord Redfield was cute, well-established, and overall quite perfect. An easy catch though, and he was missing that one thing. He wasn't the Duke, he did not carry the same mystery as the Duke, and he definitely did not excite you like the Duke. Lord Redfield was a safe option. “I am just waiting for the Duke of Clyvedon, have you made his acquaintance?”

“Oh?” he seemed surprised, “Leon, yes I’m aware of his business in London. We’ve crossed paths a few times of course.” You waited for him to elaborate but he did not, information a lady was not privy to of course. The two of you began to walk along the gravel paths, your eyes occasionally scanning the park looking for the tall blonde-headed Duke. Alas, he still had not arrived, you began to worry if he had called off the plan entirely already. 

Leon hopped out of the carriage, straightening his jacket as he made his way to the willow tree to meet you. Pulling out his pocket watch, he huffed out noticing the time and how late he ended up being. All eyes were on him as he quickened his pace to get to the willow tree quicker. If he did not know any better he would say he was excited to see you. Almost as quick as the thoughts penetrated his mind, he pushed them down, drowning them with the reminder that he would not marry. This was all a plan to benefit you both in the end, marriage was not on the table for him.

As he approached the willow tree, he realized you were not there. Had he been that late? Did he miss you entirely? Leon’s eyes surveyed the park trying to spot you, and there you were. Walking alongside another man, not Leon. His heart almost stopped, and a tinge of jealousy began to sink into his veins. Perhaps the Duke was still coming down from his wild activities from the night prior when something overcame him as he stomped his way to you.

“Ah, there you are,” his hand quickly snuck around your waist pulling you closer to him, and further away from Lord Redfield. There was that feeling again, a spark flushing your skin when you felt his touch on your waist. Your stomach churned, your face felt hot, what was this feeling?

“Your Grace, I’m so glad you made it,” you beamed up at him, trying to hide the rush of emotions you still had yet to identify. 

“Please accept my apology for being so late, I had some business affairs on my father’s account I had to finish,” his eyes pleading. As genuine as he sounded it was impossible to read him, and it did not help that he was so entirely intoxicating. You thought he looked handsome at the ball, but today was something else. Unlike the prior night, today his silver-toned blonde hair was pushed back with a stray strand resting on his forehead. He sported a dark jacket, with hints of gold and pale blue throughout. The Duke sure knew how to dress. 

“Of course your Grace, I understand. Thank you for making time to see me today,”

“Affairs,” Lord Redfield scoffed, glazing over you as he stared down Leon.

“Lord Redfield,” the Duke looked unfazed, smiling back at Lord Redfield who was scowling at him. Leon’s hand still was firm on your waist, keeping you close to him. “Thank you for keeping her company in my absence. He is a true gentleman is he not? Always stepping up when you least expect it.” Although Leon’s words were kind, sarcasm was dripping as he eyed down Lord Redfield. Almost as a warning to stay away from you. 

This was where the Duke’s mystery came in, if he did not wish to marry you then why was he being so territorial right now? Why was he scaring away a potential match?

“Well,” Lord Redfield offered you a sympathetic glance, although you weren't sure why. “I’ll take my leave, miss,” he placed a chaste kiss on the back of your gloved hand. “Enjoy your day, I hope I have the chance to make your acquaintance again, sooner rather than later preferably,” he paused before taking a step towards Leon, “Enjoy your affairs, Leon.” And with that Lord Redfield walked away, leaving you and the Duke alone.

“Am I allowed to ask what that was about?” you turned to face Leon, his hand dropping from your waist. Immediately you missed his grasp on you. 

“Which part?” the Duke chuckled slightly, extending his arm for you. Obviously, it was fun for him to ruin your chances with a suitor. You linked your arm around his as the two of you began to promenade around the park. 

“All of it,” glancing up at him, but his eyes were glued straight ahead.

“Let us enjoy this day, not get fussed with the little things,” he looked down at you smiling. You decide not to probe him deeper, he was already assisting you this season better to just keep him happy. 

“Fine, if you insist,” you wrapped your arm around his tighter, “This plan of ours, we will need to come up with some of the guidelines,”

“Such as?”

“Balls, gifts, the customary plans of courtship,” the idea of these things excited you, but your heart really began racing when you pictured the Duke being the one you did it with. 

“I cannot be expected to do all that, can I?” his tone shifted, obviously unaware of the entire extent of the plan he created. 

“You must, it is the only way this arrangement works,”

“If you insist, but I cannot attend every single ball. I have my own business to attend to if you recall.”

“I am well aware your Grace,”

“Just Leon, please I cannot remind you every time,” he teased, stealing a glance down at you as the two of you continued on the paths of the park.

“Of course, Leon,” you let his name glide off your tongue making sure to pronounce every syllable for him.

“Mhm just like that, go on,”

“Please make the effort to attend the balls until I have found a proper suitor.” Leon nodded, unable to find the words or a witty joke. He was a perfect eligible suitor for you, he knew it, and there was that voice in his reminding him again that he was to not marry. This arrangement was simply to help you both out. Keep the swarm of mamas and their daughters at bay for him, while attracting only the best suitors for you. The Duke now faced a new task though, he could not afford to allow these budding feelings for you to flourish. “And I will need you to send flowers, preferably today,”

“Flowers?” 

“Customary to signify you are courting me,”

“I see,” he looked lost in thought as he paused for a moment. He stopped walking and turned to face you, “If I was truly courting you I would not need to follow customs, 10 minutes alone would suffice,” his voice low, and husky as he spoke. The sudden change in his demeanor shocked you as you were unsure how to respond in a ladylike way. 

“Expensive flowers, Leon. Today,” you attempted to brush off his comment but the way your body and mind reacted was an entirely different story. 

“Of course,” his bold tone had left him, perhaps it was still the jealousy from Lord Redfield causing him to act in such a way. “Anything else?”

“Do not tell anyone of this arrangement, I need this to remain a secret between the two of us please Leon, I cannot afford a scandal,” you were pleading at this point, but it was necessary to ensure he understood how important this was. 

“I shall not tell a soul dear,” he nodded, sticking his arm back out for you to take again, continuing the promenade. 

What you two did not notice throughout the time at the park, was the mass amount of eyes on you both throughout the entirety of the promenade. The ton would be swirling with rumors, and stories of who the Duke was courting. Are there promises of a new Duchess on the horizon? 

₊°✧︡ ˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

briefly proofread pls lmk if there's a jarring typo

tags: @ir3nic-sluvv @mylifedoesntexist @secretsthathauntus @sageslittlelibrary

[lantanasmuttyfanfics]

I don't know if you write Monster High, but if you do, could you write something where maybe Clawd and Draculaura are spending time with his family and a non-supportive family member says something around Draculaura, and she just gets quiet and avoids Clawd and Clawdeen for a bit? Then, a supportive family member who heard it says something to them, and Clawd talks to her. It can end smutty if you wish or fluffy, I'm honestly find with whatever you choose

A bit of a long one today but hey what can you do about it

Anyway I just want to preface this by saying that I’m not trying to villainize Romulus I just needed a ‘unsupportive’ family member

Hope you enjoyed and have a great dayyy!!

———————————

Draculaura bounded in the car seat as Clawdeen pulled into the large driveway of the family house.

The family was standing outside waiting to greet them and Draculaura checked her hair in her hand mirror one more time.

Clawd went to open his girlfriends door before he was roughly clapped on the shoulder. “What’s up bro!”

Clawd beamed at his long time friend Romulus as he gave him a side hug. From the car Draculaura heard Clawdeen scoff as she got out.

Draculaura did the same and followed her ghoul friend to the house while also peeking back at her boyfriend.

He was still in a deep conversation with Romulus, who she thought for a second was looking her up and down in disgust.

“Draculaura?” She shook her head and turned to look at Clawdeen who was leading her to the living room.

“Oh sorry! What’s wrong?” They sat on a dark brown leather couch, clearly worn by time and love.

“Nothing… umm just to let you know meat will be served today because well you know.” Draculaura felt nausea rising but nonetheless nodded and shook her friend off.

She could handle a bit of bloody meat right? She’s lived for so many centuries anyway so what was a bit of blood.

“Clawdeen is that Draculaura?” Both girls turned to look at Cawdia who enveloped both girls in a tight hug.

“Sure is.” Draculaura smiled and hugged Clawdia back as they sat on back on the couch as someone placed a platter of meats on the table.

“You are so cute. No wonder Clawd likes you so much.” They heard a loud mocking scoff from behind as the said guy sunk in the seat next to her.

“Please. Not that much.” All the girls have him an exasperated look and Draculaura dug her elbow in his ribs.

“Care for some meat?” Seemingly out of nowhere Romulus stuck the platter in front of her face. She scrunched her face and tried to be polite as possible while turning the food away.

Luckily she didn’t have to say much as Clawdeen was growling at Romulus while handing the platter of to Howleen.

“You know she’s a vegetarian vampire!” Smirking he backed away while chuckling to himself. As he did they made eye contact and Draculaura thought for moment that she saw… a gleam in his eyes.

She brushed it of the next second as more and more werewolf’s filtered into the crowded room. Some of Clawds friends urging him to come play casket ball with them.

“No you guys. I’m staying here with Draculaura.” At any other point in time, she might have been swooning at his consideration .

But as she saw the annoyed and angry looks on his friends faces, she felt embarrassment creep up.

“No it’s ok! I have Clawdeen and Clawdia with me it’s fine! Go play.” She tried to push him of the couch but he didn’t budge.

“Come on Clawd. Afraid you’ve lost your touch.” Romulus stepped in front of the group of werewolves that were grounding the couple. A teasing smirk playing on his lips as he stared at the two.

Draculaura would have felt uneasy but whatever Romulus was doing was working because the next second Clawd had jumped up and was sizing Romulus up as they headed for the back door.

“Oh yeah! Come on then. I’ll show you if I’ve lost touch.”

“That’s the spirit! Now come I’ll race you there.”

Draculaura watched quietly as her boyfriend disappeared in the distance, suddenly snapping out her thoughts as she felt a hand in her shoulder.

“I have to go help prepare lunch. But feel free to go to my room if you get bored.” Before Clawdeen could finish her sentence, Draculaura was on her feet while pulling her friend to the kitchen.

“Don’t be silly! I’ll help.” In truth she just didn’t want to be left alone. Usually she’d have no problem going to Clawdeens room but that when it was only them.

With everyone here she was afraid to be seen as lazy or as if she was treating them like servants. Vampires didn’t really have the best reputation when it came to getting their hands dirty.

“Oh uhh ok but we’ll be preparing meat.” Draculaura gave an unbothered smile as they entered the kitchen.

And just as Clawdeen turned away, Draculaura plugged her nose as she took deep breathes from her mouth trying not look at the blood at covered every plate in sight.

Dizziness started to consume her and she felt her eyes getting heavy as one of Clawdeen aunts asked Draculaura to kneed a piece of meat that was oozing blood.

But what she didn’t realize as she held onto the kitchen table was the certain werewolf watching her with a smirk as he went of again.

——

Romulus nodded to a group of his friends as he urged them over while also being mindful of Clawd who luckily seemed oblivious.

“What’s up?” Romulus beckoned one of his friends to quiet down as they approached. He glanced once more at Clawd who waved at him.

He waved back as he his group further away, “how do you guys like Clawds little vampire girlfriend?” The boys erupted in answer each shouting one on top of the other.

“She’s hot for a vampire.”

“Seems like an easy score.”

“She’s got some big pouty lips.”

Romulus chuckled at the comments while stepping closer while whispering. “Yeah well she’s also the biggest fucking loser ever.”

They all gave him a rather confused look so he continued. “You know how vampires are supposed ravage for blood? Yeah well this chick faints at the sight of it.”

The boys again erupted in roars of comments before Romulus quieted them down while checking to see if Clawd was looking.

“Yeah I saw her in the kitchen. She was all like ‘oh blood!’ and ‘I’m going to faint.’ So embarrassing.” Romulus put on a higher pitch voice as he imitated Draculaura.

The group broke in a fit of laughter all making fun of her in some way before they froze. “Boys dinners is ready!” Her voice rang around the field before she quickly ran back in.

Because what they didn’t realize is that she’d heard every last word.

——

Draculaura sat at the table out in the front yard with miss maxed chairs and torn cushions on each chair.

She felt her eyes stinging as she saw Romulus and Clawd coming to sit down, clearly happily engaged in a conversation.

She didn’t know if she should tell Clawd or even Clawdeen about this. A part of her wanted but an other part didn’t want to be the reason a friendship was broken.

So as her boyfriend sat beside her and Romulus opposite, she forced a smile on her face as the food started to get served.

Throughout lunch, Draculaura didn’t speak or interact. Her resolve to embarrassed or perhaps too hurt to be her usual self.

She tried to be. She really did but she just couldn’t. And both Wolf siblings were starting to notice.

“Hey babe are you ok-“

“I’m going to the bathroom! Be back soon.”

She sprung out of her chair, making a beeline for the bathroom as she clenched and unclenched her hands.

Unbeknownst to her, Clawdia was following. A look of genuine concern on her face as she followed the vampire to the bathroom.

Before she could close the door, Clawdia had her foot at the entrance as she looked at Draculaura in the eyes.

“What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing.”

“But it’s really nothing.”

Clawdia gave her a stern look and she didn’t know what it was but it was like the damn broke.

“I feel like I don’t belong here or in vampire society. Here everyone thinks that a vampire has no place dating a werewolf, that I’m an embarrassment and I’m just an east score for Clawd. And it sucks because I really like him and I don’t want to hold him back.”

Clawdia let her cry it out as she offered a hug for her. Draculaura took it eagerly.

“And then in vampire society I’m an out cast. A vampire who faints at the sight of blood, the daughter of a reformer and just a pretty face to get her heart stolen.”

She sniffled and cried harder, Clawdia didn’t say anything for a while as she stroked Draculauras hair.

“You don’t have to feel like that Draculaura. Clawd isn’t dating you as an easy score and Clawdeen is your best ghoul friend because she likes who you are. So what if you’re vegetarian and little different? So am I. And so is everyone else. We’re not all the same.”

Draculaura listened intently a bubble of warmth in her chest rising. “You know I was considered an outcast by wolfs in my family because I wanted to become a writer and live in Londoom. But that doesn’t mean I let it break me, because at the end of the day I was happy with myself. And so should you Draculaura, because you are so much more than a few nasty words.”

As the words settled in Draculaura wiped her tears away just as Clawd and Clawdeen found the two in the bathroom.

“Everything fine?” Draculaura grabbed onto Clawds hand as she looked at Clawdia and nodded.

“Yes. Everything is fine now.”

——————————

Who wants to give the MH show runners an award of amazing representation of racism because I do

Anyway this was a difficult one to write idk because I’m just too used to writing eah characters but nonetheless I had fun

Hope you enjoyed and have a good dayy!!

[enid-rhees]

secrets out | Enid Rhee x Fem!Reader

summary: you forgot to sneak back home the previous night, leaving Maggie and Glenn to find you in Enid’s bed the next morning.

genre: fluff!

warnings: getting caught kissing (?)

A/N: this was just a silly little idea i had. Glenn is still alive and they ended up officially taking Enid in as their daughter bc i said so :) also requests are open! just read pinned ^_^

you were tucked perfectly into Enid’s side. her arm was wrapped tightly around you, keeping you safe and secure against her. with your head in her neck and her chin resting on top of your head, this was the most comfortable you guys had ever been.

both of you had lost track of time last night, leaving it way too late to try and sneak back home in the Grimes residence. you might not be Rick’s actual child, but he will treat you like one. and you didn’t wanna risk the consequences.

your eyes opened, adjusting to the bright light that peeked through Enid’s window. you raised your hand to wipe away the sleepiness in your eyes.

looking down up slightly, you smiled at the sight of Enid sleeping. her chest fell and rose slowly, small breaths escaping her lips. your eyes trailed down to them. without really thinking about it, you pressed a small kiss to them.

her head twitched after the affection, and a few seconds later her eyes fluttered open. she looked around the room before her eyes landed on you. a smile made its way to her lips.

“good morning.” she whispered. you mirrored her smile, “good morning.”

“we’ve never done this before. you sleeping here, i mean.” she said quietly, hoping not to concern Maggie or Glenn. “no, we haven’t. but i think we have to do this a lot more.”

she chuckled, “if Rick doesn’t kill you, then sure.” you shook your head, trying to keep your laughs quiet.

she leaned towards you, connecting your lips for the second time that morning. you kept a hand resting on her cheek to prevent her from pulling away. her body hovered over yours slightly.

“Enid? we heard- oh my god.” neither of you had the time to pull away before Maggie barged in. Enid jumped off you, staring at Maggie with wide eyes.

your heart had started to race, not knowing what to do in a situation like this. your face burned as you tried to avoid Maggie’s gaze.

if the situation couldn’t have possibly gotten worse, Glenn walked in. you slapped your hands over your face. Glenn had known you since the beginning of everything, since you were a child. he was one of Rick’s closest friends. and so did Maggie. oh this was so bad.

they’ve known you for years. not once had they ever come across the possibility of you liking girls. and now they’ve caught you in bed with their daughter.

your throat felt dry, you didn’t know what to say or do. this was definitely not the way you guys had planned to tell everyone.

the tension in the room was palpable. no one knew what to say. you were all just staring at each other.

“okay, someone has to say something.” Glenn spoke, being the first one to do so in almost five minutes. “are you guys dating?” he asked.

hesitantly, you both nodded. “for how long?” Maggie asked them. Enid swallowed a knot in her throat, “five months.” she spoke quietly.

their eyes widened, “five months?!” they both exclaimed. “you kept this a secret for nearly half a year?” you nodded again.

“does anyone else know?” this time you guys shook your head. “you can’t tell anyone.” you finally spoke. “we aren’t ready.”

Maggie smiled softly at both of you. “your secrets safe with us.” a weight was lifted off your shoulders as she said that.

“sorry for… barging in like that. probably should’ve knocked.” Maggie chuckled. “yeah, you should’ve.” Enid said back immediately, laughing as well.

“we’ll leave you alone now. again- i’m so sorry. i promise i’ll knock next time.” Maggie said, ushering Glenn out of her bedroom. he closed the door behind him.

“oh my god.” Enid said, getting back into bed with you. you laughed, cuddling into her side. “secrets out i guess.”

[mistiell]

Strange Love Pt.2

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Healer! Reader

Summary: Your first day at the little palace goes relatively well. Until the General tells you that if you don’t take his offer to become an Oprichnik, you’ll be tried for treason.

Warnings: None as far as I’m aware

Word count: 2.3k

Part 1 < current > Part 3

The sun is just barely peeking through the window of your bedroom when you wake from a fitful sleep. The room is cold, the crisp chill of the steadily approaching Ravkan winter seeping through the glass panes of your window, forcing you further into your cocoon of blankets. After a nice long shower and some much needed dinner the night before, you'd returned to your room and passed out the moment your head had come into contact with your pillow.

With a sigh, you roll yourself onto your back, an arm thrown over your eyes to block out the annoying sliver of light that just so happens to be angled directly at your face. It can’t be later than six bells in the morning, breakfast won’t be served for at least another hour. You decide you might as well spend some time exploring. Getting to know the layout of the palace should aid you in escaping.

You roam the halls until breakfast, eating quickly before scurrying out of the dining hall. As confident as you are in your abilities, you feel it would be best to avoid Zoya for as long as possible. You’re halfway around a corner when you bump into someone, knocking you off balance.

When you regain your footing and open your mouth to apologise, you see the person you’ve just run into is none other than the heartrender you had rendered unconscious. He’s got a bandage on his forehead that you assume is because of you, “Oh, um… Hi.”

You offer him a nervous smile and he returns it, though his is a lot brighter than yours, “Hi. I’m Fedyor.”

Oh, so this is Fedyor. Great.

“Oh, Saints. Sorry for, uhm,” You point weakly at your own forehead to mirror where the bandage sits on his and he chuckles.

“It’s alright. I would have done the same.” His smile is contagious, but you still can’t help but feel bad.

“I can heal it for you, if you’d like.” He shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. I was actually going to head to the infirmary right after I fetched you for the General.”

“General Kirigan wants to see me?” You ask, stomach twisting up in a knot.

“During lunch, yes.” He states, sensing your hesitance, “It’s nothing bad. I think.”

That does nothing to quell your nerves, but you force a smile nonetheless, “Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”

“Of course. Anyway, I’m off to the infirmary. I’ll see you later?” His words fill you with a pleasant warmth, briefly wondering if you’d made a friend.

The feeling is quickly squashed when you remember you don’t plan on staying.

“Yeah.” Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, “Later.”

The hours after your encounter with Fedyor fly by. Practice in the anatomy room goes relatively smoothly. It seems your abilities are almost up to par with the others despite your lack of training, which is a pleasant surprise. Before you know it, lunch has rolled around and you find yourself standing outside of the war room.

You knock on the dark wooden doors, noting the carvings that mimic the ones to the dormitories, though this one bares a moon in eclipse. Your heart is thudding rapidly against your ribs when you hear the sound of his ‘Come in!’. You push them open and step through the doorway.

As you close the door behind you, your gaze roams over the room. There’s a large circular table in the centre of the room with what looks like well thought out plans scattered about the surface. Books and maps line the walls and the desk pressed against the far wall. It’s there that you spot the General sat looking over an important looking piece of parchment.

“General Kirigan.” He turns to you with a tiny smile that has you glancing over his shoulder to avoid eye contact, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, I did.” He states, gesturing towards a chair he’d pulled up beside his desk, “Please, sit.”

You make your way over and sit down wordlessly, picking at the grey embroidery on your kefta.

“I want to discuss your place here.”

“I thought you didn’t owe me an explanation?” You smirk and he huffs a soft laugh.

“I don’t, but I didn’t think it would be fair to leave you in the dark.” He states, gaze shifting to be a little more serious, “Do you know how I choose my oprichniki?” You shake your head, “Skill is an important factor. Ivan and Fedyor are two of the most capable heartrenders I know. They’ve trained for years, honing and perfecting their skills. What I want to know is,” He stares at you as if you were a puzzle, trying to put you together while missing half the pieces, “How did you manage to overpower him so easily?”

You’re silent for a moment. Should you tell him? What could he really do with the information if you gave it to him?

“I sped up my heart rate while he was slowing it. It wasn’t exactly easy, but I managed it.” His brows raise ever so slightly. He hums, and you think he almost looks impressed. You feel an odd sense of pride swell in your chest and can’t help the cocky little smile that creeps up on your lips. “That’s why you want to make me an oprichnik, isn’t it? I impressed you.”

He hums again, this one sounding a little more apprehensive as he narrows his eyes at you. There’s still a slight curl to the corners of his mouth that tells you you haven’t crossed a line, “Something like that. Speaking of, that brings me to my next point. The second quality I look for is loyalty, which is arguably more important than the first.” The humour slips from his face, his gaze turning intense, “Before I can place you in this position, I have to make sure you don’t have any intention of leaking any…important information, to outside sources.”

“What makes you so sure I want to be placed in this position?” He looks back down at the papers on his desk and sighs.

“If you don’t accept the position, you’ll likely be tried for treason.”

“Treason?!” You exclaim before clearing your throat in an attempt to compose yourself, “I haven’t done anything to justify being tried for treason.”

“Helping Grisha flee the country means less soldiers in the King’s army, which hurts our chance at winning the war,” When he looks at you, there’s something akin to sympathy swirling in those dark eyes, “No matter how pure your intentions were, they won’t see it that way.”

Anxiety prickles under your skin at the thought, but you furrow your brows stubbornly, “I told you. I run a clinic. Wherever they end up after they leave my home has nothing to do with me.”

He realizes that whether you’re trying to stretch the truth or not, technically, you wouldn’t be lying. You really wouldn’t know where exactly your patients end up after they leave. Still, he doubts you’d win against the king, “Would you like to take your chances?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then you huff frustratedly, “No.”

“Then I suggest you do your best to prove yourself.”

You have to stop yourself from scoffing. You’ve never been one that likes to be given orders, something he picks up on when he sees the way your jaw works and the way you glare over his shoulder for a split second, “What exactly do I need to do to achieve that, sir?”

If he picks up on the passive aggressiveness of your tone, he doesn’t say anything, “Well for one, you’ll continue your training with the other Corporalki.”

Alright, that’s doable.

“You’ll also be helping me with some of my paperwork.”

“What?” You frown, confused, “Didn’t you just say you have to make sure I won’t leak anything?”

“I did, and I will.” He states. It’s infuriatingly vague, but you don’t press him. Instead, you sigh.

“When should I start?” He smiles a little, grateful for your cooperation.

“You’ll report here after dinner every evening starting tonight. As for how long you stay, that’s entirely up to you.”

You nod, “Is that all?”

He thinks for a moment before nodding back, “That’s all.”

You leave without another word.

—

That evening after dinner, you find yourself outside the War Room once more. This time when you enter, the general is not sitting at his desk, nor is he standing at the war table. In fact, you’re unsure of whether or not you’ve got the time right—you swear it’s just after six bells in the evening—seeing as he doesn’t appear to be here at all.

You venture a little further into the room, hovering near his desk to skim some of the papers resting there. There’s a half finished letter sitting in the centre and you take a moment to admire the penmanship. His writing is rushed but admittedly very pretty as far as handwriting goes, the letters slender and slanted ever so slightly to the right.

There’s a distant thud to your right that sounds like a drawer closing and it’s then that you notice another door, one you hadn’t noticed when you’d been here earlier. It’s cracked open enough that when you lean forward over the desk to get a better look, you can see the corner of a bed and the edge of a dark wooden dresser. You lean a little further, placing a hand on the desk to brace yourself, and see someone standing in front of it. Someone who appears to be in the middle of getting dressed.

Your face flushes and you immediately right yourself as you realise that you’ve just seen none other than General Kirigan bare from the waist up. Granted, you only caught a glimpse of his back and shoulders, but it was enough to set your cheeks aflame and let loose a swarm of butterflies in your stomach.

You back away from his desk and glance down at the papers again, finding a couple of the letters smudged a bit. A little panicked now, you look at your hands and find several backwards letters printed on your fingertips.

“Y/n.” You practically jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, going completely rigid as you clasp your wrist behind your back and attempt to wipe the ink off on your kefta. He’s dressed now, donning a black robe that leaves a sliver of his collarbone visible. When you catch yourself staring, your gaze slides back up to his face and you find an amused smirk hung on his lips.

“Gen-,” Your voice cracks up an octave and you clear your throat, “General Kirigan.”

“I apologise for leaving you waiting. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.” He comes closer and you back up to let him pull out his chair and sit down. There’s an awkward pause where you simply stand there rocking back and forth on your heels until he gestures to the armchair, smiling at you, “You can sit down.”

“Oh, right.” You curse yourself for being so flustered as you settle into the chair, “So, what am I helping you with?”

“You’ll be reading over and summarising some documents for me.” He sets a fair sized stack of papers to the side of his desk closest to you and hands you a large notepad and a pen. He clears off a little space next to the papers for you and looks up at you apologetically, “I hope you don’t mind sharing a desk.”

You shrug your shoulders and shake your head, taking the pen and scooting the chair closer to the desk. The documents he has you reading over don’t seem to be incredibly important, and summarising them proves to be a relatively easy task.

As you sit there writing away, the general can’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye. Your brows are slanted downward ever so slightly in concentration, pen scratching against the parchment fast as you scrawl letters across the surface. He shakes his head subtly, turning his attention back to his own work.

Maybe two hours later, you sit back in your chair with a subtle huff and attempt to roll the stiffness out of your wrist.

“Perhaps we should take a break.” When you look up, you find the general leaned back in his own chair.

“That might be best.”

You take a few moments to look around the room once more, gaze landing on the nearest bookshelf and as you try to make out the titles from where you sit.

“Did you grow up in Duva?” He asks suddenly and you turn to him a little confused.

“Yes, why?” You answer hesitantly, unsure of his sudden interest in your life.

“Just curious.” He pauses, gaze flitting over your face, “I’d like to get to know you better.”

You pause and he notices the apprehensive look on your face. Still, you shrug, “What do you want to know?”

“What was it like living there?”

“It was just my mother and I and she rarely ever let me accompany her into town, so there really isn’t much to tell.” You state and he frowns.

“Why wouldn’t she let you go?” He asks and you shrug again.

“She said it was something about keeping me safe. Didn’t stop me from sneaking out when I was older, though.” You huff a soft laugh and he smiles at you before his brows furrow in confusion.

“You were alone when Zoya and the others found you.” He watches you tense and immediately regrets his words. A pained look flashes across your face before you will it to remain neutral.

You glance over his shoulder and swallow, “I was.”

There’s a moment of silence before the realisation dawns on him and a pang of sad understanding blooms in his chest, “I see.”

When you nod curtly and wordlessly return to your work, he takes it as a sign to stop talking and return to what he was doing. You only stay another hour before bidding him a rushed goodnight.

[jenerousjenocide]

Familiar Face

Chapter two leggo Chapter 1 - AO3 Mirror

If finding a dress hadn't been the hardest part of the day, bringing yourself to leave your room at the inn definitely deemed to be the most difficult. 

After hours of searching you finally were able to navigate the city well enough to track down a dress maker closer to gates of the Upper City. It should have been obvious that any store selling fancy clothing would be low on stock considering how the party was such a big topic among citizens when you were trying to find your way around. The shopkeeper did seem a little exhausted from how many clients they have likely catered to throughout the day, but they assisted you nonetheless with your quest to find something reasonable enough to show up to a masquerade in. 

After skimming through the limited options, you did land on something that caught your eye. 

A black and gold floor length gown, the sleeves sheer enough to allow some skin to peek through. The plunging neckline wasn't your favorite, in fact you were more awe struck by the low cut back, but when the shopkeeper insisted it was 'all the rage these days' you really didn't feel like you had much of a choice.

Standing in front of the mirror with it on, you felt like you were someone else. You realized you hadn't noticed the slit up the thigh in the store, but decide it's rather alluring the way your leg peeks out with every step you take. You spent some time pinning your hair up instead of allowing it to cascade down your back or in braids as usual, figuring if you were going to wear something backless you might as well show it off. The shoes you'll need to get used to, feeling as though you're walking on stilts for the first time, but it was offered up as a gift to go along with the dress, how could you refuse?

You finally catch your own eyes in the mirror, the uncertainty painting your face as you debated your next steps. You could practically hear your mother scolding you in the back of your mind about how dangerous it is to wander into the city so blind, much less the palace owned by the very Lord that resides over the city. For a moment, you detest the way your eyes remind you of her, having heard your entire life how you got your mother's eyes.

No, I have to do this. To hells with it.

You draw in a slow breath, an attempt to slow your heart rate as you finally reach for your black eye mask, secure it to your head and finally leave your room.

You've fought gnolls and goblins growing up, yet the thing having you shaking in your heels was a silly little party. 

You had the day to find your way to the palace, recognizing all of the backroads to take in order to avoid the crowd as much as possible. You did wait until nightfall before venturing out to ensure you weren't stuck waiting for the doors to fly open the moment sundown hit. Your current effort to walk in heels might be pathetic, but you weren't going to be waiting at the door like a rabid fan pathetic.

The palace stood before you like nothing you have ever seen before. There was an aura on it you couldn't quite place, it felt like you wanted to escape your own skin and run home before you could even step foot inside- Regardless, you push on. Climbing the steps to the giant wooden doors standing at the entrance, already open and the hum of music can be heard from the ballroom further down the main hall. There are people strung about laughing, drinking and enjoying the company of others. You note that not only do the party goers have their masks on, but so do the staff. You suppose for something called a midnight masquerade they really do take it seriously. 

Your heart pangs in your chest and you draw in another slow breath, not allowing the anxiety to show as you walked through the front doors and down the hall lined with extravagant sculptures and protected artifacts that look older than time itself.    

You watch through your mask as people dance and mingling on the dancefloor of the ballroom further down the hall, their clothes just as extravagant as the decorations lining the palace themselves. It would seem everyone took this night very seriously indeed, especially after learning it happened on the same night every year from eavesdropping during your prior adventures. 

Your footsteps slow to a halt as you stand at the doors of the ballroom, taking in the beautiful decorations, a full buffet of the finest foods you could only dare imagine and among them some of the most beautiful people you have ever seen.

Granted the masks can be deceiving, but it's amazing how it brings a sense of mystery to all of it.

You follow along the wall to the side, debating quietly to head towards the buffet first or if you should scope out the area first before making any decisions. 

Your eyes trail among the dancing bodies and some wandering hands, wondering quietly if this is some weird sex party you've heard about from some of your family friends during late night conversations when you should have been in bed. You shake off the memories, finally landing on the head of the room- A grand throne at the center of it almost as though it was on a pedestal. Although it wasn't necessarily the furniture that drew all of your attention.

There sat a bored looking man, a pale elf with his chin in his palm as he watched the party unfold in front of him. His wild white curls adorned his head, clashing against the dark purple color of the mask covering his eyes. You can see the way his lips seem to curl into a frown, as if unimpressed with the extravagance of the evening itself. 

It only took half a second to deduct he must be Lord Astarion.

The next half you realized he was staring back at you.

It was as though as shiver ran down your spine, you could barely catch the color of his eyes from this distance and yet it felt as though it shot electricity through you. The moment your eyes met you were drawn to him, and when you finally forced yourself to look away, the feeling faded.

Strange.

You shook it off, it must be the nerves, and he's absolutely entitled to look upon the guests that have entered his home.

However the thought that he noticed you staring first made you uneasy, noting it's probably best to keep your eyes to yourself for now. You just wanted to blend in and have some memories to share when you get home and despite your parents disapproval of leaving home in the first place, but still inevitably ask for every detail you can offer up. 

With that you found the courage to move your feet, walking over to the buffet table and looking over the drink selection.

You grab a golden goblet, inspecting the contents of the liquid before recognizing it as wine and take a slow sip.

Dry, rich, definitely not any wine you're used to having back home.

"My, aren't you a pretty young thing that wandered in?"

The sultry voice nearly makes you jump where you stand, spinning around on your heel to see the very eyes that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I don't believe I've seen you before, a traveler?" Astarion's lips curled into a smile, leaning in closer with a tilt of his head, obviously expecting an answer. 

It took way too long to find your voice, but you're surprised it wasn't reflecting how fast your heart was beating.

"Just making my way through, I saw the invitations and I was curious." You manage to get out, bringing your other hand to hold the goblet and steady yourself to prevent from shaking. "My apologies if outsiders are not welcome."

"Nonsense, I welcome anyone and everyone into my home this evening. I would have been insulted had I found out someone like you was in town and decided not to come by for some fun." His eyes flicked behind his mask over you, taking in your dress, your posture, trailing back up your neck and back into your eyes.

It was then you realized his eyes were red. 

"I welcome you to my humble abode, please make yourself comfortable." He practically purred, reaching down to take a hand into his and raising it up to press his lips against your knuckles. 

It was gentle, soft and quick, but you noted how cold his lips felt against your flesh. 

Before you could open your mouth to reply, he was already slinking away, potentially busying himself with ensuring everything was in order.

You felt like he had taken the air right out of your lungs, the feelings of his lips still lingering on your hand as it falls back to your side and you are left completely dumbfounded.

You're pretty sure the Lord of Baldur's Gate is a Vampire.

Honestly you're not too sure why that was the first deduction that came to your mind, but you've seen those eyes before, you're absolutely sure of it. 

It took a moment to realize you were holding your breath, finally forcing the air back out and bringing yourself back to reality. If he is a vampire and you've wandered into a vampires home, you're probably in a lot more trouble than you first believed. It doesn't seem as though it is common knowledge among the other citizens dancing about without a care in the world.

If it is a secret, you're definitely not going to be the one to pull the alarm. 

You raise the goblet back up to your lips, chugging back the rich wine in one quick gulp before setting the empty cup down on the table and wander out of the ballroom to make your escape. 

Perhaps the buzz of the wine hit you a bit too quickly with your efforts to down the drink in one motion, the haziness swarming your head as though you haven't had a drink in your entire life. 

No, you recognize this feeling. It reminds you of the experimental concoctions you made growing up to prove to your father that you had a knack for crafting potions. 

Of course the wine would be charmed. 

Your parents would be so thoroughly disappointed in you.

It was like everything was moving in slow motion, along with a rose colored shade now illuminating everything in sight. You can't bring yourself to leave, staring at the front doors as you internally fight yourself to just walk forward, go back to your room at the tavern, sleep off the effects of whatever was added to the wine and finally go home.

"Don't tell me you were thinking of leaving." A voice drawled out next to you, half expecting to see Astarion once more, you noted the way your heart sank meeting the gaze of a different pale man behind a dark mask. "The party is only getting started."

"I think I-" You choke, your legs beginning to feel weak. "I think I just need some air."

"Come now, don't play hard to get." The man took another step closer, causing you to move away until your back hits the wall behind you. "I can't let someone as delicious as you get away that easily."

Okay, now you definitely know this is a vampires monastery. 

He flashes a toothy grin, the sharp edges of his fangs catching in the light and you aren't even sure if they're bothering to keep it a secret at this point. However with the drinks being charmed, they probably have no reason to if they threw this event to ensure they get as many unsuspecting necks as possible.

He had already begun to lean in close to you, and you brought up your hands to press against his chest and try to discreetly keep him at bay. His smile faltered, looking down at your hands and back at you with a confused crossing his face, as though you should be enthralled with the fact he's invading your personal space without your consent.

"I do usually enjoy a challenge," He growled, reaching up to grip your wrist with a tight squeeze. "But we've waited all year for this, so if this needs to be done the hard way, I have no problem spilling some blood."

"Lawrence."

You both froze, feeling the grip on your wrist immediately let go and it was like he had been shot with electricity the way he jolted away from you. You're both met with Astarion standing at the entrance of the ballroom, hand on his hip and his eyes focused on the man you were sure was about to murder you without a second thought. 

"You forget your manners, it seems. I have no problem reminding you of them." His tone shifted to a threat, dropping low and causing Lawrence to visibly shake where he stood. 

"I've been too eager, my apologies, my Lord." He quickly stammered, ducking his head in a bow and scampering away behind a curtain further down the hall, disappearing out of sight entirely.

A complete shift from the confident man that first approached you.

"My family forgets themselves at times, my sincerest apologies if he startled you." Astarion offers, stepping away from the door and giving you a look over as if to inspect you for any damage. "I must admit, he does have taste."

"If you think some charmed wine and sweet nothings whispered in my ear is going to be enough to drink my blood, you definitely have the wrong girl." You suddenly spat back, placing your hands behind you to steady yourself against the wall. "With all the stories I've heard, I should have figured I was walking into vampire territory."

"Aren't you the perceptive one." He hummed, looking far more entertained with your response than you expected. "You haven't even been here all that long and you've figured that out. You're definitely not from around here."

"Like I said, I was just passing through." You try to push yourself off the wall, finding it hard to steady yourself on your own two feet with every passing moment. "I think it's time I head out, but thank you so much for the... interesting evening."

"You don't look like you can walk two steps forward much less through town to whatever gaudy tavern you have for yourself in the city." His smile falters slightly, his eyes catching yours and it felt like your heart was about to explode out of your chest. "We have plenty of space here, why don't you lie down for a bit?"

"And leave my neck open for the taking? Only an idiot would accept that." 

Suddenly your knees buckle beneath you, fully expecting to crumble on the floor until you feel two arms wind around you to keep you up. You could feel Astarion's breath near your ear, he was so dangerously close and you're pretty sure he could hear your heart pounding in your chest.

"I assure you nobody will come searching for a late night snack," He replied, laughing slightly at your efforts to stand up and resist his help. "You have my word."

Your limbs felt like jelly, you could barely see straight much less focus on navigating the streets to get yourself home. You know it would be more dangerous to leave in the state you were in, not even knowing the dangers you could face were you to collapse in the middle of the street.

He took your silence as an answer, leaning down and sweeping his arm under your knees to pick you up off the ground. Your hands grip onto the front of his vest, the sudden motion of being lifted up causing your head to spin faster.

As he began to walk, everything surrounding you began to fade, the music now drowned out with the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. 

The people around you were somehow no longer there, the elaborate decorations fading out of focus as well. 

You forced yourself to look up, the last thing you manage to see was a pair of sharp fangs smiling down at you and piercing red eyes boring into your soul before all remaining was lost to darkness.

[meerinsel]

Samobby AU oneshot

Summary: Sam meets the troublemaker of high school, Robby, in detention

Tw: samiguel, sex mentioned, cheating mentioned

Bad boy meets princess

How could my day get any worse? I woke up late, blame my alarm that did not function due to the blackout of last night! Had to hurry, did my makeup in the car while my father drove me to school, and of course, my eyeliner looks miserable. I feel like everyone is staring at the imperfections on my face, I wonder what is wrong.

—Forget about it, Sam! Everything will get better tonight - I told myself like a mantra, trying to don’t lose my mind

—Hola nena - I feel someone hugging me from behind and saying it on my ear while I am trying to peek at the image of my face in the tiny mirror inside my locker

—Hi Miguel - he kisses my neck and inhales my perfume while I answer, as I proceed to turn around, my boyfriend raised an eyebrow looking at me

—¡Ay! What’s going on? - he asks with a concerned look

—My life is a mess today! - I start to cry, I forgot to mention that I am on my period

—Oh, don’t say that! We still have my party tonight, we will have fun, swim in the pool, and… - he pauses, looking around us and approaches my ear —maybe we can sneak into my room and play Twister a little - he gives me goosebumps

—Miguel, I love you, but I a not in the mood for a party tonight. I am sorry. - I say and his face goes from the “Amante español” to the popular jerk he can be sometimes

—What do you mean? We are dating, you are my girlfriend, and you have been avoiding me for days. What is going on? - he gets mad, it’s always like this when I reject getting railed by him

—Don’t be mad baby, I am just not in the mood, I love you. Please, forgive me. I promise I will compensate - I am ashamed to admit that I am on my period, and I fear he might get grossed out by it, which leaves me wondering if he knows that I menstruate

—Sam, we haven’t had sex in five days, I am going crazy! - he says, making me blush

—Just wait a couple more days, ok? - I start to get mad but try to keep my face the sweetest possible

—Sam, are you banging another guy? - he accuses, making me even madder

—What is wrong with you? How could you think I would ever do it? - I hold back my tears, he shakes his shoulders, folding his arms showing the tanned and veined skin of his forearms, resting his head and back on the lockers, looking hot

—I don’t know, you are being suspicious - he says and I remember the cheating ex he had, I feel sorry for him, but when he acts like this, I can sympathize with her somehow

—There is no one else, I promise - I say, feeling ridiculous

—If you say so… - he gets back up straight and leaves me there, feeling like I am a whore

I slam de door of my locker and go to gym class. There’s this important game coming and I need estou practice my moves for cheerleading. I hope to get into college with a sports sponsorship, as a cheer girl.

After fifteen minutes of class, many moves failed and me feeling self-conscious about my body all the time, I am unable to practice anymore. I feel like I have no energy at all. All I need is to bang-watch Twilight while cuddling my cat and eating junk food to feel better. I feel like my uterus is trying to kill me, and she is almost getting what she wants.

—Miss Larusso! - Coach Kreese calls my name, forcing me to move my head and look at him from the floor where I am laid.

—Yes? - I answer

—What is wrong with you? These moves are usually easy for you, but today you look lazy! - he says as I hold back my tears and wrists

—I am sorry. I don’t feel good, my cramps are killing me! - I say a little louder and less politely as I should have

—I don’t care that you have cramps! We have a competition to win! When I was in Vietnam, do you think that the enemy cared about if I had a headache or diarrhea? No! They didn’t! You need to overcome your weakness! - there he comes with the Vietnam stories.

—Oh my God! Nobody cares about Vietnam! Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! - I yell and everyone in the field stops what they are doing to watch my downfall

—Miss Larusso, detention! Now! - he yells and I almost thank God for the blessing of not doing this class

I leave the field under everyone’s watch, but I couldn’t care less! I arrive at the detention room, there are not many people in there, just a girl that is always smoking weed during the breaks, I think her name is Star, Venus, Moon, or some hippie shit like this. Of course, her boyfriend is there, she is styling his hair with some smelly paint. I take a random seat, trying to focus on don’t talking to those people. I make myself comfortable sitting with my legs at an acute angle, trying to relieve the pain in my back, and stare at the fan till I get dizzy.

—The princess of high school in detention, didn’t see that coming! - a boy says while taking the seat by my side. He smells like cigarettes and male cologne, a dangerous combination

—Shut up! - I move my head to look at him and say

—So tell me, what did you do? - he ignores me completely and asks, making himself comfortable while sitting on the chair backward, as if he is riding it like a bike. I notice his black leather jacket with a snake embroidered on a yellow circle and his name is also written, “Robby”. —Did you forget your paperwork?

—I cursed the teacher - I answer while rolling my eyes. Seriously, when all the existing men decided to annoy me today?

—Wow! Badass! - he says with a surprised face, I roll my eyes again. If I have his approval, obviously I shouldn’t have done it

—Seriously, just be quiet! I don’t wanna make this any worse! - I say, getting mad but scared about how this incident might affect my chances of getting into university

—Why so pissed? Did daddy cut off your credit card? Cuz, I mean, what else could happen to the high school princess, right? - he says with a smile, checking my body from head to toe, I blush

—Why do you care? It’s not like you know anything about my life! - I say, trying to make him stop

—I know enough - he replies, folding his arms and shaking his shoulders, never stopping smiling like the devil himself —Your favorite color is pink, you love Twilight, you are great at chemistry and every other subject…

I stay silent, asking myself how he knows so much. I have never even seen this boy before, but he seems to know everything about me.

—Oh, one more thing! - he says as gazing my body again, unashamedly examining every inch of skin that my skirt can’t cover from my thighs, it gives me goosebumps and I feel guilty due to my relationship with Miguel

—What? - I ask with my voice mad, sounding like a ranger Viking

—You look hot when you are pissed! - he says and then winks at me, I want to slap his face but I know that my report paper would not survive an incident like this

—Get lost! - I answer, sitting straight on the chair and my pain goes wildly acute, like a knife is stabbing my belly, I close my eyes tight

—What is wrong? - he asks with an eyebrow raised

—Why would you care? Leave me alone! - I say trying to hold my own body using my arms

—Are you in a girl's pain? You know, Shark week? Blood Mary days? - he asks

—How do you know? - I ask a little ashamed, it’s too intimate

—C’mon, princess, I have a mother and dated a lot of girls! I have a Ph.D. in the feminine body. - he winks again, making me roll my eyes, and then proceeds to look for something on his leather backpack

—You are so full of yourself! - I reply while remembering how Miguel knew exactly what to do when we went to bed for the first time

My brain shows me a memory of five days ago when I had sex with Miguel for the last time, but now it is Robby the face I see moaning, and sweating while slamming inside me. “Oh shit! Snap out of it!” I censor myself mentally. Robby turns back around with a proud smile and something in his hands

—Here, you can keep it. - he hands me a small piece of brownie —I was going to sell it when the director found me and the Moon right there -e points to the hippie girl —making business behind the school wall

—You are so smart for dealing candies inside the school! - I reply sarcastically, he smiles and runs his fingers through his hair, liking his lips before talking

—It works all the time - he says and I widen my eyes

—Wait, have you done it before? - I ask and he laughs out loud, showing his white teeth

—Princess, how do you think I have money? I need to work - he says and I realize I am still holding a piece of drugs

—Thank you, but I don’t want it - I hand it back to him

—Nah, you must keep it, the secret ingredient will help you with your pain - he says and winks, I can not hold back a smile

[electricbluebutterflies]

Jess/Leto + even if it takes 500 years, i will prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that i loved you.

Early-era, PG-ish, also on ao3.

He’s starting to suspect this may be his defining mistake.

Leto had once wondered what might cause such undoing, what unknown fate might define him in the expected ways. The tendency towards fatal ambition runs in his blood too strong; there is no fighting this, only waiting to see how it will manifest in him, only-

If he is destroyed by love, he thinks, that will somehow count as a quiet ending.

It is love, he accepts as months turn to years, as the fascination of her blossoms instead of fading as he’d suspected at the beginning. There is something inherently compelling about that woman – it may not be real, he reminds himself, there is always that chance that any little thing she does might just be a manipulation, but he wants it to be real. He wants the complications of her, not just her beauty in half-light but the personality starting to peek out from beneath her veils, how perceptive she is and also what might be a darker sense of humor than he expected, the knives in the seams of her skirts and how she kisses him like she might actually want to and-

The problem with all of this, the glaring potential catastrophe, is that he has no damned idea if she understands any of this. That she trusts him as much as she’s probably capable of trusting anyone is becoming apparent; the amount of sharp objects he finds within her layers have developed a correlation to how formal the rest of the day has been, no longer anything he suspects might possibly be meant to protect against him. They are working on casual conversations and a clearer integration, but he’s not sure…

Too much of his life has been decided for him by other people and by systems centuries older than any of them. Trying to court his witch-concubine, while decidedly a strange and unnecessary choice on paper, is at least his strange and unnecessary choice.

At least that part is understood, he thinks on an afternoon he’s managed to find a little time to check in with her. He has accepted that he will never fully understand that woman and their lives will have to go on accordingly, but he’s at least starting to identify her emotional range to the extent he suspects she has one. Instead of the normal human spectrum, so far he can safely guess at “not actively homicidal but one comment away from that changing”, “bored”, “definitely up to something and doesn’t want to talk about it right now or probably ever”, and… “overwhelmed” is starting to become a dominant one, and that shouldn’t be so visibly possible for a woman like her, and-

“I don’t know what you want,” she says, too casual in her cold voice, like some part of her does not understand the potential pleasure of just being around someone. No projects, no intimacies, no obligations, just moments as they come and-

“What do you mean?” he counters. There is something too cautious in her – he recognizes it as if looking at a mirror, that familiar tendency to be formal and indirect to avoid unnecessary conflict. The difference between them is that he’d like to think he’s moved beyond such habits, whereas she…

“You seek me out and you don’t… do anything.”

Delightful, they’re having that conversation again. Recurring topics of petty fights is a sign of domestic progress, Leto is pretty sure, but the fact that his partner doesn’t know how to act in a moment where no one is asking anything of her is… troubling, to say the least. She’s not this visibly worried when his hands are on her or when she’s giving her perspective on a political issue, but take pressure off her for a heartbeat and something in that woman just breaks and-

“Looking at you and trying to talk to you don’t count?”

For that he gets a well-deserved glare, and to think that this counts as softness and plausible affection from this sharp object of a woman. “You’re not really asking me to do anything,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like he ought to, like-

“Is it not enough to want time with someone I love?”

He knows that word gets under her skin, knows by now that it compromises her further, knows he shouldn’t say that regardless but even worse given her reactions, but he can’t… he will not live in perfect silence, he will not-

“You don’t need to.”

No. Not today.

He doesn’t want to pick a fight right now, but he doesn’t want to let this go either, doesn’t want to ignore how easily she minimizes herself. Maybe that’s how they should be, but they aren’t. Instead… he doesn’t know how to define what they have become, but-

“Don’t need to do what, exactly?”

“Pretend you care about me. Pretend any of this is normal.”

There’s a bitterness to her voice that feels like poison, like a defense mechanism gone wrong and he can’t let himself believe she actually means it, can’t let himself-

“Is this not clear enough?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” she says again, and oh how cold and sharp she is when provoked, desperate defense mechanisms of a corned animal, and yet-

She gives countless reasons not to fall in love with her; he does anyways. This is what convinces him it is real; this is what convinces him it is the most important thing he will ever do.

He wants her to be calm for three damn seconds he isn’t either asking her to speak fluent admin or do other enjoyable things with her mouth, he’d say if he thought she’d actually listen. He wants to find out whatever he did wrong in the early days to make her trust issues so bad, or… no, he’d know if this was by his hand, she was like this before him she will be like this if there is any life after, she is…

“I want you to trust my intentions,” he says, because he needs to say something, because he hasn’t yet encountered a situation he couldn’t at least try to talk his way out of and a stubborn damaged woman is not the worst thing in the world. “I want you to understand how real this has become for me. I want… even if it takes five hundred years, I will prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I loved you. Whatever that looks like, whatever I need to do, whatever-“

“You don’t,” she breathes, and her voice breaks, and she is out of reach and he can’t change that, not with how she’s looking at him like this will be the last thing she ever sees. “What part of that do you not-“

“We went right past obligation months ago and you still think-“

“I still don’t see why you’ve-“

“What part of love do you not understand?!”

This is enough to focus her, enough to get him a look that he suspects would make a lesser person bleed. Cornered animal, he can’t help but think, and all the more dangerous for it.

“The part where it’s directed at me,” she says, at once deeply wounded and as even-toned as if she were discussing the weather outside.

“Let me try,” he counters, and he’s not sure he’s enough, he’s not sure anyone could get through all her barriers but dammit she makes him want to try, she makes him feel alive like nothing else ever has, she makes him-

“You’ll burn out before you get anywhere,” she murmurs, and if she’s capable of affection that’s about as close as he’s ever heard it. “I’m supposed to prevent that from happening, I think.”

“Treating you like a normal woman is not-“

“You’re constructing an illusion. It’s not…”

“I still know what you’re capable of, or at least… enough. Who could ever see you and want to make you small?”

She laughs, a low sound like that of his heart melting even further. “I suspect you’d be surprised how long that list is.”

“I don’t want to know. I just… I do care for you. Complications and everything. And however long it takes for you to understand that…”

She clears the distance between them in a fluid movement, a twirl in how her dress barely keeps up with her body. Who could ever see her like this and look away? Who could ever-

“I do believe you,” she says, even quieter now as she reaches for hands, as she knows in that way she does how to calm both of them with the lightest touch. “I think you’re making a terrible mistake, but I don’t… want to stop you.”

He’s not so convinced it’s a mistake, but whatever it takes to calm her, whatever it takes to let this bloom.

“You’d… say, if you did?”

“I would do much more than that,” she breathes. “You’d forget you ever wanted me, if it came to that.”

Not a mistake, he repeats over and over again in his mind as he lets whatever she’s doing with her hands take the edge off his emotions. A dramatic decision, but not and never a mistake. Not for him. Not-

“And you’ll say, if your heart ever…”

“I don’t know if that’s possible. But yes. If it makes you happy.”

[lovelybarnes]

scars- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: heavy mentions of insecurity, focus on scars, injuries, blood, wounds, canon violence about: requested! (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc. + (PF26) person a wiping person b’s tears away a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! i hope this is what you wanted and that you liked it!!

[ @tylard-blog1 ]

you’re aware that everyone on the team has them; natasha romanoff, even steve rogers, with his unbreakable milk skin, and bruce banner, with the green that tinges the hue of his temples when a scar is made. they’re reminders of what you do, some symbols of the lives that you’ve saved-- and others the lives that you’ve taken.

yes, everyone has them, but that doesn’t make you like the ones that litter your own body very much. nor does it stop you from looking away from them when you catch a glimpse of the scars that peek out of the clothing you specifically choose to hide them away from the curious eyes of the public. it doesn’t stop the frustrated tears that ebb in your eyes when you run the tips of your fingers over the raised tissue.

sometimes you realize how unfair it is of you to hate the scars that splay on your collarbone, and the ones that run across your hips and thighs, when you press your lips against the ones on bucky’s shoulder, pleading for him to believe you when you say you think he’s beautiful. the thought lingers when you playfully roll your eyes at natasha on the rare moment when she narrows her eyes at the healed bullet wound that sits above her hip, genuine words assuring her she looks great no matter what slipping out of the same mouth that utters ugly words at the mirror. you ignore it even as it guilts you when you touch the scars on bruce’s arms with featherlight fingers, pressing that they don’t make him a monster, or any of the hideous words with which he describes himself.

you try to tell yourself the reassurances apply to you, too, because they’re true-- the scars don’t diminish the beauty of your smile, or the glow that you carry, and they shouldn’t hinder the upwards pull of your lips when you catch a glimpse of them in the mirror-- but even as you try to convince yourself of that, your eyes always flit away, hand positioning itself in front of the scars as you examine the way you’d love yourself without them.

you were never aware of the blue eyes that caught your moments of dislike for yourself, missing the bead of worry that embedded itself in the cerulean of bucky’s irises.

-

it was on a particularly bad day of yours that one of your relatively smaller missions was scheduled. listed underneath your name was bucky’s, although he was only on there because he had demanded you never to go on a mission to an active hydra base alone, even though he knew you could handle it; you didn’t mind, always enjoying the quiet moments you got on the quinjet with bucky-- and the pilot, usually clint or steve, who bit their tongue, unlike sam or tony.

it would’ve been fine on any other day, but your day hadn’t started on the best note. the scars underneath your clothing seemed to burn every time you moved in the way they had when you first received them. you had stared at them for far too long, wishing you had the super-healing of the asgardian gods or the super soldiers you surrounded yourself with, who would never get permanent scars from the things you had experienced. they felt especially ugly sitting on your skin, making you want to lay in bed all day, pretending they didn’t exist.

your mission cut off your day of wallowing in your bed, forcing you to shove on your suit and sit in the quinjet to arrive at the mission you could’ve easily handled by yourself had it been another day and you had felt any other way.

you were from the same black widow program natasha was from; you were probably impossibly better, more ruthless and uncaring because from the moment you were born, you had nothing to lose, no family to protect, no memories of a childhood--even a fake one-- to hang onto. your movements were always calculated and perfect, like they had been forced to be, and your emotions were never supposed to cloud your anything-- they never did, except for when you had the days that knocked you off your feet, just like these.

nevertheless, you were distracted in the base with bucky, although you shouldn’t have been, considering the delicate information you were handling. you flawlessly did the routine of knocking guards unconscious, ignoring the way a harsh heat flashed in your hip when bucky’s hand touched the place where one of your more brutal scars was. it felt nearly as if he could feel it under his fingers, even though it was a ridiculous thought considering the material of your tac suit.

it was still going relatively fine; you had recovered the usb file you had been assigned to secure, and most of the guards were dead, fallen in a trail that created a clear pathway for bucky to find you, usb drive clutched tightly in your hand as you bled out on the floor, a knife thrown next to the pool of blood quickly forming underneath you and the person who had done it lying dead a few feet away. your gun was in your other hand, one of its bullets embedded in the hydra agents’ chest. bucky could hear the strangled gurgles of breathing coming from the agent, but he paid no attention to him as he rushed to your side, eyebrows furrowing as his hands reached the stab wound. you hissed sharply when you felt the cold of his vibranium fingers meet the burning hot of the injury, pressing down hard as lightly as he could while he mumbled something into the comms you never used. you were suddenly gathered into his arms, cringing when you heard a scream you didn’t realize was yours until you felt bucky’s lips moving in reassuring sentences next to your ear, a string of apologies falling from his lips. you never let go of the drive, desperate to keep hold of something that connected you to the real world, not wanting to focus on your other alternative: it was irrelevant when compared to everything else, but through the blinding red of pain, the only thing you could focus on was obsessing over the fact that a new scar would inevitably heal in place of the stab wound-- one you knew you would survive because you’d survived a hell of a lot worse than it, but the next ugly thing to form in your abdomen might just make you never want to see yourself again.

warm tears rolled down your cheeks as bucky carried you back into the quinjet, one of your hands tiredly fisted at bucky’s shirt, trying your best to stay awake but ultimately failing from the loss of blood and will.

-

it’s stupid. you’re aware, but your first thought when you open your eyes again is how there is yet another scar that will form on your abdomen, making tears rush to your eyes in frustration because it was your fault it was there anyways. had you just paid attention-- just not concentrated so on the wretched things, a new one would not be forming right now. the collection of ugly tissue that littered your skin was already too large.

the frustration you felt overpowered the painful numbness that settled over the wound in your abdomen, making dried tears spring back to life and dribble down your apple cheeks, alerting your boyfriend of your state. “doll? what’s wrong?” he asks, and at the sign he’s there, listening to your whimpers and audible disdain, the dam breaks loose, your hands reaching up to your face and tugging at the gash.

bucky’s up on his feet, tender hands circling around your wrists to pull them back down, “y/n, what’s wrong, doll?” he repeats, gentle blue eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. you squeeze your eyes shut, another salty trail making its way onto the bow of your lips. bucky’s warm fingers wipe away the wetness, his fingertips light.

“baby, please tell me what hurts,” he begs, his vibranium hand making its way into yours. you shake your head, squeezing his cold fingers. “i hate them,” you mumble, feeling his palm cupping your jaw, “i hate them so much.”

“hate what, honey?” he questions gently, brows furrowing further when he sees your hand curling into a loose fist above the place where his hands have lovingly settled: right on your scars. “i’m sorry,” you cry quietly, nose scrunching up when his fingers trace over the tissue he’s memorized the location of, “i hate them. they’re ugly and i hate them.”

“these?” bucky inquires, surprised. he lifts your shirt-- really, his-- to see the object of your tears, catching when you shut your eyes again and more tears drip off your jaw.

“bucky, no--”

bucky looks up at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “y/n…” he starts sadly, pulling away to get you to look at him. “they’re not... “ his eyes flick down to one of the scars, and he taps on it gently, “d’you remember this one? it was a couple years ago when i barely joined the team.” you can feel a lump growing in your throat, perfectly able to recall where you got it.

“you barely knew me back then, but you did know i was a super soldier, and you jumped in front of that bullet anyways. god, i knew i had to ask you out before someone knocked sense into anyone else.”

you sniffle, biting your lip, “this one,” he touches another one, “you saved nat and a little girl from a madman. her parents were so thankful they stayed with you until you woke up to thank you.” his finger wipes away another tear, “she invited me to her birthday party this year,” you snivel, and bucky smiles.

“these are not ugly-- you are not ugly, i promise.” he tells you. “i love you, every part of you--” his head suddenly ducks down, and you can feel his lips softly pressing against the scars, careful to avoid your newly forming one. your hand reaches his jaw, running your nail along his stubble as more thankful tears slip from your eyes. “i love you,” he repeats, kissing your lips.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips, sniffling as you feel the burn on the scars slowly begin to disappear with the coolness of bucky’s vibranium fingertips.

[whirlybirbs]

          (   this chapter’s gif by @august-walker​ from this beautiful set !   )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  4/?

summary: you formulate a plan, meet steve rogers, and bucky goes on a date.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 6.8k, mother of pearl

a/n: this ended up being mostly a filler with a lot of romantic growth - i had to break this chapter up from the unce unce unce clubbing that coming up, so please enjoy! 

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MOSCOW, 1975.

In all the years that James Buchanan Barnes has had a heartbeat, he’d come to know the sounds of grief well.

War taught him a lot of things — that they were all just little boys playing with guns, and that no matter how many times you thought you’d be ready for the vomit-inducing pungency of violence, you never were. In the end, you’d do anything to save yourself; you’d crawl through the thick of death and debris a million times over if only to cling to the shredded tatters of your own humanity.

You would kill someone else’s son for the sake of your own mother.

War was disease that devoured every part of you — it was gunpowder snuff and carved flesh. That sickness — inky and desperate — had sunk deep into this heart during the war, and it crescendoed to the sounds of mothers clutching dead sons. The sounds that followed death were like a hollow opera. Waning and wailing.

In the raucous wake left by warborn grief, Bucky drowned everytime.

To the Winter Soldier, the operatic quality to the sounds of grief were as insignificant as a child’s rhyme.

He did not drown. No, he waded through the waves, comfortable in the cold and unphased by the stinging cut of loss. That was not something he could comprehend. After all, there were orders and there were targets, and everything in between was absolute.

He was the disease that devoured all.

He’s holding a gun to Andrei Kuznetzov’s head in a dining room with ornate trim — with silverware as delicate as scalpels that tinker against fine china. The carpets are red, the curtains are red, there’s blood on the table cloth. The guests continue to eat. Kuznetzov’s wife is screaming, red nails dug so deep into the dining chair’s arms it’s carving out the fabric. War dogs, like him, keep her rooted in her seat, and her tears find polished boots. She’s begging and bartering but the man with Kuznetzov’s life in his hands is not listening. He is eating his veal, bloodied meat dancing between his lips. He takes a sip of wine as his medal emblazoned chest glimmers in the light of crystalline chandaliers.

The spoils of war.

His smile is stained red.

There is no deal to be made.

The Winter Soldier pulls the trigger.

NOW.

His eyes are open.

Panic is the first emotion he feels, and it seizes him up quickly in its grasp. He doesn’t know this view, he doesn’t know where he is, not again, not again, not again —

Then:

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. Did you know you snore?”

The relief that the sound of your voice brings is immediate, and just like that he remembers. He’s laying on the bed. You’re sat up across from him at that small desk in the corner. He reaches as he rubs his face to thumb the edge of the pillowcase. He exhales tightly.

He’s fine. His name is James Buchanan Barnes. He is not longer the Winter Soldier. He’s in his Brooklyn apartment. He is fine.

When’s the last fucking time he’s slept in a bed?

He sits up, scratching his neck as he does. You lean back, half rotated in the desk. Before you is a mess of papers and his laptop — and on top of the keyboard sits his notebook. It’s open to the page where all he’d been able to figure out about Innessa was scrawled in his chicken scratch.

Bucky swings his legs over the edge of the bed and immediately his back complains.

“How long was I out?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep. He moves to part the curtains. The room blooms with warm morning light.

You offer an apologetic smile into the vanilla sunshine. “Three hours. I wanted you to get some shut eye. You were starting to look a little overwhelmed last night—”

“You click too fast,” he waves, standing and immediately rolling his neck to the side. You watch as the man, before as peaceful as a sleeping pup, now regains his usual thinning veiled level of threat. Bucky is dangerous — it shows in the way he holds himself. He cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders, and groans. He exhales again, posture sagging a bit, “I couldn’t keep up.”

You’re standing now, socks padding against the hardwood as you eye his cowlick with a budding bloom of affection. With his notebook between your index and middle finger, you offer it out. You cling to your empty coffee cup in the other.

“I didn’t peek,” you say warmly, “Pinky promise.”

His laugh is more like a hot puff of air. Bucky manages a look that feels like an emotional dethaw.

“Thank you.”

You lead the way to the kitchen, stretching your own back as you go. You’d been up all night — this is your third trip out here for yet another cup of coffee. The pot has been on for too long, though, and you know the coffee sitting there is beyond bitter. You’re moving to dump it down the sink when Bucky grumbles.

“Don’t.”

“You want it?”

“No,” he mutters, reaching for a mug, “But I don’t want to waste it.”

“Wow,” you chirp, “The Great Depression just jumped out.”

“Yeah,” he snorts, yanking open the fridge to search for something to eat, “It does that.”

“Well, grandpa,” you hand him the steaming cup and set out to make another pot, “You’re also living on Depression Era rations — might I suggest some Dolly’s? Because I’m starving and I’ve been up all night and I think that means I get to decide where we get breakfast.”

Bucky’s look is soft — but you don’t see it. You’re too busy scooping sugar into your cup, too busy nudging him aside to grab the milk. He’s rooted there in the kitchen, watching you move about. You’re comfortable. There isn’t a trace of anxiousness in you, not in this moment, and he tries to remember what it looks like.

Your eyes find his and he clears his throat.

“Earth to Sergeant Barnes?”

“Don’t start,” he groans, albeit playfully, “It’s too early.”

“Oh, what? Too early for me to grill you on why you didn’t tell me that little laptop in there was on loan from the FBI? To one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th?”

His face falls.

“Don’t worry,” you raise a hand quickly, leaning against the counter as you sip your coffee, “I figured that out before I did anything massively illegal.”

Bucky rubs his face as he takes a sip of his coffee — the bitterness is enough to slap him awake. He winces, swallows it back, and remembers the taste of instant coffee made in helmets on the line in Bastogne. He can smell snow, and the acrid sting of mortar smoke. Suddenly, he’s craving a cigarette.

That hasn’t happened in a while.

Bucky clears his throat. “Did you find anything?”

You frown slightly, lips pulled as you hide your inward disappointment — you push off from the counter and shake your head as you brush past him. Like a loyal dog, Bucky follows. Into the bedroom you go, and Bucky’s again surprised he managed to get any sleep at all in that bed. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone else there, or the genuine exhaustion that had finally choked him out after hours of trying to understand what the hell you were even doing on there.

You plop into the desk chair and snatch up a piece of paper littered with notes.

“I couldn’t do much of my usual snooping,” you explain gently as you gesture to the chromebook, “This thing might have been given to you in good faith, but they’re watching you pretty closely. So, I worked a little magic and ended up running a virtual machine. Gave me enough wiggle room to avoid the malware and keystroke trackers. Even still, I wanted to be careful, so I just did a little looking.”

“Looking?”

“I can’t dig deeper on Innessa, I know where to dig, but I can’t,” you frown, “Not on this laptop, and definitely not on my personal machines. I’ve got the GRC breathing down my neck, and the files I need to poke are very much off-limits.”

“So, what? We’re shit out of luck?”

“No, not entirely,” you stand up and motion to the paper in your hands; your tone is tight, “I know a few people who can help, but getting to them is going to be the hardest part.”

Bucky takes the paper, squinting at the writing as you settle on the edge of the bed next to him. You take a sip of your coffee and watch as his blue eyes dart across the notes; you point to the name scrawled across the top.

“There’s a club in lower Manhattan, but you’ve gotta know the right people to get in,” you mumble, scratching your cheek as a creeping sense of embarrassment bubbles up behind your words, “It’s in the basement of an old computer repair shop. It’s like a blackhat networking event, but with strippers.”

Bucky squints at the paper and reads the name. “The Glass Cannon?”

“Yeah,” you huff, crossing your arms tightly as you stand, “That’s the one.”

Bucky looks up from the paper, attention now rooted on the pacing you’ve begun to do across the room. Back and forth. You’re holding your coffee like a lifeline, gaze far away. That anxiousless way you’d been holding yourself before is gone. Now, he can see the tensing in your shoulders, in your fingers. You’re suddenly nervous.

Bucky stands. His voice is gentle.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” you snap almost immediately, “Just, y’know. Worried. I spent a lot of time there when I was younger. Did stupid shit. And now I’m about to waltz in after six years like I haven’t put that part of my life behind me.”

“We don’t have to do this,” he says immediately, moving to stand closer and halt your pacing. The invasion of your space forces you to look at him. His fingers glimmering in the morning light. You follow the line of his figure up to his eyes. The emotion there makes your heart clench. You can’t pin it down, and it’s gone in an instant.

“It’s the only way we’re going to find Innessa.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in situations like this for me,” he says, stressing the for me part in both expression and tone. The depreciation makes you wince and you’re fast to shake your head.

“That’s what friends do, Bucky,” you stand your ground, but you know there’s more to your reasoning than that, “Plus, she’s a bad guy. And I know you said I technically wasn’t the sidekick, but—”

“You’re not the sidekick—”

“I know,” you huff, nudging him gently with your arm, “But, I wanna help. Do some good.”

“You do enough good,” he mutters, “You’re a good person.”

Your words fail you at that — and your mouth parts but nothing comes out. Bucky watches with an expression as solid as rock as you blink and look away. His hand, the one of flesh and bone, finds your wrist as you tighten your grip on your mug.

The touch, though far too tender for you to handle, feels like fire.

Like a slap in the face, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky is.

You slap that thought back, trading volleys, and remain quiet.

His tone is stern. “I mean it.”

“Well,” you finally muster, tone dipping sardonically into a cruel peel of humor, “Just wait until you see me in my natural habitat. Maybe the tequila shots will make you second guess that.”

“I didn’t know we were going out drinking,” he chirps as he raises an eyebrow, “Am I going to need to get you a leash?”

“We’re gonna have to try and blend in as best we can. People are going to know me — if they try to pin me with the GRC or the feds, we aren’t going to get anything on Innessa. They probably won’t even let me in the building if they suspect something’s up, after all not everything that goes down in Glass Cannon is kosher.”

“This is already sounding like a bad idea,” Bucky mumbles as he crosses his arms, “I’m stating that for the record, by the way.”

“Well, I think standing around and working ourselves up about this is even worse of an idea,” you chirp back, moving towards the door to muscle on your shoes, “So I say we feed ourselves and don’t worry about this until Thursday night.”

“Thursday.”

You nod.

All of a sudden, Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Today is Sunday.”

You freeze, hand on the doorframe. You shoot him a wide-eyed look at the sudden flare of panic that’s shot up through him. “Yea, Bucky, today is Sunday.”

“Shit.”

“What?” you nearly cry as he disappears into the bedroom once more. You hear his closet open, then a clatter as he grabs something like keys — you nearly run directly into his chest when he strides back into the kitchen. He’s shouldered on his usual leather jacket, and in his hands is another.

He’s got keys in his hand.

“C’mon.”

He shoves the jacket into your arms and you frown.

“What the hell?” you cry, doubling back to snag your phone and bag as Bucky moves to the door, “What is this?”

“Put it on,” he says, holding open the door for you as you follow him into the apartment hallway.

You raise a brow and stand there as he locks the door.

“Why?”

“Because,” Bucky mumbles, rubbing his face as he widens his strides to the stairwell across the hall; before you know it, you’re desperately trying to keep up as he bounces down the steps — light on his feet like the boxer he is — towards the lower level of the apartment complex, “We’re late.”

You groan, trying to shrug on the jacket that smells like Bucky as you follow — a smell you’d come to know as clean laundry and sandalwood. Must be something for his hair. He never wore cologne, that much was apparent. The jacket is big on you, especially on the shoulders. You were swimming in it, trying not to trip as he held the door open to the garage.

Suddenly, the air is cooler. Immediately you wonder how much his rent is if he had access to a ground level garage. Call it NYC instinct.

“Bucky,” you nearly whine, throwing your head back, “Where are we going?”

Before you get a reply, you run straight into his back. Bucky grunts, moving to grab both of your hands and push you to the front of him.

Sitting in the spot is a motorcycle.

It’s a jet black Harley.

Bucky is handing you the helmet on the back seat as your mouth moves in disbelief. “No way— no, I’m not getting on that thing. I’d rather sell my kidneys. Stop, stop — ow, Bucky — you haven’t even said where we’re going!”

He’s muscling the helmet onto your head and through the flash of the visor you can see a real smile, the sort born out of his never-ending amusement towards your fickle sense of humor. His fingers are nimble against your chin. He takes the time to strap it on, adjust it, and give it a gentle tug. Bucky taps the matte black helmet twice, then flicks the visor down.

“We’re going upstate.”

                                        ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

It takes two hours to get to Elmwood Senior Living.

You spent the first forty-five minutes clinging to Bucky’s waist with your eyes closed — no fault of Bucky’s, really. It was different from riding in a car by miles, and you had your own qualms with driving. You couldn’t be in the passenger’s seat anymore. Not after the accident with Jaimie, when Mom disappeared. Being out of control made you itch; and it’s not until the fifty-minute mark that you ease up on the panic and remember who the man is that’s driving the bike.

You trust Bucky. You trust him with your life.

Once it’s open road, winding up towards the Northern part of the state, it gets easier.

Bucky can feel your grip around his waist loosen just a bit — and it’s enough reassurance that he stops looking back in the mirror every fifteen seconds. It’s enough permission to open up on the throttle, and the bike roars alive. Your immediate reaction is a gobsmacked yelp, the sort that’s pulled from a jolt of shock, but then comes the laugh. 

Bucky’s own quiet chuckle rumbles against your chest. You hold on tighter, but this time with open palms against the thrum of his ribs.

Halfway through the trip, he pulls into a McDonald’s.

You drop your ass onto the parking lot’s curb as he leans against the bike and houses a burger. You laugh, eyeing him candidly as you take a large bite from your own lunch. Bucky is a mess with it — cursing quietly when he ends up getting ketchup on his jacket.

“Shit.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” you mutter, “Did you even taste that thing?”

“Barely,” he clears his throat and starts picking at his fries, “These things taste different now. First time I ever had McDonald’s was right before bootcamp.”

“How much was it? Five cents?” you snort, leaning back and dropping a fry into your mouth.

Bucky watches with a half-smirk. “Fifteen, but nice try.”

He spends the next five minutes on his hand with a wet nap, trying hard to get the grease out of the delicate plates along his palm. You watch, as you knock back the rest of your soda, as his eyes crinkle tightly in frustration. His mouth is pulled tightly into a fine line. For the second time today, you’re reminded of how handsome Bucky Barnes is — and how fucking stubborn he is, too.

“Want help?”

“No,” he mutters, trying to get a spot between his thumb and index finger, “I got it.”

“I have smaller fingers,” you sing-song, gathering up his trash and your trash and crossing the parking lot to the bin; upon returning, you waggle them in his face, “Good for hard to reach places.”

Bucky absolutely hates that can feel his blush hit the tips of his ears at the comment.

He’s glad you’re too preoccupied with his hand to notice. You’re watching, like you always do, with respectful awe. To you, this part of him is a bit like a treasure — you find it beautiful and intriguing and incredible. It’s clear in the way you watch the mechanisms turn and tighten that you aren’t frightened by it.

It unsettles Bucky every time.

Finally, once he’s finished under your watchful eyes, he leans to muscle that helmet back over your head. You groan, squinting tightly.

“C’mon,” he knocks your helmet with his knuckles, “We’re almost there.”

The rest of the ride is wide open space, farm land and mountainous peaks looming far ahead. It’s warm, and the sun is hot on your back. The wind is howling around you and it sends your jacket collar flapping against your neck. Your chin rests neatly on Bucky’s shoulder, trying to get a view of the road ahead.

Elmwood Senior Living is tucked into the back of a suburb.

The two of you weave through a neighborhood or two, dancing under the shade of age old maple trees. They cast long, scattered shadows across the pavement as kids play on their lawns. A dog barks somewhere in the distance. Over the hill, church bells ring. Sunday service has ended.

Bucky rolls into the parking lot, past the large sign with swirling lettering. Suddenly, things make more sense. Suddenly, you’re struck with a sinking feeling of grief. Nostalgia. Mourning. But, happiness.

There are folks sitting outside, basking in the sun, tethered to walkers.

Bucky’s wrists crank back weathered knuckles, and slowly the bike rumbles into an open spot. Extending his legs, Bucky balances the bike with ease. You take that as your cue to swing yourself off the back clumsily, hopping a bit. Bucky leans, kicks the stand down, and with significantly more grace than you, swings his leg over.

You’re shrugging his jacket off when he speaks.

“He’s going to be different than how you imagine him.”

You exhale slowly, draping the jacket over the bike’s seat. You peel the helmet off.

“I’ve sort of pieced that together.”

You can see the slight discomfort hanging in his posture. You reach and touch Bucky’s arm.

“Come on,” you nod to the entrance, covered by a shady overhang where someone is helping a family member out of their car, “We don’t wanna be late, huh?”

His eyes soften. Bucky nods.

You walk side-by-side into the lobby of Elmwood Senior Living and it’s like time slows down. It halts in a warm, sunshine colored still — full of chatter, full of humanity, full of wisdom. The room is framed by big windows, by plants, by a man in a U.S. Navy ball cap. He’s stationed by the door, watching the comings and goings. The main desk, where a young woman watches, sits in the corner. You follow Bucky with a content little look. He notices.

He stands a little closer at the main desk. The girl, who looks like she’s incredibly out of place with her blue hair and piercings, is younger than you thought. Highschool, maybe. She offers Bucky an excited smile.

“Took you long enough,” she chirps, moving to sort through a bin to her side with key fobs.

Your brows raise. You spy calculus homework on the desk.

Bucky snorts. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He notices the same problem set you so, and purposely leans over the desk. Suddenly, you’re seeing flashes of a more boyish version of Bucky — one that reminds you of a man with siblings. Bucky taps the paper, jutting a chin to the girl as she tries to swat his attention away.

“How’d you do on that test?”

“I got a 96,” she chirps pridefully, laughing, “Thanks for the help, nerd.”

You’re watching the entire exchange with a smile, backing up a bit to toss a curious glance over your shoulder. There’s a dining room through open doors — and looks like lunch is just wrapping up. Folks are moving around, back to their rooms or upstairs where you can hear the beginnings of a seated aerobics class begin.

Bucky nudges you with his hand.

“Thanks, Sarah,” he says and waves the key she’d handed over.

The girl with the blue hair scoffs. “Say hi to grandpa for me, Bucket.”

You laugh out loud as Bucky quickly flips her off. She’s quick to do the same.

You follow him around the corner, grinning ear to ear. He spares you a sheepish look, then rolls his eyes.

“What was that?”

“She’s a good kid,” he offers, eyeing the key with the grey little fob attached, “Reminds me of my sister.”

Your face softens. “Sister?”

“Her name was Sarah, too,” he says quietly, boots landing softly on the blue carpet. He’s navigating the residential wing like he’s done it a million times. There are rooms with flowers outside, with holiday garb, with little photos and keepsakes. Each room holds a lifetime of personality — the sound of Jeopardy lulls along in the background.

You hum. Bucky sighs.

He meanders down a long hallway where a different door is — this one heavy and locked by the little keypad. Bucky raises the key fob to the device and the door buzzes.

This side of Elmwood is quieter.

Down the hall, Timmy Dorsey and Sinatra play quietly over someone’s record player.

There aren’t as many folks in the hall in this wing, but doors are open and nurses flit about. Around the corner, there’s a loud conversation going on about lunch — and you watch as Bucky weaves towards the nursing station. It’s a room overlooking the common area with windows. Inside are three women.

One of them immediately jumps when she sees Bucky.

“Oh, good! I was meaning to talk to you—”

“Everything alright?”

“About the same,” she breathes as she stands, moving to grab at a Bucky’s arm with a sense of motherliness that makes you smile, “But, meals have been a bit difficult lately.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, rubbing his chin, “He just doesn’t wanna eat?”

“He thinks Peggy is coming home,” the woman whispers with a pained smile as she begins to lead you both down the hall, “He thinks your grandmother made dinner for him.”

“Right,” Bucky nods, “Doesn’t wanna ruin his appetite.”

“Exactly.”

You take note of the conversation, muddling through your own confusion. You’re quiet, though. This isn’t really your conversation to have. Bucky seems to be relaxed more — even humming slightly to a song that plays across the hall from the room the nurse is knocking on.

“Mr. Carter?” she calls gently, “Your grandson is here to see you, and his…”

She looks expectantly at you. You bawk.

“Friend.”

“Right,” she smiles and pushes open the door.

It’s like a little slice of home.

Sofas, chairs, photos on the walls. There’s a record player in the corner, a television, a coffee table stacked with books on the second world war. There’s a dresser covered in baubles and warm light coming in from the window overlooking the street. It reminds you of your grandparents’ sitting room — everything looks so lived in, so comfortable, so alive.

And then, below the light of the window, is a hospital bed.

In it is Steve Rogers.

Not the one you know — no, this one has lived a full life. This Steve Rogers has fallen in love, owned a home, settled down. This Steve Rogers has years of wisdom settled into his face, years of well-fought fights in his joints. His blonde hair has gone shock white, but his smile is all the same.

“Bucky.”

The way Steve says his name is like the man beside you holds the world.

To Bucky, he can hear a new weakness. A new exhaustion.

“Hi, punk.”

The nurse offers a little wave to you as Bucky ventures into the room, stripping his jacket off and moving to scope out the minifridge in the small kitchenette beside the bathroom. She leaves the door open, and you smile to her softly. Bucky rummages, poking his head up.

“You want a drink, Steve?” he asks, tone almost like he’s feeling out the lucidity of the man across the room, “There’s some of that lemonade I brought last week in here.”

“Sounds good,” he says slowly, “Please.”

You feel out of place — not unwelcome, but… it’s clear that Bucky has come and gone from here a thousand times now. He knows to get the glasses out, to get a straw, to turn down the record player on his way over. Doris Day’s voice lowers to a soft croon. You watch with heavy eyes.

“I brought someone, Steve,” Bucky says, “She’s a big fan.”

“Oh?” Steve asks with a slow look to the corner where you’re standing, “That musta broke your heart.”

Bucky snorts as he moves to swing the hospital bed’s tray over Steve’s lap. He places the lemonade down, then the other glass on the nightstand. He’s quick to move the armchair closer to the nightstand, and gestures for you to come over. Bucky’s hands guide you by the shoulders as he plops you into the chair.

“She’s one of the good ones,” Bucky says, “Reminds me of you.”

“No kidding,” Steve says slowly, offering a hand that shakes, “Steve Rogers. It’s a pleasure.”

You exchange your name with a shy look, shaking that hand with reverence and gentility. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rogers.”

“Please,” he mumbles, moving to slowly take a sip of his lemonade, “Steve is fine.”

Bucky moves to take up a post on the opposite side of Steve, in the sun. “You’re losin’ weight, y’know.”

That earns him a wave of the hand.

Bucky leans back and sips his lemonade. He waggles a finger and you watch the two begin to go back and forth.

“No, no,” he swallows, “No, you don’t get t’ shrug me off—”

“M’fine, Buck,” a sigh, “Really.”

“Mhm,” he narrows his eyes, “You’re startin’ to look like the Steve I knew before the serum.”

You lean back, hiding a quiet smirk behind your hand.

“I was wondering when you were gonna show up an’ pester me,” he says with a tired look, “The only peace I get around here is when Peggy comes home.”

Your eyes jump to Bucky. He’s watching you.

“Peggy?” you ask gently, “Is that your wife?”

A proud smile washes over his face. “Still knocks me for a loop, too.”

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is gentle, “Peggy won’t be coming around for a while. Remember?”

There’s a look that flashes across Steve’s face, then. A mixture of sadness, of confusion, of panic. It’s clouded with a furrow of his brow, hidden by a tilt of the head. He looks at Bucky, mouth pulled in a fine line.

When he finally speaks, his voice is sad.

“That’s right. I forgot.”

“S’alright,” Bucky taps his head, maintaining an air of nonchalance, “That’s why you got me.”

“And why you’ve got her, no doubt,” he turns to you with a winning smile and offers his hand again, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

You take it, you shake it, and you introduce yourself once more. Your smile is patient and understanding. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Steve.”

Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. Steve smiles, tossing Bucky a look that borders on mischievous.

He sips his lemonade and clears his throat. “How is Sam?”

“You ask every time,” Bucky mutters, “And every time I have the same answer.”

“Sam?” you ask slowly.

“Wilson,” Bucky finishes, “Bird man.”

“You mean Falcon,” you correct, shooting him a stern look, “The Falcon. Are you ghosting The Falcon?”

“I don’t know what that even means, so maybe,” Bucky leans back and crosses his legs, “I’ve been busy.”

You roll your eyes. Steve saw. He smiles.

“I’m gettin’ why he keeps you around.”

Your face is smacked with a look of pure joy.

“C’mon on now,” Bucky cries, nearly indignantly, “No flirting—”

“M’ not flirting—”

“I know that look, Steve—”

Steve is laughing.

Bucky has a stern look in his eye. “You always do this—”

“I’m not doin’ a damn thing—”

“And you better keep it that way, old man,” Bucky shirks, voice splintering into a laugh in a way that you’ve never heard before, “I swear, this is how it always goes.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, huh, Buck?” you ask gently, leaning your cheek into your hand.

Steve laughs loudly at that.

Bucky spares you a smile — the sort that’s drenched in good humor and sunlight. It makes your lungs flutter, and you ignore the buzz in your fingers at the sight. You hide your laugh into your cup of lemonade, resigning to be a quiet counterpart in the conversation.

The two of them go on to chat about small things, then chat about old things. From the Commandos, to HYDRA, to amends, to therapy, to Peggy, to the itch the starch of their old dress uniforms used to bring. It takes a bit, a few redirections on the way, but it’s clear by the end why Steve Rogers is in Elmwood’s memory unit.

It makes your heart ache.

And if a super soldier is bed-ridden…

The two of you say goodbye around three in the afternoon after Bucky helps Steve shave.

The walk back to the bike is quiet.

Bucky speaks first.

“He’s dying.”

You chew your lip, eyes on the pavement. You match his slow stride, bumping your elbow with his as you walk. It’s still warm, and the clouds hang high in the sky. When you look up, Bucky’s watching you. You sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally muster, “I am.”

“Don’t be,” he says, grabbing the jacket from the seat and holding it up, “He’s lived a long life.”

You let Bucky hold out the arm for you, and you press your hand through the sleeve. He helps the other side on, and you zip it up to your chin. When you turn around to face him, there are tears in your eyes.

They snuck up on you. You hadn’t realized it until Bucky’s face fell, until the first one fell along the weathered leather of the jacket. You blink, raising your brows as you swipe them away, and offer an apologetic look.

“I’m happy,” you say, “Y’know. He has you. But, he’s a man out of time. Even now. That makes me sad.”

Bucky’s quiet for a while. He’s leaned up against the bike as you turn and watch Elmwood from the back of the parking lot. There’s a big part of you that feels heavy with guilt — and though Steve was in good spirits when you left, you can’t help but ache to provide him with more company. It’s clear that seeing Bucky means a lot to him, and that in turn it means a lot to the man beside you.

“Come on,” Bucky says then, “Let’s go home.”

You nod, let him muscle that helmet onto your head one more time, and hold on a little tighter back to the city.

                                       ◦   ◦   ◦   ◦   

You don’t see Bucky until Tuesday.

In all honesty, it feels weird to not hear from him for two days. At the very least, you expected some sort of phone call — but you remind yourself that you’ve been okay alone for a long time. There’s no need to throw all your work on being comfortable by yourself out the window for Bucky Barnes.

It’s tempting, though. God, it’s really tempting.

You hate the ache in your chest when you finally see him lumbering towards the cafe counter before your appointments. You hate this new feeling — so you shove it down and ignore the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you your latte.

He is ignoring it, too. He’s been ignoring it.

No use in thinking about it though.

“You got plans later?” you ask him in the elevator after your appointment, tilting your head, “Apparently there’s a Lord of the Rings marathon tonight on FX.”

Bucky stiffens — and immediately he can feel the hot sting of anxious regret flood his cheeks. He clears his throat, tucks his hands in his pockets, and toes the ground. You watch with a confused look. Then he speaks tightly.

“...I’ve got a date.”

You could have caught flies the way your jaw fell open.

“Oh. Oh!”

You blink, readjust your expression, and swallow down a sharp stab of rejection.

Bucky clears his throat. “It’s… I wasn’t going to but, Dr. Raynor—”

“No, no,” you wave your hands and shake your head and try to seem genuine, “No, I’m happy for you. Is this one of those Christian Minglers?”

Bucky groans. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” you say, “Okay! Just, uh, be careful. Y’know? And call if you need anything.”

The elevator doors open, and Bucky walks side by side with you through the well-lit lobby. He holds the door open for you, and you pass through with a pained look at the ground. He lingers, though, rubbing the back of his neck as you wait for him to say what’s on his mind.

“Thursday,” he says, “I’ll stop by.”

“Yea,” you say, waving your hand, “Whenever.”

But, that doesn’t end up happening.

No, Bucky Barnes shows up at your apartment doorstep at 10pm.

He’s clutching takeout and a six pack of beer and wearing a horrified expression that screams of guilt and exhaustion. No, Bucky buzzes the door to your apartment and basically croaks that he’s here — he’s asking if the marathon is still on while you buzz him up.

“Third floor,” you say into the buzzer with a smile, “Come on in, old man.”

When you open the door, you have to laugh — because his hair is a mess and there’s still a trace of lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Whereas jealousy threatens to flare, his incredibly regretful expression tamps it down. You cock a hip, eye him up and down, and jut your chin out.

“Get laid?”

Bucky rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised he didn’t break something.

He pushes past you, moving to drop the beer on the counter and place the takeout gently down by the basket of fruit.

“I’m here for the cat,” he grumbles, “Not your witty commentary, sweetheart.”

You’re moving quietly to the sink and gathering a paper towel with a smirk as Bucky looks around, admiring the decor and aliveness of your apartment. When you turn around, he’s already pried a beer from the pack and popped the top off with his vibranium palm.

He winces when you reach up to swipe the coral lipstick from the corner of his mouth.

Then Bucky settles, letting you clean off the mess.

“Mhm,” you hum, “Right. Was it at least fun?”

“She had fun,” he mutters into his first sip, “It was a lotta tongue for my first night out in nearly a century, though.”

You wince. He nods with a sardonic smile that tells you everything about how the date went down — and you’re relieved. “So, I take it you're not calling her in the morning?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “Nope. No, and I’ve decided no more dates. That was enough for me.”

You wince and pluck a beer from the pack. Wordlessly, Bucky gestures for you to hand it over. In one smooth motion, he twists the cap off with his hand.

“That bad?” you ask, eyeing him critically.

“I decided halfway through,” he says as he moves to take the takeout from its bag, “I’d rather be watching Lord of the Rings with you.”

That stops you into silence. It’s like someone’s taken your own words and gagged you with them — and you’re left floundering for breath you never even realize you lost. You know he means it. You know it because he won’t look at you, because that sort of confession isn’t easy for people like you two. So you take those words and you glue them in a lonely locket and keep them close to your heart.

Poke’s entrance saves you a mouthful of broken words — he comes in, trots up to Bucky, and hollers.

Bucky laughs.

“Nice to meet you, too,” he mutters, eyeing the cat that’s eagerly rubbing himself along Bucky’s leg.

You wipe your face, sip your beer, and move to the pantry across from the kitchen island. You come back out with a bag of salmon treats — the good ones — and offer Bucky the bag. He takes it, eyes still on the calico, and crinkles it a little.

You lean against the counter and watch Bucky kneel.

“If you keep it up long enough he might even let you hold him.”

He lights up at that.

You laugh.

You move to grab plates and forks and knives and groan when you open up the first box to see Pad Thai — you make a mental note to properly thank Bucky for this. You meager dinner of reheated pasta really hadn’t hit the spot. This will, though. You can tell from the smell alone.

By your knees, Poke chirps.

“He’s cute.”

“I never took you for a cat guy.”

Bucky snorts.

You make a plate and flick his head as you walk by. “You’re missing the start of The Two Towers.”

“I’m going to be confused, aren’t I?” he asks as he stands and begins making himself a plate. He watches as you settle onto the couch and sip your beer, “I was too busy being turned into a cyborg to read the books.”

You laugh out loud. It shocks you.

“Was that a joke? Did Bucky Barnes just make a joke?”

He’s smirking. He rounds the counter with his food and settles next to you. Poke is following him, eager to curl up next to his new friend.

“I can be funny.”

“Funny lookin’.”

He elbows you on purpose. You snort into your beer.

There’s a comfortable moment of quiet between you, and you clear your throat.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “No problem.”

More quiet, and he’s still watching you. Then, he asks what’s been on his mind for the last three days.

“You got a plan for Thursday?”

“I’ve got anxiety, Buck,” you exhale, swigging your beer and turning the television up, “I always have a plan.”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 39: Confess

"Are you asleep?" Draco whispered, brushing an errant curl back off his lover's face and waiting for a reply. He watched Harry's chest rise and fall slowly, evenly; traced his eyes over his face, lax with sleep; contemplated counting his long, dark eyelashes fanning across his cheeks.

"Thank you for waking me up with a cup of tea this morning before you left," Draco murmured softly, keeping his voice low the way he always did when he talked to Harry after he went to sleep. "It's probably my second favorite way to wake up," he added. "But anytime you're still here after the sun is coming through the window is a good day," he said.

Harry let out a huff-snore that Draco honestly shouldn't find as adorable as he did.

"It was a good day today, don't you think?" he asked. It wasn't always a good day and he talked about those too, since Harry wasn't consciously listening.

"I realized something today," Draco continued. "I was watching you tying Teddy's shoe at the playground and the thought popped right into my head, like it's always been there. I'm in love with you."

He wanted to laugh at himself, wondered if Harry would have if he'd been awake. Or perhaps Harry would have been gentle, would have told him that he just didn't feel the same. Draco was a fantastic fuck but not someone he could love, surely.

"And I know," he added, just in case Harry's subconscious was listening, the way it sometimes seemed to. "I know that you couldn't possibly love me back. That's not what I'm asking for, it's just..." he trailed off and let his fingers skim over Harry's bicep, "It's nice to be in love, even if it's just me."

"It's not just you," Harry murmured and Draco almost jumped out of his skin.

(Read more below the cut)

"Are you awake?" Draco asked, feeling nearly hysterical.

"Of course I am," Harry replied, peeking through one eye at him. "I always am, I thought that was the point?"

"The point of what?!" he asked incredulously.

"The way you confess things to me every night?" Potter asked, sounding more confused than Draco.

Draco stared uncomprehendingly at him. This couldn't be happening to him. "You're always awake?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said, brow furrowing. "Why did you think I stopped leaving my socks lying about your flat? Or started brushing my teeth before I kissed you in the morning? Or-"

"Yes, yes, I get the picture," Draco snapped.

"I'm confused," Harry said, reaching over to the nightstand and patting around for his glasses. "I thought the point of you talking to me late at night, while I pretended I was sleeping was so that you could say the things that were hard for you to say," he said as he shoved his glasses on his face.

"But you weren't supposed to be pretending to be asleep. You were actually supposed to be asleep. Merlin," he muttered thinking of all of the things he'd said to the other man. "I can't believe you didn't say something."

"About what?" Harry asked.

"How rude and demanding I am!" Draco said. "I never would have said all of those things if I'd known-"

"Precisely," Harry said. "I thought that was the point, it was hard for you to bring things up during the day but it was easier to say them at night. It's not like it's a big deal."

"It is a big deal!" Draco all but shouted. "And I just told you that I love you to your face! Circe," he groaned, "You might as well just leave now, Potter. I don't need your pity or-"

"Draco," Harry said, grasping his face in both of his hands, "Calm down." The other man took a slow deep breath and Draco found himself mirroring him without intending to. "Listen to me," Harry said, his voice very calm and unbearably gentle.

Draco closed his eyes, he couldn't watch Harry's face while he shattered his heart.

"You are not in this alone," Harry said. "Draco, I've been in love with you for months," he added, "I just didn't want to scare you away."

His eyes flew open "Scare me away?" he asked incredulously. "You were afraid of scaring me away."

"Well, yes," Harry said, as though it was completely reasonable. "I always fall fast and fall hard. I didn't want to tell you too soon and make everything weird."

"Harry," he said, still feeling a bit shell shocked, "You are the best..." he trailed off looking for the right word, "boyfriend, person," he shook his head, "everything. How could I possibly have thought-"

"Because you are so far out of my league!" Harry exclaimed. "You're gorgeous, and intelligent, and sexy, and-"

"Are you kidding me? Harry, you're literally the savior of the world! And-"

"Okay," Harry said, interrupting him. "Okay. No, this is good," he said. "Good. We're both a little damaged and have bad self perception but we're both in love with the other. This is good." He looked up at Draco, "Right?"

And all of the anxiety and hysteria that had been buzzing through Draco's blood stream evaporated at the earnest look on Harry's face. "Yeah," he said, pulling Harry's body closer to his, "Yeah, this is good."

Tentatively the other man leaned up and kissed him, lips soft and gentle on Draco's. "I do love you," Harry whispered into the corner of Draco's mouth.

"I love you, too," he replied. "But Potter, you need to tell me when you're fucking awake."

Harry huffed, "Only if you promise to start having conversations with me when I'm awake, then." His fingers trailed up Draco's spine, "I'm not going anywhere, you know. You won't scare me away by asking me to throw out my leftovers, or by telling me that you really don't like Greek food, or by requesting we avoid watching horror movies because they give you nightmares." He kissed Draco's forehead, "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated.

"In that case," Draco said, taking a deep breath, "Would you like to move in with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Harry replied with a radiant smile.

And maybe, just maybe, Draco slowly started learning to ask for what he wanted.

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

AHHH! OH MY GOODNESS! Please do yourself a favor and check out this beautiful art that @pato-roldnart made for this ficlet!! It's so beautiful, and tender, and transcendent. I don't have the words to describe it, it's just so beautiful! <3

Day 38: Dance | Day 40: Hesitant

[comfortbucky]

I asked for the doctor!bucky andd you don't have to write but I forgot to ask... He is like a really busy doctor and it surprises the female reader that he is going to do her stitches... Wanda is his assistant. He has to give you a pain numbing shot in your cut and he comforts you when you scream and writh in pain... Thanks xxx

𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⋆｡˚

pairing: doctor!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of bloody injuries, medical settings, stitches, needles

A/N: omg i’ve never written for doctor!bucky before so i’m excited hehe :) thank u for ur request! // i changed around who was administering the numbing agent and doing the stitches btw i hope u don't mind, just made more sense in my head for bucky to be able to comfort her if his hands are free!

hope u enjoy! <3 sorry if this isn't that good asjdfhaldf

Y/L/N = your last name

also let me just indulge myself and sprinkle some of my own experiences in this bc a couple months ago i literally slammed my head into a wall and cut my eyelid😃nothing bad enough to get stitches but i do have a scar💗

word count: 2k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

“Y/N! Come quick!”

Y/N was digging through her dresser for a sweater when her roommate, Darcy, called out for her. She lifted her head up and spun it without thinking, completely forgetting that her dresser was situated in the corner of her room, slamming her head into the wall.

Her ears started to ring and she bent over in laughter, her natural response to pain, as tears threatened to fall down her face.

“Y/N?” Darcy was met by silence, Y/N struggling to respond, her body overcome with laughter so hard she was inaudible. Concerned that Y/N had knocked herself out cold, Darcy peeked her head around the corner of Y/N’s doorway, to find her hurled over, a hand over her left eye, drops of crimson blood on the ground.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Y/N lifted her head, calming down from her fit of laughter, and nodded.

“Yeah, of course, this would happen to me,” she replied chuckling, taking a tissue from Darcy to put pressure on her cut.

Carefully making her way to a mirror, Y/N grabbed her phone on the way. She stared at her reflection and slowly removed the tissue from her face to examine the extent of her injury. It was steadily bleeding, most likely a bad sign. Y/N placed her tissue back over her cut and reached for her phone and Facetimed her friend Matt, an EMT.

“Hello- What the fuck happened to you?”

“Hi Matt,” she replied, shooting him a grin through the screen. “Slammed my head against the wall, by accident.”

“I would hope so,” he sighed. “Let me guess, you’re wondering whether you should go to the ER or not?”

“You know me so well, Matty.”

“Has it stopped bleeding?” Y/N removed the tissue and felt a warm liquid trail down the side of her face.

“No.”

“Go to the ER, please.” She groaned.

If there was one place in the world she despised, it was a hospital. But Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to convince either of her friends otherwise, and dragged her feet as she reluctantly followed Darcy to her car.

It was a normal night in the ER, which meant a fury of organized chaos. Bucky found himself needed in 6 places, all at the same time. But this was an environment that he had become accustomed to, almost finding comfort in the madness of it all. Although the ER was bustling with patients, there weren’t any injuries that were very severe, mostly just broken bones and lacerations. Simple enough to the point where Bucky felt like he was operating on autopilot mode. Going through the motions of whatever task he needed to do, but not anything more than that. He felt numb. For the last several years of his life, the hospital was all that he knew. Bucky kept himself busy with work, leaving him with only a small social circle and his cat, Alpine. It was enough for him, but he never really felt complete. Which is why he threw himself into his work, drowning out his inner thoughts about a missing piece he never thought he’d find.

“Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 25.”

Bucky took a quick sip of his coffee and sighed before heading off to see his next patient. Wanda appeared from around the corner and started walking with him.

“This one’s a simple laceration, just might need stitches.” Bucky nodded in response to her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

She was one of the select few who he considered a friend. Which was a little odd considering he was an attending and she was only a resident. But she was a good student, a fast learner, and one of the only residents he was ever willing to work with. He took her under his wing, fostering a friendship by spending time together in his office, reviewing various medical cases and files.

“Alright, you up to do them?”

Wanda came to a halt, Bucky taking a couple steps before looking back at her, tilting his head, waiting for a response.

“Y-Yeah, yes!” She stammered. “T-thank you, Dr. Barnes.” He nodded his head and turned back around to continue walking, Wanda close behind.

Y/N was sat on the edge of the bed, one hand holding a blood-soaked tissue over her left eye. Her leg was bouncing, a nervous tic she had developed from a young age. The adrenaline had worn off, forcing her to feel a throbbing pain, her eyes brimming with tears. She avoided crying in front of people whenever possible, so as soon as Darcy left to grab some coffee and snacks from the cafeteria, she let the floodgates open. The sound of footsteps approaching made her freeze and she used her sleeves to sloppily wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

A firm, but somehow also gentle, voice called out to her before the curtain was pulled open to reveal a tall man with dark brown hair, a stubbly beard, and stunningly blue eyes standing next to a woman with blazing red hair and contrasting green eyes. Y/N’s gaze was immediately fixated on the man’s eyes, unable to look away for a moment, before she realized she was staring. She quickly looked down and cleared her throat.

“Y/N, you can just call me Y/N.”

The man nodded and set down his clipboard at the end of the bed before speaking.

“I’m Dr. Barnes and this is Dr. Maximoff.” The woman gave a slight wave as she began charting on a computer. “Can I take a look at your eye?”

Y/N nodded, feeling her anxiety rise as the doctor pulled some gloves on and approached her.

He pulled over a stool to sit on and carefully removed the tissue that Y/N had been holding in place to assess the injury. While Bucky looked at her cut, he stole a glance to study the rest of her face. He couldn't help but take note of the pained look on her face, her eyes still watery and her button nose red from crying. It was the first time in a long time that he felt a twinge of pain while looking at someone's injury, that he felt practically anything at all during a shift. She felt his warm breaths on her face for a moment before he pulled away and replaced her bloody tissue with some gauze.

“Do you mind if she takes a look as well?” Y/N nodded again. Bucky got up from the stool, allowing Wanda to take his spot and assess her eye.

“So it looks like you just need 2 or 3 stitches, very simple procedure.”

Y/N felt her entire body tense up at Wanda's conclusion. She could barely stand sitting in a hospital bed alone and now she was about to get poked and prodded with needles. Bucky noticed and attempted to ease her worries.

"We'll administer a numbing agent, so you won't feel any pain, just pressure at the site."

She looked up at Bucky, who had a kind, tired expression on his face. It looked like he was having a long night and she didn't want to make his job any more difficult than it probably already was. Y/N gave him a small nod and Wanda started to gather the necessary supplies.

She laid back in bed with Wanda and Bucky sitting next to each other on her left. Her hands were folded on her stomach, eyes shut.

"You're gonna feel a slight pinch, okay?" She nodded and bit her lip to try and distract herself.

Wanda proceeded to administer the numbing shot and Y/N squeezed her hands tight, whimpering in pain. Bucky observed the pained expression on her face and placed a hand on her forearm, reflexively rubbing his thumb in small circles. When Wanda pulled the needle out, Y/N slowly fluttered her eyes open and was greeted by Bucky's warm smile. A blush crept to her cheeks and she turned her attention to the ceiling. Immediately, Bucky realized how unprofessional his action was and removed his hand. He had no idea what had come over him, but he'd never felt so drawn to someone like this before.

"Now I'm going to do the stitches, okay? You should just feel a slight pressure." Just as before, Y/N shut her eyes after Wanda spoke and gripped her hands tight. She felt the pressure that Wanda was talking about and couldn't help but squirm at the feeling. Another wave of anxiety rushed over her and she felt herself start to hyperventilate.

Wanda removed the needle and quickly turned to Bucky, a panicked look on her face. He gave her a reassuring look before speaking softly.

"Y/N? Do you think you could hold still for just a little longer?" She opened her eyes, brimming with tears.

"Sorry, I just, I hate needles." Y/N fiddled with her hands as she kept her gaze up, trying to avoid the tears from escaping. Bucky felt his heart sink in his chest at the sight.

"What do you think would help you relax?"

Thoughts ran through her head as she tried to find a solution to relieve her anxiety. Y/N thought back to when she was young and chuckled, remembering a stuffed whale that she got at an aquarium, that went everywhere with her.

"This is stupid but, when I was a kid, I would carry around this stuffed animal around and it helped to hold it whenever I had to get shots."

Bucky thought for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he was going to regret the words about to leave his mouth.

"You could hold my hand."

Y/N and Wanda both looked at him with surprised expressions, regret instantly hitting him.

"If you're comfortable with it," he quickly clarified. Y/N felt the corner of her mouth curve into a smile as she nodded.

She laid back down and Bucky took her hand in his. The instant transfer of heat soothed Y/N and she shut her eyes to allow Wanda to get to work.

When she felt the pressure on her eye again, her hand automatically gripped Bucky's tighter, and he squeezed it back to help calm her. Y/N focused on the callousness of his hands, how his hand seemed to fit into hers perfectly. Suddenly, she was thinking about his eyes again, those glimmering blue eyes. Blue was always a calming color for her, reminiscent of her trip to the aquarium where she got her beloved stuffed whale. As she felt Bucky's thumb gently rub the top of her hand, she realized that her whale could never provide as much comfort as he did.

Bucky felt a sense of pride as he watched the tension in Y/N's face disappear. Suddenly, he found his eyes wandering, looking at the loose strands of hair on the right side of her face, the rosiness of her cheeks, how she glowed. His heart started to palpate and Bucky realized a flame had kindled inside him. He was feeling again.

"All done!" Wanda chirped, stepping aside to let Bucky check her work. He smiled at her patted her on the back with his free hand.

"You did good." Wanda beamed and thanked him, walking away to complete her charting.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, still feeling the warmth of Bucky's hand in hers. He greeted her with a tender smile and slowly helped her up, placing his other hand on the small of her back.

"See? Wasn't that bad after all," he grinned, releasing her hand. Y/N's smile faltered, missing his touch, and nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Barnes."

"Bucky," he stated. She raised an eyebrow. "Call me Bucky."

The pair stared at each other in silence, enjoying each other's presence before the PA system snapped them both out of their trance.

"Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 16."

Bucky sighed, slowly getting up from his seat.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N."

"You too, Bucky."

He turned around and was about to pull the curtain open when he paused, turning back around to face Y/N, scratching the back of his head. It took one look at her face and Bucky knew he didn't want to let her go just yet.

"Would you like to get coffee sometime?" She beamed up at him and Bucky felt his knees go weak.

"I would like that very much." He chuckled in disbelief and smiled.

Bucky had finally found his missing piece.

[laketaj24]

Serotonin

Author’s Note: I finally finished something in my drafts after two months. I feel semi accomplished today! Taglist is open, as are requests!!!! Send them… I want them.

Pairing: Colson Baker x Reader

Warning: Smut, public sex, drinking, language

Inspo Song: Why are you here?

 The eyes searing into you from across the club belonged to Meg Styer; you knew of her well, based on Colson’s Instagram, she was the new arm piece. The well-known model had a reputation of making herself known to the exes, even if that meant starting confrontations when they were not needed. She crossed her long russet brown legs; they shimmered in gold, as did her entire outfit. You felt immediately outdone, thinking of the minimal effort you’d put into the outfit or your makeup today. Tonight's outing was not supposed to be about Colson or this new woman; it was about falling out of this fucking slump you'd found yourself in for the past month.

"It’s lively here.” Eric grinned. Straight edge, Eric.

You cringed inside; if your mother could have created someone on an app, Eric would have been him. Without a doubt, he was handsome, with dark hair, delicate features, and not a tattoo or piercing in sight. The club had been his idea, but parts of you believed he’d gotten the idea from your sister, who knew that there was no way in hell you’d sit at a restaurant and eat. You liked the action; your job called for you to sit in silence and awkward conversations; you didn't want your life to be a damper as well.

“It is,” you looked around, taking everything in, including the abrasive eyes that still remained on you, but it didn’t matter once he entered the room. The black shirt revealed his entire tattoo-riddled chest, even the one of your name he’d gotten a few years back. He looked like he might be up to trying you tonight, so you had to disappear and do so quickly. “We should go to the booth you got.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”

It wasn’t a good idea; you sat uncomfortably across from the pair watching their every move while trying to suppress the need to end the date abruptly and slap the fuck out of him. Irritating you always was the one thing he did exceedingly well. Meg sat in his lap, draping her arms over his body, throwing her ass on him like she had no shame!  Did he know it was you across the room from him? Did he care? You watched as the waiter brought your third glass of tequila to the table and leaned into Eric, noticing the earthy cologne mixed with the whiskey. He smelled nice, or perhaps you were elusive to the bullshit because being near to him dulled the ache of the scene across from you.

The room to be secluded offered no privacy, so even when you felt alone, you were smothered in the thoughts of what if he saw you kiss or touch this guy- what the fuck was his name again? You uncrossed your legs, clumsily kicking the round glass table in front of you and spilling his drink but thank god not yours.

“I need some air; I’m gonna go get some.” You paused and took your glass. “I’ll be back.” The words scrambled out, and you did too, pushing up from the leather couch and not looking back to see Eric’s reaction to the awkward movements.

Too many people surrounded you, and at the moment, all you truly wanted was to hear nothing and feel nothing, even if it meant you had to get shit-faced. The stairwell didn’t have many people in it; only two women consumed in one another and Colson.

Your heart sunk once you realized it was him, from fear, dread – fucking embarrassment, maybe? He shook his head; you took notice of the three earrings in one ear while the other garnished a seat of crosses that dangled. Colson’s hair was slightly disheveled atop his head; the dark roots peeked out of the platinum blonde tapered cut. He looked great as usual. “I thought you were in for the night?” Colson’s voice carried over the music because he refused not to be heard, especially by you. He looked down at you, nursing the glass of chilled tequila. You’d acquired a taste for it over the years of being with him, Colson drinking tequila like water had rubbed off on you. “This doesn’t look like your place.”

“Did you want something?”

“Why are you here with that broke down,” He paused dramatically, raising his hand as he thought of more insults. “Tom and Jerry looking motherfucker?”

“That’s the best you can do?”

Colson drug his teeth over his lip, “Where you meet him?”

“Where’s that instamodel chick? You know the one with the plastic ass and tits? You leave her in the car just so you can go check on your other hoes, or is she in here with them?”

“Man, stop.”

“I saw her looking at me, don’t tell them about me. I’m not your concern, and I am damn sure not theirs.”

“How’d you catch her looking at you if you weren’t looking at me?” Colson’s cocky smirk sent a rush of anger coursing through your body; even when he lost, he found a sure way to find a confident victory in it.

“Bye, Colson.” Your eyes met his, remembering how blue they were. Even when he was dead drunk, they found a way to still hold onto the Colson you knew was in there somewhere. The sweet one that danced in the rain and stayed in bed with you every free night he could give -- you shook it off. Breaking eye contact with him to look anywhere but the blue crystal stare. You cut down to the ground, admiring your pumps before he turned away from you and left.

The drink was no longer cold, and the tequila didn’t even burn as you chugged down the remnants of the clear liquid. You pinched the bridge of your nose, taking a deep breath, and then leaned against the stairwell.

“Long night?” Eric cleared his throat.

“Already, I’m so sorry. Could we leave here?”

Eric shook his head yes and placed his hand on your shoulder, “Is everything okay?”

“Perfectly, fine. It’s fine.” You swallowed. The hazed state of your mind needed to be cleared, especially before you left with him. “Can I meet you upfront? I’m going to freshen.”

“It’s fine; take your time.”

 You wouldn’t take your time; the quicker you were out of this place, the better. Whenever you were in his element, your mind refused to do the right thing. You moved through the crowded dance floor, carefully avoiding familiar faces. And finally, you were at the restrooms splashing the cool water on your face. You looked yourself over, grateful you hadn’t worn makeup—the trickles of water run down your rich ochre brown skin.  Too many thoughts raced through your mind out there but not in here. It was silence, and your mind was in a stupor. For a second, everything stilled, your heart and breathing were relaxed, and everything was back to normal, that moment as everything else was short-lived.

Colson’s reflection appeared in the mirror before you. “I cannot believe you lied to me?” The door clicked behind him.

“I didn’t lie to you.” The way he casually entered the women’s bathroom to start an argument pissed you off. “And get the fuck outta here.”

“We talked earlier today, and you said you were in for the night.”

“You said you were going out by yourself, and you got a whole entourage. So, same shit, we both just single now.”

“Come here.”

“No, you don’t get to tell me to come here. You don’t get to follow me in the bathroom and talk to me about fucking lying when you-.”

Words ended when his lips met yours, he towered over you, but he didn’t mind the effort it took to get to your lips. He walked you against the wall- steadying your steps to his until he picked you up, and as if your body knew the routine, you wrapped your legs around him. Your lips eagerly kissed him back, tugging on his bottom lip before returning to take more kisses. How were you this hungry for him? You wanted nothing more than him to fuck you, rip this dress and ruin you in this unlocked bathroom. “Y/N.”

“Fuck me.” You pleaded.

He only needed the confirmation to move towards his belt buckle unsheathe his dick. There were two ways you fucked, frantic and as if you would never see one another again and then slow – ironically, they both had the same outcome. Your heartbeat matched his, strumming against your chest, and his matched yours. You loved it. There was no foreplay needed; you wanted to feel every inch of the pain he had to offer. He pushed the black dress up to your thighs, bunching the fabric enough that it revealed your pussy for him. He swiped his tongue over the pads over his fingers and swiped your lips. You were wet for him. You had been the whole night, no matter how much you wanted to deny it. He pushed the long finger into you, curling it to press the soft pad that made you squirm and throw your head back in pleasure.

He moved from the wall to the counters, not giving a fuck if someone walked in or not; he spread your legs wider for him and gripped your curls. Exposed to the world, but all you could see was him. You reveled as he slammed into your hilt deep, muted your sequel with his lips, and paused. “You missed me, didn’t you?” He whispered. “Y/N?”

“Shut up,” Your pussy answered for you, squeezing to pull him deeper as he fucked into you. He wasn’t even deep enough for you; your fingers tug on the black shirt as you thrust to meet him each time. Your skin clapped against his every time, his cock expertly hitting that spot inside of you that made you want to cum right then and there. You held it, panting as it began to build up all over your body. He knew the signals, the way your hands rapt against him, legs quivered, and your pussy throbbed.

“Up.” He said, listening to the door open behind him.

Decency had left when he started fucking you, there was no way in hell you’d stop now, and Colson possessed no fucks when it came to sex. They could watch whoever the fuck it was. He positioned you in front of the mirror, bent over for him. Colson’s heavy hand came down on your ass, and then he pushed into you arching your back before wrapping a hand around your hair and fucking into you wildly.

Your ass bounced back on him, and his moans made you wetter. Your fists clenched as you tried to steady yourself – there was no controlling the orgasm that flowed through you. Your breath quickened, your toes curled, and your eyes snapped closed as his name rolled from your tongue.

“Open them eyes.” He gave an arrogant laugh before leaning over you, pushing himself deeper and flicking his tongue over the lobe of your ear.,

Your eyes opened, and you saw yourself flushed with sweat, mouth open, and him fucking the shit out of you. The scene erotic, beautiful, and shit you wanted it again and again. “Oh shit.” You mumbled.

“You think that fucking clown ass suit gone give you this?” He laughed as he slapped your ass again. “I thought not.” He guided you back on him, taking your hips in his hands, making sure you took every inch. He was greedy himself, watching your breast bounce in the reflection of the mirror, all while hearing you echo throughout the entire bathroom. It was music to his ears. Colson slowed his stroke momentarily, peppering, kissing down your shoulder blade before increased his pace once again, and your body jolted. You ground against him, urging him to cum and the pressure built. He panted against your back for a moment and then kissed your exposed skin. “Don’t go home with him.” He whispered, retrieving your panties from his pocket. Colson lowered himself to his knees and turned you around.

“You can’t tell me that.” You whispered.

“I’m asking.”

“Are you taking her home?”

“I can drop her ass off at her place right now.” He smiled, pointing. “Shit, you can ride shotgun.”

Good memories flooded of his snarky ass sense of humor and late nights. “You’re silly.”

Colson adjusted your dress and then stood in front of you, making sure your hair and lipstick was not smudged everywhere. “Drop Chandler off and come home.”

“Fucking hell mate,” Dom’s voice did not seem shocked. “This other chick is trying to kill me out here. Y/N?”

“Dude, will you get the fuck out of here… like now.”

“Fine. I’m leaving.”

“This was-,” You step away. “Uhm, I don’t know. I’ll call you okay?”

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow.” You clarified. “Or the next day, just give me a damn minute to breathe?”

“Bet.” He sighed. “Should I go first… so it won’t seem suspect?”

“You’re a 6’4” guy leaving the women’s restroom, you’re busted.” You chuckled.

 A/N: I through Dom (Yungblud) in there because I kinda love him just as much lol might right him too! Hope you enjoyed! Thank you! Please let me know what you think!

Taglist: @taytayize123 @supernaturalvikingwhore @jae-writes-fanfiction @bigsisbria @placeoffreedom @kyla-queen @missdforever @gottatoxicattitude @bang-kim-bap @msreshel @blowmymbackout @titty-teetee​