#In my AU the one behind it was supposed to be either an OC or probably Blaineley

[oukabarsburgblr]

Man in the Elevator [Office AU]

FEATURING : MALE STRANGER (OC) x male reader

As you arrive to work, you find yourself stuck in the elevator with a handsome unknown coworker. Unable to exit, a robotic voice from the intercom announces that to leave the elevator, you'd have to do the despicable. And with a total hot stranger?!

Dubcon, variation of sex pollen kind of fic, male oc x male reader

aftermath

Find out more under the cut!

What kind of porn scenario is this?!

The (h/c) gritted his teeth, tempted to smash the button of the intercom. "...I think someone is just messing with us." He didn't want to turn around, only glancing at the mirror to his left, the only big reflective piece in the small elevator.

A man, handsome (m/n) noted, stood in a nice, ironed black suit, a navy button up and a matching black tie. His skin was pale, spiky and short dark hair, his build strong and quite beefy. He'd look like someone you'd have a crush on at the gym. The expensive one you'd think twice before purchasing a membership.

Daisuke Yuichi.

(m/n) read his name tag as he sighed and crouched down on the elevator floor, hearing the man behind him trying to reassure him.

It was like any other morning, he'd wake up, get ready for his job at any normal office environment and arrive to work using the public railway. Although the normal elevator he would use in the lobby was unusable, scheduled for maintenance, and he opted to use the lower ground one on the west side of the building so he went downstairs to the garage.

He didn't pay any mind when a guy who looks richer than his office acquiantances waited for the elevator beside him and stepped inside as well. It was sudden when the elevator shook and went rigid, not responding when the (h/c) frantically smashed the button to open the elevator.

"To exit the elevator, please commit sexual intercourse with the person closest to you!"

The (h/c) felt his stomach dropped as the formal prerecorded voice rang inside the lift. A gasp escaped the stranger behind him as well. "Hey what the fuck? This isn't funny!" He kicked the metal doors, agitated but to no avail.

"To exit the elevator, please commit sexual intercourse with the person closest to you!"

"I...This never happened before..." (m/n) turned behind him. The good-looking man had a worried expression. "Can you try calling for maintenance? My phone has no line."

True to his words, the (h/c) could not call anyone for help, limiting his communication to the outside world making him feel more panic inside. "Damn it..."

Currently, every time they pressed any button whatsoever, the same message would repeat, clarifying that someone needs to fuck someone and (m/n) would rather not be involved. Well-

"I'm really sorry if I make you feel uncomfortable...I'll stop talking now." The stranger, Daisuke, really tried his best to reaffirm the (h/c) as he sat in the corner, as far as he could but (m/n) ignored him, too annoyed to even talk. It doesn't help that his face was a real beaut too. One of those gentle giants that girls would rave over.

"..." (m/n) didn't speak, annoyed at the whole situation as he remained his crouched stance, crinkling his suit. "Do you...work here too?"

The (h/c) groaned, Daisuke really was a chatterbox, either that or he speaks to calm his nerves. "If it isn't any obvious, then yes. I do work here." He snapped accidentally.

"Sorry. My name is Daisuke! Daisuke Yuichi." Hearing (m/n) respond made Daisuke's tone much lighter, smiling as he held out a hand. The (h/c) grabbed it and shook it lightly. "I know." "Eh? You know me?" "No. I read your nametag." "Oh..."

The ravenette seemed disappointed, (m/n) almost rolled his eyes. Was he supposed to be some hotshot or something?

"Can I know your name?" "(m/n) (l/n)." "That's a nice name." Daisuke's lips form a gentle smile, reaching his eyes. The (h/c)'s face was blank however.

"...so what's the plan?"

(m/n) squinted his eyes at Daisuke, who still had that polite smile on. If he had to describe this new stranger, a polite, neat, rich guy. Other words, a golden retriever, maybe?

"We wait. This can't go on forever." Daisuke pouted and looked the other way to hide his face. He mumbled an 'okay'. (m/n) was horrified. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Was he ready to do the deed with anyone at any time?!

The (h/c) scooted further into the corner, burying his face into his knees. Waiting for the elevator to return to normal or when help somehow miraculously arrived.

Half an hour passed when the intercom suddenly announced that 'assistance' would commence.

"To ease the occurence of an intercouse, external assistance would be provided!"

(m/n) was screaming internally and screamed externally when visible coloured gas came pouring in from the vents. It was heavy from Daisuke's side. "Hey hey! It's okay. We'll be fine." The ravenette held (m/n) by his shoulders when the (h/c) was panicking and thrashing about.

"You're fucking with me right now?! This is absurd!" (m/n) wailed into Daisuke's hold as the ravenette immediately took off his blazer. He grabbed a water bottle and soaked part of his blazer and pressed it into the (h/c)'s face.

"Don't breathe it in. This will help." "What about you?!" (m/n)'s voice muffled against the damp clothing. He only noticed the rising red hue on Daisuke's cheeks and the flush on his neck and ears. He smiled apollogetically. "I think it's a bit too late for me."

The (h/c) blinked owlishly as he glanced at the feverish ravenette's crotch, his mouth screeching when he saw the big hard outline on his slacks. Daisuke sweatdropped as he slumped down against the wall of the elevator.

"Don't worry. I pride myself on my self-control. I'll just...ride it out." Daisuke smiled as he turned his face away, his breathing getting heavier and heavier.

(m/n) couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. He pressed the damp blazer further into his nostrils, the small space being filled up with the gas. He could feel himself getting slightly aroused, although notbas affected as Daisuke.

Said person only faced his body away, panting to himself in the corner while clutching his tie, pulling it loose. The ravenette closed his eyes, humming to distract himself from the growing fervour in his pants.

Daisuke felt bad for the other person in the lift, (m/n) that is. Such a handsome guy too. Wish our introduction was a bit different... Daisuke thought to himself, resisting to look at the (h/c).

"Daisuke..." "Yeah?" He croaked out. The aphrosidiac was really getting to him but he couldn't just pounce on the (h/c). What kind of person would he be then.

He flinched when a (s/c) hand grasped onto his shoulder. "Don't-!" "It's fine." (m/n) hummed, Daisuke's blazer was crumpled in a corner. The ravenette's eyes widened seeing (m/n) willingly inhale the stimulating gas.

"Why did you-" Daisuke went to cover (m/n)'s nostrils but the latter swatted his hand away. "It's...not fair for you. Besides, it's the only way we can get out of here right." The (h/c) straddled the ravenette, Daisuke's face becoming entirely flushed seeing (m/n) in his lap.

"We can do it." (m/n) mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows and glancing elsewhere. Daisuke stared at him for a bit before pushing his hips upwards, lightly grinding himself into the (h/c)'s crotch. (m/n) let out a surprise gasp as he clutched the ravenette's shoulders. He panted lightly as he tried to avoid Daisuke's horny gaze.

"....But I don't want to bottom." A vein almost popped on (m/n)'s forehead as he punched Daisuke's bicep. "FUCK OFF!" The ravenette laughed as he wrapped his arms around (m/n). "I'll do my best, (m/n)." He smiled up at the (h/c) who only nodded feverishly, feeling the lust fully taking over.

Daisuke pulled (m/n)'s waist down and began to rub their the (h/c)'s ass on his crotch, elliciting a few gasps from the latter. He could feel his nails digging into his shoulders which only drove his excitement further.

Daisuke unbuckled (m/n)'s belt, earning a whine and pulling his pants down. The (h/c) had never been so grateful that he was wearing nice briefs today. Daisuke palmed his erection, rubbing his thumb over the wet patch on his underwear.

(m/n) instantly pulled off his bottoms and hurriedly pawed at Daisuke's own pants. After their lower halves were bare, the ravenette slid his cock, (m/n) didn't dare to look at how big it was, in between the (h/c)'s ass, slipping and humping their bottoms together.

"Don't just- mmff! Shove it like that! Stroke it first- gah!"

"S-Sorry. Is this- ang ahh! Good for you- mmng!"

Even (m/n) was moving his hips, back and forth to reciprocate Daisuke's movements who was gliding his now wet cock under the (h/c)'s dick, balls and asscrack. (m/n) was confused on how the hell did Daisuke had that many precum as he stroked his own cock, ignoring the staring ravenette.

Everything felt hot and sticky, (m/n) felt every inch of his pores being pressed and melting. His body twitched against Daisuke's, his teeth gritting as he shut his eyes closed, relishing in this sinful hedonism. He flinched when he felt a spurt of wetness hitting his lower back.

"S-Sorry..." Daisuke clenched his teeth, clearly embarrassed of his quick ejaculation. (m/n) ogled the ravenette's face, scanning his reddened cheeks and long eyelashes. The world really did gifted this stranger with a good body and a good face. And the world gave this man to (m/n).

The (h/c) pursed his lips as he mumbled. "You talk too much..." He quickly jacked off his own penis, his hips stuttering when he came, Daisuke holding his waist in place. Cum smeared on Daisuke's clothed torso, littering his navy shit with milky white.

"To exit the elevator, please commit sexual intercourse with the person closest to you!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" (m/n) yelled at at the intercom, opting to throw his shoe at the button panel. He heard Daisuke chuckle as large hands began rubbing his sides up and down. "We don't have as much as a choice do we?"

The (h/c) slowly turned to see the smiling ravenette before scrunching his nose. "You're doing it from the back."

-

Hands gripped the cold metal railing, pants escaped from his mouth as it fogged up the mirror in front of him. (m/n) had long discarded his shoes but kept his long-sleeved top on. Daisuke had already unbuttoned his, well-defined abs, fat chest and his happy trail exposed as he pressed his crotch against (m/n)'s bottom.

Both of them were standing, the (h/c) bent over and holding the handrails of one of the two walls it was built in. Daisuke behind him, his large pale hands caressing (m/n)'s back, the latter slapping his hand away. It doesn't help that they just so happened to be in front of a mirror, fortunately for (m/n) it only showed their upper halves.

The ends of (m/n)'s shirt barely covered his behind, he felt Daisuke lightly touching it, Daisuke was thinking whether to move it but decided otherwise.

"Do you mind?" (m/n) looked up to see Daisuke holding two fingers near his face, his back almost touching Daisuke's bare chest. The (h/c) furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Why won't he do it himself?

"I've never done it with a guy before." "So?" The ravenette didn't answer, only pushing his fingers into the corner of mouth, (m/n) reluctanly opening his mouth, the gas influencing most of his decisions currently.

Daisuke began to rub his fingers all over (m/n)'s teeth, gums and his tongue prompting a gagging noise from the (h/c) as he rolled his eyes back. Instinctively, (m/n) began to suck on the thick, rough fingers, licking the padding before swirling his tongue all over his digits as knuckles knocked on his hard palate.

The ravenette's index and middle finger began to piston in and out of (m/n)'s mouth, dragging his saliva back and forth and encouraging choking noises from the (h/c). The bottom's eyesight was getting blurry and he glanced at the mirror to see Daisuke breathing heavily, his face flushed as he shoved his fingers down (m/n)'s throat.

This fucker is really getting off of this. The same could almost be said for the (h/c) who groaned as Daisuke finally pulled out, his fingers dripping with wetness and (m/n)'s throat felt raspy and sore. He flinched as cold fingers tapped on his entrance.

Daisuke tested the waters by gently prying (m/n)'s asshole, slowly pushing his fingers in as the (h/c) shivered. Sweat began to drip off of his face as he felt the ravenette behind him began caressing the inside of his hole, rubbing his walls and slowly pushing deeper and deeper.

"Mmnng just hurry up...please."

It was so teasing to feel the stranger trying to relax his hole by circling his fingers inside his ass. Clearly he wasn't lying when he said this was his first time with a man. "Patience is a virtue. I'll put it in soon." Daisuke teased (m/n) as he tapped his ass gently, the latter feeling heat rise on his face. As soon as they got out of this elevator, he's clocking his face.

Fingers pulled out and (m/n) sighed at the empty feeling in his anus but he heaved and immediately covered his mouth when Daisuke's tip suddenly impaled his entrance. The ravenette shivered as warmth enveloped his penis, he threw his head back and gazed at the mirror to see (m/n) but only found a shaking (h/c) whose head was facing the ground, concealing his expressions.

Daisuke frowned at that, wanting to see (m/n)'s face as he experimentally thrusted the rest of his penis in. He hissed at the tight hole, the (h/c) clenching down on him. The ravenette rubbed circles on (s/c) hips to calm him down as he felt the grip on his dick relaxing.

He let out a breath of relief as he gripped (m/n)'s hips and immediately pushed the rest of his cock in, hearing a muffled squeal from the (h/c). Daisuke grinned and took it as a green light, instantly thrusting in and out of his ass, moaning ardently. "F-Fucking hell. Haanh ha hah you feel so good-"

He took in the sight of his moving crotch and (m/n)'s ass colliding together, getting turned on more at the sight of his dick pounding into the squelching hole. The gas was too good at its job, precum leaking out of the (h/c)'s hole as Daisuke fucked into (m/n) harshly.

(m/n) cupped his mouth with his hand, not wanting to let out any lewd noises but having only little success. His thighs shook every time Daisuke's hips slapped into (m/n)'s behind. He could feel the ravenette's large cock pushing against his walls, filling him up to the brim.

Daisuke frowned at the (h/c)'s shirt as he pushed the fabric upwards, exposing a (s/c) back. A yelp escaped (m/n)'s lips as the ravenette licked a stripe up the (h/c)'s spine. The shock made him cum, semen squirting from his sensitive penis, spraying on the elevator walls.

The sudden tightness made Daisuke groan loudly as he stilled himself inside the (h/c). Unconsciously filling up (m/n)'s hole, the owner whimpered into his hand. "Urgh unh huh are we done-?"

"Required quota has not been achieved! Please try again!"

"Be so fucking for real right now." (m/n) groaned as he rested his head on the cool metal pole, he didn't move as Daisuke pulled out, liquid pulling out of his puffy hole. He could feel Daisuke's stare on his ass, he wiggled away when Daisuke began to poke into his drippy anus with his index finger.

Another wave of aphrosidiac poured into the lift from the vents, making (m/n) wanting to pull his hair out. What kind of sick pervert is making us do all of this??

"So."

The (h/c) let out a noise of shock as Daisuke suddenly hugged him close, pushing him against the mirror and the metail rail. "Can I do more than the back?" He smiled, blinking at (m/n) who stared at him in absurdity. The audacity??

Daisuke remained nonchalant, blinking his black eyes up at (m/n), his long lashes fluttering against his smooth white skin.

"...Fine."

Maybe (m/n) regretted saying that. Daisuke went on for so long, pushing him further up the wall, bringing up his left leg to push it against (m/n)'s chest. Exposing his puckered hole, the ravenette pushed in again, thrusting like a wild animal moaning like crazy in the (h/c)'s ear.

(m/n)'s leg was shaking, struggling to hold himself up on his tippy toes as he endured Daisuke's slams, covering his mouth again. The (h/c) shivered when Daisuke lapped his tongue at his ear, licking the shell and teasing him. He could feel cum from the previous round leaking down his leg.

"Don't cover your mouth please." The ravenette kissed (m/n)'s neck. "I want to hear you. Your voice." Daisuke pressed his lips on his jaw. "Please." He begged the (h/c), fucking himself in deep and slow earning a muffled whine.

His hand trembled before he hesitantly uncovered his mouth, Daisuke's face visibly lit up as he began to pound harder. (m/n)'s high pitched moans drawn out longer with each thrust. His hips shuddered when he felt a hand stroke his cock, pushing his precum out from the base of his dick.

His head was hot, everything felt hot, like he was smothered by a thick layer of warm air. And that warm air was causing him to these sinful things, well that's exactly what's happening.

(m/n) didn't even realised when they both had cummed. Only when Daisuke pulled himself back and began fingering his hole to get his attention. "Mmngg angh ah hn-!" "That's it. Thaaaaat's it."

Daisuke drew out his voice, whispering praise into (m/n)'s ear as he fished his semen in the tight entrance, rubbing his gummy walls. It was either the aphrosidiac had a love spell embedded into it or Daisuke was really attractive. The (h/c) took in his features, his sharp nose, round eyes and nice plump lips.

(m/n) felt like kissing the ravenette. He shook himself sober when he realised he was leaning into Daisuke's face, the latter disappointed when he pulled away.

It's fine if (m/n) doesn't feel like kissing him, Daisuke does. And he'll coax him using sex!

"Required quota has not been achieved! Please try again!"

The next few scenes were a blur to (m/n). All he could remember was that the gas was the thickest for the next hour, and he was moved into all sorts of positions. Daisuke fucked him up a wall, his arms under his knees as he held up the (h/c) like a champ, his muscles sweating as he teared off the rest of his clothing, exposing his bare body to (m/n).

His thrusts began to increase as well, the lust seeping in their veins were at its maximum as they fucked like wild animals in the small elevator. (m/n) whined for more by spreading his legs, biting on Daisuke's neck, nibbling on his skin and leaving marks all over his flushed neck.

Cumming into the (h/c), Daisuke pushed his thighs against the wall, fully spreading (m/n) open, the rim of his hole stretched as it throbbed around the ravenette's dick, massaging it and swallowing it whole. (m/n) no longer held back his voice, openly crying and moaning like a bitch in heat, fully accepting the gas into his system. Daisuke did a long time ago.

The ravenette breathed in (m/n)'s scent in his neck, inhaling before hovering over the (h/c)'s neck with his lips, experimentally kissing it all over. (m/n) bit his lower lip, gazing at the ravenette as he was still held in an embarrassing exposed position.

A pink tongue pressed against (m/n)'s Adam's apple, lapping it up with spit as he bit the skin with his fangs, breaking it. The (h/c) squirmed, mewling in Daisuke's hold. "Stop teasing me..." He muttered, his gaze elsewhere.

Black eyes scan (m/n)'s face before his right hand softly pulled his chin to make eye contact. Daisuke carefully leaned forward, his breath mixing in with (m/n)'s as he leaned in closer and closer, the tips of their noses touching. The (h/c) peered, his eyes moving left and right before stopping, gently blinking as he stared at the face in front of him.

Slowly, Daisuke's face moved lower, his lips brushing against (m/n)'s before full-on pressing them together. The (h/c) closed his eyes, relishing in the soft kiss as he felt his body relaxed in Daisuke's hold.

A swipe at his teeth and (m/n) opened his mouth, Daisuke eager to tie their tongues together, mashing them and coating them with saliva. Drool seeped out of the corner of Daisuke's mouth, he shoved his tongue against (m/n)'s gums, teeth and his palate.

They both ignored the announcement of the intercom as Daisuke lowered them to the floor. (m/n) wrapped his arms around the ravenette's neck, pulling him in closer and Daisuke tilted his head to obtain more access to the (h/c)'s delicious mouth.

The mood changed instantly, even with the gas dissipating, they were still going at it, both on their knees and Daisuke thrusting up into (m/n)'s bottom as he stationed himself behind the (h/c) whose top had been pulled off by Daisuke, exposing his chest. (m/n) moved himself as well, bouncing against Daisuke's thighs, impaling himself over and over, his head turned behind as he continued making out sloppily with the ravenette.

Passionate gasps tore through the small space of the elevator, especially from the (h/c) every time Daisuke thrusted a little too harsh, driving the tip of his cock into the bundle of nerves that drove (m/n) insane, making him see stars just from that small wet touch. Daisuke couldn't stop cumming in (m/n)'s ass. It was so addicting. It wasn't much different from a woman's but (m/n) was so incredible in his eyes.

Fingers rubbed and twisted (m/n)'s nipples, making the latter broke contact from Daisuke's face, a string of spit breaking as the (h/c)'s body shivered when the ravenette pressed his fingers harder. (m/n) jerkily shoved his ass down, tightening himself on Daisuke's cock, the ravenette gasped out and buried his face into the (h/c)'s shoulders as he immediately spilled cum in (m/n)'s already filled hole.

White semen dripped out onto the floor beneath them, (m/n) moving up and down shallowly on Daisuke's cock, teasing him. The (h/c) wanted more. Daisuke was close to passing out. Tiredly, he fell backwards, lying on the tile floor of the elevator. (m/n) whined as he turned around and crawled over the ravenette.

"Mmm are you done already?" (m/n) complained feverishly. Daisuke's cock was still hard, aphrosodiac working overtime but the owner could barely feel his hips anymore. "...I'm sleepy." He croaked out to which (m/n) frowned.

Daisuke flinched when he felt a tongue swiped across the bulb of his cock. (m/n) ran his tongue up until he reached the tip, sucking on the precious mushroom, licking the slit fervently. He released with a pop as he straddled the ravenette.

Nodding eagerly, he cried out for the (h/c) when his dick was enveloped in a plush warmth. (m/n) grinned lewdly, moving his hips side to side, clearly enjoying the joystick in his ass before he propped himself up with his hands and began to bounce on Daisuke's large cock.

His loud moans resonated in the small space as he threw his head back in pleasure, using Daisuke's penis like a warm dildo. Eyes twitching, his face was covered in sweat, his chin coated with a thin layer of drool and his anus was painted with thinning precum over and over again.

Daisuke's hands reached behind (m/n) and squeezed his plump ass, massaging and pulling at those soft cheeks. He slapped the (h/c)'s butt, earning a whorish moan, as he shamelessly thrusted himself up into (m/n). "C'mon- mmff! Just a bit more- mnggahh!"

Slaps of wet skin reverberated faster as Daisuke continuously smacked the (h/c)'s ass, rubbing his palm over the spot before hitting it again. (m/n) rode the ravenette harder, pressing down harshly, feeling the pit in his stomach burn intensely as he brought his hips up to clench on Daisuke's tip. Repeating the same motion for god knows how long before he came, squirting watery semen on Daisuke's abs.

The ravenette moved his hands to (m/n)'s hips, holding him in place as he pounded up into the (h/c)'s asshole from below, riding out (m/n)'s orgasm who cried out from overstimulation. He groaned and focused on chasing his own high as he slammed himself in and out of (m/n) until he felt himself tipping over the edge.

Daisuke came one last time, although his cum gushed out halfway through his thrust but he persevered and continued humping the (h/c) all while cumming for ten seconds straight.

Both paused, catching their breath before (m/n) collapsed on top of Daisuke, the latter wrapping his arms protectively around the (h/c) as he adjusted himself, making sure he pulled out and patted the (h/c)'s head before promptly passing out on the elevator floor.

(m/n) was still awake, his hands laying on Daisuke's chest as he stared at nothing, his mind blank and his balls empty, although his ass was filled. His eyes widened as he heard the familliar 'ding' of an elevator as he turned back to see the doors opening, revealing the garage they had came from earlier.

"Daisuke wake up! It's open!" He shook the ravenette in an attempt to wake him up but the latter only groaned and continued to remain in his dreamless slumber. (m/n) frowned as he hurriedly pried himself away Daisuke's strong hold.

He quickly dressed himself to the best of his abilities and donned on Daisuke's clothes onto the ravenette, not wanting him to get caught in a naked manner. Fixing his shoes, he collected himself and avoided the wet spots and quickly exited the elevator, wincing in every two steps he took.

With a final glance back to Daisuke, (m/n) hurriedly left the area, reminding himself not to use that same elevator ever again.

-

"(m/n)! Someone's looking for you."

The (h/c) looked up from his cubicle as he stood and approached his supervisor, the one who had called for him earlier. It had been two days since the incident. (m/n) lied to his boss, saying that he had overslept and took a sick day the next morning, not wanting to run into any weird shenanigans ever again. Especially the ravenette.

He tried asking his coworkers about some mysterious lift that's possessed by a sex demon but all he received was recommendations to a psychologist.

Stepping into a meeting room, guided by his supervisor, he was ushered inside and was immediately left alone, not noticing the other person in the room. "Hey! What's that for?" (m/n) pulled the door knob, knocking on the wooden surface.

"It's for me. I asked them to."

(m/n) froze, remembering the familliar voice. The voice he fucked two days ago in that really weird elevator. The same person he left alone, lying on the floor in a desperate attempt to save his own face.

"It wasn't hard to convince my father to search for you, you might know him. He's the CEO after all." Daisuke shrugged, playfully pulling the (h/c)'s tie, twirling it around his finger. He paused and smiled at (m/n).

"I miss you."

The (h/c) didn't know what to say and he opted to turn himself back around, not facing the ravenette as he tugged on the knob much more aggresively. Daisuke laughed as he pulled (m/n), who screeched and squirmed, into a hug.

"I wanna take you out, (m/n)! Even though we already skipped a couple of steps, I'd love for us to go on a date."

[END SCENE]

[unedited]

Afterthoughts :

Oml i love it if the reader is a tad bit sassy or just an untouchable (not shy) beauty HEHE

OR WHEN LIKE THE TOP MOANS??? LIKE U WAN ME THAT BAD?? HEHEHHEEH

this the same daisuke that was in my ybc gangbang fic btw hoho and by Office AU means that this is not their official like storyline that i want, it's just an AU where they fucked in a horny elevator

I would describe Daisuke Yuichi as someone who's rich AF, daddy's boy (as in father is so protective of him), nice and polite (although everyone has a dark side 😉), kinda needy and demanding but in a "i dont want to say it so im just hinting it until u say yes" kinda way. The only character i would describe that looks like him the most (hair term) is kashima yuu💀. I hope u look forward to see him more!

more of daisuke yuichi! ☾

aftermath , profile

[cinnaminsvga]

Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits. 

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country. 

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend. 

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly. 

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank). 

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored. 

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that. 

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was. 

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment. 

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage. 

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction. 

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!” 

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?” 

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks. 

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding. 

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone. 

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still. 

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him. 

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident. 

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way. 

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture. 

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you. 

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture. 

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt. 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat. 

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk. 

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence. 

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away. 

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door. 

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice. 

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off. 

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note. 

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you. 

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole. 

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero. 

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you. 

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”? 

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot. 

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly. 

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute. 

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night. 

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?” 

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically. 

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying. 

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason. 

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching. 

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding. 

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly. 

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face. 

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you. 

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text. 

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time. 

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy. 

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense. 

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him. 

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement. 

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him. 

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same. 

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray. 

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes. 

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him. 

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream. 

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name? 

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers. 

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform. 

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?” 

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful. 

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything. 

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight. 

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom. 

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through. 

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do? 

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought. 

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift. 

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance. 

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage. 

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology. 

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years. 

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug. 

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache. 

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor. 

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well. 

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song. 

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers. 

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten. 

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him. 

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him. 

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick. 

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses. 

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer. 

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you. 

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears. 

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant. 

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder. 

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back. 

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky. 

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought. 

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster. 

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one. 

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook. 

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind. 

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you. 

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs. 

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again. 

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out. 

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you. 

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent. 

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix. 

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it. 

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow. 

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles. 

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter. 

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope. 

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that. 

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it. 

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears. 

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer. 

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too. 

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers. 

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare. 

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind. 

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class. 

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel. 

But you do know, the universe responds. 

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond? 

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing. 

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation. 

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat. 

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance? 

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air. 

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.  

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you. 

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door. 

[wszczebrzyszynie]

In your older art (when he was a rabbit breeder named Nikita I think) Mikita seems much more… smiley than he is now. The first time I saw him (I think 2022) I remember him being gay + aro instead of aroace. I adore this character and I would love to know how he changed/developed over the years!

Oh gladly. I adore this topic. Mikita is my oldest one (8 years old now!) and i have quite a lot to say and show about him, so ill put it under the read more. For some reason the picture formatting is completly broken when i do it. Thank you for the kind words

Mikita went through quite a lot name changes now that i think about it, at least compared to my other ocs; it went hand in hand with his ethnicity mostly, as he was i believe polish first, then polish/lithuanian and only since... 2020? belarusian (which i agree is definitely... a pipeline, but theres no deeper meaning behind it; for the 70% of his life the world he lived in was 100% fictional, and at the beginning even fantasy-like). His first actual name (not "rabbit breeder", which was the title used for him in the original story instead of a name. Names were a modern au thing) if im not mistaken was Fryderyk, then Nikita, and then Mikita. That name change did probably happen around 2022 because a Belarusian belarusianized his name for me and I liked it so i changed it. Very nice of them it makes much more sense in the current story

Years 2016-2020-ish he was gay (but not aromantic) and also dating Mikołaj; frankly i do not remember when exactly that changed, but he and Mikołaj are some of my oldest still in use ocs and they were always a package deal of sorts. Last time i drew shipart of them was in 2021. I think it might have stopped around the time i realized i am aromantic? It was a very important moment to me and the second it clicked i realized most of my ocs were secretly aromantic all along too. It was pretty funny now that i think about it

Personality wise he was a bit insufferable. Well he used to age with me (like most of my ocs) so he was very much a 15 year old. Very bratty and unempathetic to others, actively manipulative and overly ambitious. He used to smile a lot yes it was very in character then and i think it makes him look more annoying so it stays. Well either way i made so much art of him in that time i actually canonized it as his younger self in canon, now that hes older. I think thats a fun choice and i still like his old design, so its good to reuse it. Art from 2020, 2021 and 2023. I think current Mika would hate his old self a lot

Frankly when it comes to my ocs the big shift from that more dystopian completly fictional setting to more historically grounded one happened at some point and i dont remember when that was. 2020-2021 ish possibly. Its hard to remember because it did not happen from day to day; i think i abandoned these ocs original story for months before i made that choice? and even then i dont remember how current DNS or such a clear idea for it came to be, especially considering that it changed basically every single character drastically. Its weird to me but i suppose that knowledge is lost. That being said i think it does coincide with the creation of Przemek, who quickly became one of my favourites, so maybe theres that. I dont know. Well either way its a very good thing that it happened

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

jealousy jealousy || Changbin x Reader

Summary: It's as you're working with Changbin on a school project — and he's being as infuriating as he always is — that he invites you to go see 3racha perform in a bar that night. You decide to take the opportunity, because you do find the group talented, and also, what could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.3k

Genres: college AU, rapper!Changbin

Warnings & Tags: jealousy, academic rivals to lovers, alcohol consumption, brief sleazy behavior from someone else, consensual kiss while under the influence, light angst, oc has insecurities

series masterlist

A/N: Similarly to the I.N. oneshot, please ignore the thing about music if you know better and it doesn't make sense, my years of studying music theory are far behind me :') Hope you'll enjoy the piece, would appreciate to know your thoughts on it if you do!

If you had had your say on this assignment or on your choice for a partner, you wouldn’t be sitting there, across from Seo Changbin, in his fucking studio, watching him nod his head as he’s working on the arrangement you’re supposed to turn in next week.

“The guidelines say we’re supposed to use an unusual time signature,” you say, partly to be annoying and partly because he’s literally using 4/4, which, like, come on. It’s like he’s trying to go against the rules.

“They’re used for a reason,” he replies after a good thirty seconds of silence, which could be because he was ignoring you or because he can’t multitask. “It’s more important to turn in something that’s good than something that follows the guidelines.”

“That’s not mutually exclusive.”

“You can’t let others tell you what to do,” he insists, still looking at his screen. “You have to make your own decisions based on what’s good for—”

“It sounds like you just can’t take a challenge,” you interrupt him and this time, he turns around to glare at you. For a second, he looks offended, which was the reaction you were going for and, you have to say, it brings you an evil satisfaction. Then a corner of his lips lift and he smirks.

You really don’t like how attractive you find that look on him.

“You think that’s going to work on me?”

You grit your teeth. Well, rationale and logic weren’t getting you anywhere so far, so this was at least worth a try.

“I’m not looking forward to you tanking my grade,” you reply with a shrug, attempting, and probably failing, to look nonchalant.

This time he scoffs before going back to the computer.

“It’s not going to tank our grade. The teacher values quality more than following the rules, and even if he didn’t, you shouldn’t change yourself to make someone happy.”

Valuable life advice, you’re sure. It just does not apply whatsoever when a grade is at stake. Unfortunately though, he is right about this teacher valuing ‘quality’, though you don’t like how subjective his view of it appears to be. You think there should be metrics when it comes to grading your students. Either way, so far Changbin’s been fucking breezing through this class because the teacher just adores everything he puts out. You think it’s a gross display of favoritism and you suspect that it has a lot to do with 3racha’s popularity, but everyone’s too busy making heart eyes at the golden boy to think about it.

And, look, you like 3racha. You think they’re talented. You don’t know where Chan finds the time to do music while being captain of the swimming team and all the other stuff he’s doing — seriously, when does he sleep —, you think Jisung’s a very talented singer, rapper, producer — basically a one man group already without needing to add the other two in— and Changbin’s… Yeah. Changbin’s good. There’s no way you could deny that. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that it doesn’t seem to have crossed his mind that there are some people in here who don’t have a record deal lined up for them as soon as they walk out of their graduation. Some people who are not going to have full creative control over their stuff until they’ve really established themselves, if that ever happens. Some people who also just simply enjoy figuring out a way of making something interesting, something good in ways they wouldn’t have thought of if they hadn’t been forced to deal with an obstacle of some sort barring them from picking the easiest solution.

The problem is that, as you reluctantly have to admit, Changbin isn’t picking the easiest solution. In fact, once you notice what he’s doing, you can’t help but lean forward on your seat, all your attention on him and his hands moving on the keyboard. Shit. It seems, infuriatingly, that he had a point.

“What’d you think?” he asks once he’s done, and you blink yourself back to reality after having watched him work his magic.

“It’s smart,” you admit. You’re not the type to lie just because you have an issue with him. “Using tertiary rhythms in 4/4 to give the impression of another time signature… Yeah. It’s good.”

You can practically see his ego getting bigger with every word you say. Dammit, you almost wish he were a hack.

“But,” you add, a little too be annoying and a little because you have an actual point to make, “I think you should start off with binary rhythms.”

Changbin visibly deflates, then frowns, and you realize belatedly that you might have been able to push back on the use of the time signature then and there. You think he’d have given in, if you still didn’t like the end result, but that hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Why?” he asks, folding his — impressive — arms over his chest. “That’d be boring.”

You shake your head, pushing yourself up next to him and taking the mouse out of his hands to start making the changes that are clear as day in your mind. The gesture seems to outrage him, but if you’re being honest that’s actually a plus in your book, so, tough to be him.

“You start out with something familiar,” you explain as you’re working, “to lull the listener into a false sense of security. Then you hit them with the unusual to have a bigger impact and to make them wonder how the piece got there. That way, they’ll think they’ll know exactly what you’re going for from the start and be more surprised when you go for something else.”

There are a few seconds of silence after that, before Changbin also leans forward, his body suddenly much closer to yours.

“You have to work on the transition some more if you’re going for that,” he says, and his breath tickles your cheek. “’cause it’s just gonna feel jarring if you don’t.”

“I was getting to that,” you say with a click of your tongue, elbowing him in the stomach in an attempt to keep him from messing with your work. Through the first, soft layer, you come in contact with strong abs, which doesn’t surprise you considering how much time he’s rumored to spend at the gym.

Not that you’re paying attention to these rumors or anything. It’s just— Know your enemy, or something.

He does manage to use his muscles pretty easily to get the mouse back, and after an undignified shriek when he wraps an arm around your body to lift you up and get you away, you admit defeat. If your cheeks are warm now, it’s just because of the effort.

It’s also the reason your heart beats faster, and it’s got nothing to do with the satisfied grin Changbin shoots back at you once he’s back in front of the computer.

“Hey,” he says as he’s working, “you know 3racha’s having a concert tonight?”

Of course you do.

“I heard about it.”

“You should come. I can get you in.”

You raise an eyebrow. You’ve never actually seen 3racha perform. Tickets to their stuff aren’t that easy to get on campus or around i, and you’re also busy working your ass off most of the time, whether it’s for classes or at your part-time job. But you have tonight off, and considering this assignment is going nicely…

You bite your lower lip as you consider it. You’re not really looking forward to the screaming crowd looking at Changbin like he’s a god, but you are interested in the actual show. You’ve heard so much about them, and the stars aligning for a ticket offer and not having to work…

Ah, fuck it.

“Okay.”

Changbin’s head whips back in your direction.

“What?”

You take a step back, shoulders instinctively coming up to your ears. Your defenses come back up in a matter of seconds.

“If you don’t want me there, you shouldn’t have—”

“No, you should come!” he protests, and then his voice gets softer. “I’d be super happy if you came, I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Of course I am,” you say with a shrug.

Changbin turns around towards the computer, but not before you catch a bright smile on his lips. Not his signature smirk. A bright, genuine smile.

And this time, you have no excuse when your heart skips a beat.

It doesn’t come off as a shock to you that 3racha are really fucking good on stage. You didn’t have any trouble getting into the bar after giving your name, which Changbin had told you would be enough. It had taken a little more, uh, elbow work to get reasonably close to the stage, because the place was already pretty filled up. The people there are almost all from the college, but there are a few groups of mostly young men — some looking like they’re too young to have been let in — that stick out as well.

You make yourself comfortable as you wait, sending the occasional glare at people pushing you. Lots of girls there, you note, and you don’t think they’re all there for the music, which you find amusing. You certainly don’t judge. That’s something that the people from the labels would have noted, and it’s not like there’s a wrong way of enjoying a group.

The crowd goes wild around you when Jisung — or rather J-One, his stage name — jumps on stage, practically vibrating with energy. You don’t really catch what he’s saying, both because it’s too loud and because he’s speaking too fast. You are, however, acutely aware of the way he presents himself, of his cocky grin, of the way he sticks his tongue out and wipes at his lower lip with his thumb.

He’s followed on stage by Changbin, who, unlike him, barely looks like he’s acting. Yeah, his stage persona is raw confidence, supercharged with charisma, but he doesn’t bother doing much of anything — though you think he’s flexing his muscles a little more than usual. Except, of course, when he gives the audience that fucking smirk of his.

And suddenly, you’re very, very aware of how hot it is in the room.

Chan’s the last one to get on, and he does so with a roar of “Are you ready?”. Everyone goes insane, and you find yourself being pushed around by the people around you jumping up and down. Though you’re not quite giving in just yet, you do enjoy the enthusiasm. If half of what you’ve heard about them is true, they certainly deserve the hype. Seeing the wide, uncontainable smile on Chan’s face at the crowd reaction, as he can’t keep up with his stage persona for a few seconds, just makes your heart swell.

Then, after getting the crowd even more riled up, they get started with their set. You’re familiar with all the songs, of course. Music is ideally going to become your job and you want to keep yourself updated, but also, you do find them to be good. Even the stuff that’s not to your personal taste is always backed up by an actual creative idea, which is not something you’d say about a lot of pop songs that get blasted on the radio every day. It makes their music feel new, and yeah, sometimes it means it’s not that easily accessible and it’s going to turn some people off, but it sure makes you respect their artistic integrity.

They’re also giving themselves on stage, 100%. And, because there’s just no point in denying it now, Changbin looks ridiculously fucking hot doing it. It makes all sorts of things tingle in your stomach and lower when he growls in the mic. You haven't been able to look away for a second.

Outside of the general hotness — you’re human, what can you say — you can’t help but appreciate everything else, everything musical. How easily he rides the beat, how music seems to inhabit his body, how skillfully he’s crafted the verses and choruses and made them feel— You’re not sure how to phrase it. They’re not predictable, but they are obvious. It feels like there would be no other way of doing them, no better way of phrasing them, no arrangement that would be more efficient. It has to be that way.

And it’s as they’re reaching the peak of their last song that dread washes over you, seeping straight to your bones.

You find Changbin annoying. You think he’s cocky, overconfident, and that he doesn’t pay enough attention to others. You also don’t like the way he gets everything handed to him on a silver platter and that, unlike you, he doesn’t have to split his time between work and college. But if you’re being honest, that’s not nearly enough of a reason to dislike him. The guy wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s always happy to help out, maybe even lets people take advantage a little bit. And he’s so, so fucking talented. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find all of that attractive.

The problem, as you’re staring at him on stage, is that the question that is truly at the center of it all, the one you’ve refused to ask yourself all this time as you kept working your ass off and he kept doing better than you, just came up to the surface, and you can’t avoid it any longer.

What if you just don’t have it?

Look, you believe in hard work, but you find it hard to deny that some people just have something else. Call it talent, call it luck, whatever. Changbin’s got it.

You’re not sure you do.

You just might keep working and working and working and never get to the level he’s at. You might just not have the thing that makes him able to come up with hooks that stay inside your head for days on end.

What’s been your dream job for almost a decade now might remain forever out of reach.

As the crowd erupts in cheers around you, and 3racha stay on the stage, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down their forehead, the future you’ve always wished for doesn’t quite shatter completely in front of your eyes, but it takes a nasty crack that ripples onto its entire surface.

You turn around, away from the stage. You hadn’t planned on that, but fuck it.

You need a drink.

Even as you down two drinks a little too quick and gesture for a third, you know this is a bad idea. You’re running straight into a wall, you’re going to regret this so much tomorrow, and you’re doing it anyway. This isn’t like you. You make the good decision, the right decision, you do what’s smart, what you should do.

Except apparently, none of that is enough, and that thought gets you to ingest the third drink as well, the burning taste of alcohol a welcome distraction.

“You can really knock these back,” a voice comments next to you.

You glance at the guy who’s already way too close in your personal space for a stranger. Normally, you would roll your eyes and you’d never even consider entertaining it. Who even hits on someone after they’ve seen them try their best to get intoxicated in as short an amount of time as possible?

Tonight though, his maths has paid off, because you welcome the distraction.

If you’re going to be making bad decisions, why stop at one, right?

You spin yourself towards him, rest your elbow on the counter and put your head on your hand in a pretty unnatural pose. You’re not quite coordinated — not usually, and certainly not with that amount of alcohol in your blood — but it doesn’t appear to throw him off.

“Sure can,” you say — it might come off slurred, you can’t tell, “but the question is, can you?”

He raises an eyebrow, but he looks amused. Honestly, he’s giving sleazy vibes, a little too happy to be running into someone trying to get wasted, you just— you just don’t give a fuck right now. You feel like you’ve watched the life slip forever out of your reach, and you just want to forget about it, forget about how you may never get a job and never live from what you want to do most in the world, forget about fucking Seo Changbin and how ridiculously talented he is when you’re— Yeah, you’re ordering another drink.

The guy offers to pay for you, and you’re not going to say no. He makes a dumb comment about it which you think is supposed to be a joke and you laugh way too hard, throwing your head back in a tried and tested move.

As you make painful small talk with him while waiting for your drink, you’re struck by how mediocre he seems to be. When you’re around Changbin, as annoying as he can be, the conversation’s just… brilliant. He’s interesting, he’s actually smart, he has stuff to say, and talking to him makes you feel, well, annoyed, sure, but it’s also challenging. He never bores you.

It’s been less than a minute, and you already wish that guy would shut up.

He doesn’t. He seems intent on smothering you with facts about his life that he probably believes to be impressive — his money, his job, his connections —, like you don’t know why he’s doing it. It’s almost insulting that he seems to believe that he’s seducing you with all of that fairly mundane stuff, when really, the attention you’re giving him has nothing to do with, well, him.

He’s moved on to putting his arm around your shoulders in the least subtle way known to man when you hear your name and you turn back around.

There’s Changbin, eyeing you and the guy, looking half pissed, half concerned.

“Oh, hey,” you say. “You were really good.”

His eyebrows knit, but then a smile that he can’t seem to hold back lifts a corner of his lips. It’s not arrogant for once, almost bashful actually.

“You thought so?”

So good that it gave you an existential crisis, so, yeah, you did.

“Yeah, you guys weren’t bad,” the dude behind you chimes in, and since you’ve got your back turned to him, you openly roll your eyes, which Changbin can’t miss. You doubt the guy knows shit about the time and efforts that had to go into that set, or into the writing of the song before even getting onto the stage, for that matter. “A bit derivative,” he adds, like an asshole, “but you might go on to do great stuff.”

There’s nothing bashful about Changbin’s smile now. He doesn’t look hurt or anything, but he seems to be thinking that the guy’s a real fucking moron.

“Thanks,” he says, sarcasm dripping in his voice which the dude doesn’t catch. Then his eyes fall on the glasses in front of you, and back to the hand on your shoulder. “Is that all yours?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m questioning my existence,” you reply with a shrug. “So that seemed like a good idea.”

Changbin looks confused for a second, but not completely deterred by your lack of coherence.

“’kay, then I think I should take you home.”

That’s objectively a good idea, and the more time you’re spending looking at him and talking to him, the less you want to keep talking to the other dude, actually.

“Hey,” the guy in question says from behind you, “I got there first. Find someone else, dude.”

Changbin’s eyes harden instantly and he takes a threatening step forward. He’s shorter than the man, but significantly larger. You just so happen to not be drunk enough to watch them fight. You blame your dad’s genes for making you somewhat good at handling your alcohol, because you wish you were hammered enough not to care right now. You push yourself on your feet, a bit unsteady, and put your hand on Changbin’s arm — totally to stop him and not at all to stop yourself from face planting. His muscles, you discover with some interest, are not just impressive but also extremely hard, perhaps because he’s prepared to fight.

“It’s good,” you say, “thanks for the drinks but he’s right, I need to get home.”

The man’s face contorts with anger.

“You can pay for your own drinks, you fucking—”

One of Changbin’s arms wrap around your waist, and then he takes a step forward, easily getting you out of the way while keeping you against him, to grab the man by the collar.

“Want to finish that sentence, asshole?”

If you were sober, you’d think something judgmental about men and aggressiveness. Right now, you mostly, uh, think it’s very very hot of him. Being pressed into his hard body makes your heart rate spike up, and in that state, it’s so hard to deny how attracted you are to him.

The guy backs down quickly, sputtering an apology, and then Changbin’s dragging you away, keeping his arm around you to ensure you stay on your feet.

“You okay?” he asks. His eyes scan your body, focusing back on your face when he finds nothing.

Alcohol has a tendency of making you even snappier than you usually are. Right now, though, hearing the genuine worry in his voice, you feel that part of you melting away.

“I’m good, Changbin. I think I just— I just need to get home.”

And though he’d be the last person you’d take help from if you were sober, he seems like the perfect pick at the moment.

You make it to the campus without too much trouble. It’s not like your legs don’t carry you anymore, just that you don’t walk quite straight, but Changbin doesn’t let go of you for one second of that walk, monitoring you the whole time, and then he insists on getting you back to your room as well. At least you live alone, because that is not something you’d like to have to explain.

“Did something happen?” Changbin asks, finally, as you’re making it up the steps, like he just can’t keep it in anymore. Your mind, which had been peacefully quiet this whole time, filled with his warmth and his presence, is flooded with noise again. It takes you a few long, painful seconds before you come up with something to say.

“Do you think I’m any good at this?” you ask just as you’re reaching your floor.

He shoots you a weird look.

“Good at what?”

Right, he wasn’t privy to everything that was going on in your mind.

“You know,” you say with a vague gesture. “Music. Producing. What we do.”

“Of course you’re good at it,” he scoffs like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “You’re super creative. You can follow all the stupid rules the teachers give us and still turn something good in. You think I’d let you work on my stuff in my studio if I didn’t think you were good?”

It’s his tone that gets to you, you think. Changbin’s honest to a fault, from what you’ve seen, but he says this so matter-of-factly, so casually, that it’s hard to question, even for just a second, that he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. You know it will take a moment to sink in, that Changbin has that kind of confidence in you when even you don’t, but, even if the thoughts will definitely come back later, it’s like he dispelled them all in just a few sentences.

It’s as you’re coming to a stop in front of your door that he almost jumps with realization.

“Wait a second. Did that fucker say—”

And then you kiss him. It’s not that hard, from the position you were in, to pivot into wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his, which you find to be soft and plump. He tenses for a second before his hand tightens on your waist and he kisses you back hungrily. If he can taste the alcohol on your lips, it doesn’t seem to bother him. His hand holds you close to him with almost bruising strength, but it remains chastely on your waist, his only movements coming from his lips and tongue.

His teeth graze against your lower lip, pulling on it, and it sends shivers through your whole body, but this is when you pull away from him. Despite his previous stillness, his head moves forward, chasing your lips for just a few seconds longer.

When you open your eyes, you find him panting, cheeks and ears a pronounced shade of red. It’s— extremely cute, if you’re being honest.

“Thank you for taking me home,” you say.

“Y—Yeah,” he says, glancing away when his voice cracks. “Yeah,” he repeats, “any time.”

“I’m gonna go to bed now,” you say, though you still haven’t taken your arms from around him.

“That’s good,” he says with a decisive nod. “’cause, you know, you’re drunk, and I wouldn’t wanna— You should go to bed.”

It makes you giggle, but you still decide give yourself a second more, during which you put your head on your shoulder, and Changbin just lets you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. When you still don’t move, he clears his throat.

“D’you want me to carry you?”

“Seriously?”

His response to that is to lift you up princess-style, one arm under your knees and the other under your back. He lets out a grunt as he lifts you, but then stabilizes himself and manages to get you through the door.

You know that you’ll have some things to seriously think about when you wake up with a throbbing headache, but in that moment, you just laugh and let him carry you to your bed, because having his arms around make you feel safe.

He makes you feel like you’re going to be okay.

Taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

[tsukimefuku]

Tie me up

After failing to make a romantic dinner, you're very upset. Hiromi volunteers to “help you out” with that frustration.

WC: 3.5K

Tags: +18 SMUT, Jujutsu Kaisen, Higuruma Hiromi x OC/f!Reader, little to no plot (finally), filth, fluff, movement restriction kink, f!top x m!bottom dynamic, she's a tease, he bottoms so well it hurts, consent and talking is sexy (do not change my mind). NEVER tie anyone right over their joints.

This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU". A sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x Reader x Higuruma long fic I might write. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots and short stories, please visit my masterlist :) 

Disclaimer these stories are NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

Tag list: @g-kleran @redlikerozez @otomesass 

"So, I believe we kinda suck at this." You said, defeated, staring at the pan. It had what was supposed to be your and Hiromi's dinner, completely charred, and smelling dangerously close to setting off the fire alarm. Earlier, Hiromi had tried cooking a small piece of meat with some rice, only to end up with a coal barely resembling food and mushy white paste.

"I think we should order some take out." He answered, sitting with his jaw on his hand, elbow on the counter top of his kitchen, while looking at you. "How about pizza?"

You nodded at him, then locked your eyes on the ruined food, grunting, displeased. "I hate doing things I'm not already good at. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea, this is no fun at all." Your arms were crossed in front of your chest, and your lip formed a pout. 

The plan you both had for a stay-in cooking date went out the window. Hiromi told you he couldn't cook for his life, and you weren't the best cook in the world either, but still wanted to give it a try, believing it'd be a fun experience. Up until this point, it didn't quite feel like it. He noticed you were upset, and got up, walking towards you. He had his home clothes on, comfortably dressed with a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants that hung loosely around his hips.

Hiromi stopped right behind your body and embraced you, pressing himself against you. Then, he began planting some kisses on the side of your neck.

"Hey, come on. The night is not ruined. The way I managed to get spices all over the kitchen was kind of funny. It still stings, though." He had tried opening a small packet of mixed spices and ended up tearing the thing apart with his enormous hands, sending a painful powder throughout the air, eliciting a terrible cough from his lungs. After the debacle, Hiromi changed his previously more formal attire to his home clothes and tried washing the burning sensation away from his face, while you did your best to keep down your laughter while aiding him.

This robbed a chuckle from your mouth. "I guess. I was trying not to burst into laughter."

He hummed amused, nosing your neck, sliding his hooked nose up your earlobe, and down again. "I noticed, darling." Hiromi breathed warmly against your skin, a smile on his voice as he spoke.

You sighed. "I'm still a little angry at how things went south, though." To the sound of that, Hiromi turned you with his hands on your waist. Now facing you, he got closer, and began brushing his lips to yours, while pinning you against the edge of the kitchen sink. That instantly relaxed you a little, and he pressed a kiss on your mouth, breathing you in. You cupped his face, deepening the kiss, as you both stood there, taking in each other for a minute. As your lips parted, he seemed to have had an idea, and you waited for him to speak.

"Want to let some of that steam off on me?" You blinked, slightly confused. Does he want me to... hit him?

He noticed your puzzled face. "I meant in the bedroom." He chirped, spirited, taking a step back and pulling in you by your waist to lean on him. You could feel his taut muscles under the fabric of the shirt, grazing the tip of your fingers on his abdomen. Just the thought of him half naked from his waist up thrilled you, riling you up and making your heart skip a beat.

"Yes, please." You huffed against his mouth, sliding your hands up to dig your nails to the back of his hair. "Yes." Excitement had officially taken over you.

Hiromi let out a chuckle and began walking towards the room in reverse, pecking at your lips and face, never letting go of the embrace his arms had around your body as he did so, pulling you with him. 

As you both finally made it into the room, you glanced at two ties he had hanging over his desk's chair, and that gave you some... ideas.

You both got to his bed, and you pushed him with one hand on his chest to get him on the mattress. Stepping deftly into the push, he fell on it, supporting himself on his elbows, as you stood before him with mischievous eyes. He took notice of that, and smiled.

"What is on your mind?" He inquired, curious.

You felt suddenly shy, and chuckled a little, diverting your gaze somewhere else before answering. "I think... I'd like to tie you up."

He was definitely surprised, tilting his head to the side, eyes slightly wide. "Like... To the bed?"

You were still looking away, smiling hesitantly. "... Not exactly. Take your shirt off, please."

Still not fully understanding what you meant, he followed your command, and tugged his shirt up his head, revealing his figure. He looked like a slender and statuesque Greek God, and you could perfectly see the definition of his muscles, his flesh. Your mouth instantly began watering at the sight, as you made your way to grab both the ties.

Now, Hiromi was completely at a loss.

You approached him and put one of his ties normally on his neck, letting it fall over his bare chest. He lifted a brow and looked at you, amused. "You keep getting more interesting by the minute."

You chuckled. "I sure hope so. Don't go getting tired of me just yet. Now, slide a little further in the bed and put your hands back."

Hiromi sat up, doing as told, and rested each hand behind him, beginning to understand what you were on about when you said you wanted to tie him up. You went behind Hiromi, folded his forearms over the middle of his back, and circled the open tie close to his wrists and around itself. Then, you gave it a basic knot, tugging at the tie just to be sure it wouldn't slip. After it was all well and secure, you crawled your way back to be in front of him. 

With his shoulders propped back by the tying, he looked at you, smiling, but still a little puzzled. You pushed him delicately, just so Hiromi would be resting against the wall. That was when he stated, "Ok, now I understand what you meant by tying me up. However, I still don't get the point to this," he said, looking down at the tie you had previously put around his neck.

"Oh, that?" You answered, grinning slyly. You approached Hiromi, putting your legs open over his, and grabbed his neck tie, giving it a sharp tug to pull him closer. He instantly blushed, gazing at you like he was ready to become nothing but a puddle under your thumb. "For this. Like a dog collar."

“Oh” was all he mustered up to say, face flustered with a tiny smile forming. 

“Will you do as I say?” After asking, you bit his jawline, having Hiromi trembling and nodding in response.

“Of course. I’ll get rewarded if I do, won’t I?” Hiromi purred, loving being tugged and pushed around by you. You chuckled softly, pressing him back towards his initial position.

Then, cradling on his lap, you pressed your clothed sex softly right under the edge of his sweatpants, as you could feel the pulsing barely covered by fabric. Hiromi let out a soft moan, shuddering with relief from some friction. You began grinding your hip over his, and in response, he involuntarily squirmed underneath your legs, grunts stuck in his throat, bucking his hips up, pleadingly looking at you. You were gasping softly, using his shoulders as support for your hands.

"Behave," you said, smiling at him in between pleasured sighs, using one of your hands to grab his face, nails digging into his cheeks, "or I won't kiss you when I'm touching you."

That elicited a whimper from him, as Hiromi tried earnestly to still his hips and let you lead the dance. "I’m doing my best, I promise" he said, biting his lower lip in a delicious anticipation.

Ah, just the sight of him starting to break apart for you was breathtaking.

"Good boy."

He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, relishing in the sensation this praise washed over his body, no witty comeback this time around.

You got off from him and stood just beside the bed. "Now, open your eyes, or you'll miss the show." You cleared your throat. “I mean, not a show, but you get it.”

He chuckled softly and promptly obeyed, opening his eyes  to gaze at you. First, you began to slowly slide his pants and boxers down, with him swaying his hips side to side in order to make the task easier. As you were finished, you saw his cock splayed over his belly, already leaky and flush-red. Then, looking at him and not breaking eye contact, you began to lift the edge of your shirt, watching as his jaw slightly dropped. Hiromi's eyes glazed over your body, and began following your hands.

You pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside on the ground, revealing a simple black bra. Then, you began sliding your pants down your legs, making it possible to see you had a somewhat matching set of underwear — at least in color. You didn’t have many sets of underwear — it was definitely not a priority for you as a jujutsu sorcerer — and tried to at least have the colors match for this date.

Hiromi couldn't care less, completely hypnotized, thinking how sensual and erotic it was to simply watch you undress in a perfectly ordinary way.

After taking off your clothes, you looked at him, and he seemed like the boy that got exactly what he wanted for Christmas. Delighted, you said, "open your legs", getting back on the bed, still covered by your underwear. Hiromi immediately did as you told him to, and you kneeled right in front of him, in between his limbs.

You put your left hand on his left thigh and began slowly sliding your way towards his groin, making sure you were pressing firmly on his skin as you did. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, opening his mouth in a soundless whimper. As your fingers clasped around it, giving a few soft pumps just to acclimate your touch and check how sensitive he was, he jolted his head down with a groan, looking at you eagerly. He was definitely sensitive with all that foreplay.

You giggled softly, leaning over him, while still striding your hands up and down at a steady pace. He began wriggling under your touch, making every humanly possible effort not to fuck into your hand. Regardless, he failed, and began bucking his hips, desperate for it to be quicker, stronger. You clicked your tongue behind your teeth disapprovingly, and looked at him. "What did I say?"

"I-I'm sorry," Hiromi replied, trying to halt his movements as much as he could.

Abruptly, you got a hold of his tie and pulled him, unceremoniously. "No kissing, then." 

You heard the man grunting in complaint, and smiled lustfully, eyes flickering with delight. Without warning, you removed your hand from his cock, putting your middle and ring finger tips on top of his bottom lip, as you ordered, "open up." 

He did, and you slid both fingers inside his mouth, pressing them against his tongue, as you still had a tight hold on his neck tie, pulling him into a sitting position. "Now, suck on them."

Hiromi whimpered, completely in the undertoe of your commands, and began sucking on your fingers. You let your other hand go off his tie and grabbed his length again, resuming the pumping around his cock with a tight grip. He moaned and whined with lips locked around your fingers, sending vibrations that traveled down your whole body.

You picked up the pace, having him sounding progressively more desperate, before you took your fingers out of his mouth, stopped pumping him and put those same fingers inside your mouth, just to taste his mouth indirectly. His entire body stiffened up, as a frown took hold of his face and he dangled his head back, despairing for relief.

It felt good to finally be in control, doing something you were very good at.

“I’m edging us both today, you won’t regret it. I promise.” You kissed his forehead as he opened his eyes, looking at you. His eyes begged for more.

“Woman, you will be the death of me,” he said, panting lightly, with some sweat starting to form on the surface of his body. 

You laughed, content, and slid yourself back on the mattress, having another joyfully wicked idea. He must’ve seen the sparkle in your eyes, because he instantly said, “how else are you planning to torture me today for us both ruining dinner?”

You covered your mouth, blushing a little at the thought of it. His face was just looking so gorgeous, his lips, his hooked nose, his perfectly messy black locks falling a little over his forehead, his angular jawline. “Can I sit on your face?” You asked. “I mean, I’d like to sit on your f-“

“Please. Sit on my face. Now.” Hiromi said that taken by some kind of unknown urgent desire of smothering himself while tasting you.

You were pleasantly taken aback at such urgency and grinned at him, amused. “ Okay, then. But I’m not coming just yet.” 

You pulled Hiromi gently by his tie to put two pillows right behind his body, just so his upper back and head would be comfortable and not pressing his hands tied to his back as he laid down. 

You got up and stood by the end of the bed, poking fun at an idea you entertained.

“I’m going to manhandle you now,” you warned.

He was confused for a few seconds. “What do you m-“

You gripped his ankles and pulled him, having his whole body slide down the mattress, and landing his head and upper back on the soft pillows. 

You could distinctly see him sighing before he let out a satisfied groan. “I really enjoyed that.”

You laughed and took off your underwear while he waited for you. “Did you, now?” You asked, slowly climbing on Hiromi, extremely amused at how thrilled he seemed to be with this entire thing.

You put each shin beside him and sat on his chest for a moment, caressing his hair, brushing your nails delicately against his scalp. It felt wonderfully soft. “If you need a moment to breathe, bite my leg, okay?”

Hiromi smiled coyly, as he gazed at you from the bottom, face softly blushed at the sight of your entire body completely bare and exposed to him. He also quivered at the sensation of your wetness smearing over his chest. “Oh, I definitely won’t.”

The way he said that, sounding like a ravenously hungry animal, had you shuddering. You propped yourself forward, putting one hand on the wall directly in front of you for support. Your other hand, however, traveled down his pitch black locks on the top of his head, and entangled in them, giving it a firm tug at the roots. Hiromi moaned, his mouth nearly touching your folds, bottom lip trembling with bated breath.

Adjusting your legs, you began descending on his face, and as soon as you were in range, he projected his mouth forward, latching his lips around your clit. You gasped, and he began lapping at it with the tip of his tongue, now opening his mouth to graze his entire face with you. Hiromi was effectively making out, in the messiest way possible, with your dripping cunt.

You were actively trying not to hump his face, but his relentless licking against your folds was turning it into a nearly impossible task. What broke you, however, was the moment he nuzzled against your clit with his nose, digging his tongue inside your entrance as far as it could go right after. Trembling, you involuntarily began grinding against his face, and Hiromi noticed it, letting out a feral groan that reverberated all throughout your core, sucking desperately at you, intent on making you reach your tipping point before you could escape his mouth.

Your mind was hazy enough for you to almost ignore the moment your body began tightening, getting ready for the snap. But, you had said it — you were edging the both of you tonight. 

Realizing you were about to climb out of his face, Hiromi tried his last desperate attempt, starting to suck intently at your nub as he grazed over with the tip of his tongue. You let out a cry, and projected yourself behind, body convulsing from your near orgasm experience. Hiromi groaned in utter and complete frustration, as if you had interrupted the meal you both hadn't had the chance to eat tonight, yet.

“Smart ass,” you said, sitting on his abdomen while panting, trying to regain the air for your lungs as you felt the need to support yourself with both of your hands on the bed.

“I was top of my class,” he huffed, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth, “I guess I do come with some brains along with the pretty face.”

You laughed, and reached for the condom, opening it up and quickly sliding it over his cock, having him gasp softly when you finished rolling the rubber over his length, giving it an appreciative squeeze. Both of you were edged enough, and the desperation to fall apart with him inside, filling you up completely, was now an all-consuming fire.

You motioned over and began sitting on him. Then, you grabbed his tie, bottoming out instantly, at the same time you sharply tugged at it to seat him up. As he violently jolted forward, Hiromi let out a loud — emphasis on loud — mix of a groan and a moan, staring at you, glassy eyed and out of breath. He had your wetness completely smeared all over his face, and his debauched looks were rosy tint flustered. 

You just knew you both wouldn’t last long at all.

You began riding him, mewling and moaning as you bucked your hips skillfully, having him sliding lusciously inside you. He motioned his hips too, as best as he could under the restriction he was currently under, desperate for his release tightened by the plush of your walls. 

You drove one of your hands under your body to rub on your clit, and both of your arms accidentally pressed against the sides of your breasts, perking them up. Hiromi was completely enthralled by the view, and began trying to lean himself over. Noticing it, you pulled on the tie to help him reach your breasts, and he took full advantage, immediately sliding his tongue over one of your nipples, pressuring it with a tang.

And it was all just too much. Your verged pleasure, your fingers rubbing your core, his hot and wet mouth over you, all intensely tipping you over the edge as you came with a cry out for his name, desperately. Your entire body jolted and seized on top of him, while you still kept a firm hold on his tie, now completely crumpled and disheveled.

At the ungodly tightening around his cock, along with the tugging, the breathlessness, your taste, your smell, the relentless teasing, Hiromi came with a shout, all of his muscles getting impossibly tense against their restraints. Following suit, the man felt all of his limbs weaken as he pumped sloppily into you, nearly whimpering — from release, desperation or bliss, he did not know.

“We’re so much better at this.” You said, huffing and laughing softly at the same time, pressing a quick kiss on his lips. You could still feel your essence on his mouth, and shivered in response.

“Mm-hmm…” He answered, nodding, trying to regain his strength.

And then, panting into each other, a memory started tickling the backside of your brain.

"Hiromi..." You said, slightly lifting yourself and parting your bodies for a moment, pulling him closer to untie his hands on the back of his body, while his face cradled in the small of your neck. You did, and lightly pressed over his skin, feeling the markings dipped over, massaging them softly.

He was still coming back to Earth after biblically orgasming, wondering if he ever came this hard before in his life. "What, love?" Hiromi asked, still in that subspace of blissful stupor, as he brought both of his hands to hold your waist, sinking his digits on the plush of your skin, pressing soft, breathless kisses on your neck and chest.

"Did we ever order the pizza?"

--

End notes:

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[bbybluemochi]

bbybluemochi's F.A.Q. ✧･ﾟ

Hi! Arun here! I thought that instead of answering your submissions one by one I’d gather all the frequently asked questions and answer them in a single post (this is a mix of art/OC/commissions related q's)!

Please note that I do read all your messages and I’m so grateful for every one of them!!!! I keep all your words really close to my heart, thank you for liking my art and loving my Ocs as much as I do, it means the world to me <3

What’s the name of your OCs?

They’re called Cotton (the blonde one) and Puppy (the dark haired one). The original idea for them was to make some silly wolf/bunny OCs (that’s why Cotton is called like that, it was supposed to be a joke about her tail…) but somewhere along the way they took over and became something completely different!

Is there a webcomic for your OCs?

Not currently! I don’t have the time or the skills (for now) but I’d love to give it a try in the future! 

I was wondering if you mind people using your OC art as character art/inspiration for DnD?Just games with friends that are for fun, nothing for commercial.

Go ahead! I find that really flattering.

Just out of curiosity, are any of your OCs bisexual?

Both Cotton and Puppy are lesbians. That’s what I feel comfortable drawing since I’m a lesbian myself. If I ever do draw a bisexual OC I’ll make sure to mention it! <3

I think you said Cotton was a dominatrix in a previous ask, but is Puppy on the opposite side of the spectrum or is she just glad to be there whichever way?

Puppy is very much a sub. They both switch (Puppy as a service top and bottom and Cotton as a top and power bottom), but the dom/sub dynamic never changes. Also I wanted to mention that these dynamics do not transcend outside of the bedroom that much, there’s more to them than their kinks but I do love to draw them deep in their submissive/dominant headspaces. 

Are one of the lesbian fairytale characters trans?

I didn’t design either of them with that in mind, but I’m super OK with people headcanoning them as trans!

May I use your art as a header/icon?

Of course! Remember to credit me tho~

Do you allow people to use your art freely?

I don’t allow reposts of my work (not that it matters that much, since almost all my art has been already reposted a million times ))): but I’d really appreciate it if you just shared my posts instead of reposting my art). As for phone backgrounds/wallpapers or stuff like that, yeah!

Do you have an instagram account or other social media, I would love to follow you there.

My main platform is twitter (same @), I post all my drawings there and I’m usually more active over there. Tumblr is kind of like an archive. I really like the community here but I find it easier to reply/interact with people on twitter! As for instagram, I do have an old art account (same @, again) but I haven’t posted in so long. I may start posting there soon if a certain rich guy decides to keep destroying the bird app tho. 

I’ve always thought about this… how do you think it’d look if the aesthetics/styles [of your OCs] were reversed?

I’ll have to explore that in a future drawing, I haven’t thought much about it! 

Do you write fics for your characters or has anyone else written fics about them?

Not yet! A couple of my friends have offered, tho! I usually like to stick to drawing because that’s what I do best, I don’t wanna subject anyone to my writing (it’s not very good,,,,). When I share some of my Ocs stories, I think it will be in comic format. 

What's the story behind your OCs? 

There are several, actually!! I like to put my OCs in different universes. As for now, there’s the Fairytale AU, the modern setting AU (this is the original one), and now the Werewolf/Vampire AU. I also did a drawing of them as spiderwoman and black cat but I don’t think that AU is gonna make a comeback for a while. I’m also planning a scifi AU but I’m not sure I’d be able to pull off that aesthetic with my current art style so I’m still working on it. 

The Fairytale AU is the one I’m working on most of the time. I wanna release a small artbook with their story + illustrations. That was my main goal for 2023 but life got in the way, so maybe,,, 2024??? *crosses fingers* 

Is your shop down? It’s saying that it’s not available.

I open my shop for 1-2 weeks every now and then, that’s why it’s closed most of the time! My plan is to open the store again in september, if i manage to finish all the merch in time! I’ll announce it on my twitter and tumblr account when I do. 

Would you ever share a tutorial on how you make your art?

Yes, of course! I’m not very good at explaining my drawing process but If it helps anyone I’d love to! Just let me know what part of the drawing process you’d like me to focus on, because If i try to make a full illustration tutorial it’s gonna be too long/difficult to follow. 

May I ask what brush do you use for your lineart?

I use a different brush almost every time I start an illustration, I’m not very consistent when it comes to that (I think it’s mainly because I haven’t found the perfect brush yet!). But let me know what illustration you’re curious about and I’ll try to remember which one I used!

Do you come up with poses off the top of your head or do you use some type of reference? I always struggle with them.

It depends on what I’m drawing! Some of my drawings are reinterpretations of paintings (I’m obsessed with pre-raphaelite painters and arthurian legend paintings in general), so in those cases I try to adapt the poses to my art style. Even If I’m trying to recreate an already existing painting I end up changing the poses/proportions a lot along the way to fit my personal taste/art style. 

Other times, I just sketch from imagination (this is more entertaining, I think, since looking at references can make the drawing process a bit tedious). If I find it hard to draw a certain pose/part of the body I will look up references on printerest, no shame in using pictures! If I still can’t find the pose I need I’ll just take a picture of myself (this is like, a last resort for me. I’m too lazy for this). 

My personal advice would be to use references for the pose and then tweaking the pose and trying to make it more personal 

I love the way the armor was designed and rendered! Can you share some tips on designing armor? 

Drawing armor is something I still struggle with most of the time. I think I’ve learned a lot in the past year (please don’t look at my armor drawings from 2022,,,,, sigh) but I still struggle to draw certain poses/angles. My advice is: don’t hesitate to draw non-functional armor!!! There’s always gonna be someone like “actually, that armour makes no sense :)” well !!!! it looks cool as hell so who caresssss !!!!! 

I think it’s more important for you to get comfortable drawing armor before you start beating yourself up for not drawing accurate ones. It takes a lot of practice (I’m still learning!!!), especially if you’re trying to draw historically accurate ones, so start by having fun, and then work your way up from there.

Most of the tips I can think about are really hard to explain without a visual example, so let me know if that’d be a tutorial you would be interested in and I’ll try to make one (I’m cringing a little just saying this bc I swear, my armor skills are so bad compared to some amazing artists out there………..).

Do you allow cosplays your OCs?

YES…. YES PLEASE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM BEGGING YOUUU ILL LOVE YOU FOREVER !!!!!! *rattles my cage* 

Do you allow fanart of your OCs?

Again,,, PLEASEEEEEEEEE !!! Just tag me so I don’t miss it and remember to give me credits if you do !!!!!!!!!!! :D

I was wondering if you use procreate , clip studio, or similar apps?

A mix of both. I used to draw on procreate only until I got a tablet and now I’m a clip studio user (csp sponsor me please), and now that’s all I use. I’m so used to drawing on PC now that I don’t think I’d be able to go back to procreate, but I still like that app a lot! All my drawings (even the ones I do on csp) always get retouched on procreate because I like some of the effects (*dreamy sigh* chromatic aberration filter,,, love u). 

I wanted to know if the marks Cotton has on her waist are tattoos or like a scar? 

Those are tats! Puppy is a tattoo artist ~~~ (I’m actually not sure if i’ll keep the waist tats on Cotton or if I’ll end up redesigning them,,,)

I was wondering if you take commissions?

Not right now. I also don’t have any plans of opening commissions any time soon! When I do, I’ll post a google forms on twitter and here on tumblr with the prices and type of comms I do. But there’s nothing scheduled. 

Even tho I'm not doing commissions atm, I’m currently looking for illustration jobs (specially book covers), so don’t hesitate to email me at bbybluemochi@gmail.com

That's all for now, thank you for reading!! I think I covered most of the questions, I'll make another q&a post in the future! Bye~~

[jerzwriter]

Mono~poly Chapter 3: Propositions

A Tobias x Casey AU - Information and Notes

AU Premise: What happens when something that was supposed to be just fun turns into something real? When true love enters the equation between two people who view the very concept of love in different ways, can it work? In this alternate universe, we'll follow Casey and Tobias (and some others along the way) on their journey, where a happy ending is what both desire, but (as in life) nothing is guaranteed.

Fandom: Open Heart, Choices ** Pairing (This Chapter): Tobias Carrick x Casey MacTavish F!MC Other Characters: Ethan Ramsey, Jackie Varma, Bryce Lahela OC: Halle Williams (mentioned), OC: Addie Larkin, OC: Vivian Carrick. Rating: Teen Words: 5,300

Chapter Summary: Three years into their relationship, Tobias and Casey are still the couple to be. But as big changes take place around them, Casey faces internal struggles, while Tobias wonders if the two of them are still on the same page.

A/N: It took much longer to get this chapter up than expected; that was mostly because I forgot I was hosting Tobias Carrick Appreciation Week (you can check that out here!), and then work decided to explode! Hopefully, life will be kind, and I can get back on a normal schedule with this! I got it up just in time for the last day of Non-Monogamy Awareness Week - even though we haven't gotten to that NM part yet! lol Participating in @julychallenge Pink: Love, Optimistic, Vulnerable, Friendship Black: The Unknown

SERIES MASTERLIST SERIES INFORMATION MY MAIN MASTERLIST

Tobias loved few things more than mornings like this: mornings when he could wake up on his own accord without work or other obligations beckoning. Days that started with the sunshine beaming in the window or the birds chirping outside, or days like today when he was awakened by the best reason of all.

His heavy silk comforter shifted unexpectedly, leaving his legs exposed and pulling him from his groggy haze. A smile was on his lips before his eyes had a chance to open when Casey’s arm encircled him in a warm embrace. It didn’t matter that they’d been together three years now; he knew in his heart he’d always cherish starting his day like this.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said with a raspy voice. His smile growing exponentially when her naked body squirmed against his, relishing the warmth between them.

“Mmmm. Morning,” she whispered. “Can we stay asleep a little bit longer?”

“We could, but then I won’t get any alone time before you’re off to work.”

“Sure you can,” she yawned. “We can have alone time sleeping.”

“Fine,” he chuckled. He never could put up much of a fight when it came to her.

An hour later, a sleepy Casey shuffled into the kitchen with little recollection of their earlier exchange. Her eyes were half closed, and she would have still been in bed if the aroma of Tobias’s French toast hadn’t beckoned her from afar. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, wearing no more than his flannel pajama top. 

“You’re making me French toast!” she sang.

“Mmm hmm. Your favorite,” he smiled. “And you’re wearing my pajama top.”

“Mmm hmm,” she mimicked, well aware of the effect that had on him. “Your favorite.”

“You better believe it is,” he replied, knowing it would take all his strength to focus on breakfast.  

He told her to sit and made a grand display of serving her. After just one bite, Casey began to make those noises he adored. He'd heard them at this kitchen table before, sometimes with the two of them seated at it, sometimes with the two of them on top of it, and they were music to his ears either way. He barely touched his food, too enraptured watching her enjoy hers. Those closest to them wondered when they’d emerge from that blissful bubble most couples found themselves in at the start of a relationship, but three years in, the two of them showed no signs of the bubble bursting.

Casey was mid-bite and running her toe up his bare leg when she caught him staring her way.

“Yes?” she asked playfully.

“Yes...,” he affirmed. “That’s what I want you to say.”

“Oh, really?” She teased. “Who knows, I just might... depending on your question.”

He took her hand, his eyes warm and sincere. “Move in with me.”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked her. It wasn’t even the twentieth; by now, he had lost count. And each time, she answered the same way. “Eventually.” She’d remind him that she was with him most of the time, her landlord had forgotten what she looked like by now, but that didn’t matter to Tobias. He wouldn’t be content until her name was next to his on the mailbox, and now, the stakes were even higher.

“Tobias...” she sighed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “You know what I’m going to....”

“Eventually,” he huffed. Normally, he took it in stride, but he couldn't find it in himself to do that today. Pulling his hand back, he began to clear the table.   

“Baby,” she said, rising to his side. “Please don’t be upset.”  

“I’m not upset, Casey, I’m not.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m... I don’t know. I guess I’m hurt... a little. I don’t understand why the woman I love, the woman I know loves me, seems to find the idea of living with me to be so abhorrent.”

“I don’t! If I believed that, do you think I’d be here all the time? I love you and love being with you. Why is it so important to you that it’s official?”

“Why is it so unimportant to you?”

“It’s not... it’s just....”

“Case,” he interrupted, running a hand down his face. “I’m buying a new place. I’m buying a home that I hope will be ours one day, and doing it by myself feels so lonely.”

“But you’re not!” She insisted. “We the neighborhood out together. I’m looking at places with you and giving you my input. I wouldn’t be doing that if I didn’t expect to live there with you, too.”

“Eventually,” he frowned.

Casey threw her arms around him and nuzzled her head in his shoulder. He loved and hated the way her touch alone could make him lose all reason and forget why he was upset just moments before.  

“It’s going to happen, hon. And until then,” she pulled him into a tender kiss. “I’m still going to be here with you so much you’ll be sick of me.”

“As if,” he smirked.

Confident she had smoothed things over, she gazed up with a playful smile. “So, when will we be doing more shopping for our new place?”

“I’ll be doing that today,” he replied. “But you’ll be at work.”

“Which you knew!” She playfully punched his arm. “Way to include me!”

“It’s only because a few properties just hit the market this morning, and I want to get a jump on them. If it’s anything worthwhile, I’ll take you back to see them.”

“If anything’s worthwhile, you’ll Facetime me,” she corrected. “Things are moving quickly these days!”

“Good idea! And the listings Halle sent me this morning are very impressive; they probably will go quick.”

“Halle?” Casey asked. “I thought she was just filling in for Ray while he was on vacation. Isn’t he back yet?”

“He is, but I decided to work with Halle going forward.”

“Oh,” Casey said as the mood in the room shifted. “Well, let me know if you like anything,” she took a hesitant step backward. “I should go get ready for work.”

She rushed out of the kitchen, but Tobias was quick at her heels.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” he asked, though it took a few more attempts before he persuaded her to answer.

“I just don’t care for Halle... that’s all, and of course, the first time you’re going to look at properties alone... she’s your new agent.”

Tobias raised an eyebrow. “Case... please don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous!” She insisted, all but assuring him she was jealous. “I... I just don’t like Halle. Why did you have to switch?”

“I switched because she's better. She gets listings to me the moment they hit the market, whereas Ray sat them. Plus, Halle just seems to have a better idea of what I’m looking for.”

Casey rolled her eyes, “Of course she does.”

Tobias was still amused, but that was morphing into concern as the conversation continued. He sat on the bed, pulling Casey onto his lap.

“This isn’t like you, babe... where is this coming from.”

Apparently, he missed a lot of things Casey saw during their two appointments with Halle. Like how friendly and flirtatious she was with him but was barely cordial to her. Or how the real estate agent's caramel curls bounced when she laughed hysterically at his mediocre jokes and the way her dark brown lit up when Tobias joked that he couldn’t convince Casey to move in with him.

“A gorgeous doctor who is buying a badass place in Boston, and you're not moving in? You better jump on that, girl, before someone else does.”

She said it with just enough humor that Casey would have looked like a fool if she said anything, and Tobias was oblivious to it all. He continued being his usual flirtatious self, and at some point, Casey quietly began to feel like she was the third-wheel. But things returned to normal the second Halle left, so there was no reason to address it until now.

“Tobias, she’s totally into you... it’s so obvious... I can’t believe you don’t see it. And she’s gorgeous. If she weren’t 5 foot 5 in heels, she’d be a model with no interest in the real estate market. And don’t tell me you didn't notice that.”

“Babe, of course, I noticed she’s attractive, but my only interest in her is having her find me a new place. Do you seriously think I’d cheat on you?”

No. Casey thought. But she could be the one that eventually sparked the conversation Casey had been waiting on for three years. The one that would revive her “we don’t have to be monogamous” offer from years before. To date, Tobias hadn't expressed any interest in doing so, but Casey knew it would only be a matter of time before someone as beautiful and as forward as Halle lit that spark, and the possibility would become a reality.

“No,” Casey gulped. “I don’t think you’d cheat on me," she replied, deciding to leave out all of the rest.

“Then you have no reason to worry. So, she’s into me. Do you have any idea how many people are into you, but you don’t see me worrying.”

“Right,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I have an entire fan club.”

“You do!” He grinned.

“Name one person!"

“One? I'll do better than that. There’s Meghan, the surgical nurse, who begins stuttering whenever you're within five feet of her."

“Tobias! She has a stutter! That has nothing to do with me!"

“She only stutters when you're around, babe! Then there’s the tall, ginger pharma rep, who always makes sure you'll be in before he visits Edenbrook. At least half of the interns in every class you’ve had are at least a little in love with you, and then there’s Ethan.”

“Ethan!” She exclaimed in disbelief. “Ethan Ramsey?”

“Do you know another Ethan?”

“Tobias, Ethan and I are close. He’s one of my best friends, but it’s not like that. He's not secretly in love with me!”

“Right,” Tobias smiled. “Good to know I’m not the only one in this relationship that can’t see the obvious. Ethan adores you.”

“All right,” she said, nervously jumping off his lap. “Maybe in a sweet, platonic, non-I want to fuck you kind of way, but... no... No! Not like that!”

“All right, do you want me to ask him?” Tobias teased, to Casey’s horror.

“NO! God, no!”

“Well,” Tobias winked, “Then I guess we’ll never know.”

He stood up and stood before Casey, his seductive grin already making her weak, and that was before he leaned for a slow sensual kiss. His hands moved up, delicately skimming her chest as he unbuttoned his pajama top and pushed it off her shoulders, leaving her standing bare before him.

“We’ve got to get ready to leave,” she murmured. "I have work... you have Halle."

"We do," he said, his warm lips now trailing kisses over her shoulder. “But before we go, I need to make sure you know who I'm thinking about very clear... and that's you."

~~~~~

Two Months Later

The difficult parts were now behind them. A place had been selected, the offer accepted, and the mortgage obtained. They picked out furniture together, and they decided to decorate the place themselves, but at the last moment, Tobias brought in a pro. He hoped to be there for a long time and intended to make his very best memories there; it needed to be perfect — a blend of modern and traditional, awash in earth tones with splashes of color throughout. Casey joked that her blood pressure dropped just stepping inside, but all she had to do was look at the expansive views the floor-to-ceiling windows provided to get her pulse quickening again. Tobias’s new place was spectacular! The hard parts were now behind them; now, it was time to enjoy it.

~~~~~

“This is delicious,” Ethan marveled, savoring another bite of tender filet mignon. “I’ve got to admit, Carrick, the party, the new condo — you knocked it out of the park.”

“Thank you,” Tobias gushed, with a nod toward Casey. “But I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without this beauty by my side.”

Casey rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine. “Seriously? Like I cooked!”

Their guests erupted into laughter, with one notable exception.

“Tobias,” his mother scolded. “You’re not about to let her downplay her contributions like that, are you?”

“Of course not, Ma!” He chuckled. “I just said I’d have none of this if it weren’t for her.”

“That’s not true...” Caey began, but he quickly interrupted.

“It certainly is! How many classy dinner parties have I hosted in the past?”

All turned to Ethan, who visibly choked on his wine.

“None!” he scoffed, raising a napkin to his face.

“Exactly! See,” he said, placing a kiss on Casey's hand. “I need you.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Vivian beamed, raising her glass. “To Casey, the woman who finally turned my little boy into a grown man... and they said it couldn’t be done!”

“To Casey,” everyone cheered as her cheeks turned redder than the Malbec in her hand.

Pleased with the reaction, Vivian felt encouraged to continue. “So, when do you plan to seal the deal and make things official? Someone like Casey isn’t going to be on the market forever, son! Don't you agree, Ethan?”

“And why am I being singled out for that question?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t know,” Jackie snickered. “Maybe the fact that you had a relationship with both parties in the past gives you deeper insight than most.”

Casey lowered her face into her hands. “And this is why we can’t have nice things!” Peeking through her fingers, she locked eyes with Jackie. “Really? Can we have one classy party? Just one that doesn’t have to go there?”

At the other end of the Table, Tobias’s friend Addie scoffed as she bit into a warm dinner roll.

“With you two hosting? Doubtful,” she laughed. “But this is new information to me! I love your dinner parties! They’re very informative.” She raised her wine for a second toast. “To Casey and Tobias’s dinner parties, may we share many more, and, while attending, may many more spill their tea.”

“Oh, says the woman whose personal life is a virtual secret!” Casey exclaimed.

“Hey, can’t fault me for being smart,” Addie shrugged. “You don’t need a medical degree to know that private life is best kept private.”

Ethan glanced over the candle and crystal-strewn table and nodded with approval. “Clearly, you are very smart.”

“Casey,” Vivian injected, wishing to steer the conversation. “Why aren’t your parents here today?”

“Oh, well... they’ll be visiting, but, uh, it’s not my new place; so....”

“You are Tobias’s significant other, are you not?”

“Of course,” Casey giggled nervously.

“Then they should have been invited.” Vivian looked at her son disapprovingly. “I raised you better than that.”

“You sure did! And I offered, Ma,” he grinned, “but it’s Casey’s parents, so I left the decision up to her.”

“It’s better this way, Vivian,” she jumped in. “The two of them have barely spoken since their divorce, and when they do, it’s normally not pretty. As delightful as that has made the past twenty-two years of my life, I figured we could all do without the drama today."

“Mmm, what a shame,” Vivian shook her head as she speared her fork into a piece of perfectly cooked asparagus in hollandaise. “And it’s unfair to you; they’ll really need to work on that before you and Tobias have children.”

Casey spit her drink out, and Tobias lovingly patted her back. “You OK there, babe?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Casey replied, wiping up the mess. “Fortunately, I was drinking water and not wine.”

“Vivian,” Ethan stepped in, offering Casey a save. “Did you paint that stunning canvas in the foyer? It’s magnificent. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.”

Vivian’s face lit up. If there was one thing that could compete with her love of talking about – and eviscerating – her sons – it was art  - especially her art.

“Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for that one. It is exquisite, isn’t it!”

“Casey and I spotted that in a gallery when we visited New York last summer. I didn’t know where I’d end up, but I knew that painting had to come along with me. It’s been in storage since, and I’m glad it’s finally found its home.”

“But Vivian did make the watercolor in the living room and the piece in Tobias’s office just for him, and they’re beautiful!”

“Thank you, but I made them for both of you,” Vivian corrected. “My art means everything to me, but there is always something special about creating for the people I love. I offered to make a piece for the bedroom, but Tobias declined.”

“Yeah,” he barked out a laugh. “No offense, Ma, but the last thing I want to be thinking about in the bedroom is you.”

Bryce, seated next to Jackie, let out a laugh. “And just like that, the conversation is back there!”

“I’ve just come to accept it,” Casey smiled. “But thank you, Vivian, for everything.”

Vivian reached over the table and lovingly took Casey’s hand. “Of course, my dear, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. For both of you.”

Blushing, Casey stood up and dusted off her body-skimming, champagne silk dress. “I should clear the table and get dessert served,” she announced.

Ethan wiped his mouth as Tobias pushed his chair back. “I’ll help you,” they said in unison as Vivian looked between them.

“Wow, you must have magic fairy dust,” Addie grinned. “Getting two men to help?”  Addie rose to her feet and nudged Tobias back into his. “Sit down there, my friend. You’re the host; entertain your guests and we’ll help Casey.”

“But Casey’s hosting, too,” Tobias insisted.

“It’s fine, baby,” she replied, leaning to give him a peck on the cheek. “…and I need a little break,” she whispered into his ear, and only then did he let her go.

“I’d offer to help, too,” Jackie shouted. “But if I do, Tobias won’t have enough people to entertain.”

“Yeah, that’s the reason,” Bryce laughed, wincing when he was the recipient of Jackie’s playful smack.

In the kitchen, Casey pushed the remaining food off a china plate, then placed it into the sink where Addie was washing.

“I’ve never understood the point of china,” Ethan mused. “It’s only brought out for special occasions when people usually have many guests, but it’s not dishwasher safe, leaving a ton of dishes to do.”

“Some china is dishwasher safe,” Casey informed. “But Vivian insisted Tobias have his late grandmother’s set. It’s simple enough to compliment his décor, but it’s old, so... no dishwasher.”

“Oh, it has a dishwasher,” Addie joked. “The dishwasher is me.”

“And I appreciate it,” Casey beamed, giving Addie a side hug.

“I’m happy to help. Everything has been lovely today.”

“Thank you! Of course, Vivian was mortified that Tobias didn’t hire ‘help’ for the event. I’m sure she’s giving him an earful now.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Addie chuckled. “Why do you think I made him stay behind?”

“I like her more and more every time I see her,” Ethan smirked.

“But you just wait; Tobias will have help when you throw your next party,” Adide insisted. “Mark my words. And not because his Mom is scolding him. I’m sure it's driving him crazy that his precious princess is out here cleaning up instead of being in there with him.”

“Yeah, well, he does tend to spoil me,” Casey admitted. “But sometimes it’s all a little much. I don’t come from his world, and the idea of hiring help for a get-together with friends and family sounds....” She twirled her hand around, unable to find the right word.

“Preposterous,” Ethan grinned. “I believe the word you’re looking for is preposterous.”

“That’ll do!” Casey laughed.

“And that’s why I like you,” Addie winked. “You’re one of us. Tobias always needed someone to ground him.”

“Although you wouldn’t know it looking at this place,” Ethan injected. “Do I even want to know what he paid for it?”

“No, you don’t,” Casey chuckled. “But remember, it’s Tobias’s place, not mine.”

“Like you’re not going to be here all the time,” Addie remarked.

“Why haven’t you just moved in?” Ethan asked. “Sometimes I forget that you're not living together."

Casey looked to the entrance of the kitchen when she heard footsteps, relieved that it was only Bryce heading to the restroom.

“Keep your voice down on that, please,” she insisted. “It’s a sore subject with Tobias. He’s been asking me to move in officially, and....” she trailed.

“Fine, but I need the story on that! Why haven’t you? You mono folks usually step onto that relationship escalator on day one. You’ve been together, what, three years now? Shouldn’t you be making me squeeze into an ugly bridesmaid dress and selecting names for your 2.3 kids by now?”

Casey grabbed the damp dish towel from Addie’s hands and playfully smacked her hip with it. “Stop mocking me, Queen Poly-anna.”

“Queen Poly-anna?” Ethan questioned.

“It’s her pet name for me,” Addie grinned. “Isn’t it cute? She has to show off that she has one poly friend!”

“That’s not true!” Casey defended. “I have more than one poly friend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Addie asked. “Name another.”

“Oh, all right,” Casey surrendered. “You’re my only poly friend, but I have other poly acquaintances!”

“You sure do!” Addie snorted. “Probably more than you even know. I’ve gotta go to the little girl's room. Do the two of you have this under control?”

“Absolutely,” Casey assured. “Join the rest when you’re done. We’ll bring dessert in momentarily.”

Casey caught Ethan watching Addie walk away and raised a brow when he caught her looking.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Casey joked. “You have had a crush on her since the day you met!”

“I have not!” He insisted. But Casey didn’t believe him for a second. “I just... I enjoy seeing her at your events.”

“I’ll bet you do!”

“Have you ever met her elusive boyfriend?”

“Believe it or not, I haven’t,” Casey replied. “Honestly, I don’t see Addie all that often. Besides, she has more than one partner. There’s the elusive long-term boyfriend and a girlfriend in Charlestown. She also has a long-distance thing with someone in New York. But I’ve only met her girlfriend, and briefly, at that.”

“God,” Ethan sighed, pouring a glass of water. “How does she keep track?”

“I don’t judge,” Casey shrugged. “Polyamory may not be for everyone, but she’s happy, and she’s not doing anything wrong, so...”

“Oh, I wasn’t judging. I apologize if I came across that way.”

“It’s fine,” Casey smiled. “You know me, I’m just protective of the people in my life.”

Ethan reached over and playfully bopped his finger against her nose. “I know. It’s one of the things I find so endearing about you.”

Casey looked almost abashed as she opened the cake boxes on the marble countertop, placing each one on a decorative plate for serving.

“But you never answered my question," he circled back. "Why haven’t you moved in with Tobias? While I don’t subscribe to that relationship elevator thing...”

“Escalator,” Casey corrected.

“Whatever!” He laughed. “But you are the most grotesquely happy couple I know. As much as I was skeptical of the match at first, I have to admit... you two are the perfect couple.”

“Well, there’s no such thing as perfection,” she insisted. “But, we’re pretty damn close.”

Ethan couldn’t help but notice the way Casey lit up whenever the subject turned to Tobias. “You can’t even talk about him without glowing. So what’s the holdup?”

“I practically live here,” she answered nervously. “I helped him pick the place, and we decorated it together.”  

“So then...”

“Ethan,” she huffed. It was rare for her to keep things from her closest friends, but this was something she didn’t want to touch. “I don’t want to talk about it, OK?”

“It’s your parent's divorce, isn’t it?” He asked, undeterred. “Casey, don’t let that hold you back. You, more than anyone, taught me that I can’t let the past hold my present or my future hostage. You were an absolute pain in the ass about it at the time. But I have to admit,  in the end... you were right. So I’m going to nag you as much as you nagged me if I think it’s needed, and I think it’s needed.”

“All right,” she smiled, with the defenses she briefly raised falling. “I appreciate that you care enough about me to mention it, and I’ll bring it up in therapy. I swear.”

“Good,” he grinned. “Your happiness matters to me. And, I’ll admit, I wouldn’t mind going to a good wedding. The past few I’ve gone to have been dreadful!”

“Ah, you’re just hoping Addie will go stag; that way, you could be her date.”

“That’s not it,” Ethan insisted. Casey laughed at his defensiveness, giving him a big hug just as Tobias stepped into the kitchen.

“Well, well, well,” he joked. “I’m gone fifteen minutes, and you’re already moving in on my wife.”

“You’re wife?” Casey laughed as she walked to Tobias’s side, wrapping her arm around his waist.

“Well, that’s what my Mom’s calling you... practically,” Tobias laughed.

“Nothing like parental pressure,” Ethan sighed. “Even at our age. I’ll go keep Vivian occupied for a bit. You two haven’t had any alone time in the past few hours. I’m shocked one of you isn’t twitching.” He clapped his hand on Tobias’s back as he passed him. “Great party.”

“Thanks, Buddy,” Tobias said as their friend left the room. He turned to Casey, eagerly pulling her into a loving embrace. “Mmmm, I miss you.”

“Miss me? I’ve been with you all day,” she smiled.

“Yeah, but there are too many.... others. Make them leave!"

“Soon,” she chuckled. “Everything has turned out just great today!”

“Of course it has,” he beamed. “Anything we do together does.”

“You know what, you’re not wrong.”

Tobias looked at her, more confident than smug. “I rarely am.”

“You’re impossible,” she laughed, returning to preparing the deserts.

Tobias stuck his finger into the icing of the chocolate cake, scooping a dollop of the decadent treat into his mouth.

“Stop!” Casey scolded, and she swatted his hand away. “Don’t make me call your mother out here!”

“No! Please!” He begged. “Mmmh, that cake is delicious. Where’s it from.”

“It’s from Bova’s. Halle sent it along with the box of sfogliatelle over there.”

“She did?”

“Mmm. I thought I told you. The note she sent is next to the box. Basically, congratulating you on the home and apologizing for being unable to make it today.”

“That was nice of her,” Tobias stated, pulling Casey close again for a tender kiss. “She didn’t seem interested in attending after I told her my brother couldn’t make it. Besides, she thinks you hate her.”

“What!” Casey protested. “I’ve been nothing but nice to her. Besides, she is the one who doesn’t like me.”

“That’s not true! Everyone loves you.”

“Really? Look at the note again. Is there mention of me?”

Tobias reread the note, a little surprised that he hadn’t noticed the first time.

“And tell me,” Casey added. “Was I anything but nice to her when we were together?”

“You... you were,” he agreed. “Alright, maybe you were on to something.”

“Maybe?” she asked playfully.

Tobias held her close, his soft laughter rumbling against her chest.

“You can't blame her, babe; I’m irresistible. But if she doesn’t like my baby, I’m glad she didn’t show.”

"But we can still eat the desserts she sent, right?" Casey asked nervously.

“Absolutely! No way are they going to waste!"

~~~~~

After a lovely afternoon and evening, Tobias & Casey were grateful when the last of their guests had left. There was plenty to clean up, but that could wait. Right now they were watching darkness ascend over the city they loved from the comfort of the overstuffed couch.

Tobias had already removed his jacket and tie; now, he anxiously unbuttoned the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt before sinking into the soft cognac leather sofa. Casey was quickly at his side, her head resting on his chest as she snuggled closer. Her long legs extended down the length of the couch, and the slit on her rouched silk dress afforded Tobias a perfect view. One he appreciated every bit as much as the masterpiece outside the panoramic windows. The hues of dusty pink and purple morphed into grey, then a jet-black sky. The lights scattered throughout the city lit Boston up like a Christmas tree. He could feel Casey smile against his chest.

“I’m never going to get sick of this view.”

“Neither am I,” he replied. “And I'm glad you won't because I hope we’ll be looking at it together for a long, long time to come.”  

“For a long time to come?” she goaded. “Gee, thanks, Carrick! What happened to forever? Have I been downgraded?”

“No, wiseass,” he laughed. “I’m not sure if I’ll be in this condo forever. Hence, we’d lose the view. But you, you are absolutely forever, as long as you’ll have me, that is.”

“Much better,” she sighed contently, her body melting into his. Tobias intertwined his fingers with hers, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. A feeling of warmth and contentment he had only known since Casey entered his life overtook him.

“I hope you know how much I love you,” he breathed into her ear. ��And I’m not just saying that because it’s something we’re supposed to say. I mean it with all my heart.”

“Tobias,” she smiled, but he held a finger gently against her lips. Sitting up, he took her hands in his, and she turned to face him.

“Please, let me finish,” he whispered. “I never expected you to enter my life and turn everything on its head. I didn't think anyone like you existed. Words like forever, they weren't in my vocabulary before you. People always told me someday I'd meet the "right" person who would change all that, but I thought they were out of their minds. So, imagine my surprise when you walked in and proved me wrong.”

Casey’s eyes filled with tears, and she raised a hand to caress his cheek.

“I know how blessed I am to have you by my side. I’ll never take that for granted, and I only hope I bring you one-hundredth of the happiness you brought to me. I want you with me, baby, not just today, but for the rest of my life.”                         

“Tobias,” she whispered again, her voice cracking with emotion. “I want you, too. I love you so much.”

“Good,”  he said with a smile that lit up the room. Casey’s breath hitched as he dropped down on one knee and removed a small velvet box that had lived in his pocket for the past few days as he waited for the perfect moment to arrive. As he knelt before her, he was confident that moment was here.

Casey gasped at the ornate antique diamond ring, a brilliant center stone surrounded by a cluster of smaller diamonds set in the most beautiful gold filigree she had ever seen. It was breathtaking! But it only managed to hold her attention for a moment, choosing to turn her gaze back to her beloved’s eyes. The ring may have been exquisite, but the look in his eyes right now was the most precious work of art she had ever seen.

“Casey, I love you with all that I am and all that I have. Will you please make me the happiest man in the world and accept this? Casey, will you marry me?”  

Her eyes darted nervously to the ring, then back to Tobias as her mouth went dry. Her expression turning to one of terror instead of awe. She instinctively scooted backward, heart racing and her face impossible to read.

“Oh! Oh, Tobias....” she stammered, as apprehension filled his eyes. “Tobias... I... I....”

“Yes?” he asked nervously, praying her answer would be yes.

“Tobias I....”

~~~~~

Sorry... you'll have to wait! :) If you've made it this far, thanks so much for reading!

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[fancyfeathers]

Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)

Chapter Thirteen

The Phantom of the Opera

Prologue and oc intro

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven, part one

Chapter seven, part two

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

You awoke by the sound of footsteps, still in the room Fyodor placed you and Gaston in. You looked over to see the door being unlocked and the familiar figure of Fyodor entering the room. He looks over at the two of you with a soft smile, unfitting for a man like him. “Seems like my ангелы, are getting the rest they need.”

He approached you and Gaston, curled up next to one another. He sat down on the edge of the bed, he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, the leather of his gloves cold against your skin before it trailed up and ran over Gaston’s closed eyelids. “So beautiful. Sleep is almost the pinnacle of peace, our bodies unbothered by the outside world, unmoved, relaxed.”

He offered his hand to you, offering it to help you sit up. Against your better judgment you took it and he pulled you to sit up on the edge on the edge of the bed with him. “Why do you do all of this? What do you want from me?”

“Oh my love…” He smiled and leaned over, taking your hand he still held and pressing it against his cheek which was also cold. “You were once so pure, both of you, so pure. I will fix you, bring you back to the light after you’ve wandered in darkness.”

“Both of us?” 

“Hm… I suppose Gaston has not told you about his entire past, has he?” Fyodor asked, glancing over at the sleeping composer.

“I know he is a composer for the Paris Opera House and that he was assigned by the European Union to hunt you down three years ago.” You answered, trying to think about what Gaston had told you about his past, not much at all. “I think he’s from a town called Perros-Guirec or at least his father is buried there.”

“Hm…” he hummed in thought and letting your hand go and land on your own lap. “That’s not untrue, but not the entire truth, my мышь. It’s not my place to tell you, but I do hope he tells you in due time.”

Before you could push him any farther on it you felt a shift on the bed behind you as Gaston awoke. Fyodor reached out and grabbed Gaston’s glasses from the nightstand, handing them to him. Gaston grabbed them from the Russian, slipping them on without even making eye contact with either of you. You two watched as Fyodor stood from the bed, adjusting his coat. “Come along now, it is time we watch Yokohama rot away.”

Fyodor made his way to the door, both you and Gaston following behind. As you walked into the hall your eyes never broke from the back of Fyodor’s head. Then you felt Gaston slip something into your hand, you looked down to see a fruit knife. You looked to Gaston and he held his pointer finger to his lips as if to tell you to tell you to be quiet and hide it. So you managed to slip it in the back of your skirt. Now you could only pray that would be enough to defend yourself if need be.

—————————

Victor stepped into a large room, he was escorted by two government agents, one on either side. He looked around the room, his hands fiddling with the necklace he wore. This was the headquarters of the Special Division for Unusual Powers, Victor had been called by a contact of the Society and told to come here with urgency. Victor had no idea who this contact was but if they were able to get ahold of them then Dr. Stevenson or Miss Jane must have trusted them. 

“You must be, Victor Hugo.” Victor jumped at the voice, startled he turned to see  who called him. There stood a man, black hair, black suit, a beauty mark above his lip, and round glasses. “Well?”

“Y-yes, I-I am…” Victor stuttered out, clearly nervous. “B-but, I-I’m not.. the… um…”

“Original? I know. I read your file, I apologize for the loss of your brother.”  He said, still no emotion coming on his face. “I understand your parents renamed you to basically be him after he died in the war, and I also heard your colleague William Shakespeare worked under him in the war as a child spy.”

“Y-yes… that’s correct…” Victor didn’t like talking about his brother. With his passing, Victor’s parents forced a false identity onto him, he went from being the unloved child to a filler for their dead child. Victor shook away that thought. “E-excuse me, you called me h-here but I’m afraid I have no idea who you are, is this about that fog o-overtaking Yokohama? C-cause I-I have no idea about that.”

“I know. To put introductions aside, I am assistant counselor of the Special Division for Unusual Powers, Ango Sakaguchi.” He introduced himself, so calm and collected unlike Victor who was a stuttering mess. “We have called you here to help deal with this fog incident, you and one other.”

“One other?”

At that time the door literally swung off his henges and crashed to the ground with a heavy clatter causing Victor to let out a high pitched squeak. 

“Ability user, 5158.” Ango said, stepping in front of Victor. There stood a man, red hair, black suit, and a black hat. “Chuuya Nakahara, executive of the Port Mafia.”

Victor’s expression slowly turned to one of shock and fear. “You want me to work with the Port Mafia!?”

—————————

Fyodor lead you to a hall where you could hear distant talking and figures, two, sitting at a table, but you couldn’t quite make out what they were saying or who they were, must be the drugs in your system, but apparently Fyodor could.

“To me, both of your intentions are obvious.” Fyodor spoke as the two figures at the table came into focus, a man you have never seen with long white hair and dressed in white, and the all to familiar smug face of Osamu Dazai. Gaston scowled at the sight of Dazai. Fyodor only chuckled and continued.“With such lies you’ll never write a good play, you’ve lost your audience too.”

“The demon, Fyodor. You to will dance as my collaborator.” The white haired man turned to look at the three of you. “These must be your angel and mouse as you call them in Russian.”

That made you want to throw up but before anyone could speak, Dazai chuckled and spoke up. “Collaborator? Don’t you think he has the highest chance of betraying you?”

You and Gaston watched from the edge of the room, standing against a pillar next to a window that looked out over the fog covered Yokohama. His eyes were fixed on the three sitting at the table, his face scrunched, trying to figure out what exactly they were planning. 

“No one has ever exceeded my predictions thus far. I have high hopes for you.” The white haired man said with a shrug. 

“What I feel most is sorry for this city of ability users, no matter which of us prevails they will all die.” Your eyes widened in horror when Fyodor said this. Your entire life was about to crumble before your eyes.

That is when Gaston leaned over to you and whispered. “That’s Shibusawa, I think I have an idea now about what’s this is all about, I’ll explain it to you when we’re alone, for now-“

“ангел музыки, it’s rude to whisper. (Name), Come here.” Fyodor said, cutting Gaston off. He did not look over at you but waved you over with his finger. You hesitantly stepped forward, your heels clicking again the marble floor the only sound in the room. Fyodor patted the arm of his chair, silently tellingly you to sit down and so you did. “Care to tell us what you and Gaston were talking about?”

This wasn’t a question but it was a demand. You couldn’t tell him otherwise he wouldn’t leave you and Gaston alone. “He… he was telling me about….” You thought back of Fyodor’s words from when you entered the room. “How you all, including you Fyodor, would never write a good play for you don’t possess the craftsmanship and charm of an artist.“

Fyodor’s eyes narrowed at you, he knew you were lying but had no other ground to go off of here so he grabbed your chin, harsher than he had before. “If I found  out you were lying to me, мышь. It won’t be very pretty.” He let go of your chin and kissed your cheek. “That’s all.”

You slipped off the armrest and turned and started walking back towards Gaston and collapsed in his arms and the two of sunk to the floor, sitting down like pets, sitting at the feet of their owners. The three of them talked while Gaston held you and you silently cried in his arms…

Now you know why Dazai called you Snow White all that time ago.

—————————

Fyodor allowed you to return to your room while they discussed more sensitive topics, not meant for your ears. Once the door clicked shut, locked, and footsteps began walking back where they came from, Gaston took off his glasses and pinched his nose in slight annoyance.

“Why did you say that? If he finds out who knows what he’ll do!” Gaston reprimanded you as you sat on the bed. 

“I-I don’t know, I didn’t want him to know I guess, he wouldn’t leave us alone together if he did.” 

“He probably already knows we’re planning something, just not what.” Gaston came and sat down next to you on the bed, putting his glasses back on. “I think I have an idea what is happening. We don’t have our abilities and in this fog gifted died via their own abilities. Shibusawa’s ability is behind this so he’s unaffected, Dazai’s ability nullifies any other abilities so he’s immune, I can’t place Fyodor but it’s probably something out in our best interest. As for us and everyone in Yokohama, our abilities have left us and it would be a good guess that they’re going to try to kill us.”

Your eyes widened in horror as he spoke. “Our abilities are hunting us down?” 

“Yes, I believe so.” He nodded, his head turned to you. “Your ability only has mental capabilities but mine could be quite deadly, pass through walls, materialize at will.”

As he spoke you saw a  red figure pass through the walls, no features besides eyes and a red jewel on its forehead… oh shit.

“Gaston look out!” You screamed as Gaston’s ability wrapped its hands around his throat, pushing him against the wall. Gaston’s glasses were knocked to the floor and he was gasping for breath as his ability tried to break his wind pipe. You stood there completely in shock, not knowing what to do, but if you didn’t do something Gaston would die. You reached out and tied to grab the ability but it disappeared, dropping Gaston to the ground who was gasping for breath. You rushed forward but before you could reach him, his ability materialized again, getting Gaston in a chokehold from behind.

Then you remembered…

The knife…

This is why he gave it to you…

Just as Gaston was slipping into unconscious you pulled out the knife, you grabbed the ability yourself and stabbed it in the head, shattering the red gem on its forehead. The ability disappeared into thin air, leaving you alone with Gaston who was gasping for breath.

“That… was your ability…”

“Y-yes.�� Gaston spoke while he tried to breathe. “T-the… Phantom of… the O-opera. Deadly if used correctly.”

You helped Gaston back on the bed again, laying him down as he caught his breath. “If I destroyed your ability does that mean you have your ability again?”

Gaston reached out to the wall and his hand passed right through. He turned to you with a weak smile. “We have one up on Fyodor. The Phantom of the Opera is here, inside my mind, where he belongs.”

[marine-indie-gal]

Did you know that Space Goofs would've had its own Movie Adaptation titled after its own Video Game Adaptation made by the Same Company behind their Adaptation of "The Magic Roundabout" that Xilam would've partner up with but unfortunately thanks to The Weinstein Company that butchered their Very First Film (which bombed), the Company went bankrupt which caused the Death of Xilam's Very First Film Adaptation based on one of their Cartoons?

No? Well, I've wanted to Adapt The Cancelled Movie into my AU of Space Goofs (presumably of what would've been by its own plot which was the Huge Inspiration to My Character, Star) but I've also added in the Girl Character from the Trailer of what could've add been the Main Human Friend whose not an Enemy to the Aliens that would help protect them from the Human World in order for them to get Back Home (Animated Equivalent to "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial" I suppose?🤷‍♀️

dunno, but maybe I think it would've been a lot more equal to "Lilo and Stitch" due its Comedy but I could at least imagine Xilam trying out their own "Emotional" scenes if their Would-Be-Partner Company didn't go bankrupt, which happens a lot in every other movie that you usually see in terms of Story Complex).

Anyway, back on the Track.

I've wanted to bring the Cancelled Movie back from the Dead seeing on how that everyone else is used into bringing Scrapped Concepts back to Life with some Fanon Ideas and oh boy, do I sure love to bring Fanon Ideas into My AUs!

So here we have is The Girl (who is named "Ambre" in my AU, that's the Name that Me and @djinarocks up calling) and her own Group of Friends who serve as the Earth Kid Counterparts to The Main Protagonists Themselves. Yes, I'm pulling out the Whole "Counterpart of Opposites" trope (which I know can be cliche but it's really fun, especially when it comes to Children vs. Adults).

Ambre's personality (despite that I changed her design just a little from the Movie) is pretty much the same as the Cancelled Movie's Concept, a Girl who loves Sci-Fi, Very Snarky but Friendly Attitude. As for the Kids, they have their own personalities in terms of their own contrast towards their own Alien Counterparts.

Lukas "Kai" Caddell is Very Laid-Back, Cool, and Lazy but can be Sarcastic and Mischievous when he wants to be but still acts like a Nice Kid. Very highly into a Lot of Boy Stuff (especially Superheroes).

Tyson B. Adakai is Very Tidy who works hard but acts as if he's the Very Compassionate and Fun-Loving one out of the Group, but despite his Antics, he can sometimes be the one who perhaps learns on how to Balance Anyone out of the Group as he's Well Empathic. When he is not called "Tyson", he can either be called by his own Two Nicknames; "Tyler" or "Ty".

Jayda "Jade" Nicholson is a Smooth Talking and Calm Girl whose into Fashion Stuff. Very Sophisticated and Moral with some Smart Suggestions through a Confident Personality, Jade is always there willing to be by their Friend's side as she is always Helpful of Others (through both Strength and Words), but be careful of her Anger, especially when her Little Brother is around annoying her all the time.

Matthew "Mathias" Gardner is the Most Highly Intelligent Kid and the Brains of the Group. Very Smart but can be a Little Bit Shy towards Others, he's the Very Nerdy Kid of the Group but can act scared (especially if it's Germs) whenever something horrifying gets on his Nerves but can act Very Peaceful as the Voice of Reason in the Group whenever he needs to be.

The Girl ("Ambre") from The Cancelled Movie, "Stupid Invaders" (c) Action Synthese

Space Goofs (c) Xilam

OCs (c) Me

[resowrites]

Fuzzy Pumpkin - drabble.

Summary: Henry’s taken aback by his gf’s latest purchase.

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Girlfriend!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, dialogue heavy, language, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 429

A/N: Welp I can’t do Flufftober after all, I wasn’t happy with my entries either so they’ve been removed. Please enjoy this post though, not sure when I’ll be back ~ R x

My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! No copyright infringement intended, gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Fuzzy Pumpkin - drabble.

The sound of Henry's raucous laughter almost made her jump. She quickly entered the living room to find him hugging himself on the sofa with his head thrown back. She let out a breath and took a seat next to him, placing two cups down on the coffee table. "What's so funny?" He still couldn't form words but pointed eagerly to the coffee table. "What, you idiot?" He took a few deep breaths and rubbed his eyes.

"This! What the fuck is this?!" He grabbed the pumpkin ornament that had been resting there.

"A pumpkin, darling."

"Oh really? Didn't know they did fuzzy ones." Henry's laughter got the better of him once again.

"It's not fuzzy, it's 'flocked,'" she said matter of factly.

"'Fucked,' did you say?" She bit her lip, determined not to smile.

"Flocked! Flocked!" She snatched it from his hand and bopped him on the arm with it.

"As in, you 'flocked' to buy it?" She pursed her lips but decided to reach down the side of the sofa anyway, Henry's mischievous look be damned. "You looking for the receipt?" She ignored him and produced from a bag another, smaller pumpkin. He broke down completely. She bit the insides of her mouth to keep from laughing as she took her time positioning the two pumpkins in front of her. He eventually managed to collect himself but had to use his shirt to wipe his face this time. "Well, I suppose one fuzzy pumpkin would look odd." Her eyes fell to the larger one and what else she could do besides bop him with it. "Hey, easy now… you only just bought them." She finally snickered but folded her arms. "What else did you buy?" She sniffed sharply and ignored his devilish grin.

"Just a candle."

"Oh, what scent?" The look she gave him was so fierce he snorted hard. She then sighed and fetched the bag.

"Oh darling, you know I'm only joking."

"Too late, you've ruined it." Henry giggled.

"Aww no! You know I think there's a pumpkin patch near here, what if I take you to get some real ones?"

"No thank you, I want these ones." He sighed and flung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest for a cuddle.

"Well, I suppose you know best. Still, I'll see if I can pick up a nice one in Sainbury's… there's got to be one there that doesn't look like you from behind." She smirked.

"Yeah, cos it’ll look like you from the front." Henry choked on his tea.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@marytudorbrandon @inlovewithhisblueeyes @pinkhippo44 @luclittlepond @kebabgirl67

[factual-fantasy]

I has 30 asks! :0

(Ask in question)

I’m gonna be honest, I took it that way. I thought it was a rude ask that was criticizing my versions of the Wario bros for no reason. Even though they’re still gonna be the flamboyant and comedic gremlins that we all know and love. And even if they weren’t, and they were gonna be completely new and gentle characters, so what? Its just an AU version of them. 

But even so, I’m glad I responded to that ask. So that you had the chance to clear this up with me and so I didn’t have to block someone over a misunderstanding-

@crunchypotatochips-18

I imagine he likes some friendly company. But not to worry! He’s not lonely down there or anything, he’s got Gregory and Foxy to keep him company!

Also thank you! :DDD

It doesn’t fit at all actually- 😅

I have no plans for E.Gadd. And when the bros found King Boos mansion they were in, out and over with it in under a day :0

@pixelinrgb-rebirth (Post in question)

:D Yes! It is! And I’ve actually thought of some ideas already. Making my own ways for how the Iron Golems work, how the villagers work, why this mob does this, etc. But its mostly just been worlds with my OCs in them. Nothing about Steve yet. :/

As for the Power-Up/downs. There are no “power-downs”. Power-ups are supposed to be these items of pure energy, and although they can be dangerous, none of them explicitly exist just to cause harm. Like the poison shroom for example. That one exits but its not a Power-up. Its just a blatantly poison mushroom without any special powers behind it.

And when it comes to what powerups are in the AU, I only really add the ones from games that I’ve played. Soooo Mario kart Wii, New super Mario bro Wii, Mario 64 on the ds, super Mario 3D world.. plus a few others I bet I’m missing. Mostly mainstream games basically. No Paper Mario or partners in time or anything-

As for my AU’s name.. I haven’t thought of one yet ;-; ... 

@scarftale-bryan

Me about to post Kirby OCs that was partially motivated by an ask/request-

@mister-jedblack​ (post in ask)

Happy Valentines day! And I hope to get back to the AU soon. I’ve been thinking about it everyday and am trying to really iron out Vanessa's storyline atm. Hopefully soon I can finally stitch this this thing back together and continue sharing it!

I haven’t played those games.. :(

But I wanted to add the wing cap from super Mario 64 on the DS. And I tried to think of ways to add the yellow super cape from the old games too :0 

I’ve seen some screen shots of it but never looked into it, looks spooky! :0

I’m assuming you meant this post? If that’s the case I think I went off the idea that Sword was infected with a monster that was intended for Kirby.

A monster that caused crazy hallucinations mostly, and great pain in the eyes and head. I had a mini comic where Blade was trying to talk to him and he saw Blades face as distorted and grotesque. Scaring the crap out of Sword and making him either run or just cover his eyes in panic. Fun stuff! :D

@neeydrawls

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDD I’m so glad to hear that you like my content!!

As for your questions, Monty is innocent. But he blames himself for Bonnie’s decommission. Something in Monty golf destroyed Bonnie. And because of Monty, they didn't have enough money to repair Bonnie. And because of Monty, the Glamrock era began. In which Bonnie was left behind.

Monty was never jealous of Freddy or Bonnie, and he still isn’t. He’s was happy with the way things were.. he wasn’t the one who hurt Bonnie. As for who or what did? That’s a mystery to be revealed later :0

Also. Bonnie and Foxy are supposed to be shut down. If workers saw them, they would be shut down again and put back in the basement. Or maybe even scrapped! :0 Also the workers could possibly find Gregory, which would not be good- Its also not up to the workers on whether or not they get fixed. That’s all up to the higher ups..

And the reason why Freddy is keeping Gregory a secret.. is because he thinks if Chica, Roxanne, Monty or the others saw him, they would call security. Which means Gregory would be caught by Vanessa and/or taken away by authorities. Freddy doesn't’ understand it yet, but he loves Gregory. And he wants to keep him safe, and with him. So he hides him from his friends in fear that he will be taken away. :( Also Gregory is terrified of the others so there’s that--

I haven’t planned out a scenario where Luigi dies and is revived. But if that ever happens? Mario would be devastated. It would just.. it would destroy him. Especially if he witnessed his baby brother being killed or wounded.. it.. it would just be awful.

I would like for Luigi to find a 1-UP, and then die in some horrible way- but I haven’t thought of anything super interesting yet. :/

AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! THIS IS SO SWEET!! :DDD

@sneakysidekick

ASUIAUSDNVO THANK YOUUU IM WORKING MY VERY BESTEST JUST FOR U

I haven’t actually played those games before.. so I have zero knowledge on them :( But they look really cool! And I bet they’re really fun games :}

(Also thank you!! :DD)

AAA THANK YOU!!! Also I’ve been drawing for... basically my entire life XD some of my earliest memories are drawing tails the fox on sticky notes and in old school note books. Ahh those were the days.. where the only thing that existed to me was tails miles prower..

@bloonmonnie​ (post in question)

Yeah, I kind’a pictured domesticated/home grown Piranha plants (which is what Piñata is-) to have more of an animal level of intelligence. Like maybe that of a dog? She also kind’a just tends to mimic what Waluigi is doing. If Waluigi is angry and defensive Piñata is smart enough to know that she should act angry and defensive right alongside him.

If Waluigi is soaked in blood and is moving oddly slow.. well, she’ll get quiet and move slow too..

My favorite character from the Anime AND the games is Metaknight! :DD In the Anime he has a deep lore that explains why he’s edgy and it explains motives for his actions and its really cool- also in Super Star Ultra Metaknight was really fun to play as-

As for Kirby? I don’t really have anything outstanding to say about the lil guy. I like him as much as anybody else. He’s just a lil gumball, not my favorite character, but I don’t have any hate for him. :0

@noelianoe1​

My last submas post was made in July 2022 :x So not recent..

I haven’t given them much thought actually.. I should look into that more :0

(post in question)

XD He’s to dumbfounded to speak at this point

I think they’ll mostly just be doing stuff in the background :0

@orchid-harmony​

I have not actually! :0 Although I’ve heard a lot about that game, it sounds fun!

Ooooo adding Ashley is a fun idea! :D

@itschrisboys​

There’s a lot of pain and fear on both sides really.

Bowsers entire world and view of himself was flipped on its head. He was defeated. By this.. person.. no, this thing. He now no longer feels safe in his own kingdom. He no longer feels strong enough to protect his kids..

And for the bros and princess, a lot of anxiety and sleepless nights are had. Mario and Luigi have to sleep in the same room lest they both suffer anxiety attacks. Even Peach, who is royal and posh, and has an image of strength and stability to uphold.. even she was tormented with anxiety. And could not sleep without her advisor Toadsworth nearby..

I don’t remember much of Villainous, but I remember liking Dr.Flug! 10/10 would recommend the wacky scientist man XD

(Video in ask)

I have not actually :0 but I’ve heard good things about the game! Maybe I should watch a play through sometime.. 🤔

XD Oh yeah, it was all fun and games being tall and strong.. until it wore off. And the muscle soreness set in :(

The only star powerups I have considered is the basic super stars that make the bros invincible. I'm not familiar with those other games and sorta forgot about the big stars from 64--

Basically. Its just the default star power-ups. Mostly because I’m not familiar with the games the other ones are from..

[dispatchvampire]

Accidentally In Love (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x FemaleOC

Warnings: Potentially lethal levels of fluffiness right now, potential for smut later. A little blood, canon levels of violence potentially. Plus size female OC, body descriptions.

Rating: PG-13 (right now for language, but look for this to change)

WC: 2600-ish.

Summary: 

Echo's living a normal life in NYC, a 911 dispatcher, the most excitement she gets is from the calls she takes. And then love comes crashing in one day when she's riding her bike through Central Park.

Steve and Bucky weren't looking for anything on their daily run around the park besides fresh air and exercise. The streak of purple eye candy on a bike that lapped them pretty regularly was a nice addition but not mandatory, at least until some impromptu roughhousing results in some civilian casualties in the form of the most beautiful woman either of them had seen in a long, long time.

A/N: AU, Post CACW, Bucky’s Chill and we have always lived in the Tower. Just call this a throwback to the found family, everyone lives in Stark Tower fics.

This is supposed to be a super-fluffy love story. Still undecided if I'm gonna keep this one going but posting now for giggles and grins. It's got some CSI:NY characters crossing over because why not.

I'm just messing about and playing in my WIPs folder. Not Beta'd: we die like men! (honestly, I tried but if you catch something I missed, let me know)

Chapter 2

Blinking, Echo arrived back on the current plain of consciousness in a very bright room that smelled vaguely of antiseptic and orange slices. Blinking, she groaned a little as she took in her varying pains that hadn’t been evident before, including the stiffness in the elbow where her IV was installed. 

“There she is.” 

She turned her head toward a voice she recognized very well. Lindsey Messer, Danny’s wife and her friend from the job and her building, sat at her bedside holding her hand. In her pants suit and fuschia blouse, wearing her work badge, it was clear the tiny blonde had come straight from the crime lab. “Hey Linds. I hope Danny didn’t make you worry. I’m fine. My head’s too hard for any lasting damage.”

The blonde snorted and slid a plastic cup with a straw in it over to her. “That’s what I told them.” 

It was good to know her friend had her back. “What am I doing here?”

“They said you had a concussion and lost consciousness at the scene. Apparently you hit your head when you went into the stream by the bridge. Plus you got some stitches in your nose and chin and have a hairline fracture in your wrist.”

“Oh.” It was so much worse than she feared. Looking down at her wrist she saw the bandage and closed her eyes on a sigh. “Well, this sucks.”

“It does,” Lindsey agreed. “It seems you have some interesting friends, though.” 

Echo sipped her cup of water as she mulled over the strange transition. “We have the same friends, Linds.” Working in law enforcement made for a large extended, and occasionally dysfunctional, family, and since they hung out together, the majority of the people in their lives were shared friends and acquaintances. 

“Funny, because I don't remember you bringing those two superheroes you crashed into on the bike path today out for drinks with us.” She leaned back in the chair, looking nonchalant as she pulled a bottle of water from her purse to sip. 

Superheroes? What? “What are you talking about?” Shifting to sit up further in bed, she found herself tired and reclining back on the pillows behind her. She had one thing she wanted to make clear, though. “And I didn't crash into anyone. I ditched out so I wouldn't crash into anyone.” 

Lindsay smiled slyly. “You’re too nice, that’s why you crashed.” 

Looking around to make sure there were no little ears to overhear she snarked at her friend, “Vaffanculo,” complete with the associated hand gesture. 

Of course that's the moment when Danny decided to come into the room carrying a bottle of water and some white daisies he laid on the table next to her drink. “Ay, yo! You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asked with his ever present grin. He’d clearly cleaned up and changed into one of his signature tight t-shirts and jeans. He made hipster chic look good with his wire-rim glasses and skinny jeans.

Rolling her eyes hurt but she did it anyway. “Whatever, Danny. When do I get outta here?”

The thin man winced and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, see that's the problem. Both the girls have ear infections, and they’re with my mom right now, but there's nobody to look after them for us, so we can look after you. And well unfortunately, between us and Flack, Donnie is going outta town with Trish for the weekend. So the docs wanna keep you overnight.”  

“But…” she whined pitifully. The idea of spending the night alone in the hospital sounded as appealing as shaving her legs with a dull razor and lemonade shaving cream.

Lindsey’s lips twitched. “You know we have toddlers, right? We’re immune to such things,” she laughed.

Lower lip in full pout, she replied, “And that's just unfair.” Echo reached onto the table and then rummaged around in the sheets over her before reaching into her bloodstained bra and the pockets of her bike shorts. “Where's my phone?” Surely she could find someone to look after her at her place so she didn’t have to stay in the hospital.  

Danny cringed as he grabbed the other visitor’s seat in the room. “Yeah, about that... your phone’s out getting fixed right now. Unfortunately it and your sunglasses met the creek bed and experienced a similar fate as you.”

“Oh no.” She winced and reached up to touch the bridge of her nose involuntarily as her hopes for escape dwindled in front of her. “This is bad.” 

He nodded, conceding her point. “Yeah, yeah it is, kiddo.”

“So, I have to stay.” It was a statement of resignation more than anything and she was beyond displeased, but knew two things: first, this wasn’t her friends’ fault, and second, she couldn’t do anything about this.

“Unfortunately.” Messer nodded again. Seeing her dejected expression, he rushed to assure her, “Just for tonight though. They’ll let you go in the morning. Hopefully your phone will be back here by then, good as new.”

“Wait…” Her mind was still a little fuzzy, but Echo was pretty clear that phone insurance wasn’t nearly that prompt. “Who's got my phone?”

Lindsay looked at Danny with a pointy glare. “You didn't tell her?” 

“She just woke up! You were here!” Danny held out a hand hoping to show that he was unarmed and not one to take her fire. He pulled the chair over to the bed to be closer to Echo. “Do you remember the two guys you crashed into?” 

“I didn't crash,” she corrected, rolling her eyes coming much easier this time.  

“Your face and bike would disagree,” he supplied diplomatically, with only the barest hint of a grin.  

“Whatever.”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, assessing. “You really don’t remember?” 

Shaking her head hurt, but she tried anyway. “Help me out here, Messer. I got nothin’.” She had vague recollections of the two hot guys from the path, but considering she saw them daily, those were not memories she trusted. “Were those the ones you and Flack had your guns on?” 

Lindsay's eyes grew very large and she pinned Danny down with a very pointed glare. “You had your gun on Captain America and Sergeant Barnes?” 

“It was a very fluid situation,” he gritted out through his clenched jaw. “It took a minute to get it all untangled.”

“I'm sorry, what?” The headache that had been dancing around the edge of her vision grew to full force causing her to rub her face. “What? That doesn't even make sense.” How in the fried fuck did the fricking Avengers figure into this? “How—? What—? I don’t understand—”

Danny cringed at her questions and pushed to his feet. “Well I think we've done enough damage here. Linds will get the girls and we'll see you tomorrow morning.”

Echo’s eyes popped open as she reached for him when he stepped away to put the chair back. “Wait! No! You don't get to just drop a bomb and leave like that.” 

Likely attracted by her beeping monitor, the nurse came in to see her blood pressure spiking. “You have to go now. The patient needs her rest.” 

Lindsey and Danny leaned over for quick hugs before heading toward the door. “This will make sense in the morning, E, okay? You’ll be fine,” he assured her. 

She whined again, dropping her head into the pillows. “Okay. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, you will,” he replied with his trademark toothy grin. 

Right before he and Lindsey walked out the door, she asked, “Hey, who has my bike?”

“Hopefully that’ll be here with your phone.” 

The way Danny’s smile turned secretive before the nurse closed the door was concerning, but her head hurt too badly to really give it too much thought. Honestly, she was tired again and since it seemed she had nowhere else to be, she figured it was a good moment to take a nap. 

“We should have brought the bike up.”

“And put it where, genius? In the hallway where it’d just be in the way? In here? It’s a hospital, not a subway platform.”

“I just think—”

“And that’s your problem right there, Stevie.”

“I just don’t want her to think we took it or anything.”

“Steve. Really. Come down off the cross; we need the wood.” 

Echo woke to the sound of grumbled whispers and some sort of mechanical noise. Her dark eyes opened to the overly bright room, only to slam shut again at the vision before her. It was clearly a concussion-generated hallucination, because there, seated at her bedside were the two sexy mofos from the bike trail. A flimsy wisp of a memory danced across her mind of the blond one fetching her from the creek by picking her up, but… that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be; she was too heavy for that. She hadn’t been picked up since childhood, and certainly was not one to invite the casual touch of strangers.  

Cracking her eyes open the barest hint, she watched the two men, giants, both of them, arguing back and forth softly beside her. She’d never given thought to their size before beyond their muscles, considering her bike gave her a height advantage, but damn if they weren’t enormous, still dressed in their too-tight t-shirts and jeans that encased their thighs closer than clingwrap.  

Her soft whimper at the sight brought their argument to a halt as both of them reached for her hand. 

“Hey, beautiful,” the longhaired one greeted her with a soft smile as he delicately touched her fingers. His own fingers were cold, and when she looked to see why, it appeared they were made of some kind of metal. In her mind, she’d always assumed it had been some kind of tattoo when she’d seen him in passing, so the metal was a bit of a shock. 

“Howya feelin’, sweetheart?” the blond one asked as he laid his hand over her same wrist. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, just absorbing the absurdity of this moment. “Best. Hallucination. Ever.” 

Her eyes snapped open at a bark of laughter followed by the mostly silent wheezing giggles that overtook Hotness 2. He threw his head back, shaking out his unbound hair in full chortle, a bubbly infectious sound that made her feel like she’d been infused with sunshine. The way his nose crinkled made her want to hug the hell outta him. 

“Babydoll,” he choked out as he brushed away tears from his cheeks before patting her knee with a warm smile. “We’re as real as it gets. I promise.” 

Blondie’s grin at his friend was a mix of affection and unruffled resignation. “Ignore Chuckles over there. How are you feelin’?”

“I’d feel better if I knew who you were,” she said softly. It was a strange feeling, a sensation of familiarity and absolutely no idea why she might know them. Not that she didn’t appreciate the attention, but it was disconcerting that they seemed to know her and she had no active memory of them beyond their occasional encounters on the trails and paths in Central Park.

“I’m James and this is Ste—Wait, you really don’t remember us?” The brunet went from amused to stricken in a breath when she shook her head, his free hand—it was a metal hand—scrubbing down his face and pulling his features taut before clapping his hands. “Right then. I’m James—my friends call me Bucky, and this is Steve. I ran into you on the trail yesterday.”

Eyes rolled to the ceiling, the giant blond then directed an annoyed glare at his compatriot before folding her hand in both of his massive paws. “What Buck means is he ran into you on the bike path. By the Glen Span bridge.”

“Oh! Jeez!” Thinking back, all she could see in her mind was the blue shirt and then everything goes kind of hazy until… “Guns? My friends had their guns on you?” 

They both held their hands up, shaking their heads. “A misunderstanding. It all got sorted out pretty quickly, despite Smartass over here trying to get us killed,” James grumbled in Steve’s direction, even as a smirk curled around the corners of his mouth. 

The blond winced at his friend’s description of the events but didn’t correct him. “Anyway, we wanted to come and apologize for all the upheaval we caused for you.”

“And your stitches and things,” the brunet added as he tucked his long bangs behind his ears. Looking down in his lap, he jerked as he noticed the bag by his feet. It was purple and glittery and had tissue paper sticking out of the top and he pushed it into her hands like it may be virulently contagious. “Here. From us.” 

Immediately suspicious, Echo held the bag at arm’s length. “Okay? What is it?”

Steve rolled his eyes with a little huff of impatience. “Telling you ruins the surprise. We went to the trouble of wrapping ‘em—”

“Well, Wanda did,” Buck leaned over to stage-whisper conspiratorially. 

“We went to the trouble of having ‘em wrapped,” the blond corrected with an impatient glare at his friend, “so open it.” 

A little embarrassed at having their eager eyes track her every move, she dug past the mountain of glittery paper to pull out a shrink-wrapped, brand new Stark Phone in the signature red and gold box which she set on the bed next to her. Everything about this situation was so goddamn weird, it was hard to make all the pieces fit together in her head with any kind of coherence. 

“Tony promised me he got all your stuff transferred over,” Steve offered eagerly as he poked the box a little closer to her. 

“Pictures and things,” Buck clarified over his friend’s shoulder. They both seemed greatly invested in her taking the gift.  

She held the box up in one hand while pawing through the bag with the other. “Okay?” Her fingers brushed against another box, this one textured and obviously expensive cardboard and almost as hefty as her phone box. 

Echo’s eyes widened as she pulled out the black box with the distinctive gold writing on it. “Is this…?” she trailed off as she observed the two men closely. Steve nodded encouragingly, so she opened it, almost afraid of what could be inside. Inside was a hard leather case, with gold lettering that matched the exterior box. “You got me Versace sunglasses?” She couldn’t decide if she was happy or mildly horrified. 

The blond nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yours were in pieces from where I stepped on them getting out of the water.” His cheeks flushed as he looked more than a little ashamed. “Tony assured me that you’d be okay with the replacement.” 

“Stevie’s underselling it. Stark said you’d appreciate the upgrade.” 

Upgrade? Shit… she was a city employee and made nowhere near the kind of money that this pair of sunglasses cost. They were likely more expensive than all the clothes in her closet. “I… thank you?” 

“Here.” James nodded at the bag next to her. “There’s more in there.” 

At the expectant looks on their faces, she set the black box aside and turned her attention to the bright yellow envelope just inside the bag. “‘Sorry we broke your stuff, please accept these replacements with our humblest apologies,’” she read, wary of their hopeful expressions when she finished. “'Replacements?' Plural? There’s more?”

[poohsources]

hi, pooh, is everything alright with you? i hope it's a yes! so, i'm sorry if you already answered something like this, but i just started to follow you right now (because i found your blog really interesting), saw this post of yours and was thinking: do you have tips about "losing our musing while roleplaying"? i see a lot of friends losing their muses, sometimes i do lose mine (which is sad, because we do have affection towards our chars), and i think some tips would help a lot and you seem to have the good ones. i would really appreciate if you could share them with us! the biggest thank you already and have a good, good day!

p.s: if i didn't made myself clear, sorry, english is not my first language ):

hi there! well, i'm sick again but other than that i'm fine, thanks. no worries, if questions are asked multiple times i tend to link them to the original answer. but it's one thing i haven't talked about yet, so you're good.

unfortunately, there is no definitive answer that will definitely help but there are some things i've either done myself or have heard about that are supposed to work, so i've compiled a list of all the tips that would help when you've lost your muse.

look at your muses' source material. this mostly applies to canon muses, but depending on the kind of oc, it might work for them as well. the idea behind it is to potentially watch a few episodes ( maybe ones that heavily feature or develop your character ) of the show your muse is from if you're writing a tv show character; reread the book / certain passages if you have a book muse, or just generally interact in any kind of way with the source material. even if you're canon divergent it might help ignite your muse again when you "see them in action" so to speak.

listening to music. if you're into music, you can probably make a playlist for your character including songs that either remind you of them or are something you think your character would listen to in their own free time. now whenever you're listening to that playlist it can help you inspire your muse.

read fanfics. if you're like me and spend an ungodly amount of time reading fanfics, it's something that can help you get inspiration for your muse. again that mostly only applies to canon muses but seeing the way others write your muse and the different scenarios they can be thrown into, might help with your own muse ( and especially plot ideas / au ideas ) that you can talk about either on the dash, to a friend or someone you'd think could be a great writing partner.

create your own stuff outside of rp for your muse. it kinda ties in into the playlist tip, but there are other ways to "channel" your muse outside of rp. do you enjoy drawing? draw your muse. do you like making mood / aesthetic boards? make one for your muse. there are so many different things you can do for your muse outside of roleplaying / writing that can help you get your muse back. even if it's just by doing other stuff.

talk to your friends. if you have friends or certain writing partners you talk to a lot, it can help to just talk to them about your muse(s). you don't even have to spew plot ideas or discuss things that have to do with roleplay but maybe just some casual talk about specific topics ( or if it's a canon muse, you could talk about their source material and what you like / dislike ).

dream up scenarios. if you're someone with an imaginative mind, one thing that can help is dream up certain scenarios that involve your muse. perhaps certain things that could happen to them and how they'd react, or interactions with other people or just random day-to-day stuff ― just put yourself in their shoes and think about them. ( potentially you'll even have some great plot or verse ideas this way. )

last, but not least, take a step back from roleplaying your muse. i know that this is probably the one people will dislike the most but sometimes the best thing you can do when you've lost your muse is to take a step back from it. if you're forcing yourself to write because you think it's what you're supposed to do, it's pretty much bound to frustrate you and therefore make you lose your muse. we all love our characters and the things we've created for them, but sometimes we have to let go. of course it doesn't have to be a permanent thing, maybe someday you'll get your muse for that character back and make a return to it, but sometimes you'll realize that you can't get your muse back and that is okay.

occasionally, people connect to characters that speak to them during specific times of their life and if these change, it can change the muse for that character because you don't feel as connected to them anymore. you can still cherish that time and love that character but as i said above, if you're forcing yourself to do anything, it's bound to be bad.

anyway, i hope these tips will help! :)

[clotpolesonly]

I'm so curious about the Declan was abused by a priest au 👀

my friend Cami and i can't help it, we just look at promiscuous characters with intense trust and intimacy issues and ask "is anybody gonna hc a history of sexual abuse here??" and then don't wait for an answer adlkjfgh

this verse -- (dubbed "the Wesleyverse", after our OC priest, Father Wesley) -- began with "and i am not gonna think about the reputation the catholic church has for sexual abuse of young boys because i have already delivered plenty of trauma and angst upon my boys and it also it feels uncouth alkdfjhadgf 😅 bUT ALSO" which was met with a resounding "I WENT THERE TOO" from Cami, and it spiraled from there

i'm just saying, a quiet self-sufficient anxious boy with an unstable home life and who has already had the importance of keeping secrets drilled into him would be very convenient for a sexual predator. socially isolated and emotionally unfulfilled. the ignored child, the overlooked, no one's favorite -- desperate for the validation and attention that he doesn't get from his parents, at least not the way he wants it. resentful of his brothers and their specialness.

Father Wesley made him feel special. like he was the important one for once, more important than all the other boys, more important than Ronan who he could've chosen instead. Father Wesley gave Declan all the attention and praise and reassurance that he craved, and all it took was playing some private games. secret and unpleasant and ever-escalating "games" that made Declan feel bad in a variety of ways, but Declan was used to that. cleaning up after dad's and Ronan's dreams were games, according to Aurora, and those made him feel bad too. those were unpleasant too. those made him afraid too. those were things he couldn't tell anyone about too.

how is a 6yo supposed to know the difference between a secret that should be kept and a secret that shouldn't be? a game he has to play behind closed doors whether he wants to or not and a game he needs to tell a trusted adult about?

(there aren't many adults he trusts anyway. who is supposed to be more trustworthy than their priest? Father Wesley speaks for god, doesn't he? he's the highest authority. right?)

so anyway. all that lasted a while, maybe from ages 6 to 8, when Father Wesley stopped wanting to play with him. it took months for Declan to realize that he wasn't coming back, that for better or for worse it was over. (relieved, yes. hurt, also yes. abandoned. unfavorite. if Father Wesley doesn't love him anymore, does it mean god doesn't either?) he put it behind him, labeled it as over and done with, and he did everything he could to bury it and pretend it never happened. he never told anyone and he never intended to.

it's been 11 years since the abuse stopped, Wesley's been retired from St Agnes for 5 or 6 years, a whole lot of shit has happened and life has been very busy for Declan (set post-TRK, more or less lol). things are finally calming down a little bit. the Gray Man has the underground shit handled for the time being, he and Matthew are back in town (because reasons, don't ask about georgetown, it's not important) and his relationship with Ronan is stabilizing. everything is fine.

and then Father Wesley gets arrested.

Gansey forwards the article to Ronan. Ronan shows it to Declan when he's stopped by monmouth for whatever reason, like holy shit, this is crazy, can you believe this??? fucked up, amirite??

doesn't notice at first that Declan has gone completely still.

it isn't until he mentions that the police are going through all the evidence to see if they can identify the victims -- indicating that it's not just, ya know, possession of materials from the internet, but actual production, records of his actual abuse -- that Declan fucking bolts. and Ronan is like UMMM?? DON'T LIKE THE IMPLICATIONS OF THAT

and here's the thing about the Lynch brothers. they may not get along. they may have a lot of water under the bridge. they may be liable to attack each other at the drop of a hat. but the second someone else attacks one of them? they close ranks. Ronan may not like his brother all that much but it's still HIS brother, thank you very much, his family, and anybody who lays a fucking hand on him is gonna suffer the consequences.

he has to chase Declan down. checks his condo, checks his work, checks the Barns, even calls Matthew to ask if he's seen him. finally finds him at the absolute LAST place he expected -- the church. it's late afternoon on a tuesday or something and there's no one else there. it's just Declan, alone in the sanctuary, with a rosary that Ronan hasn't seen him actually use in years.

Ronan doesn't remember ever having seen Declan cry before, and he's not crying now but it's obvious that he has been. that he's fighting to keep control of himself now. says he came here to be alone.

Ronan says fuck that, he's not just gonna leave.

after a minute, Declan abruptly sits up, suddenly blank and businesslike and steady, and he tells Ronan to ask his questions. which is.........disturbing, for Ronan. because he's seen this face before. he's seen it a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times. it's the cool detachment that's always rubbed Ronan the wrong way, earned Declan accusations of being an unfeeling robot, someone who just didn't care as much as Ronan did about anything or anyone.

had this face always had all this under it? could he really just pull it on over top of.........of ALL THIS and pretend that none of those feelings were there?? hide them that well?? fucking hell.

Ronan refuses to ask any questions. he has plenty, of course, but he's not here to interrogate him. (he doesn't even know how to put his questions into words anyway, fuck, he's just trying to wrap his head around it.) Declan said he wanted to be alone, obviously he doesn't wanna talk about it, so Ronan is gonna sit here with him for as long as Declan wants to be here, and later if Declan wants to talk about it then, then they can talk about it, and if not, they won't, and that's it.

it's silent for a few minutes as Ronan sits stubbornly and tries not to look, but out of the corner of his eye he can see as Declan's face crumbles bit by bit. as he fights so hard to keep his composure and, without opposition to set himself against, fails.

(he's not used to Ronan not pushing back, not being combative or accusatory. he definitely never expected support. and it's hitting him that Ronan knows. that pretty soon, everyone in town is going to know. Henrietta is a small town, it's a gossipy church community, they're only a few years off from when predatory priests were headline news all over the world, this is not staying quiet. and there's evidence. identifiable evidence and a police investigation and calls being made to victims. there is no way that his name is staying out of this no matter what he does. the situation is officially outside of his control, and that's terrifying.)

he's never cried in front of Ronan before, not since they were very small children, but even his prodigious repression skills have a failure point and he's reached it. he's curled in on himself and there are gasping, gulping sobs in the silence of the empty church, and Ronan eventually throws caution to the wind and does what he would do if it were Matthew. he puts a hand on Declan's back, just maintaining contact, proving that he's there and he's not leaving.

........

SO ANYWAY

this verse goes on and on, my anon friend, this is the set up and we just kept spinning out the thread for literally a year at this point, i think it was jan 2023 that we started talking about this concept 😂 it's not always one linear narrative, we branch off into "ooh i wanna see when X happens" in a patchwork kinda fashion, just rolling around in the sandbox and exploring the premise and also all the relationships and the way this particular trauma interacts with all the other traumas and also Ronan and Matthew's traumas and all their dynamics with each other.

Cami and i lean toward the self-indulgence of letting the Lynches actually make the occasional healthy and productive choice, because there is nothing more cathartic and satisfying to us than having them actually talk to each other, so by god these little fuckers are communicating in a semi-functional manner most of the time. they love each other, goddamn it, they're gonna fucking act like it. also about 30k in we finally got Declan into therapy 😂😂😂 good god he needs it, lmao.

.......i also accidentally got REALLY INVESTED in an OC, Jeremy, who was Father Wesley's next victim, the one he moved on to after Declan. i did not mean to start shipping Matthew and Jeremy, but here i am, a Meremy stan. i love them. #otp

so. lemme know if you want more, lol. i've got so so much more alkfdjh

[wonderswritings]

Reapers Fall

Summary: It was just one moment, one moment that changed everything.  Warnings: Angst, Character Death, Pre-Established Relationship Pairings: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader AN: This could be considered an AU for my COD OC series, but at the same time not really. The only thing I’ve taken from my series is the codename Reaper and the mask she wears.  OOC Ghost maybe? More than likely- oh well. No use of ‘yn’ POV changes from yours to Ghosts. And I'm sorry if the ending seems rushed. I tried rewriting it but I wasn't able to change much.

💀

How did you end up here? How did it come to this? Gasping for air, blood pouring under your fingers, causing your fingers to slip. There was no point really, but you still had to try. Because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. So how, how did it end like this? Alone, hot and dying.

💀

It wasn’t supposed to happen. They’d always been paired together, from the moment she’d been assigned to the task force, they’d been joined at the hip, a shadow to the other. So why was he just standing there, frozen in place, watching as the building she was in erupted into flames? Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he calling for her through the comms?

💀

“Reaper will be the one to get the intel while the rest of you provide cover.”

Sparing her a glance, he could see the way she was tense, her mask hiding her face but even then, he could picture the look she’d wear. 

“Sir, Reaper will need backup. Someone should-”

“Reaper is more than capable. If we send someone else with her, the element of surprise will no longer be ours. We’re all going to be her backup from the outside, drawing their attention from her and the building.”

“Someone needs to be with her-”

“The plan is final Ghost. Reaper will go in alone and the others will provide cover. You will provide cover. Am I clear?”

Clenching his jaw, he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, seeing her mask pointed in his direction. It was small, such a small movement that anyone else would’ve missed it, but he was attuned to her, and he caught the twitch of her finger causing him to look back at Price, nodding.

“Yes sir.”

Price nodded once, leaning back

“Good. We leave at 0900. Dismissed.”

Without waiting he turned, leaving the room. He was angry, huffing as he made his way to his room. The door slammed shut behind him as he walked towards his desk, his hands on the edge as he leaned forward, taking a few deep breaths before he yelled, swiping his hands at the things on the desk, knocking everything over. He didn’t bother to turn when the door opened, keeping his back to the door as it shut.

“Ghost.”

He huffed, hearing her walk towards him.

“Simon.”

He took a deep breath, turning towards her. She had taken her mask off, her head tilted to the side as she glanced down at the mess he’d made before she looked up at him.

“Okay?”

“No.”

She held her hand out towards him, causing him to sigh softly as he walked towards her, placing his hand in hers. Together they walked towards his bed, Reaper sitting on his bed first, leaning against the wall, making space for him between her legs. He moved to lay down on top of her, wrapping his arms around her middle as he placed his head on her stomach. Her fingers tickled the edge of his mask, and with a quick motion he pulled it off, dropping it onto the bed beside them. He hummed as she ran her fingers through his hair, leaning closer into her.

“Everything will be okay.”

“You can’t say that. Don’t say that.”

“Simon-”

“We’re always paired together. Every mission, it’s you and me.”

“It’ll still be you and me, we just won’t be side by side. But you’ll still have my back.”

He turned his head, looking up at her.

“Always.”

She smiled, her right hand moving down to cup his jaw, her thumb smoothing along his cheek.

“And I will always come back to you.”

He huffed, laying back down against her.

“I don’t like it.”

She sighed, running her fingers through his hair.

“Me either. But I’ll be fine. Should anything go wrong, I know you’ll be there. We can do this.”

He tightened his grip on her, huffling slightly.

“We could stay, right here.”

She laughed, causing him to move with her. He leaned back, looking up at her.

“M’serious. We could.”

“But you won’t. And neither will I. That’s not who we are.”

He huffed, nuzzling back into her.

“Fine.”

“But, we do have roughly two hours before we have to leave. So until then, we can just stay here.”

He nodded, tightening his grip on her as she leaned her head back against the wall, slightly scooching down some so she could be more comfortable as she resumed running her fingers through his hair. In hindsight, they should’ve stayed in bed.

💀

“Everyone clear on the plan?”

“Yes sir.”

Turning towards Ghost, you looked up at him, cocking your head over your shoulder. He nodded, following you out of the room and into one of the bedrooms in the safehouse, closing the door behind you. You unclipped the top portion of your mask as you stepped closer to Ghost, standing on your tippy toes as he leaned down, pressing your foreheads together.

“I’ll see you soon.”

He placed his hand below your tac vest, gently squeezing.

“I’ll see you soon.”

There was a knock at the door, causing you to sigh.

“Sorry guys, but it’s time.”

“Copy.”

You both separated, Ghost watching you as you moved to clip your mask back, when he reached out, pulling you back to him as he took the bottom half of your mask off, reaching up and pushing his own mask up, leaning down and kissing you. He was already pulling his mask down before you could respond, helping you with your own. You walked towards the door, about to open it when Ghost reached out, taking your hand in his, causing you to turn back towards him. He squeezed your hand, causing you to smile behind your mask as you squeezed back. Opening the door, you saw Johnny leaning against the wall across from the room, a grin on his face as he looked between your hand and Ghost’s. Letting his hand go, you held a finger up in front of you, shaking your head.

“Don’t.”

Johnny grinned, holding his hands out in front of him.

“Didnae say anything.”

You huffed, shaking your head.

“You didn’t have to. Your face said it all.”

He just grinned, shrugging his shoulders as he turned his gaze towards Ghost.

“Lt was just-”

“Don’t.”

You grinned, shaking your head as you started to walk down the hall.

“Come on boys, times wasting. And I have plans.”

Johnny pushed off the wall, hitting his arm against Ghost’s, shooting him a grin when he turned to look at him.

“Those plan’s being you, right Lt?”

Ghost just stared at him before he turned, leaving him to stand in the middle of the hallway before he followed.

💀

Making your way into the town, you snuck through the shadows towards the main building. Reaching up, you pressed the button on your mic.

“In position.”

“Rog. Blast in three, two, one.”

You could hear the bomb going off, Johnny’s “hell yea” sounding through the comms causing you to grin as you watched the people in the building run out, armed as they yelled orders.

“They’re coming to you. Looks to be about twenty, twenty-five.”

“Rog. Intel is on the tenth floor, third room from the stairs. We’ll keep 'em busy while you get the intel.”

“Rog.”

You gave it an extra five minutes after the last person ran out before you started to make your way to the building. You kept your gun close to you as you made your way to the stairs, slightly huffing when you saw just how many stairs you’d have to climb.

“Making my way to the tenth floor now.”

“Rog. We’re taking fire but nothing we can’t handle. Just get the intel and get out.”

“Rog.”

“You know, I don’t think it’s fair that Reaper gets the easy part while the rest of us are getting shot at.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you climbed the last flight of stairs.

“We can always switch places Gaz. I’d much rather be out there than here.”

“Negative. No one’s switching places with anyone.”

You grinned as you slowly pushed the door to the tenth floor open, checking that the hall was clear before you entered.

“Aw come on Price.”

You walked down the hall, clearing each room before you found the server room. You walked towards the computer, grabbing the flashdrive from your pocket. You plugged it in, starting the file transfer.

“Downloading intel now.”

“Rog. How long?”

“Five minutes? Could be longer depending on how much there is.”

“Rog. Stay on comms.”

💀

“Where else would I go?”

Price huffed, turning to look over at Ghost.

“Does she have to have a response for everything?”

“Is that a question you really need answered?”

Ghost grinned, slightly shaking his head as he reloaded his gun, glancing over at Price.

“You’re the one who wanted her to open up more.”

“Now she’s a pain in my ass.”

“Let’s be fair here, we all know she’s your favorite.”

“Don’t have favorites.”

“Aw, cmon Price. Everyone knows that Gaz is your favorite and then I-”

A gunshot sounded through the comms, her gasp ringing in his ears.

“Reaper, status report?”

Ghost tightened his grip on his gun, his breath catching as he waited for a response.

“Reaper, status report?”

“Reaper!”

“M’fine.”

Ghost’s shoulders dropped as he breathed, closing his eyes for a second.

“Hostile down.”

Ghost jerked, his eyes slightly widening.

💀

“Repeat.”

You took a deep breath as you leaned back against the wall, huffing slightly.

“Hostile attacked, killed em’.”

“You injured?”

You looked down, glaring at your fingers that were coated in blood.

“Negative.”

You looked over at the computer when it dinged, seeing the drive was done downloading the files. With a grunt, you used the wall for support as you pulled yourself up, walking towards the computer.

“Files are done.”

You ejected the drive, placing it in your pocket as you turned.

“Heading out now.”

There was a loud sound, a heat burning at your back before everything went dark.

💀

“Files are done. Heading out now.”

Ghost breathed a sigh of relief, forcing the sound of her gasp to the back of his mind as he focused on the fact that she wasn’t injured. She was alive and she was making her way back to him. Just like she promised. But that smudge of relief, the happiness was diminished as quickly as it appeared when the building she was in exploded. They’d all ducked, and for a moment everything was silent before the comms erupted, everyone yelling for her to respond. But to him it was just white noise as he stared at the building, watching the flames grow in size. The flames illuminating everything in the dark.

“Reaper! Reaper come in!”

“Answer dammit!”

“Reaper!”

The longer they went without a response, the more tense they all became. But Ghost was frozen, his gaze unmoving from the building. He jerked when he was tackled, moving to throw them off of him when he saw who it was.

“Come on Lt, snap out of it!”

He shoved Johnny off of him, ducking behind the wall they were using for cover. He could still see the building, and as the flames grew brighter, he was snapped out of it as he reached up, pressing the button for his mic.

“Reaper.”

He clenched his jaw, his glare hardening on the building.

“Reaper, come in.”

💀

“Come back to me Grim, right now. Come back to me.”

You groaned as you came to, coughing as you slowly looked around.

“Come back to me!”

Your hand shook as you reached up, pressing the button for your mic.

“He-here. M’here.”

You could practically feel his relief through the comms as you let your hand fall back to your side.

“Status report Reaper.”

“Injured. My- I got shot. S’below my vest.”

“Through and through?”

You groaned as you pushed yourself up, reaching underneath you.

“Negative.” 

“Where are you?”

You fell back down to the floor, squinting as you looked around.

“Tenth floor still, I think. The blast threw me.”

“I'm coming.” 

“Negative Ghost."

You groaned as you turned onto your side, slowly pushing yourself onto your front, taking a couple of deep breaths before you attempted to sit up, kneeling as you placed your hand over your wound, trying to apply pressure as you prepared to stand.

"We've got incoming."

Shakingly you stood, your vision swimming as you shook your head.

"Don't Ghost, m'good. Making my way out now."

“Be careful Reaper. Hostiles are swarming the town. We’ll keep 'em busy until you can get out.”

“Copy. Heading down now.”

“Grim, go to channel 2, now.”

You switched channels as you held onto the wall for support, slowly starting to make your way down the hall.

“Ghost?”

“M’here.”

“Something wrong?”

“Just- you have-”

You smiled slightly as you pushed the door to the stairs open, grabbing onto the railing.

“I’ll see you soon, remember? I prom-”

You cut off with a scream when another explosion rocked the building, the stairs you were on falling apart beneath you, causing you to fall. You gasped when you landed on the floor, pain shooting throughout your body. Slowly, you tried to push yourself up, only to fall back down. You huffed as you looked around, seeing a metal beam pinning you down. There was just enough space for you to slip your hand between the beam and your body, finding the bullet wound and applying pressure. You tried calling out to the others, but there was no response. Black spots started to fill your vision as your hands slipped, the puddle of blood growing. The building started to shake, debris falling around you when there was another explosion that rocked the building. Using what little strength you had left, you reached for your comm, attempting to reach the others one last time.

“Gh- Ghost please, come in.”

Tears welled in your eyes when there was no response. You were all alone, trapped and injured with no way out. 

“I- I’m sorry. I love you.” 

💀

“I’ll see you soon, remember? I prom-”

Ghost froze when Reaper screamed, looking around from the wall he was hidden behind, watching as a missile hit the building. The others were screaming in his ear, but there was no response from Reaper. He barely registered Price calling for them to retreat, his body frozen in place. He jerked when he was pushed to the ground, seeing Soap next to him.

“We’ve got to go Lt!”

Ghost shook his head as she shoved Soap away from him, turning back towards the building, watching as parts of it began to fall. 

“-ost. Sorry. Lo- ou.”

There was a sharp pain in the back of his head, black spots taking over his vision.

💀

Soap looked up when the heart monitor Ghost was attached to started to beep erratically, jumping up when Ghost started to fight the restraints.

“Ghost! Calm down, you’re okay.”

Ghost continued to fight, trying to break the straps when Price rushed in, grabbing him by the shoulders, raising his voice.

“Simon, calm down!”

He stopped, his breathing heavy as he stared up at Price.

“Y’good?”

Ghost nodded once, causing Price and Soap to let him go.

“Where is she? Where’s Reaper?

“What happened?”

Price sighed, sharing a look with Soap, trying to decide the best way to tell Ghost.

“Where is she Price.”

“We don’t know. The building she was in was blown up, there was no way she could’ve survived. We were outgunned and outnumbered. We had to retreat.”

“Why am I here?”

“You wouldn’t leave. You weren’t even listening. You just- you kept calling for her. So-”

Soap stepped forward, looking down at Ghost.

“So I knocked you out.”

“We��d sedated you on the plane after you came to and attacked Soap.”

Ghost glanced at Soap, causing him to shrug.

“M’fine. Busted lip s’all the damage you did.”

“Can I leave?”

Price nodded as he and Soap started to undo the straps holding Ghost down, watching as he sat up before he stood, making his way to the door.

“Ghost.”

Ghost stopped, slightly turning his head, looking over his shoulder as Price.

“For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Ghost huffed as he turned, walking out of the room. He made his way back to his room, the door slamming shut behind him. He stared at his bed, glaring at it. The sheets were still wrinkled from where they’d laid only hours ago, Reaper in his arms and her heartbeat in his ear, every soothing. With a growl he turned, balling his hand into a fist, punching the wall. His chest heaved as he yanked his mask off, leaning his forehead against the wall, tears forming in his eyes.

“You promised.”

💀

It took the team two days to see Ghost again, and when he’d finally emerged from his room, they chose not to comment on the new mask he wore. It was an older version of Reapers, one she had worn when she and Ghost first met, the day she’d cracked both hers and his own mask when she’d headbutted him. From that day forward, Ghost was only ever present, Simon buried the day he lost her- lost his light. He never spoke of Reaper again, but he wore her mask every day, a reminder of what he had lost, and what he was fighting for. But miles away, in the town where both Reaper and Simon had died, Reaper’s body was pulled from the wreckage. And days later, her eyes opened.

Reaper’s Fall Tags:

@derpoonsunbloom

@daryldixonh0e

Everything Tags:

@jedi-dreea 

@scarlett-witchhh

@sammysgirl1997

@cevans-winchester

@rafecameronswhore

@jennmurawski13-writes 

[welldonebeca]

It's a Bad Idea, right? (3)

Summary: The worst idea a waitress in MamaStefka can have is to fall in love with a man in Hydra. They aren’t supposed to even talk! It doesn’t stop Betty, though. Pairing: Steve Rogers x OC! Betty Warnings: Mafia AU. Secret identity au. Tension.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and I promise you won’t regret it.

Masterlist

"I'll swing back to pick you up, alright?" Piet wiped his hands on a towel, looking at her. "Don't leave. We're just going to grab some groceries, drop off Wanda, and then I'll be back for you."

Betty tried not to shake her head. It was her turn closing the restaurant and anytime that happened to either her or Wanda, Piet stayed behind so they would walk home together and she didn’t close everything on her own – it was a thing the chefs did too, no girl was ever left closing on her own.

"Just head off, Piet," she urged. "The quicker you go, the sooner you'll be back."

That seemed to do the trick, and she locked the door behind him before entering. She double-checked the money – the girls had already taken their tips, so she needed to be sure the numbers were right – before putting it in the secret safe, hiding it before getting back to the tables.

Wanda had already refilled and stored the condiments, and Betty confirmed that Mila had cleared the tables. Those tasks were sorted. She glanced into the remaining restrooms, secured the windows, stowed the tableware, emptied the waste bins, and powered down any idle equipment.  She ensured the fridges were still running – and made sure no one had made the stupid mistake of turning off the fridges – before locking up the windows.

All she had was to do now was take out the trash and wait for Piet, and she could set up the alarms.

Betty left the backdoor open when she came back inside for the second bag, and if she hadn’t seen a strange shadow, she wouldn’t even know something had happened.

“Pietro?” she called, walking backwards to the counter, and pulled the bat they kept there, adjusting the safety sock on it.

Whoever it was didn’t answer, and she swung it up, ready to use to protect herself.

Who was dumb enough enough to invade Mama Stefka? It was the meeting place of the Mafia!

“I don’t know who you are, but you are probably not from this side of town,” she announced into the emptiness. “I would leave if I were you.”

The answer came not with words, but with a big man walking closer to her with his hands up.

She was frozen in place for a moment.

The German guy.

“Hi,” he spoke slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Some friends said this was a good place to lay low for a minute or two.”

She looked at him and then at the door, still wide open, and he stopped away from her, a bit far. If she wanted to run, she could get out and he wouldn’t catch her.

"What's your deal?" she asked, chin jerking toward him. "Why do you need to lay low?"

He grimaced a little.

"I got caught up in a little situation out there," he gestured behind him. "A misunderstanding. You know how it is with the cops."

She looked at him from head to toe.

“Do I, really?” Betty asked.

He hesitated a bit.

"Malick mentioned you might have a first aid kit around. I'm Steffan. Bauer. Your friends know me as Captain."

She held her ground, still cautious.

"They're quite protective of you, the Malicks. And they've been in this business longer than I have. I wouldn't dare jeopardize their trust, miss. I assure you."

That, at last, made her relax, and Betty lowered the bat slowly.

Yeah, that bit was way more believable than him having a good heart.

"Someone else is supposed to meet me here," she warned him. "And he's just about as big as you."

He wasn’t. Piet was strong, sure, but he was absolutely not as strong as that dude.

“No problem,” Steffan nodded.

Betty lowered the bat, although still holding it.

“You said you need the first aid kit?” she asked, still wary.

He nodded.

“Just a little scratch, miss,” Steffan assured her. “Could use some cleaning.”

She scoffed a little. Fine.

“I’ll go get it.”

The bat was firmly in her hand as she walked to the kitchen – it wasn’t like there was anything valuable at his reach, the very door to where the safe was hidden went through the kitchen. And they had big chef knives there too, she wouldn’t go down with a fight, whatever his goal was.

But when she came back, Steffan was on the same place as before, sat on his chair and without his jacket.

And he was jacked. Really big and strong. A real powerhouse.

She could see the blood sipping through his shirt on his – big, big – shoulder when she approached him, and held the box close as he pushed the fabric aside and over his shoulder.

Bullet scratch. It wasn’t too bad, but it certainly bled quite a bit.

“No need to dig out a bullet in this one,” he joked, giving her a charming smile. “Thank you for taking it.”

But she just walked behind him, putting her bat on a table near and setting the kit behind his arm.

“I’ll do it,” Betty interrupted him. “Just don’t do anything funny.”

Steffan tucked his head down, chuckling.

"Sure thing, ma'am," he agreed, his hands resting on his thighs.

He had big thighs, very meaty.

That dude was really well fed and a big fan of gyms.

She kept her mouth shut as she opened the box, and put on the gloves before touching anything else, and put antiseptic on it with the cotton pads, and he hissed in response, but didn’t say anything or even flinch.

She covered it up with what they had there, some gauze and medical tape, and took off the gloves, grabbing her bat to go throw them into the trash bag.

“There,” she looked at him, keeping her distance. “You’re good to go.”

Steffan readjusted his shirt, pulling it back into place over his shoulder.

“The Malicks called you Betty,” he observed. “Is that your name?”

She shook her head, still wary.

“It’s for the Americans,” she told him. “They butch up my name too much.”

He raised an intrigued eyebrow.

"Put me to the test," he suggested.

Betty pondered for a moment.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t figure it out on his own if he asked the right person.

“Elżbieta,” she told him.

"Elżbieta," he repeated confidently.

Nailed it.

"It's a lovely name," Steffan remarked, his gaze fixed on her face.

How was he this hot?

“Thank you,” she mumbled, shifting her eyes away.

He stood up, at last, getting his jacket from behind the chair.

"I should be on my way, Betty," he smoothly informed her, his tone a bit too smooth for someone who had invaded her closed workplace. "It was a pleasure meeting you. And once again, I apologise for the fright. Rest assured, it won't happen again."

With that, he walked through the open door, leaving without any physical contact. Betty stood there, feeling frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity, until Pietro entered through the same door about five minutes later.

"Hey," her roommate greeted her. "Finished up?"

She shook herself out of her stunned space.

God, that was weird.

"Yeah," she confirmed, her voice steady. "Just need to set the alarm."

. . .

“it’s a Bad Idea, right?” was posted on my Patreon in September 2023 and is finished this month. To have early access to it (and lots of other stories), consider subscribing to my page! It’s just $2 a month, and I know you won’t regret it!

. . .

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