#absolutely seething over this stupid thing that makes no immediate difference to me

[brbremaking]

hi what in the fuck is this and why is it being peddled to early years children

Why in the fuck would they need a vlogger kit why would a three year old even need to know what a vlogger is that’s not occupation role play that’s bullshit

[kimsohn]

even if the world caves in,

pairing . chanhee x gn! reader (ft. vernon of seventeen) about . 13.5k words, fluff + angst, e2l fake-dating warnings . smoking, alcohol, cursing, suggestive (allusions to sex at the end), descriptive food mentions, y/n and chanhee are idiots chanhee lowkey doesn't deserve y/n, the plot kinda doesn't make sense but fuck it we ball ok, pls lmk if i missed things bc i probably did, also i wrote most of this at ungodly hours of the night and this is not proofread take this as your warning

synopsis . after your big break in cinema, the last thing on your mind is a relationship. unfortunately for you, the public has other plans, forcing you together with the journalist who's entire career is dedicated to your downfall. note . this is my submission for @deoboyznet's secret santa fic exchange! hihi @heemingyu i'm your secret santa!! (i'm so sorry this is like two days late and probably rushed forgive me) i went through like four different plots before settling on this one and writing it in one week 😭 i hope you enjoy!!! also thank you to @juyeonszn for staying up until 6am to beta for me what the fuck. ilysm. tagging . @invuwrld @gfksn @stealanity

Lately, the only thing that seems to greet you is the buzzing sound of your phone, incessant until silenced by your tired fingers.

You reach over as you stir awake, the action almost second nature to you as your hand catches ahold of the sleek object. You hit random buttons until your desired effect comes into play, answering the phone call and putting it on speaker, and you already know who it is before their voice even drifts through the microphone.

“Y/N! Get your ass up, you’re on the headlines.”

“Again?” you whine, rolling over in bed. “Is it good news or bad news this time?”

The man on the other end laughs, bitterly, and you push yourself off the bed in response. Your manager laughing, especially like that, is nothing amusing, and you rub your eyes as you try to get yourself awake.

“Oh, it’s bad, alright. Open your fucking phone, Y/N.”

You do exactly that, immediately thumbing over to Twitter and seeing your name trending. Afraid of which one of your many stupid decisions has made the headlines today, you press the hashtag, cringing at the first picture.

“Of course, they got pictures of me drunk,” you mutter, scrolling through the list. “Wasn’t this Juyeon’s private party, like months ago? How did these photos leak?”

“It doesn’t matter Y/N,” your manager sighs from the other side, and you feel a twinge of guilt for always putting him through this situation, “you’re an actor. Nothing in your life is private anymore, especially you pole dancing on top of the bar.”

Your facial muscles twitch as you come across the aforementioned picture, seeing yourself busting out dance moves on the marble. You have to hold back a laugh, seeing how something so ridiculously insignificant is dragging your name through the mud right now.

“But Vernon, you have to admit, the pictures are kinda hot.”

He grumbles on the other side before he cuts the call, and you fall into bed giggling, scrolling through other pictures. You have a cigarette in one hand and a tequila glass in the other, and that explains why you remember absolutely nothing about that day.

A text notification appears at the top of your screen, and you swipe down to see none other than Vernon who you were on call with five seconds ago. He’s sent you the link to an article followed by a message.

This is the article that leaked the video. Check out the name.

You click on the link, and your face falls at the name of the website. It falls even more when you see the name of the writer, and you press your fingers to your forehead. You immediately call Vernon again, watching the phone ring twice before he picks up.

“Can we fucking blacklist him, Vernon?” you seethe, gripping your phone tightly.

“I’m afraid not. He’s just a journalist, not a stalker.”

“He might as well be with the way he’s always up to date with my private information.”

You punch your pillow, watching your fist pathetically curl into the bedding. It doesn’t have its intended effect, only reminding you of how weak you are physically and mentally. You don’t get into scandals often, probably because you’re a rare, good person in the horrible field that is Hollywood, but whenever you do, you have one journalist to thank for it.

“I told you, nothing is private in your life anymore.”

Vernon goes off on a tangent about how you should’ve been more careful, how you shouldn’t have drunk your ass off, but you can’t find it within you to care. There was technically nothing wrong with what you did (except for maybe the indecency, but it’s a bar for fuck’s sake), but as a famous actor with a huge fanbase, you understand why your manager is angry. Dancing on top of a counter and smoking should not be the kind of precedent you set for your fans, especially the younger ones, and your actions have a lot more weight to them now that you’re in the public eye.

It’s just stupid because you’re a regular person. At the very least, you deserve to have some privacy regarding decisions you make, especially ones that are so insignificant. 

“Vernon,” you interrupt, “it’s okay. My movie is coming out later this week, so I think it’ll die down quickly.”

“I know, but you’re lucky that this was a trivial issue. If you get caught in something truly fucked up, another movie won’t be able to save you.”

“I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

He hangs up, reminding you that you have a screening to attend later today and an interview. Your eyes drift back to the article again, reading the headline.

Hollywood’s favorite celebrity turned dancer.

You shut your eyes, breathing in and out so you don’t lose your composure. The universe is lucky you’re a rational, decent human being because if you weren’t, the writer who’s been practically harassing you would’ve been long eliminated by now.

Choi Chanhee, you read, familiar with the name. The infamous writer that’s always on your tail. It’s as if he dedicates his whole life to ruining you because he’s always the first to write things that make your crown slip. Almost all of your scandals, from particularly stupid ones at the beginning of your career to your most recent one, have been written by him. He’s practically obsessed with you at this point, and you don’t know what it is about you that ticks him off.

You toss your phone to the side, trudging over to the bathroom to get ready. Unlike Chanhee, you don’t have the time or patience to worry about trivial things like gossip pages. Choi Chanhee is just one, minor obstacle in your way. Just someone insignificant.

A long time ago, the flashing lights of cameras would’ve blinded you. Now, as a seasoned actor, you’re quite immune to the brightness that surrounds you when you walk the red carpet. You smile and pose, reveling in the cameras and the interviews that follow, asking for details about your current movie and the process behind the scenes.

You’ve just finished off an interview about the movie’s wardrobe when a black-haired man comes up to you. The lens of his thick glasses shines against the cameras in the background, and you have to look down to avoid the glare from the reflection.

You read his name tag and your face drops. You immediately look up, putting on a forced grin.

“Choi Chanhee. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He smiles, and the corners of his mouth curl as if he knows of your extensive distaste for him.

“It seems you know who I am already. Let’s get started with the interview then. First question: do you have anything to say regarding your latest scandal at the bar?”

You’re gritting through your teeth as you answer.

“No comment. Next question, please.”

“What are your opinions on the latest controversy surrounding Lee and Co., the production company behind your movie?”

He fires off a few questions, all as controversial as the last, and the only thing that keeps you from slapping him right there and then is your media training that Vernon had drilled into you while in the car.

“He will be there,” Vernon had said, fixing your watch, “don’t give him anything to work with. Just focus on promoting your movie.”

You’ve followed his advice for the solid ten minutes Chanhee has bombarded you, but even your patience is wearing thin. You’re tired of being asked about the same scandals repeatedly from different angles, and you have to admit that even if he’s doing an amazing job as a journalist, it’s not looking good for your conscience.

“Chanhee,” you interrupt, watching him pause in the middle of a question, “do you have any substantial questions about the movie, or are we done here?”

His face contorts as if he had just been thrown tomatoes at, and the devil in your brain beams from his expression. He flips through his notes, flicking through a couple of pages before landing on one that’s up to his liking.

“Okay, one last question then. Who was your favorite person to work with during this movie?”

You pause, mulling over the question. You watch as his eyes traverse his notes, and you wonder what trick he has up his sleeve. You guess that he will probably bring up something about the person who’s name you’ll recite, so you think carefully before answering.

“I don’t have one particular favorite. I love them all,” you answer honestly and safely, with no room for scrutiny.

He nods, shutting off the recorder before packing his bag and giving you a slight bow. The narcissist in your brain revels in how good he looks bowing down to you, but you pay your respects in return.

“Thank you for your time, Y/N.”

You watch as he saunters off, probably off to his crew, and you blink a few times before shifting your attention to the next reporter with an eager smile.

Hours later, you find yourself outside, exchanging the chaos inside for a fresh breath of air. Your director has indulged in an after-party, one you’re grateful for too, but after a couple of glasses of wine and many more hours of talking to fellow celebrities, you need a moment of solitude.

 The air outside is crisp and cool, and you find yourself wishing you’d brought your jacket out to accompany you. Your vision is slightly blurry and your stance is wobbly, but you find a bench nearby to take a seat at. You stare at the pond across from you for a while, throwing rocks into the water and watching how far they travel.

A cigarette accompanies you, and the puffs of air you release are visual representations of how relaxed you want to feel. You’ve just released a movie, and you should be thankful, but as an actor, your mind never rests due to the endless possibilities you can ponder over. Moments like these where you find yourself completely alone, with nothing to worry about, are rare, and you try to curb your mind from ruining the moment by overthinking.

However, your moment of peace is interrupted by a loud shutter behind you, and you quickly turn around, afraid of what the paparazzi would say if they caught you like this. A figure disappears around the corner, but as you hear the clacking of their footsteps, you know exactly who it must be.

“Chanhee, I know it’s you.”

Moments pass before he steps out from behind the wall, holding a camera in his hands. The object, in contrast to the suit he wears, is so uncoordinated that you burst into a fit of laughter, over-emotional from the wine you had earlier.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks cautiously, treading the waters.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer too! You’re an all-rounder for sure.”

“Look,” he whispers as if his guilt will excuse his actions, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” You pat the empty space next to you. “Here, sit next to me.”

He takes a seat warily, as if you have a gun in your hands, but relaxes once he sees you dangling your feet. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be sitting next to you, heck, even interacting with you, but you don’t seem to really mind as you throw another rock into the water.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask, staring at him with glossy eyes. “What did I do that was so wrong?”

“Are you drunk?” he asks instead, realizing this isn’t the pristine condition he saw you in a couple of hours ago.

“It doesn’t matter,” you sniffle. “What did I do to make you absolutely despise me?”

Chanhee sighs, staring at the ripples in the pond. He picks up a rock, swinging it as far as he can before it settles to the bottom of the pool. It goes way farther than any of the rocks you’d thrown before, and you pout miserably as you cease your ministrations.

“It’s my job. I get paid for writing about your downfall.”

“But… you don’t have to be so mean about it.”

Chanhee recognizes that he won’t get anywhere with this argument because you’re drunk, so instead, he turns to you, placing his hands on your shoulders so you look at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Here, I won’t even post the pictures that I took today.”

He deletes the pictures from his camera, showing you after it’s done, and you surprise him by throwing your arms around him. You’re too far gone to realize the weight of your actions, but he isn’t, so he tries to gently pry them off his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whisper after he’s done, slumping across the bench half-asleep, “thank you for being nice. For once.”

He blinks once, twice, before he exhales, turning around on his heel and disappearing into the darkness. Later, when Vernon picks you up from the bench, you tell him that a pretty fairy saved you from disaster. He won’t believe you, but you know it’s true in your heart.

You’re nursing your hangover when you decide to turn on the news. You settle into your comfortable couch, holding a bowl of hangover soup and trying not to succumb to the pain radiating throughout your forehead.

Not often do you watch the news, choosing to opt out because it’s usually annoying and gives you a headache, but Vernon’s somehow using two devices to watch his show on Netflix so you’re forced to resort to this. You think you might die if you don’t distract yourself from the migraine that’s been occupying your senses, so the news will have to suffice.

You flick through the channels, not interested in the politics or the weather, but your fingers pause when a bright pink headline catches your eye. It’s the gossip channel, and this is usually the channel you’re warned to stay far away from, but you can’t help but watch the video playing when the headline specifically features your name.

Y/N caught in a secret relationship, embracing a secret lover by the pond.

Your mood turns sour when the clip features events from last night, ones that are still fuzzy in your brain. You didn’t expect to be reliving this situation, but your heart all but drops when you realize the snippet features you and Chanhee in the frame, hugging each other as if you had indeed been lovers. The worst part is that Chanhee didn’t even reciprocate, but that isn’t featured in the headline, so it truly does look like you two have a thing for each other.

This time around, you call Vernon first instead of the usual.

“Y/N,” he whispers groggily as if you had woken him up, “what happened?”

“Please turn on the fucking news Vernon.”

You hear shuffling from the other side, a few minutes of rustling before you hear the blaring of the TV and a similar sound drifting through his microphone. You get a few minutes of pin-drop silence before all hell breaks loose.

“Who the fuck is that?!” he exclaims, and you hear his feet angrily pacing around. “Was this last night? I thought I told you to be more careful, to look out for your surroundings—”

“Vernon, it’s Chanhee.”

The only thing you hear from Vernon is his angered breaths, and it takes mere seconds before you burst into tears, fed up by this situation and the terrible migraine you still have. You just want to curl up into a ball and never step foot into the universe again, and your resolve only strengthens when the line goes dead. You can’t help the tears that come to bay, rippling through you like a shockwave that never seems to end.

Insistent knocking at your door a few moments later is the only thing that stops the tears from falling, and you quickly wipe them before opening the door. Vernon stands at the other side, his hands in his pockets and eyebags above his cheeks, but his gaze softens when he sees your puffy eyes and you hugging yourself.

He brings you into his embrace, your tears staining his hoodie, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care. Vernon just caresses your back, knowing the only thing you need right now is a gesture of comfort, and you burrow into his chest further. Right here, in the middle of your entryway, Vernon provides you with the best version of reassurance he can offer: a simple, caring hug.

“I was drunk,” you mutter when you’ve calmed down, speaking through the sniffles that escape you, “and we were just talking. You know I get touchy when I’m tipsy.”

“I figured,” he says, unraveling himself from your embrace. “Does the press know it’s him?”

“No, but I expect they’ll find out soon enough.”

You follow him as he takes a seat on the couch, watching the headlines on the TV. The gossip channel has long moved on from your news, but you haven’t, and fear of what will happen to either you or Chanhee is killing you.

“We need to contact him before then,” he voices, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “I think I know someone from his office.”

“Wait, why?” you ask, trying to peer over at his phone, watching him scroll through his contacts. “Wouldn’t it just be best to let the rumors die down?”

“If this was a celebrity, we could’ve done that. But Chanhee is a regular human being, and this could potentially destroy his career.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you murmur under your breath, watching Vernon deadpan.

“Look, I know you hate him, but he doesn’t deserve to be criticized for something he didn’t even do. Let’s just talk to him and see what he has to say, okay?”

You nod, falling back on the couch. The migraine still bothers you, and you rub your fingers across your forehead to massage it.

Five days ago, you would never have expected to be in this position. To you, Chanhee was just a name on a screen, a faceless figure haunting your dreams. How fitting is it that his very first encounter with you led to your worst nightmare?

You hear Vernon dial his contact, watching the phone ring several times before a line picks up. Vernon speaks gratefully, grabbing the pen and paper that you have lying around on your coffee table as he scribbles down some information.

“We have a meeting,” he says, showing you the piece of paper, “in five hours. Be ready by then.”

Just what exactly have you gotten yourself into?

The bright lights and white walls in the meeting room make it look like a prison cell, and the atmosphere does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. You’re tapping your foot anxiously, sitting in an unfamiliar space in an unfamiliar building, but Chanhee requested a meeting in his office building, and you have no other choice but to go with it.

You’d be lying if you said you were nonchalant about the whole atmosphere, but you try to keep yourself composed as you wait for him to enter. Vernon sits beside you, going through some papers in his briefcase that only a manager would know about, and his presence is the only thing keeping you grounded right now.

“Just let me do the talking, okay?” he’d said before entering, “The last thing we need is another argument on our hands.”

Even though the comment offended you, you honestly would be better off trusting his judgment. You and Chanhee don’t exactly have the best track record, and if either one of you says something even slightly off, the room would probably explode into insults. You honestly don’t even have the strength anyway to hold up a fight, so you slump into your chair, adjusting your jacket and reeling in your patience.

The doorknob twists and you and Vernon straighten your postures, trying to look presentable for your audience. Chanhee enters, followed by a blonde-haired who you’d assume to be his boss, and you rise so you can shake their hands. Chanhee ignores your attempt at waving a white flag, choosing to shake Vernon’s instead before sitting down at a seat, but his boss smiles and grabs your palm tightly in his.

“Hello, I’m Sangyeon. It’s nice to meet you.”

You exchange pleasantries as you sit down, and once you get over the initial awkwardness, you shut your mouth and wait for Vernon to speak up.

“So, I’m sure you guys have seen the news and are well aware of why we’re here.”

Sangyeon nods, urging him to continue.

“I understand what you might be feeling right now Chanhee,” Vernon follows, catching Chanhee’s gaze, “and we’re extremely sorry for the trouble that this has caused you. However, I have a proposition that might benefit both parties, if you are interested.”

Chanhee’s silence prompts Vernon’s explanation, and you lean in, curious about what he has to say too. Vernon had offhandedly mentioned that he had a deal to make, but you don’t have the slightest clue as to what he’s about to propose.

“I was thinking we play into the rumors. We can say Y/N and Chanhee met at a press conference and hit it off a couple of weeks ago. After we plan a few more appearances, we can stage a public breakup in a few weeks so that everything can go back to normal.”

You blanch, ready to refuse the idea, but Chanhee beats you to it.

“Why would I agree to a relationship with Y/N?”

“Hey,” you start, offended by his implications, “what’s wrong with dating me?”

Chanhee scoffs.

“Don’t even start, Y/N. This is all your fault after all. I didn’t know you liked me that much that you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

You’re seeing blood red, crazed at the malice behind his words.

“I was tipsy! And how was I supposed to know that someone was stalking us? If anything, it was your fault for deleting those pictures and being nice to me.”

The room erupts into chaos as you throw petty insults at each other, similar to a catfight. It takes Vernon holding you back physically to get you to calm down, but even after you’ve calmed down, you’re still staring daggers at him.

“Look, Chanhee, I understand this is not ideal for either of you given the nature of your jobs. But if you think about it, when the press finds out that it’s you in the picture, how will you be able to resume your writing? Who will take you seriously if you write hate articles about the very person that you were caught with?” Vernon asks, trying to reason with him.

Chanhee falls into silence, and he looks at his manager. His manager offers him a pitiful glance, knowing that Vernon is right.

“You don’t have to be lovey-dovey with each other,” Vernon continues, hoping to ease the terms. “You just have to appear in public for a couple of dates. We can use your old articles to prove that you guys have had romantic tension, so we’ll have background evidence too. When Y/N breaks your heart in a couple of weeks, you’ll have the perfect reason to continue writing hate articles.”

“It’s like enemies to lovers to… enemies, right?” Sangyeon asks, humming after Vernon nods, “I think it’s a good idea Chanhee. You’ll gain a lot more exposure after the whole thing is over too. If we continue going as it is, the press will ruin your career, and I’d have no other choice but to fire you. I think this is the best decision for your future and the company.”

Chanhee sighs, rubbing his temples. As much as you despise him, you can sympathize with the fact that he has a difficult decision looming over his head. The fate of his career rests in your hands, the person he’s dedicated a lifetime to ruining, and you can imagine just how insane his internal conflict might be.

“I’ll do it,” you voice, watching the room’s reactions carefully.

Chanhee’s eyes shoot up at you, clearly not expecting your admission.

“I would hate to be the reason you had to quit something you love. Besides, I’ve been in too many scandals recently anyway; I think a relationship could do my career some good.”

You don’t know if your attempt at a joke resonated with him, but his shoulders relax and he bores his eyes into you. His eyes are sharp and feline-like, but his brown pupils are almost the exact opposite, thoughtful and deep. He’s a little pretty, you realize, when he’s not trying to sabotage your entire career.

You’ve tried to stay level-headed after your argument earlier, as a gesture to Vernon, but you can’t contain your surprise when he nods a few minutes later.

“Okay, I’ll go with your plan. But I want four weeks, not five.”

“Deal,” you say, reaching over with an open palm before Vernon can even say anything.

This time around, Chanhee does reciprocate your gesture, shaking your hand firmly. The white flag flies freely over your heads, and you can only pray that these next four weeks will be over just as quickly as they started.

The news blows up fairly quickly after it’s published, even faster than any of the scandals you’ve been in. After the announcement your companies sent out confirming your relationship, you posted a picture of Chanhee to your Instagram story to show support from your side. Never have you garnered so many notifications in a single day, but you’re not complaining. You suppose your fans have also been waiting for you to get into a serious relationship, seeing that you’ve been single since your acting debut, so the update is received with a mostly positive reaction that you’re thankful for.

However, just the news and a picture alone aren’t going to cut it. Arguably, the hardest part of this whole ordeal is your interactions with Chanhee, making your relationship believable enough so your fans don’t think this is the PR stunt like it really is. Your first order of business is taking Chanhee along on a date tonight to a movie premiere, the first actual public appearance you two will be making.

To say you’re nervous is an understatement. The last time you saw Chanhee, it took Vernon’s presence to stop you from biting his head off. How will you even survive a whole event together, let alone act like a couple?

You tell Chanhee to show up a couple of hours earlier so you can plan out the details, unable to keep your nervousness at bay. You don’t know if Chanhee is as anxious as you, but Vernon always says it’s good to stick to a plan, so calling him over isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.

Actually, it might be a little bit bad.

“Wow,” you say, your throat suddenly parched from seeing his clothing, “you clean up nicely.”

Nice is the simplest you could describe his outfit. He’s wearing a black suit, indented polka dots scattered across the black cloth. Paired with a white shirt underneath and matching tie, along with those round glasses that are definitely growing on you, he looks just like another A-list celebrity in the crowd. Maybe even a model if you would care to admit it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, unbuttoning the jacket to strew it across your couch, “it’s kinda hot in here, no?”

You would agree, but your mind is currently occupied with how delicious he looks in just a simple white shirt and a tie. You have half a mind to tell him that he really should quit his job and become a model instead, but you settle for nodding instead.

“It’s probably because of all the facial stuff we did earlier,” your stylist Kevin says, walking over to place clips in your hair, “it’ll calm down in a little bit.”

Chanhee’s eyes widen when Kevin enters, his eyes staring at you in panic and moving over to Kevin before they travel back to you. You laugh, amused with how seriously he’s playing the part.

“He knows,” you reassure him, “most of my close staff know, so you don’t need to worry.”

Chanhee exhales in relief, his head drooping down into his arms. Kevin meets your gaze before quirking an eyebrow, and you shake your head, not wanting to indulge in his teasing.

“Okay,” Chanhee says after he’s calmed down, leaning into the couch, “what’s the plan?”

“Well, since this is our first time in public together, we can keep it simple,” you start, wincing when Kevin tugs on part of your hair a little too hard, “maybe holding hands, walking next to each other, maybe a hug if we’re up for it.”

Chanhee looks disgusted, and you honestly can’t even disagree with him. You’re not exactly happy about jumping straight into skin-to-skin contact with the guy you hate, but this is the bare minimum for a relationship and you intend to follow through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you sigh. “You do know that we’re going to have to kiss at some point, right? This is probably the tamest we’ll get.”

“Hey, don’t haunt the poor guy,” Kevin says, pulling out a makeup palette. “Just take it slow, okay? It’ll be a while before you get to that stage.”

You disappear into your bedroom to change after Kevin is done with your styling, and Chanhee visibly relaxes once you’re gone. It’s not like he wants to murder you with every fiber of his being, but something about you puts him on edge, and he can’t tell what it is.

“Are you still stressed about the kissing thing, dude?” Kevin asks while packing up his supplies. “Y/N’s just saying that to scare you, so don’t worry. Besides, after you see them in this outfit, you might change your mind.”

Kevin leaves with a wink, and Chanhee is left to scramble for its implications. You can’t possibly look good enough to kiss, right? He’s seen you countless times, and the only time his resolve ever-so-slightly wavered was when he saw you in person about a week ago. That was because you were drunk, though, of course. Not because he was facing you, flesh to flesh, for the first time in his life.

His overthinking ceases though when you step out of your bedroom, and he can’t stop Kevin’s words from floating through his brain.

You’re beauty personified, he thinks, from the tips of your curled hair to the bottom of your glass footwear. The silver-length outfit you adorn is something to die for, heck, you are someone to die for, and Chanhee can’t even breathe because he just imagined you standing next to him and the room is suddenly very, very hot.

“Ready to go?” you ask, adjusting a couple of rings on your fingers.

Chanhee dumbly nods, now realizing why literally everyone is in love with you, and he stands abruptly. He follows you to the front like a puppy dog before you turn around and start giggling. He doesn’t even register you speaking because suddenly, your giggles aren’t annoying and all of your sounds are like songbirds from heaven.

“You forgot your blazer, silly. Here, I’ll get it.”

While you turn back around, walking to the sofa, Chanhee slaps himself. Gently, of course, because he doesn’t want to ruin his face before the red carpet, but just enough to remind himself of his position in this whole scheme. You’re a celebrity, obviously you look good, and he can’t lose his morals just because you look stunning after being dolled up.

You’re a celebrity and he’s a journalist. A journalist who gets paid to antagonize you. Realistically speaking, even just meeting you should have him seeing red. He should not of all things, be pretending to date you, and he definitely should not be reconsidering his life decisions after spending two hours with you.

He just has to get through these four weeks. You’ll be out of sight, out of mind before he even knows it.

“When the cameras start flashing, just look forward. Don’t ever look at them straight in the eye, otherwise, you’ll feel dizzy.”

Chanhee grumbles as you continue rambling, but you can’t find it within you to stop. You’ve never had a public relationship like this, especially with someone who’s not a celebrity, so the desire for perfection is getting to you.

Any small thing could fuck this up and not only ruin Chanhee’s career but yours too. What would the public think if they found out you were lying about a relationship? Heck, you wouldn’t be able to trust your own self after that, let alone the public.

“Y/N, it’ll be okay. It’s just handholding and a hug, right?”

“Yeah, but we need to look like we’re in love,” you huff, your head drooping as you play with your fingers in your lap.

You feel a hand cup the side of your chin, bringing you up to Chanhee’s gaze.

“Look at me,” he starts, thumbing your cheek, “we’ll be fine. Just stare into my eyes like this, and no one will ever doubt us.”

You don’t get to tell him that you might be believing it too with the way you can’t stop gazing at the twinkle in his eyes and the fondness in how they crease. You’ve met many gorgeous celebrities in your life, but not once have you ever felt your heart beat so heavily until this moment.

“We’re here,” Vernon interrupts from the front seat, breaking your intense gaze, “get ready.”

The flashing blinds you as soon as the car door opens, but you’re immune to the glares at this point. Chanhee, however, is not, so your only focus is being by his side until you walk inside the venue. You exit first, waiting until he steps out beside you before interlacing your fingers together and offering him a chaste smile, hoping it’ll calm his nerves.

He grips your hand tighter as you walk, and you both ignore the press shouting from around you. The screams seem extra prevalent today due to his presence, and you hope he isn’t feeling bombarded by the chaos around him. You focus on Chanhee, watching as he stares back at you to ground himself. You walk quickly in unison with him, counting your steps and smiling for the camera as you finally step inside the entryway.

“Are you okay?” you ask after you’re situated, having a few minutes of peace before you’re off to star on the red carpet. “I know that must’ve been a lot.”

“It’s fine. It’s over now. It was chaotic, but it helped to just focus on you.”

A twinge of heat flutters across your cheeks, but you pay no attention to it.

“I’m glad. Don’t worry, we don’t have any more red carpets in our schedule.”

He unlaces his fingers from yours, something you’d completely forgotten about, but you don’t have time to mull over the loss of his warmth before Vernon pushes you to the red carpet to get ready for the pictures. You take deep breaths, reveling in the mere seconds you get before the flashing starts again and you are simply an object for the camera. You pose, striking a big grin for the camera and remembering your media training. This is what you do best, being a celebrity, and suddenly you find comfort in this familiarity after all the turmoil you’ve been through the past couple of days. No Chanhee, no relationship, no headlines, just you and the camera like always.

However, you can’t stop your eyes from wandering when you get a break, watching Chanhee converse with Vernon. You let your daydreams drift, wondering how he would look like posing next to you for the camera, how he would laugh and answer questions about your relationship so giddily, or even how he’d stare into your soul like earlier before, bearing his heart for the taking.

You know that he won’t even meet your gaze after the four weeks are over, but you let yourself indulge in your imagination anyway. You’ve been touch-starved for so long, so it’s only natural that you have these thoughts about affection, right?

You walk back to Chanhee after you’re done, joining him and Vernon as you travel the venue. The place looks spectacular, with intricate chandeliers and a whole buffet of delicacies, and you make it a point in your mind to compliment the mastermind behind this all, Juyeon, when you see him.

Vernon leads you guys over to the food, piling the spring rolls on his plate until you glare at him to stop. Chanhee restrains laughter behind a mouth full of cupcakes, but even you have to agree with Vernon’s eagerness when you take a bite of the macadamia cookies. You’re on your fourth one when Juyeon saunters over to you, his goofy grin ever-so-present on his face.

“Y/N! Long time no see, right? I haven’t talked to you since my party months ago.”

“It’s been too long. I love the venue, by the way. You always outdo yourself.”

“Don’t talk to me about outdoing things. Look at you with your new boyfriend!”

You glance over at Chanhee, who’s busy trying to see how many spring rolls Vernon can fit in his mouth. You grimace, turning back to Juyeon. You know Vernon’s your manager, but sometimes it feels like you have to keep him on a leash instead of the other way around.

“Yeah it’s… a recent development, but I’m happy.”

“I’m surprised you got into a relationship in the first place. After you rejected me, I kinda thought you weren’t looking for love.”

Juyeon clutches his chest in fake agony, and you roll your eyes. Juyeon asked you out years ago when he was the director of your film, and he never fails to bring it up whenever he sees you. You still aren’t looking for love, of course, but your recent news is probably a shock to Juyeon and the many other people you’ve rejected over the years.

“I’m not incapable of love, Juyeon,” you sigh, looking back at Chanhee again, “I just needed to find the right person.”

The word love has never meant anything special to you, but when you look at Chanhee, you feel your heartstrings pull at your chest. Finally having a boyfriend, even if he’s fake, means you have the ability to love and be loved, and maybe you’ve been denying yourself happiness far too long for the wrong reasons.

As you wave Juyeon goodbye, sauntering over to Chanhee, you walk with a change in mindset. The situation you’re stuck in isn’t perfect, but you decide that it’s best to make the most out of it.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Suddenly, your whole world turns upside down, and you brace yourself as you fall backward, watching the twinkling of the chandeliers above you. You shut your eyes as a reflex, expecting the hardness of the wooden floor beneath you, but instead, you feel a strong hand supporting your back. You open your eyes to see Chanhee, but as his orbs bore into yours, all words tie on the tip of your tongue.

This close to him, you can see his faint eyeliner, the slight curve of his nose, and the barely visible mole on his top lips. It feels like the world is spinning still, but as Chanhee breathes, exhaling a soft puff of air, your gaze remains grounded only on him as he cradles you gently.

The sound of a camera startles you both, and Chanhee pulls you up, staring at Vernon. You smooth down your clothing, clearing your throat as you eye the culprit.

“What was that for?” you ask, throat slightly parched by what happened mere seconds ago.

“Whatever practice you guys did together before coming here definitely worked, because this picture definitely looks like you’re in love. I’m gonna leak it to a local magazine, so good job for today’s work.”

Your cheeks burn as he shows you the picture, and your gaze flits over to Chanhee. His expression is indiscernible, and you have the sudden urge to know exactly what’s running through his mind. Was he just as affected as you, or was this just a mere act of kindness?

The rational part of your brain hopes it’s the latter, but the heaviness of your heart might have different aspirations.

Your phone dings as you finish applying the last bits of your mascara, and you pad over to your couch, seeing Chanhee’s text message on the top of your screen.

Be there in five.

It’s been a week since Juyeon’s movie premiere, a week since your heart has practically gone haywire. You’re a celebrity, if anything, you’re the last person to be looking forward to a text, but you found yourself checking Chanhee’s chat every morning and being disappointed when nothing rolled in. Even when Vernon’s picture leaked and the internet blew up over your coupling, his message bar still remained dry and lifeless.

He didn’t have any reason to text you anyway, so you wonder why you always looked forward to one.

You were the one to reach out first, letting him know that you had a date scheduled for Saturday night according to Vernon’s schedule. A meeting once per week was mandatory, just to keep up the image, and today’s plan was a nice, fancy dinner at a restaurant.

Chanhee, like a true gentleman, offered to pick you up instantly after you’d sent him the message, and you let yourself feel elated for five seconds before you texted him the time and place. You don’t know why Chanhee reduces you to a middle school girl longing for her crush, but you suppose it’s just because you haven’t been on a proper date in so long.

You’re dressed in blue satin, a dress you’d had no real reason to wear until today, and you’ve tried your best to clean up without Kevin’s help. You send a quick picture to your stylist as you wait, asking for advice even though you know you always look good, but Kevin just sends you a string of heart emojis in return and tells you that you look perfect.

Three sharp knocks on the door indicate Chanhee’s presence, and you open the door. The words on your throat die down when you realize he’s wearing a similar blue satin to yours, and it only takes one flicker of your eyes to meet his for him to start laughing.

“Are you stalking me or something?” he teases, pulling out a bouquet of fresh flowers.

“What’s this for?” you ask, setting them on the vase inside.

“Vernon told me to. He said you always like getting flowers on a date.”

You haven’t been on a date in years, so you don’t know where Vernon got this information from, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless. The arrangement of peonies, lilies, and daffodils looks stunning on the countertop, and you post a quick picture to your Instagram story before heading out with Chanhee.

“Do you want the aux?” he asks when you’ve situated yourselves in his car.

The wind blows freely as he drives, the night sky twinkling through Chanhee’s open convertible. The rich red color of his Toyota Solara stands out against the deepness of the blackness around you two, but you can only focus on Chanhee’s side profile and the glittering earrings he’s wearing. Up until this point, you’ve only ever been in spaces you were familiar with. Seeing Chanhee in his own car is a completely different atmosphere for you, and you’re not sure how it makes you feel.

“I’m good. Play whatever you like,” you reply, truly interested to see what type of music he listens to.

Paris in the Rain drifts through the speakers, and you have to fight back a smile at the tune. Of course he would play this song on a night drive, judging by its mellow atmospheric feel, but you’re not mad about it.

“Why did you choose this restaurant?” he continues after the song settles, looking over at you when he pulls to a stop in front of a red light.

You have to recenter your thoughts to answer him, bringing your vision back from how ethereal he looks against the red tones of the stoplight.

“It’s been on my list for a while,” you admit honestly. “It’s also not super high scale, so someone will definitely notice us being there.”

Chanhee nods before quieting down as the red light fades into green. You’ve noticed that Chanhee tends to sit in silence when he’s with you, not interacting as much as he had with Vernon at the premiere. You wonder if he’s just naturally silent and hit it off with Vernon or maybe if he’s just hates you.

“Are you always this quiet?” you voice when he slows down due to traffic, not wanting him to feel alienated by the question.

“Ah, not really,” he says, scratching his head, “I just didn’t know if you were comfortable with me talking since we’re technically just coworkers.”

“Oh,” you voice, not expecting his admission.

You didn’t foresee him being so considerate of your feelings, enough to stop talking completely, and the thought warms your heart. Maybe he’s not such a bad person after all, you think, staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have admitted that,” he expresses. “I can go back to sitting in silence.”

“No!” you exclaim, and he looks over at you with slight alarm, “I mean, it’s fine. You talking is fine. You don’t need to restrict yourself from speaking just because we’re in a work setting. I don’t mind you talking.”

His shoulders relax as he steps on the gas, maneuvering through the gaps of the traffic that’s slowly clearing.

“That’s good,” he mutters, flicking on his blinker, “cause otherwise, this would’ve been a very awkward dinner date.”

You fight back a smile as he pulls up to the restaurant, and you don’t even have a chance to open your own door before he’s unlocking it for you. You thank him politely before walking inside, side by side with Chanhee. You follow the receptionist to your table once she gets your section cleared, and you’re offered complimentary chips and salsa as you wait for your food to arrive.

“You said this place was not ‘super high scale’?” Chanhee questions, looking around at the décor.

Okay, so maybe it is a little bit classy. The mediterranean themed restaurant has a cozy interior, and you’re currently sitting on wicker chairs by a huge glass window. The setting feels very exposed, as if you truly are sitting outside with the stars hanging over your heads. Subtle things about the place remind you that it’s elegant, such as the intricate menus and the tons of cutlery that sits next to you, but you hoped that it was something more comfortable for Chanhee to acclimate to.

“Why, is it too much?” you ask, picking up a chip.

“It’s not, but this is definitely fancy in my world.”

You smile, watching Chanhee be starstruck by his surroundings.

“Just because I’m famous now doesn’t mean I always was,” you start, “before I got my big break, my version of fancy was a dine-in restaurant.”

He laughs, relaxing a little.

“I didn’t know we were so similar. I just always assumed you were a nepo baby or something like that.”

“Just because you hate me doesn’t mean I’m privileged. I worked hard to get here, you know.”

Chanhee nods as your waiter brings out your food, and the two of you immediately dig in. The appealing smells make your stomach hungrier than usual, and it takes a good few minutes for you to settle your appetite before you start conversing with Chanhee.

Now that the awkwardness is gone and that you have a simple understanding of each other, talking with him is easy. Putting aside all the hatred that’s spewed up these past few months, you find out that Chanhee is actually an amiable person, someone you could’ve seen yourself being friends with if you two weren’t so different. He shares stories about growing up and his family in exchange for yours, and you have to clutch your stomach in laughter when he slips in a joke that matches your taste exactly.

Being with Chanhee is natural, so much that you wish you had met him under different circumstances. In addition to being a friendly person, he’s also a gentleman, from the way he slips his card under the menu without you noticing (you definitely scolded him for it later) and opens the car door whenever you get in and out. As he walks you up to your apartment, you thank him honestly for tonight, regretting that your time together is already over for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers suddenly when you’re outside your door. “I’ve written so much shit about you without being an honest judge of your character.”

“It’s okay, Chanhee. This is what you do for a living, I get it.”

“No, you deserve an apology. You’re an amazing actor and an even better human being. You didn’t deserve a single word I wrote about you.”

You’re not tipsy this time around, but you pull him into a hug anyway. This time, you actually mean it though, and you try to disregard the loss of warmth when he pulls away after a few moments.

“Thank you for tonight,” you murmur, stepping into your apartment. “See you next week.”

He smiles, and suddenly, the room is filled with sunshine.

“No, thank you. See you soon.”

You woke up the next morning with a text from Chanhee. The texts have not stopped coming in ever since you responded, as if you’ve opened the floodgates of interaction. You wish he’d texted you sooner, because even though he bombards you with everything in the world from funny memes to just crying about his day, you love returning the same energy.

Where are you rn, a text flies in, and you smile when you see who it’s from.

on set. wbu?

Driving to somewhere special!

oooh spill??

I’ll let you know after I get there

You frown, not so pleased with his secrecy. You hate secrets, and so does Chanhee, so why is he indulging in one right now?

You don’t have time to mull over it as your director calls you back over, ready to continue with the shot. Your costar Younghoon stands before you, smiling as his assistant fixes up his hair before clearing his throat.

“Ready for this scene? It’s a lot,” he comments, reading over the script one more time.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, watching for your director’s call.

The line starts rolling a few seconds later, and you immediately straighten your posture, preparing yourself for the scene.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what was so wrong about what I did?”

He laughs bitterly, pointing to the papers on the desk beside him.

“What was so wrong? You ruined my entire career!”

The papers fly around you as he wipes them off the desk in one sweep, and tears well up in your eyes once you look at his angry gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you plead, clutching onto his arm, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear—”

“You didn’t know?” he asks, although it’s more of a statement, “you’re the editor for the goddamn newspaper! Of course you fucking knew this was going to happen!”

He rips his wrist from your fingers, inching away from you.

“It’s my job to write the news, darling. You have to understand—” you cry, dropping to the ground.

The papers shift around you, and you watch your tears drip onto the headlines.

“We’re done,” he utters, one final phrase before he rips off his ring, throwing it by your feet. “Never speak to me again.”

“And cut!” your director shouts, “good work guys. Take 30.”

Younghoon helps you up from the ground, and you whisper gratitude before brushing off your ankles. The wooden floor was uncomfortable to kneel on, but you’re grateful that it was only for a short period of time.

“Y/N!” you hear from the other end of the room, and you peek over Younghoon’s broad shoulders to see a familiar figure waving.

“Chanhee?” you gasp, walking over to him once he register his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise?” he replies, giving you the bouqet of flowers he was holding. “I wanted to be a good boyfriend and surprise you on set.”

“Thank you,” you reply, grabbing the flowers from his hands before leaning in closer, “did Vernon put you up to this?”

“Um…” he starts, scratching the back of his head, “yeah, definitely. It’s the middle of the week, so why else would I be here?”

You roll your eyes, leaning back before you reach for his arm, squeezing it tightly.

“Thank you, regardless. No one’s ever visited me on set before like this. Even Vernon.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised, “I thought you would have a lot of people around you like that.”

“I have acquaintances, but they’re all busy too. The most someone’s ever done for me is send me a food truck, and that was from my own mother.”

“Well, I’ll be here from now on, then.”

You feel a pang in your chest, and Chanhee must notice the shift in the atmosphere too because he clears his throat. You both know that this arrangement is already halfway over, so why do Chanhee’s words feel so comfortable, as if you both were in a regular relationship from the very beginning?

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Y/N? Is this the boyfriend?” Younghoon interrupts, walking up from behind with an outstretched arm. “Hey, I’m Younghoon, the costar. Nice to meet you, man.”

Chanhee smiles, plastering a smile to cover his previous frown before taking Younghoon’s hand in his, shaking it firmly.

“Nice to meet you too. Y/N’s been telling me about you, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Younghoon laughs, removing his hand from Chanhee’s grip.

“Yeah, it’s surreal working on this movie. It’s kinda funny how Chanhee’s a journalist because Y/N plays one in this movie too.”

Chanhee turns to you, surprised by this new piece of information. You’ve been pretty lowkey about the role, not wanting to tell anyone until the movie wrapped up filming, but Younghoon seems to trust Chanhee with the information because he’s your boyfriend.

“Really? I didn’t know.”

You nod in confirmation, grinning slightly.

“Yeah, we just finished up a heavy argument scene before you arrived. Wanna see the set?”

You and Younghoon parade Chanhee around, introducing him to other actors and cast on the set working diligently. Chanhee is in awe, starstruck by the unfamiliar environment and you can’t really blame him. The movie industry in and of itself is a dream, and witnessing it for the first time is probably exhilarating for him.

After your break wraps up, you lead Chanhee out, standing by the front of the garage. He still has stars in his eyes, and you have to nudge his shoulder twice before he pays attention to you.

“Sorry, I just… I wanted to be a director once, so seeing this all is kind of a dream come true.”

Your eyes widen. Whatever you were expecting to come out of his mouth was not even close to what he just said, and you’re still processing his words when you voice your confusion.

“Yeah, that’s how I learned writing and photography. I used to write screenplays and direct them, but I never made it big like I wanted to. Luckily, Sangyeon took me in when I was struggling, and that’s the only reason I have a job today.”

Suddenly, you know nothing about Chanhee. If events had played out a little differently, Chanhee could be standing right in front of you, not as a fake boyfriend but as a director. You wouldn’t be from two separate worlds anymore, and the thought is killing you.

“Do you still direct?” you ask uncertainly, unsure of what to even say after his confession.

“Nah, not anymore. I help my friends out with short films sometimes, but that’s about it.”

“If you ever want to get back into directing, I can help you out.”

Chanhee looks like his breath has been stolen away, staring at you dumbly.

“I don’t know if I can give you a position directly, but I can definitely link you up with fellow directors of mine and see if there are any film festivals looking for submissions.”

“Thank you,” he mutters hoarsely, “I don’t have an answer for you right now, but what you just said means the world to me.”

Chanhee does the unexpected, wrapping you in a hug this time around. It’s meaningful and tender, and he burrows himself into you as he clutches your shoulders tightly, never wanting to let go. The same shoulders that he once tried to pry your hands off are now encircling you, and you smile against his cheek.

“It’s no problem,” you voice honestly, pulling back to look at him. “I’m always here for you, just remember that.”

You told him the last date would be a little different, but seriously, Chanhee was not expecting a van.

You wave from the front seat, putting aside your phone as he scrambles into the front seat. Chanhee quirks an eyebrow at you, urging you to spill, and you take in a deep breath as you struggle to get the words out.

“So… um, you know how celebrity couples usually have pictures of them making out in their cars, right?”

Chanhee stares at you incredulously, and you grimace, biting your lip.

“I know it sounds bad, but it was Vernon’s idea, I promise! We just need to kiss a couple of times for the pictures, that’s it. It can’t be too bad, right?”

“Y/N,” Chanhee sighs, massaging his temples, “are you crazy? We haven’t even kissed once before this.”

“Well, now is a good time to start, right?” you ask sheepishly, “Look, Vernon paid some guys to photograph us, so they’ll be here any time now. Let’s just get this over with.”

Before he can even blink, you clamber over into his lap, resting your legs on either side of his and holding onto his shoulders. Chanhee gulps, too loudly for the silence that settles between you two, and he’s close enough to you that he can feel your heartbeat thumping wildly.

Good to know that you’re just as affected as him too.

You guide his arms around your waist, securing them tightly before looking back up at Chanhee. The last time he’s ever seen you this close is from when he saved you from falling, and somewhere in the depths of his heart, he admits to himself how much he actually missed it. The fluttering of your lashes, the indents of your mouth, and the sliver of your jawline are all something he wants to commit to memory, to burn into his mind before he loses you.

Chanhee would write a whole article just about your lips if he had to.

“Ready?” you ask, so close that he can feel your breath on his.

He nods, and before he can even lick his lips, you lean in, meeting him halfway with yours.

Chanhee feels like he’s in oblivion, completely succumbing to the darkness that you’ve slowly been feeding him with. You’re like poison, and as he slots his lips against yours, he can’t get enough. You’re killing him with the way you pull him in closer, imperceptibly close as if you two aren’t practically molded together already, and as Chanhee uses one of his arms to tilt your neck, you reciprocate with just as much fervor.

You pull back, catching your breath and your chest heaving, but it takes Chanhee only one glance at your swollen lips before pulling you back in again. He’s addicted to the way your tongue swipes across his entrance, the way you shiver as he gently tugs your bottom lip between your lips, and the way you clutch onto his hair as the two of you exchange life through your kisses.

“Just a couple, baby?” he whispers, pecking down the side of your face, “I can give you a lot more than that.”

He tugs your sleeve down as you whine, tilting your head to give him better access to the area. He nips and sucks at your collarbone, biting hard enough to bruise in spots that you’ll probably scold him for later. He wants them to be deep enough, red enough that you won’t even be able to cover them so the whole world will know you’re his, and he knows it’s well worth it with the way you groan as he keeps going.

“I wish could stay like this forever,” you gasp, preening away when he nips behind your earlobe. “I never want to let you go. My boyfriend. Mine. Forever.”

He hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to your neck before he stops. You whimper, angry at him for pausing his ministrations, but as he processes your words, the hazy fog he was in moments prior fades away, and all that is left is the consequences of his actions.

“What’s wrong?” you ask when you realize he’s stopped completely.

Chanhee is shaking from underneath you, glassy-eyed, and his fingers tremble as he removes them from your body.

“Boyfriend,” he dumbly repeats, and you nod before realizing the mistake you made.

“Chanhee, I—”

“Get off me. Please.”

You stare at him incredulously, and when he doesn’t make any move to take back his words, you climb off him and into the seat next to you.

“This is all fake. Why do I keep forgetting that?”

He laughs bitterly, watching as your face morphs into a frown. How could he be so careless, to lose himself in you when this is all clearly just an act?

“Chanhee, I know this was planned, but the way I kissed you was definitely not fake.”

You sound hurt, and if he was in a better headspace, he would be calmer with his words, but the weight of what just happened is sinking down on him hard. Suddenly, he needs to leave, to never see you again and to not spend any more time in this stupid, suffocating van. He opens the door, climbing out before shutting it behind him firmly, breathing in heavily as he staggers away from the vehicle.

“Chanhee,” you cry, running up behind him and grabbing onto his wrist, “you don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand!��

“I like you,” you whisper, and suddenly, his whole world shatters.

“Of course you like me,” he laughs, running a hand over his face. “Do you not realize that you have an insane amount of privilege to be saying that? I can’t even like you in return because my career hinges on hating you! Don’t you get it, Y/N?”

You’re full on sobbing now, observing as he wrenches your hand away from his. Your fingers fall limply to your side and all you can do is watch as he walks away, shaking his head.

“Don’t contact me. I never want to see you again. Fuck you, for real, for playing with my feelings.”

You can only stare as the love of your life walks away, leaving your universe in shambles.

Unfortunately, just because you encountered the worst breakup of your life does not mean the world stops moving.

You’re at another after party, one that you’d been looking forward to for months because it would finally mean you’d get to catch up with some of your old costars. However, after the chaos that had befallen you earlier this week, going to some stupid nightclub was the last thing on your mind.

Really, you’re only here because Vernon is sick and tired of you wallowing in your misery. He thinks that you’ll be getting a change of scenery by being here, but the only thing you’ve been getting is shots filled with the strongest alcohol the bar can offer. Your one goal is to successfully forget about the black-haired man that ruined your life, and your plan is effective until the bartender stops you from getting another round and tells you to get some fresh air.

You grumble as you stumble out of the bar, finding a home on the gray sidewalk in front of it. Your sequined outfit digs into your skin as you sit down, but in your drunken stupor, you can’t find it within yourself to care. You’re lucky enough that this is a nicer venue, because there’s no one around to bother you to find another spot. It’s just you and your thoughts, and you can’t tell if that’s more dangerous or not.

Your first order of business is to pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent contacts. You have half a mind to call Vernon, to curse him out from condemning you to the hell that is this place, but instead your finger hovers over a familiar contact.

You are so going to hate yourself when you wake up.

The line rings, once, twice, thrice, and just as you’re about to cut the call, a voice answers from the other side.

“Y/N, it’s three in the morning. I thought I told you not to contact me,” Chanhee whispers groggily.

“Well too bad! You’re the one that said all that shit to me and left, so how unfair is it that I don’t get my turn?”

The line goes silent before Chanhee scoffs, and you can hear the bedsheets rustle around him as he gets up.

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, giggling from how similar this is to when you first met him.

“Where are you right now?”

“Outside a nightclub,” you sing, holding your phone out behind you so he can hear the EDM music from inside a little better.

“Send me your location.”

“Nope! I don’t owe you anything, you piece of shit!”

“Y/N, wait—”

You cut the call, laughing as Chanhee’s name disappears on your screen. He calls again, neverendingly, but you never once pick up, feeling glee from how he’s the one chasing after you now.

You play Candy Crush on your phone until a car screeches beside you, and you scoff as you recognize the familiar red Toyota Solara pulls up beside you. You’ve sobered up by now, but you still hate him just as much.

“Hell no,” you whisper, getting up as Chanhee steps out. You try to run, but the highness of your shoes make it hard for you to run properly, and you stumble as attempt to escape.

“Y/N, look, I’m just going to drop you off at home, okay?”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to see Chanhee behind you with his hands stuffed in his hoodie. You note the eyebags on his face and his chapped lips before speaking to him with a softer tone, grateful that even if he despised you, he didn’t make an attempt to grab onto your wrist and coerce you into something you didn’t want.

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me?” you ask, folding your arms over one another.

“I asked Vernon for your location. If you go missing, he’ll know it was my fault.”

You grumble, staring at him angrily before walking towards his car. He opens the door for you, but you stick your tongue out at him and find a spot in the backseat instead.

The ride is silent, but you feel him watching you through the rearview mirror as he drives. Usually, you don’t mind his silence, but now the stillness is bleak and uncomfortable, just like his presence near you.

“Why did you call me?” he asks, and it takes you a moment to register it because of how intensely you’d been ignoring him.

“I wanted to cuss you out.”

“Okay, so cuss me out then.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“You know what your problem is, Chanhee? You’re self-centered. You think everything is about yourself, even down to our breakup. Who are you to even say things about my privilege when you know damn well how hard I worked to get here? Do you think I’m unaware how my feelings will affect your career? Hell, Chanhee, I literally told you I could help you find another job! I did so much for you to protect you, to support you, all for you to throw it away because you’re scared of the stupid future.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Let me finish. I love you for who you are. Even if we were destined to be opposites, I still found a way to fall in love with you. I was able to love you despite all that you have written about me in the past, so why can’t you love me for the person I am today?”

He pulls up to the front of your apartment, and you clamber out, not wanting to see his face anymore. The rain falls heavily as you step into the lobby, and Chanhee follows suit, shrugging the droplets off his jacket.

“Let me follow you up,” he asks.

You shake your head, but he trails you into the elevator anyway, watching as you press the button for your floor. He opens his mouth to speak, but you’re not in the mood, putting up a palm in front of him.

“Save it. I said what I needed to say. I might be drunk but my words are true. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say in return.”

Despite your words, you let him into your apartment anyway, throwing a towel at him so he can dry off. He pats his hair dry, wiping his glasses against the fabric, and suddenly you’re reminded of how devilishly handsome he is. You shake your thoughts off, chalking it down to good taste in men before wiping down your neck.

The thunder booms outside, startling you as your towel falls to the ground. When you pick it up, Chanhee stares at you, an indiscernible expression on his face.

“Thanks for the towel. I better get going.”

He spins on his heel to leave as the storm crackles, and against your better judgement, you call out for him to stop.

“It’s storming outside. You can’t drive in this weather.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asks, turning back around to meet your gaze.

“You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Chanhee laughs, as if your idea is so atrocious he can’t even fathom it.

“You’re funny. I’ll just drive home, don’t worry.”

“Chanhee, I’m being serious. I don’t want you to die, for god’s sake.”

Maybe he registered the concern in your voice because he exhales, contemplating in his head if this is a good idea or not. The loud thunderclap outside has him reconsidering, and soon enough, he shakes his head in agreement.

“Alright, but you have to sleep on the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Chanhee, I’m not fucking arguing with you. You know what? We can both take the bed if it makes you happy. A pillow between us should work.”

Before Chanhee can even respond, you’re walking into the bedroom, flicking on the light. You grab your pajamas from the closet and change in your bathroom, slipping into the sheets quickly once you’re done. Chanhee follows suit, taking the right side of the bed and placing a pillow between you two for added measure.

“Thank you,” he whispers after a few moments of silence. “I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

“No need,” you grumble, shoving your face into the pillows, “just don’t roll over to my side, okay?”

He hums in agreement, and he watches as your eyes flutter shut.

“Good night, Y/N.”

You’re far too asleep to even respond.

You wake up to the sound of your head pounding in your ears. You grumble, shifting around before you open your eyes, expecting to see empty sheets, but instead you see a man with a very familiar face.

You as the events of last night rush back to you, and you hold yourself back from groaning as you recollect your thoughts. You should’ve just let him leave when he wanted to, but you didn’t, and now you have to deal with his beautiful bare face and his deep morning voice as if you haven’t fallen enough for him already.

You don’t register his eyes fluttering awake until he pokes your side. You shake, startled by his actions, and he tries to hold back a smile.

“Good morning. Sorry I overslept.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be nice enough to let you stay for breakfast though.”

“Wait,” he whispers, clutching onto your arm as you attempt to get out of the bed, “can I say something?”

You nod, and his arms falls back on the bed as he sits up, clearing his throat.

“You were right. I was selfish, and the words I said that day were extremely uncalled for. They were useless too, because if I had just expressed my feelings to you, we wouldn’t have needed to have this conversation now.”

You cock your head, confused at what he’s trying to imply. He takes in a deep breath, as if he’s preparing himself to say something.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much that it hurts to breathe when I think of you. I love you so much that I’m willing to quit my career just to be by your side. I was scared then of ending up on the streets like I did in the past, but I was stupid enough to not trust your words when you said you would help me. I didn’t even like that job anyway, so I was an idiot for trying to fight for something I would eventually end up leaving myself.”

“Chanhee, you’re not—”

“No, I am stupid. And selfish. And self-centered. But I am also just Choi Chanhee, the Choi Chanhee who is irrevocably and utterly in love with you, and even though I can imagine a future where I won’t be working for Sangyeon, I cannot imagine a future without you by my side. I know you deserve better, but I’m begging you to just give me one chance to rectify my mistakes. We can take it slow and not rush things like we did in our four weeks. We can go on silly restaurant dates and I’ll practice getting used to the lights at red carpets. I’ll visit you on set every day with flowers and I’ll rent out five billion vans for us to make out in. I’ll do all this and even more because you deserve it, and because I love you. Will you please let me have one chance to make this fake relationship into a real one?”

You’re kissing him before he can even respond, letting him press you against the bed. He kisses you like he’s been starved, inhaling you and memorizing every inch of your presence as if you’ll let go of him again. Like before, you’re not restricted by the millions of voices against you and Chanhee, and as he lets himself go, you follow suit, dragging him down under until you’re writhing against him, begging for more.

“I love you,” he whispers when he kisses down your collarbone, “I love you,” he whispers when your clothes join the ground, “I love you,” he whispers when you shake against his fingers and mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time, cradling you gently as he becomes one with you. “I’ll never let you go. Never again.”

As you lay against him, bare skin to bare skin, you trace the tips of his hair as you smile. You don’t know what the future holds for you two, but there’s one thing you’re certain of as you press another kiss to his mouth.

"I love you. Even if the world caves in, it’ll be you that I lie with. Endlessly, until my last dying breath.”

This time around, you take things slow, not restricted anymore any more by four weeks, four months, not even four years. You have the entirety of your lifetime to spend with him, and you intend on using every single bit of it.

First, however, you let him make it up to you. Just because you bared your soul to him, figuratively and literally, after his apology doesn't mean you've completely forgiven him.

Chanhee doesn't disappoint though, reminding you every single day why he deserved the second chance you gave him. Once upon a time, he called you privileged, and that's exactly what you are now for having such a sweet boyfriend. One that doesn't leave the vase on your countertop empty by gifting you fresh flowers, one that always opens the door for you when he takes you on apology dates, one that sits with you in silence when you want to and one that chatters just as much as you do when you can't shut your mouth.

He visits you on set when he can despite his busy schedule as an assistant director. Surprisingly, you played no part in this, just the source of his determination when he finally decided to give the movie industry a chance again and bagged a job with none other than your close friend Juyeon. He surprises you for late-night drives and lets you have the aux even without you asking for it. He accompanies you to movie premieres despite hating the cameras and if you ever get asked questions that you don't particularly like, he'll glare at the reporters until they shoo away.

And god, the kisses. If the world counted kisses as an apology, Chanhee would be the CEO. Every slot of his lips against yours is like an unwritten confession from him to you, and every purse of his lips is a ballad from the depths of his heart. He kisses you for trivial things, like when you finally get that one specific line right as you're practicing for a script or when he's pecking you against the makeup trailer walls as he wishes you a successful day at work. He kisses you in the earliest of mornings, murmuring sweetness with his tongue against your hot skin, and he kisses you in the depths of the night, trailing his fingers down as you gasp against his mouth and exchange breaths through each swipe of his tongue.

Even after you do end up accepting his apology, he doesn't stop showering you with the affection you deserve. On nights you're feeling particularly insecure, Chanhee beats himself up and vows to never make you feel those emotions again, waking up the next morning to prove exactly why you're worth it. He takes care of you gently, the gentlest lover you've ever seen. He's the personification of a comfortable morning, the desire to stay in bed despite all the things you have going on. You never want to leave, forgetting all reason and staying in his embrace forever.

You're by his side when his first cinema blows up, when his first screenplay wins an award, when he gets his first nomination for directing, and today when he's on stage with an Academy Award in his hand and a smile you'll remember for ages.

You watch the twinkling in his eyes when he thanks his cast and crew, holding onto his assistant director tightly as he expresses his gratitude. What takes your breath away, however, is when he turns to you in the audience and whispers a confession that you'll never forget in your lifetime.

"And lastly, thank you, you know who you are, for being the best I could ever imagine. I will never regret the moment by the pond where you hugged me, the one that changed the trajectory of our lives forever. If anything, you deserve this award more than me. I love you, my Y/N."

You smile as the audience erupts in cheers, but as his assistant director hugs him on stage, his eyes only bore into yours.

"I love you too," you mouth back, watching as he grins when he recognizes your words.

"Forever and always."

[hobiebrownismygod]

Hobie getting angry headcanons

Based off of @hei-chans post <3 check them out they're cool

tw: these are mostly him with my Sona (Maitreyi 🥰)

he doesn't get angry often he's a pretty chill guy and fairly nonviolent

except the moment he gets pushed over the edge his whole demeanor changes and he can go berserk

now before you get mad at me for saying that just think about it

he's spider-man and obviously gonna be fairly stressed considering how he's completely by himself trying to take down Osborne's regime in his universe

and he's pretty okay with violence in his comics (he gets drunk before fights too)

so when he gets angry I like to think he gets angry

its like that silent anger where he's just seething and glaring at the person who did whatever they did

the kind of glare that makes you cower and squirm and subconsciously feel guilty even if you didn't do anything

things that make him mad are usually people being stupid, as in being really brash and overconfident about something and not being openminded about other opinions

trying to tell someone what to do when they didn't ask

putting other people down for not knowing something

or any vulgar comments about a person's appearance or personality

they all give him the ick and he immediately goes into anger mode when it happens

examples:

when Maitreyi came to his universe for the first time he took her to his favorite pub and one of his friends started talking to her like she was stupid, mansplaining, making fun of her accent, her clothes, whatever, and hobie got so mad that he kicked the guy out and never spoke to him again

he's a huge feminist so if anyone ever tries to mansplain something to her he'll never talk to them again (but he let's her handle herself in those situations cuz he knows she can)

another example is when somebody tried to hit on gwen while she was staying at his place in her universe and didn't stop even after she got uncomfortable so hobie literally kicked his ass and bought his drummer ice cream to make up for it

pavitr gets bullied sometimes in his universe by people who make fun of his accent and clothes (he's from a small town so he has a different accent than the others in Mumbattan) so hobie pulled a kdrama move, pulled his mask on and absolutely beat their asses (they never bothered pavi again <3)

like I said he doesn't get angry often but when someone goes too far he makes sure they know it

whether its by beating their ass or cutting them off

and once you get on his bad side its hard to come back from that

its hard to make him dislike you but once he does he probably won't like you again

congrats on getting this far down have a hobie

@daydreaming-en-pointe I thought you'd like these also @spidey-bie I wonder how he'd act if someone was being rude to ansi? would he get mad or would he let them handle it? im curious

[shorkbrian]

So happy your requests are open and I don't mind the wait at all!

I just really want to see a sweet quirkless omega going into heat and sending her alpha Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) into a hard rut and he just pins her to a wall and fucks the life out of her before taking her to the bedroom to knot her.

but you do know that it would 100% be like "hate sex" on Chisaki's part (even though he kinda do like it lol)

(Kinda overhaul x reader x chrono btw but only for a little bit)

Just. Overhaul being able to tolerate you being kept at his compound because one, you're his mate, whether he likes it or not.

Two, you're quirkless.

And three? You don't bother him, you stay out of the way and you have passable hygiene when compared to Chisaki's standards.

But that has to be thrown out the window the second Chrono hauls you into Chisaki's office, the man in charge of watching you when Chisaki isn't around flustered and pink around his ears.

"B-boss, your omega, she's-"

"What the fuck is that smell." Chisaki growls, eyes immediately snapping to your trembling form. Taking in the way you're gasping, sweaty, barely able to stand even with Chrono's hand tight around your bicep and holding you up.

For some reason, the sight of Chrono touching you makes Chisaki itch. Odd, that usually wouldn't bother him.

The smell is cloying; too intense and too sweet, it makes his throat burn and his skin crawl.

"I think she's in-"

"Please, it hurts." You choke out, cutting off Chrono. "Need... I need-"

Chisaki recoiled as the scent got stronger, clouding his senses, making him feel... Chisaki didn't even know. Excited? Tingly?

Uncomfortable - he decided.

"Get her out. Give her a bath too, she smells disgusting." He commanded, but Chrono stepped forward instead of back out the door.

"Boss, she's in heat."

Heat?

Oh.

Overhaul cringed.

Logically, he knew it was going to happen eventually. But on the other hand, he had hoped his omega would be different. you was already quirkless, already pure... surely it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to assume that you wouldn't be affected by the mindless heat-addling that Omega's all seemed to undergo?

His irritation was rising.

"So?"

Chrono looked at his boss with questioning eyes, unsure what to do with the omega becoming increasingly more distressed at his side.

"You'll get her over it." Chisaki decides, ignoring the bitter taste that floods his mouth as he utters those words. His eyes slide over you again, lip curling into a disgusted sneer.

"Messy thing."

Chrono is frozen in disbelief. But this isn't a test of his loyalty, Chisaki truly doesn't want to deal with the germs and the mess and the cleanup associated with omega's during their heats. Slick everywhere, pheromones staining the room, needy hands touching everywhere-

"Sit her down on the couch." He instructs his second-in-command, rising from his office chair and stepping around his desk so he can close the door. "I want to make sure you don't damage her."

That's the only reason. Only reason he wants to be present and watching while Chrono fucks you through your heat.

"You're serious then?" The white-haired man asks, removing the plague mask he wears while inside the compound, thus beginning the process of disrobing.

Chisaki waved his hand idly, resuming his position in his office chair with a tired sigh. "It'd be such a chore for me to do it myself. Aren't you an alpha yourself Chrono? You should be jumping at the chance to bed a nice quirkless omega."

Chrono shrugs off his white coat, looking up from where you're panting on the couch while he stands in front of you, eyes finding his boss. "I wouldn't want to overstep my boundaries with your property."

The brunette smiles, not that anyone can see, but it's clear he's pleased by the crinkle near his eyes, the relaxed way he slumps in his chair. "And that's why you're my favorite Chrono."

You're wearing what you usually wear - long pants, a cozy sweater. Overhaul hasn't heard you complain about the chill in the compound, but it's clear to see it affects you by the way you dress and the way your nose darkens from the cold.

You don't fight the half-naked Chrono as he helps you out of your sweater, unbothered by the temperature of the room and looking entirely too hot and sweaty.

Chisaki supposes it's good that you aren't fighting. You had at first, when he first brought you here, crying and pleading for him to let you go and leave you alone. That pathetic show was quickly shut down with a simple demonstration of Overhaul's quirk, and what he'd do to you if you didn't comply.

Now you're seemingly accepting of the situation, casting nervous glances towards Chisaki, your attention constantly getting stolen by the pale man stripping in front of you.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time before Chrono has his cock in you.

And you look completely blissed out, mouth open and letting out choked little gasps on each thrust, one hand desperately trying to hold onto Chrono's shoulder, his arm, his chest - anything you can reach.

The other hand is on your stomach, and Chisaki doesn't understand why until he focuses on it, sees the distention whenever Chrono swings his hips into you.

Chisaki feels himself throb.

The sounds you're making sound like music. Awful music, all discordant and rushed and pornographic, stuttered breaths and pitiful cries, high-pitched and girlish moans in between Chrono's quiet huffs.

The sweet pheromones in the air become sweeter, thicker, and Chisaki can see the direct correlation between the smell and how much slick is dripping out of you, drenching Chrono's pretty cock, his stomach, even splattering his thighs on each thrust as his cock squelches deeper.

It's disgusting.

Digusting but curiously enamoring. Chrono's got you sitting on the couch, pushed up against the back while he fucks you. It's a tall piece of furniture, and Chrono merely hikes his leg up onto the cushions to gain a better angle to fuck you with. Your slick is everywhere; Chisaki knows that couch won't be salvageable after this. Somehow, he doesn't mind.

What he does mind, however, is the way Chrono is speeding up, rhythm stuttering and practically falling apart. He's going to knot you. Chisaki had given him full permission to - that's what taking care of an omega during their heat means, after all. But jealousy is boiling inside him, blood painfully engorging his cock, he feels tingly all over, very unlike himself.

He wants to touch you.

But you're a disgusting mess, smelling sweet and fertile and sweating and dripping everywhere. Chisaki can't believe he's feeling... attracted to you right now.

"O-ohh feels good, r-right there! Yes, thank you,t-than-" You mumble out, drunk on cock as you shudder through an orgasm, cream gushing out of your cunt and further dirtying Chisaki's office.

Chisaki sees red.

He's furious - not only at you, but at Chrono for touching you, and for himself for explicitly allowing it to happen. Chrono's about to knot you, claim you, and Chisaki is out of his chair before he knows what's happening.

"That's enough." And his gloved hands are ripping Chrono away from you, sending the other man reeling as his subordinate struggles to control his alpha instincts and stop himself from fighting his boss, tearing Chisaki to shreds for interrupting his mating.

Chisaki doesn't care, he's too focused on you.

"You're so pathetic." The man hisses at you, crowding into your space. When had he taken off his mask? He wanted to smell more of you.

His gloves are gone too, ripped away in a moment so he can feel your wet skin against his hands, feel the sweat beading your brow before those same fingers snap to undo his pants.

"I hate you, I hate you." He seethes, golden eyes staring at you so intently that you start to cry, overwhelmed with the situation, still craving a knot, craving intimacy and tenderness.

You've reduced him down to barely better than an animal, tearing at his clothes so he can sink into you, closing his eyes at the way you're wet and warm inside, perfect and velvety.

Chisaki doesn't know what's come over him. Normally he'd be disgusted, absolutely incensed at having such filth be in direct contact with his skin. But right now... all he feels is pleasure ripping through his veins, clouding his head, his mind, flushing rational thought down the toilet.

"Stupid, hate you-" his words rattle out on each rapid thrust, breath uneven and labored as his muscles stretch and work to fuck you harder and faster. He's building up to his peak.

One of his hands is fisted in your hair, close to your scalp and keeping you still, the other hand clamped firmly against your hip and making sure you don't wiggle away. Alpha instincts taking over as his brain convinces him to mate, breed, cum.

"You're so fucking dirty." He gasps, voice heated and gravelly as he struggles to fight through the heat taking over his body.

He's going into a rut.

Chisaki isn't supposed to do that. He takes supplements and suppressants to ensure he doesn't have too. Ruts are messy, nasty things to endure, and Chisaki would rather lick the floor of a dirty subway than experience one.

Yet here he is.

"You disgusting, wretched thing-" And you're crying, fat tears mixing with sweat and rolling down your chin. Chisaki feels disgusting himself, wanting to lick the liquid away.

He hasn't felt this good in his entire life, this burning fever pitch rising and rising and cresting, blazing along his nerves.

He can barely thrust his hips anymore, and only then does Chisaki realizes that he's popped his knot, jammed it in deep while you cried and moaned and struggled to hold onto him.

Theres a sick sense of satisfaction filling him up, his mind clears for half a second and Chisaki thinks to look over his shoulder, seeing Chrono still standing there with a soured look on his face, cock still swollen and drippy and bobbing purple against the man's stomach.

"Get out." Chisaki orders, and Chrono knows enough to merely pick up his coat and wrap it around himself before exiting the room. He's never seen his boss like this - so feral and unhinged and debauched like some regular dirty plebeian.

But Chisaki doesn't care. Odd.

He cares about grinding against you, feeling you milk every last drop of cum from his balls, shimmying his hips to hear you gasp and moan and clutch at his body, trembling like a little lamb.

Chisaki doesn't want to stop.

"As soon as my knot goes down-" He growls, lowering his face until it's mere inches from your own, breathing into your space. "I'm going to take you to my room and knot you until you break."

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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[ev-pierce-writes]

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin.  He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

[tamat3v]

req: hey mate sorry to like probably ruin your reputation here but can i request pseudo-incest dabi with like overstimulation and sadomasochism?

❥• this was from my other acc, this req has been sitting and rotting for m o n t h s, i added my own twists and tweaks here and there [nah like actually a lot💔💔 the main kinks in highlight are still overstim and sadomasochism(ish for this one) so it’s not too bad] so i hope it is enjoyed. coming up with a title for this was living hell so i’ll figure it out later 🚶🏾

w/c: none, cus i’m trying straight up on tumblr, so help me god but it’s a pretty decent reading length i suppose

Touya hated you- despised you for the very fact you walked the earth in his lifetime. You were the most cherished one, the sun of your parents and he was the other one, who’s name was apparently so unspeakable because he was the disappointment. He hated you, did everything in his power to show his mom and your dad that you were no good. He knew what you were, he heard all of those girls and boys screaming as you basically pounded them into your mattress every other night. Only he knew how you toyed with and threw away each and every single one of them after you had your fun and gotten your dick wet enough for the week.

Touya curses the ground you walk on. He abhors you so, then why is it that this time he’s slumped against his bed? Hearing the girl cry and you pant with his pants feeling too tight? Why, god tell him why he walked into the room, acting like it was a mistake. Why he screamed at the girl to get lost and it was a sight to behold, how she scrambled for her clothes and flew out the door like a hurricane.

You were seeing red at this point. You’d finally convinced her to get into your bed and that god forsaken raven head had to step in a mess up. You were livid, shirt crumpled slightly and raised up as you flung the other onto the bed, hand wrapped around his throat dangerously with ill intentions which pinned him flat to the bed and all he could do was struggle. “Touya, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Touya couldn’t tell you the answer but how he wondered the same thing. No normal person would like being brutally tossed to the bed, being choked heavy with all rage- which was absolutely deserved. The crown of the pile of issues was that his hard on was furious in his pants, straining against the fabric. This is wrong, all so wrong. You were brothers for goodness’ sake, you could literally kill him for goodness’ sake yet he liked the hurt and he wanted you even more. He tried to speak out but his words died long before in his throat all he could let out was a weak, failing sound- so pathetic. You were so sour at the pitiful face he was making but it soon turned into a bitter smile on your face. As much as you wanted to thrash him for butting in and stepping far out of line, you would just rock his shit differently.

Because little did he know that you knew what he did. Unlike your parents, you heard him beating his pathetic, weeping cock and mewling at the dead of night to his own step-brother. You had seen his book, pages filled with the most obscene and perverse desires and fantasies he had and you knew from that day on he was far worse than you would ever be. Something about that cruel upper hand you had over him just made your stomach twist and all the right ways, who were you to not use this golden opportunity that fate had dealt you?

“You know, Dabi, I’ve read that book of yours.” He immediately sprung to life, eyes popping out their sockets. “_____, I can explain, it’s really not what you think it is-“ There it was. You dropped one harsh and heavy handed slap on his cheek with no hesitation and he was silent, effective immediately. “I don’t remember asking you to talk, Touya-kun. I read each and ever single one of those pages. You’re so sick, you know that?” you spat, tone seething and acidic. “‘Bet you liked that slap, didn’t you? Being pressed up underneath me like this? I know who you are, Touya: a perverted whore.”

Oh how he was shaking under you, legs turning inwards with his thighs pressed so cutely together to quell the sweltering heat in his pants. He was dripping, tip pumping up those sinful tears non stop ‘till it was so sticky. Touya’s brain had switched off, eyes unfocused on you but a sharp slap to his thigh, right next to the throbbing hardness brought him back whimpering. You finally released his throat, purpled bruise marks adorning his skin as he choked in air, just for it to be knocked out of his chest when you flipped him onto his back.

“From now on until I decide I’m done with you, you have no say. Shut up and take it like the slut you are. I will not listen to you but I don’t think it’s need anyway. I know you’ll enjoy every single second of it like the freak you are.” You weren’t asking, simply stating. You ripped down his stupid, tacky pants and slid in, no warning needed. Touya was undone with that, tears stinging hard, his lower half even harder but he liked the pain- so much that he came immediately, crying out already and you were incredulous at the realization.

You slapped his ass harshly. He didn’t deserve your mercy, not that he wanted it anyways. His dark hair was disheveled as you began hammering into him relentlessly. He cried from the overstimulation- it hurt so good. His body was absolutely shredded and you were far from finished with him- so far from it. His mind was not computing the stimulation, he was numb but felt everything at the same time. Was this an out of body experience because this didn’t feel real at all. He was bordering consciousness when you squeezed another high from his spent body already.

What time was it now? Touya was lost in a different plane when you finally pulled out, daylight peaking through shut blinds and he was limp. He was beyond useless and he- he felt you push in once more and shredded attempt at a scream erupted from his torn up vocal box. “Oh? So you are still awake. You better be, you will take what I give you, Touya.”And you were so pleased with your work, yhe points in which you had hit on his body were bruising, heat still so close to the surface of his skin and it was perfect for you.

[lov3nerdstuff]

I've got you

*James Conrad x reader*

Parts: Oneshot/Drabble

Words: 1.7k

Prompt: "Imagine being on Skull Island (or somewhere equally as fucky) and Conrad shines a flashlight out into the darkness, only for several pairs of eyes to reflect back. His hand tightens around yours and every muscle in his lean body tenses. That deep voice gets low and quiet, warning you not to run. The second you try to bolt--because duh-- he tugs you against his firm chest and his lips are on your ear."

A.N.: This is a gift for @hopelessromanticspoonie who had this idea yesterday 💚✨ She (and her lovely anon) deserve some Conrad goodness! I hope you guys enjoy this quick little snippet 🖤 I am actually writing a longer Conrad series currently, but that will still take a while ☺️

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The low growling sounds outside your tent should have been warning enough, had they already sufficed to wake you up in the first place. If not that, then at least the distant screeching that carried through the cold night air at a bone-chilling frequency, haunting echoes in your mind filling the silence in between.

You should never have left your tent, should never have come on this bloody excursion to the middle of nowhere in the first place! But of course, you just had to be curious and go check on the noise by yourself instead of waiting for one of the men with the heavy guns to take care of it. Just had to prove to them that you weren't just the frail and frightened little thing they saw in you no matter what you did. You had to prove it to him. James Conrad, the man of both your daydreams and sleepless nights. Gods, you had been falling for him from the first day of this doomed mission. Him, with his incredible blue eyes and that unforgettable voice that could put the fear of God into every soul when he bellowed commands across any battlefield, and that yet would recite Shakespeare in the softest flowing melody like he was born to do nothing else. A voice dipped in liquid sin that should not be uttering compliments like languished breaths in the dark. Not without unravelling you softly in the sweetest torture known to man.

Well, you should have gotten a grip on yourself and your pathetic insecurities and just told him how badly you'd fallen for him days ago. Now, however, you were going to die lonely and frustrated, a mere hundred yards away from the well protected camp you'd been stupid enough to leave. Great job, idiot…

The same growling that had woken you up was all around you now, louder, so much louder than before and you couldn't believe that you had been so stupid to walk into this trap of… whatever was lurking in the darkness around you now. You didn't dare to move, didn't dare to make a sound… and simply clung onto the childish belief that if you couldn't see what was stalking you right now, it couldn't see you either. Not that you would've been able to see much anyway, with the stream of tears that was running down your cheeks now.

"Y/n! Are you out of your mind?! You shouldn't be out here alone in the middle of the night!" Conrad's scolding voice behind you, in that delicious British accent nevertheless, sent an immediate shiver down your spine, but unfortunately for more than one reason this time around. Gods, he was here… you only hoped that he had come as your salvation and not a second course to the hidden predators' nightly meal.

"James… They're everywhere, in the darkness… I'm so sorry." You whispered in a tear laced voice, too far frozen in your fear to turn around to him even when you felt his radiant presence coming up right next to you. So close that his warmth was almost seething on the chilled skin of your arm and shoulder. Gods… you had been so stupid indeed; you were absolutely bloody frightened and helpless out here, who had you been trying to fool!

When Conrad finally switched on his flashlight to shed some literal light onto the darkness ahead that you were still staring at relentlessly, you barely held back your startled scream by biting down hard on your bottom lip. There were eyes, so many eyes that reflected the light right back at you from the undergrowth in a glowing hollowness that spoke of nothing but hungry fixation and thus, impending death. Conrad next to you tensed in an instant, every muscle in his lean body coiling in a display of controlled strength, preparing to fight and defend himself. Or rather to defend both of you, for not even a broken second later his hand wrapped tightly around your lower arm as if purely on instinct, and your breath caught in your throat in return. A few deafening heartbeats long you both stayed frozen like that, until slowly, painfully, deliciously slowly, his hand slid down your arm to hold your hand instead, interlacing your fingers with his in the same unfaltering, strong hold.

"Don't move…" He drawled under his breath, commanding you with the deep tone of his voice alone to surrender his will no matter what he said. Thus you could only clasp his hand in a death grip in return, breath coming out in shallow pants as your heart thundered in your chest like the storm approaching in the distance.

And yet, when another loud growl announced that these beasts were drawing closer to you still, almost up your neck already with their teeth or claws sunk deeply into your tender flesh, the sound startled you so far beyond your reason that your flight instinct grew unbearable at last. Every fibre in your body burst in panic, and you bolted without thought, without reason, but you did not get far. Fast as lightning to match the thunder in your heart, Conrad's arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled you flush against his chest, holding you tightly against his strong body while your excess adrenaline merely caused you to whimper into the soft fabric of his shirt.

"Shhh... I've got you." His voice was surprisingly soft now, reassuring and calming almost as if just to soothe your fears, while the gentle brush of his lips against the shell of your ear caused you to shiver for entirely different reasons. A soaring heart and tingling exhilaration made for an odd mix combined with the prominent fear of death, but in the end it only heightened your every sense to the incredible. If you were to die now, you at least would do so wrapped up in the arms of the man you loved. La petite mort, only in the opposite direction of what you would have wanted for him and you.

"James…" You breathed into his chest, desperately trying to keep yourself from trembling too noticeably, which only made him tighten his hold on you with a sharp intake of breath.

"Shush now, darling, and listen to me…" He replied in an equally quiet tone, still staring into the hollow eyes of death with his head so closely next to yours. "I will throw the flashlight ahead into the forest as far as I can to cause a decent distraction, and then you and I will run back to camp without turning back. We should be safe behind the barriers we've set up. Do you understand?"

You nodded slowly with a shuddering breath, then turned your head ever so slightly to glance up at him with all those sharp lines of his stern features, while at the same time he dropped his arm from around you and instead took a tight hold of your hand again. Then in the matter of broken seconds, he threw the flashlight as far away from your path as he could, and finally dashed off back towards your camp while pulling you along by your hand. You were quick to comply, running as fast as you could while your lungs burned all the more, but both Conrad's death grip on your hand and the howling behind your back made for a magnificent motivation to keep running either way.

The hundred yards still were torture to your mind and body, but even without the light you could see the barriers drawing nearer and nearer. When you finally reached the gate of the improvised defenses, Conrad didn't waste any time to rush you through before it was barred off from the inside right behind you. The howling, however, remained right outside before the gates and still made your blood freeze over even now from the safety of your camp. Good gods… you really had cheated death. Again.

Panting, you finally dared to look up at Conrad once more. He was still clutching your hand as if he was afraid you would vanish if he let go, and when his burning gaze met yours in that undivided intensity, you couldn't keep your lips from trembling, nor your words from spilling over at last. "I'm so sorry, I… I really didn't mean to cause you so much trouble, I'm so sorry, I just… wanted to prove to you that I'm worth your-..."

You didn't get any further when his hand rose to cup your cheeks with a start, elegant fingers entangling in your hair as he pulled you close to him and pressed his lips to yours in every bit of passion and urgency you had been yearning for for so long. It took you but a broken second of surprise before you melted against him with a faint moan, returning everything he gave you and everything you had beyond. This was heaven… A heaven you were granted only after surviving in hell.

When you finally pulled back, both breathless far more thoroughly than just from your run, Conrad leaned his forehead against yours so very gently, and yet refused to release you from his incessant hold. "You are worth all there is and more, darling. I can bear absolutely anything for you, and with you, you must know that. All except for losing you."

"I'm so sorry." You breathed, eyes closed as you revelled in the roaring waves of unadulterated affection washing over both of you now. "You won't lose me, I… I won't let that happen. I've got you just the same."

Your words brought a smile to his face, you could feel it all around you, could feel it against your lips a second later. He wasn't a man of many words, you knew that, but the ones he spoke were always the most beautiful and honest to his soul. So you did know indeed, you both had each other and that was all you would need.

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General Tags:

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[saintshigaraki]

won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI 

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt: 

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji​​ said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited 

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’ 

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart. 

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that. 

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face. 

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer. 

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose. 

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction. 

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression. 

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library. 

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking. 

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.” 

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down. 

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him. 

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day. 

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it. 

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side. 

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.” 

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes. 

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.” 

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously. 

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold. 

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally. 

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold. 

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about. 

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front. 

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place. 

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache. 

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye. 

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank. 

He’s so stupidly pretty. 

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life. 

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why. 

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his. 

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours. 

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue. 

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air. 

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him. 

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now. 

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even. 

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss. 

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

[hogwartsfirebolt]

timebomb

for @drarrymicrofic prompt "better than fighting" (did I intend for this to be 2.3k no i did not)

The day Harry slept with Malfoy for the first time, was also the day he bruised his knuckles punching his boss in the nose.

The impossible chain of events that led to that stupid, ridiculous, unthinkable conclusion — sleeping with Malfoy, of course, not punching his boss — started two weeks earlier, when Robards slammed a shiny red folder on his desk and said, Sixteen werewolves disappeared yesterday. Find them.

Sixteen werewolves, three families. Including children.

Everyone knew Harry went crazy when children were involved.

In under two days, he found clues that seemed to suggest a high member of the Wizengamot was responsible and launched himself into an apprehension mission without filing for the permit, because he was sure every second that passed, more werewolves were getting kidnapped. He ended up escorting a furious Member Breckenridge to a holding cell.

Robards failed to see his logic, however. It turned out Breckenridge was working with the department in an attempt to catch the actual criminal, and Harry got reprimanded for skipping procedure.

But Harry, tired as hell of having information kept from him for the nth time in his life because, well, Dumbledore, exploded.

He didn’t even feel sorry as he yelled at Robards in front of the entire department for sending him blind into a case that could’ve compromised the wellbeing of so many creatures, including children, and how could he, when Harry could very well have saved them if only he’d known, and — that was about the time he walked up to Robard’s desk and punched him right in the nose.

So, that was the first impossible event in the series of impossible events.

The second was as follows: Harry was put on desk duty for at least six months, Potter, you should thank Merlin I’m not firing you.

This, in Harry’s opinion, should definitely be considered an impossible event. He hadn’t been on desk duty for five years, and had thought himself free of the burden, forever. He’d been wrong.

The consequences to his confinement became rapidly evident, however. For starters, every single person sharing the wide room that served as the headquarters to the Auror force filed a complaint before the clock had struck six that very evening. The Aurors were a notoriously conflictive sort, hardly ever agreed on anything, so the fact that they were all together in their fear was the third impossible event. To be fair, it was terrifying. Harry’s absolute lack of respect for authority coupled with his inability to sit still for even a second made every one of his coworkers fear for their life now they knew they’d be subjected to the rage of the caged tiger for at least six months.

So, all of Harry’s coworkers filed said complaint — all of them, including the incidental employees from other departments that had to pass through Auror quarters for one reason or the other — and stayed within a 10 feet radius of his desk at all times as he fumed so hard he half thought steam would come out of his ears.

The fifth impossible thing was that the only one person who stepped into the office and didn’t immediately run to Robards to make sure they weren’t hallucinating Harry aggressively punching holes through his stationery at the desk he hadn’t occupied in five years, was Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy showed up in the vibrant blue robes that marked his position as a member of the Department of Invoices, Correspondence and Credit, or, as Harry liked to call them, glorified mailmen, and leaned over his desk with a snooty smirk, not appearing surprised to see him.

He’d never been afraid of him, after all.

“If it isn’t the man who made Robards walk into his afternoon meeting with a bloody nose,” he said, apparently fucking oblivious to the very obvious signals Harry’s body was sending him to shut the hell up — the tense fists, the clenched teeth, the jumping muscles of his jaw. Malfoy didn’t see any of it. He continued, “well, what could we have expected, really, you’ve always been rather ... ah, ill-mannered,” and continued, “member Breckenridge had an interesting story at lunch earlier,” and continued, “escapes me how Robards was surprised by your acting on your first impulse, after all …”

And then Harry shut him up. He stood up abruptly, slammed his palms on the desk and leaned into Malfoy’s space, lip curled. He knew, logically, that he was being unreasonable. He also knew he kind of wanted to snarl.

Malfoy blinked, startled.

“What the fuck do you want?” Harry asked. Malfoy kept blinking at him. “Were you here for a reason, or did you come here looking for a fight? Because I will fight you, Malfoy, I -“

“Circe, you’ve got mail,” interrupted Malfoy, waving a neat stack of letters before setting them down by Harry’s hole puncher. “You ought to be kept on a leash, I swear to Merlin.”

Harry was seething by then, however, and decided snarling didn’t seem like such a bad idea after all.

And somehow, after he had delivered a comeback and Malfoy kept pestering him anyway, he found his fingers clenching around the front of Malfoy’s robes, pulling him towards the archive room, through a small door, and apparating him to his house in London. Malfoy’s house. Harry wasn’t very sure how he knew the address well enough to end up there, but he did and he had. This was the sixth impossible thing.

Malfoy spluttered, raged, but his hands pulled Harry close and into the house and it happened.

Harry slept with him. This was the stupid, ridiculous, unthinkable conclusion.

Thinking back on it, he was inclined to say that he’d been out of his mind, but the truth was, he’d had plenty of time to back off, and he hadn’t.

Even more ridiculous, even more unthinkable, was the fact that it … did something to him. After they’d had a go at it in Malfoy’s couch, Harry’s anger had — not disappeared, exactly, but it had been taken over by something bigger, stronger. A raging hunger he’d not experienced in … possibly ever.

And by then he’d been so, so angry for so many years, that he was hesitant to let go of the new feeling. He’d slipped his thumb into Malfoy’s mouth, and they’d had another go at it on his living room floor, and then another in the kitchen, and another in the bedroom, right before passing out, worn out and not angry, for the first time in longer than he’d care to admit.

He felt ashamed of it in the morning, as he was forced to vanish the evidence of their coupling from his chest and thighs, as he apparated home and scrubbed himself down in the shower, as he went to work and kept his head down, sure everyone would take a look at him and know he’d gone and done the unthinkable.

But even the shame was different from the everlasting anger he’d carried.

As he sat at the dreaded desk and curled his lip at the stupid, prying coworkers who stared at him, he found he couldn’t muster up the rage to continue punching holes through all his case reports, and proceeded to be so incredibly embarrassed that his face blushed bright red and he had to pretend to choke on his tea and cough violently so nobody would suspect a thing.

Around the sixth time he did the entire tea-choke-cough thing to fight yet another memory of the night before, the door to the headquarters slammed open and in walked Draco Malfoy, with a swagger to his step and a grin so bright that Harry’s hatred for him was turned up to eleven and intensified past stratospheric levels. Inexplicably, he wanted to run.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, white teeth flashing. Harry thought of a panther, then scowled because no way was intimidating a word he was willing to associate with the little shit standing in front of him, and willed himself to think of a stupid, raging, harmless house cat. Much more fitting. He made a mewling sound similar to theirs, anyway, when he – “Missed me?”

“Why are you talking to me?” Harry asked, digging inside himself for the anger, for something to hurl at Malfoy and run away, escape his maddening smirk, but he came up short.

Malfoy’s grin widened.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” He said, and it indeed was the usual — oblivious as usual, infuriating as usual, then leaned right into Harry’s space, crowding him against his chair and hitting him with his disgusting, revolting, nauseating, fresh minty breath. Then, he showed him a thin envelope. “Your mail.”

Harry snatched it from him. “Good. Now piss off.”

“As you wish. See you later.”

“Not if I can help it.”

He could still hear Malfoy’s laugh, even after he’d left and closed the door, could still feel the disgusting, revolting, nauseating minty breath inside his nostrils, and if he wasn’t careful he could still feel the shape of Malfoy’s mouth around his —

He most definitely was not seeing him later.

Harry told himself this all day. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he stood in front of Robards after he’d summoned him for a ‘meeting’ that was really just a load of bullshit on protocol and procedures and useless things Harry did not give a damn about. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he bought a salad at the café two streets down the ministry and smiled back at the lovely waitress. Not seeing him later, he told himself as he sat at his desk and found himself capable of punching holes after all, but not exactly out of anger.

Not seeing him later, he told himself after his shift was over and he left headquarters.

Not seeing him later, he told himself, as he apparated straight into Malfoy’s living room.

And there he was.

For a second he looked surprised, vulnerable, a flash in his eyes as he took Harry in that spoke of uncertainty. Then, he looked as thought he’d been expecting him.

“You couldn’t help it, then?” He asked, stepping forward and not making any sense whatsoever.

“What are you talking about?” Harry said. It came out low, and not at all the way he’d intended.

“You said you wouldn’t see me if you could help it.” There was triumph somewhere in that sentence, or an attempt at it. There was also a tremble right in the middle, a fracture.

A red, pulsating curl of – of something rose inside Harry’s belly, and he grabbed onto it with desperation, thinking it was there, the anger, safety. But as he took it, owned it and stepped forward to punch Malfoy in the nose as he’d done Robards the day before, he found himself pushing him up against the wall instead, and bringing his face very close to his.

Malfoy’s eyes were a ring of silver overtaken by the wide abyss of his pupils. Awful, disgusting, they made Harry think of ugly murky waters and nasty storm clouds and made him want to retch.

He slid a hand into wispy, blonde, awful, disgusting, revolting hair and pulled him into a rough kiss that was all teeth.

They had a go at it on the living room floor, then another two in the bedroom, before collapsing from exhaustion.

When their wand alarms went off at the same time in the morning, Harry opened his eyes to see Malfoy between his legs. No time for shame.

Afterwards, they padded downstairs, Malfoy two steps ahead of him, wearing nothing. Harry couldn’t look at him, couldn’t look away.

It was different in the morning light.

Malfoy was different, his naked body as he made them sandwiches was different, his eyes resembled something other than murky waters and his hair brushing against his forehead, against the constellations of freckles on his cheekbones was different, and his bare feet, light and silent on the hardwood floors were different, and the curve of his arms and the planes of his chest were different, and his cock hanging between his legs looked different, and Harry — Harry also felt different.

There was the usual racing of his heart, but no trace of anger, the usual heat in his chest and stomach, but not a sign of rage, the usual need to put his hands on the other person, but no want for violence.

He felt his fingers tremble as he poured water into an empty cup.

“Mayo?” Malfoy asked, low, sleepy.

Harry swallowed. “Yeah.”

Malfoy hummed, and Harry stared as he spread mayo onto his bread. At the work of his long, bony fingers. He tried to think they were disgusting, and couldn’t.

“Here,” Malfoy said, handing him the plate when he was done. Harry took it, put it aside.

They had another go at it in the kitchen.

“Isn’t it better?” Malfoy asked, breathless, pushing back against him, hands planted on the counter.

“Better?” Harry said, grunted into his shoulder, into the beauty mark he was getting acquainted with.

“Than … than anger – oh god, please.” He dropped his head back against Harry’s chest, panted, moved faster. “Than fighting.”

Then, he shifted and Harry stopped thinking for a while.

Later, leaning against the wall of the shower as he watched Malfoy wash his hair, he thought about it.

Better than anger.

Better than fighting.

Was it?

He brought a hand up, brushed his fingers against Malfoy’s chest, traced the lines leading down to his hips. Thought about fighting him, arguing. Thought about something else.

They had another go at it under the stream of water, as it turned cold against their feverish skin.

Stupid, unthinkable, ridiculous, perfect, just right conclusion. Harry supposed it was better than fighting.

[pen-observing]

I recently finished my fic in which Diavolo cheats on MC so it got me thinking; and someone was speculating which bro MC should move on with. So that is where this came from. You can tell how I started with big brain time but then my one brain cell remained at the end.

How the brothers react/pursue you after Diavolo cheats on you while married:

Lucifer:

He has had internal questions about what his own loyalty meant and represented. After all, he values it the most. He begins to question what it means to have sworn loyalty to the man who could not even be loyal to his spouse- to you.

As a friend he; does not let Diavolo rest and he judges him outwardly, but as a right-hand man; he knows that Diavolo’s ability to rule is unquestionable

Lucifer will not ask for understanding from you but he hopes you have it  

He hopes you know that he can simultaneously judge the man while helping him care for the Devildom

In fact, you both have to be mature about this

Lucifer lets you go through all the emotions in front of him, in the privacy of the house. It is his way of showing you what true pride means. Why should Diavolo or other citizens see you suffering over an unfaithful man?

He tries to make your life as easy as possible. Your room is clean, everything is in order even If in a fit of anger, you leave it differently. You do not have to cook; you don’t really have to do anything besides get better. He would take on your work despite the obligations he has.

If Diavolo comes for business to the House, Lucifer will make sure you are far away and protected

He treats you oh so gently, as gently as he can

And through that gentleness and care- emotions rise and turn into something more

At first, your relationship is built in privacy.  

The love, however, cannot be hidden from his brothers so they are the only ones who know

The Devildom is a cruel place; what would they say about Lucifer and you? Diavolo’s right hand man with Diavolo’s ex-spouse? Must have been an affair. They would claim you were the one who cheated

From that worry it remains private for quite some time.  

However, there comes a point where privacy and secrecy become blurred.  

Knowing that neither of you wanted secrecy just privacy, makes you both realize that there is no reason to hide something which developed so naturally.  

So, when the next ball comes, you don’t shy away from dancing together even as Diavolo and the entire Devildom watches.

Mammon:

In my humble opinion, the best one for this situation, listen listen- I will explain

Why?

Mammon does not shy away from expressing distaste and hate towards Diavolo for you. He has no obligations, he hasn’t sworn loyalty to him, he hasn’t really gotten on his nerves before so he is completely free

As the second brother he can openly tell Diavolo what he thinks (Lucifer makes sure it doesn’t get out of hand) and Diavolo can’t really claim that he hasn’t cheated on you so Mammon has the upper hand in a weird way.  

But here is the biggest reason

Mammon’s loyalty and his feelings for you are something you will never have a chance to doubt

He was your first, he loved you first and he continues to do so

His love washes over you, it never drowns you

He does not leave your side as emotions come washing over you.

He has enough sense to match them as well

Boy practically moves into your room and if sometimes you kick him out so what?  

Belphie definitely did not find him guarding your door nor sleeping next to it to make sure you were okay on a particularly bad day

After you heal it only makes sense to love Mammon; the most loyal by choice. The one who helped you heal and made sure you were whole again

He doesn’t even ask for your love- he earns it.

In fact, you don’t even need to have the ‘Oh Great Mammon, what are we?’ convo anyone dreads because it is as obvious as his love from day one

Leviathan:

His mood oh my God okay listen carefully here

Does he feel disgust towards Diavolo? Does he feel anger towards the man? Yes. A lot of it.

Does he still know Diavolo is stronger? Does he think Diavolo is still the most desirable man considering his position, his power and influence? Also yes

He is envious of Diavolo but at the same time he knows that his faithfulness is 100/10  

At least that is where Levi finds comfort, a sense of pride and confidence

But what overrides all of those emotions is when he sees how broken and sad you are over the whole thing

He even forgets about Diavolo and tries to do everything he can

Sure, his methods are unorthodox. Bringing you Beel’s big bowl of ice-cream at 3am because he saw it in in anime? This is what humans do right?

Who cares? he risked his life and Beel eating his Ruri-chan figurines for you

He goes on a spree to investigate how to help you and surprisingly, his emotions match yours quite well

You need to rant? Come, he will make up insults with you as well! Henry hears them all! The best place to rant is in front of his tank- It is big, bright, reminds you there is still light but the echo?? The acoustics of the place? Amazing for dramatic displays

You want to cry? Levi is awkward with reacting to such a display but he doesn’t run away from it

He never confronts Diavolo head on but a permanent glare is etched onto his face. Everyone knows what Levi is thinking

He subtweets like crazy  

He heard you once say that hitting Diavolo’s face without repercussions would bring immense joy so what does he do? Ta-dah a game where Diavolo is the target and you shoot! Go go!! aim at the fool!

Honestly, Levi does not even think about pursuing you. He does whatever he can to be the Henry, to be the best friend to you.

Your trope is friends to lovers! And the best part is that Levi doesn’t even notice it!

You, absolutely have to be bold and confess to him first

And when you do---good luck trying to keep him from passing out

Satan:

It is a dark and dreadful day when this man finds out what happened.  

Why is everything quiet? Why is everyone avoiding him? Did Devildom suddenly become devoid of life? Undead life, sure, but still life?

Satan is wrath but he is also the most composed of his brothers. It is tricky even to tell him because what if he reacts impulsively? Who would save everything in his path?

The way he finds out is what matters here

He is a gentleman, an analytical being who does not miss your body language but he lets you speak anyway

Approach him carefully but do not be afraid of him, please

Be as composed as you can when you tell him that Diavolo cheated on you

Immediately he will go into his Demon for but his eyes are on you

On you, human so much weaker than him who Is holding their own

So as angry as he is; livid. Furious. Seething. He knows that destruction is not the best option. His eyes hold care and worry directed towards you.  

Satan realizes he has to meet your maturity if he wishes to help you.

And he does but,,,, he remains petty omg

Satan knows he is slick and sly enough to insult Diavolo any chance he gets without fear of repercussions because ‘he just go big brain time and you can’t punish his petty ways.’

Listen carefully, he has never won in chess against Diavolo but now,, he has the biggest desire to for your sake  

On a spur takes you to the human world one day to remind you how resilient humans can be. In a library he starts showing you examples of love stories and how they are relevant to you

‘Satan I really do not think that Cleopatra has anything to do wi-’ ‘Trust me, I will explain it right now.’

In a way, anytime he mentions a human getting over heartbreak he admires you

Does not shy away from expressing it as you gradually move on from Diavolo either

Sometimes, he doesn’t even know how flirty he can be

What? Top 10 love stories in which the main character falls for a charismatic, charming guy after being cheated on? That is pure coincidence

In actuality, Satan makes you blush and feel a connection while you are in the process of moving on

As you heal from Diavolo Satan’s advances get bolder. He is still careful; he wants you to see him as an option but not mix up all of your emotions

Once you are fully over Diavolo, it is impossible not to almost momentarily recognize the feelings Satan has; not to recognize the feelings you have  

He will approach you about it first and even if you are cute in denying them, he really doesn’t give any space for lying about them

Asmodeus:

Let us get something straight,,, Asmodeus is the best at picking up on body language

He has incredible empathy and sympathy for you

He notices all the small details and changes and knows how to help you

He can think of so many ways to get your mind off Diavolo it is impressive

But,,,but!

Asmodeus is not stupid.

Asmodeus is careful and calculating

At first, he lets his other brothers console you.

He gives them tips about it too! If they can’t come up with anything Asmo is a fountain of new ideas

It seems like he is there as a plus one to his brothers, it seems like he is avoiding you while still helping you from the shadows

Why?

Asmo is not dumb, Asmo knows what his sin is and what it represents

He is confident but he questions how you would react and treat him after what happened

If he spent more time and payed attention to Diavolo he could have reacted?

What if you blame him for what happened? What if you blame his sin? It is easy to say you blame the sin not Asmo himself but he can never be separated from it 

Asmodeus worries about it- to everyone's surprise

So, seek him out. Seek out this hero who doesn’t want any credit for his ideas and comfort. It is his strange way of ‘making up to you’

As soon as Asmo sees you coming to him, and worrying about him despite what you are going through- he knows. He knows you do not separate him from his sin. He knows you don’t blame him in the slightest

So, prepare for the best recovery of your life

It is amazing how Asmo does it. His brothers are envious and amazed at his ability to comfort you and bring a smile to your face.

His ideas now have him involved as well! He is the biggest bonus!

Asmodeus in reality, through everything he does- puts self-love first.

He teaches you, outwardly and inwardly, how to have confidence and how to love yourself. He demands that you never doubt your self-worth.

In a way, while Asmo is openly flirtatious and comfortable, you have to bring it up first in a serious manner if you have fallen in love. 

Beelzebub:

Excuse me?  

You said what? Diavolo did what?

What happened?

Beelzebub asks a few times because he honestly finds it so hard to believe that Diavolo is not strong when it comes to self-control

He finds it incredibly hard to believe that Diavolo would be stupid to cheat on you?

He is not sly like Satan, he is not aggressive as Mammon, he is not quiet as Levi but he nonchalantly makes it obvious how he feels about what happened. A disinterested Beel at student council meetings, a sharp glare; some unkind words which just slip out.

Belphie is thrilled to see his brother like this but Beel has enough control to realize what truly matters is bringing you peace. How could he do that If he pays attention to Diavolo? Well.

His very presence brings you peace and comfort

Beelzebub knows how to enjoy life in simple aspects.  

He doesn’t even try to be flashy to make you feel better

His natural charm, gentleness and warmth is all around you

Just staying next to him, in silence, is enough to make you feel better

Pursing you and pursing a relationship with one another, like all things, is very simple with this boy

Just like everything else

He would never hurt you and he became the best security you could ask for

He almost yeeted a piano at Diavolo when he came to visit Lucifer on business but alas, that is a different story

Belphegor:

He knows what happened. As soon as you walk through the door, he manifests there

Arms crossed; an eyebrow raised

‘I told you so.’

It becomes his favourite sentence

Definitely the tough love kind of friend (Same Belphie I felt that)

Because of this he never lets you forget how much Diavolo sucks

‘How could you trust a man who is afraid of pickles?’ ‘I-I don’t think that has anything to do wi-’ ‘It obviously does.’

He already threatened Diavolo before, he made Diavolo go emo. His sarcasm and snide remarks do not rest

Everything is intensified with this boy

You want to rant about Diavolo? The best. He will rant more than you and even tell you embarrassing stories you didn’t know about the guy

‘One time, he heard about weed and made Barbatos bring it to him. Do you know how embarrassing a gold joint it? Anyway- he thought the Devildom turned into a game and followed Lucifer around for 5 days thinking he was a secret spy.’

Belphegor would make sure you sleep and get enough rest because, according to him, that is where healing starts. He will get your consent to use his powers on you first tho.

In reality, Belphegor is not shy with his advances but they would fly over your head most of the time

After a while he will absolutely confess when he is secure enough that you feel the same

Why? If you like the ‘I have fallen in love and didn’t even realize it until his great romantic gesture’ trope- Belphie is your man.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Disconnect

Yandere!Shinsou x reader

Warnings: yandere, adult themes, bordering Stockholm syndrome, hints of dubious consent

A/N: here’s another fic I posted and deleted a bit ago, but I edited it and revamped it a bit. I was in a weird place when I wrote this, but it’s content! Gonna stop impulsively deleting shit😂

“Are you in love with me?”

What a pathetic question. You know it is, but it’s been on your mind all damn day. That, amongst other things. Insecurities have been bombarding your brain and consuming your thoughts. They’re the kind that you’ve managed to repress for years, but today, while bored of all the nothing you had to do while Shinsou was away, they came at you full force, as if they were paying you back for forgetting about them.

Before Shinsou took you, happiness had been perpetually evasive. Some days you could pretend like it had been there, but that had just been a trick of the mind—a phantom emotion that muzzled how you’d actually been feeling.

The truth is, your friends—your family—everyone you know has always simply tolerated you. You could go to them when you were feeling down, but they never really wanted to hear your qualms. They’d always tell you anything you needed to hear to get you to stop whining. There’d been an art to ignoring how they grimaced at your attempted humor and hope for you to stop trying. They never wanted to hear about your interests or aspirations, either—most of them were too big for you anyways—but they would smile and wait for you to finish prattling on, then exhale with relief when it was over.

So, it hadn’t been like you could tell them how you felt, lest you wanted to risk being a ceaseless nuisance.

Some days you’d wondered if they wouldn’t mind if you just disappeared. Now you find yourself wondering what they think now that you have.

It’s fine. Rather, it had been fine when you were around them. However, the more time you’re forced to spend with Shinsou, the more you realize how unhappy you used to be.

You can’t say you’re happy now, either. With the reality of your situation, you’d actually have to be insane to say that you’re happy. A caged bird could never thrive if he couldn't fly. But Shinsou has been the first person that wanted to hear you talk about anything and everything. He wants to know you—to be there for you. He actually asks about your likes and dislikes, how you’re feeling, what he can do to make things better, while you’ve always been reluctant to answer him.

Still, you want to know. You want to be sure. You can assume that he does love you. Afterall, he’s taking care of you right now.

Earlier, he sensed that you were stressed and offered to give you a massage. Normally you would slink away from his touch, but you were feeling weak, so you said yes. You have to admit that having him touch you is... nice.

A deep groan escapes your chest when he presses on a particularly tense spot in your back, so he rubs the area more, making sure to massage all of your anxieties away. He leans down low to press his lips against the shell of your ear. You can feel the curl of his mouth when he says, “that’s a stupid question.”

I know. You want to tell him that, but you won’t. You won’t open up to him. You know he’d like that too much. It’s ironic, really. The one person who wants you to open up to them and it’s the last person on earth you’d want to tell anything too personal to.

“I wouldn’t have asked it if I didn’t need to hear the answer.”

“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t in love with you,” he counters.

Touché, asshole.

“So the moment you fall out of love with me, you’re going to let me go.”

You very nearly say ‘you’re going to kick me out,’ but it’s not like you’re simply visiting with him. You’re there against your will. He's your captor, you’re his prisoner.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“But if it does-“

“It won’t.” Shinsou begins kissing down your spine. “Getting you here was a drag, but I won’t be letting you go under any circumstances.”

“Why?”

Darks skepticism envelopes his timbre when he asks, “why, what?”

You can't blame him. There’s been plenty of one-sided conversation where you’ve practically begged to be released, only to have Shinsou give you the cold shoulder. This won’t be another one of those discussions. You couldn’t bear it.

“Why do you like me?”

“Why do I like you, or why am I in love with you?”

You think about it for a second and decide to hell with it. You threw your dignity out the window the second you asked your first question. You hide your face in the pillow and mutter, “both.”

Shinsou hums against your back, pretending to consider the question while he squeezes your hips, pressing his thumbs into either side of your tailbone.

“Oh, god,” you sigh, pushing your ass up so he presses deeper on you, “that feels so good.”

“Reason one as to why I like you-“ Shinsou moves his hands down to your ass. He kneads your muscles, partly because he knows you want it, but mostly because he loves handling your ass- “you sound like that when you moan.”

“Be serious!” You bark back half-heartedly, because he seriously knows how to give a good massage, and you can’t stay annoyed when he’s touching you like that.

“I’m being plenty serious. It’s hot.” He squeezes your bottom, adding just the right amount of pressure to get you to moan again. He chuckles and thumbs the side of your underwear, letting it snap back to your skin pap! “So hot.”

“So, you like me because I’m hot?” You exhale when he squeezes more lotion onto your back, the cool sensation making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“Well-“ there’s a shrug in his voice when he makes his way back up to your spine-“it’s one of the reasons.”

Shinsou begins listing things he likes about you: the curl of your hair, the dip in your hips, the curve of your ass, the way your nose scrunches up when you smell something you think is going to be nice, but is actually unappealing, and that “cute little mole in that one place,” he suggests, “you know, the one I like to kiss…”

It’s all almost nice to hear, except they all have one thing in common: they’re all physical. You won’t always look like what you do now. You don’t think that Shinsou is so superficial that he only judges you on your appearance, but you can’t stop the swelling in your chest.

“And I especially like your neck,” he whispers at the column of your throat, right before licking a stripe up to your earlobe. You shudder when he smiles against you. “So sensitive…”

“So that’s it?”

You’re being negative, demanding even, and you shouldn’t feel bad about it because it’s with Shinsou, but you do. You need to hear more. You need to feel like you matter.

“There’s loads more, but this is what I’m focusing on right now. My partner’s half naked in front of me and I’m only human.”

You turn to face him, maneuvering the pillow your head was on to the front of you, hiding Shinsou’s eyes both from your chest, and from the tears you’ve left behind.

“What about when I change?” You ask, squeezing your fluffy shield against your stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“Like-“ you bow your head, fiddling with the fringes on the pillow- “I don’t know. If I’m gonna be stuck here forever, then obviously I’m gonna age.”

Shinsou frowns. “So?”

“So...I won’t always be-“ you make a flippant gesture at him-“your version of hot!”

He snorts. “My version of hot? What’s that?”

“You tell me!”

He shakes his head, laughing as he brings his hand to the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “You’re my version of hot...it won’t matter if your hair turns silver, your skin wrinkles, you get all saggy and crinkly-“ he chuckles- “same thing’s gonna happen to me, only with my job, I might end up losing an arm or—heaven forbid—I get a scar over an eye.”

You dismiss that. “Scars can be hot.”

“Duly noted.” He smirks. “I might have to be extra reckless on my next mission. See how you react to my battle wounds.”

“Please don’t,” you say immediately. You gaze up at him to see that his usual sleep-ridden eyes have softened. Geez, he’s acting as if you said something nice to him.

“What’s going on with you?” Shinsou asks as his hand falls over your pillow shield. He tugs on it to move, but you keep it clawed to your chest. “C’mon...let me in.”

It’s hard because you want to. You want to let him in, and you’re stupid for it. At least you have the mind to shake your head at him.

“Alright then,” he says, “what do you like about me? Or should I say, do you like me?”

“No.” That part is easy enough to say. Even if it's a lie, which you aren’t sure if it is or not, you know it’s what you should say every time. Regardless of what he makes you feel, what he does for you, how he takes care of you, you’re still there against your will.

You don’t get a moment to feel guilty about saying it either, because as soon as the answer rolls off of your tongue, you freeze, unable to move or speak. Immediately you want to rebuke, tell him off, scream at him, but your body disobeys every single one of your furious demands. Shinsou hasn’t used his mind control on you too much lately, and you let yourself forget that he has it. You’re absolutely seething.

Bastard.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m a slave to my own whims.” Shinsou takes the pillow away from your body. His eyes scan over your torso appreciatively before finding the dark dots stained from your tears on the fabric of your pillow. He flexes his jaw, then places the pillow back behind you.

“Lay back,” he commands, and you’re helpless to oblige.

For a moment, the two of you are still. Shinsou’s staring at you, but not in a way that’s weird...er than normal. He’s seen you naked plenty of times, so he’s not being entirely a pervert. It’s only when he rolls down to level his face with yours, you see that there’s mist in his eyes.

“You’re intelligent,” he says, placing a hand over your navel, “and not in a way that’s annoying. You can hold stimulating conversations, and you think...differently, but you’re also interested in listening to divergent viewpoints.”

Shinsou starts moving his hand in circles, using his fingertips to draw intricate designs across your skin.

“You don’t know how to make a proper playlist, so when you listen to music, the weirdest shit comes on, and you sing along to all of it. And you’re so bad at singing, but you belt that shit out like you don’t even care.”

You kinda wanna hit him. You kinda wanna laugh. You kinda don’t wanna accept that you've gotten comfortable enough around Shinsou to actually sing around him, even if it’s in the goofy voice that you use.

“You’re kind to animals, you laugh in your sleep, you yell at inanimate objects, and you always read the last page of a novel once you’re halfway through it, which is infuriating, but it’s because you get so excited that you can’t stand not knowing what’s going to happen.”

Shinsou brings his hand up to cup your face. “You piss me off. You challenge me. You’re stubborn and defiant and abrasive and I-“ he pauses, sighing- “and I love it. I love every part of you—vexing vices and valorous virtues.”

He leans down so that his lips are a hair away from yours. His voice is tight, raspy from something he’s holding back, but still, he speaks. “I know I’m fucked up for this. I know you hate it here, but there’s no way in hell I’d ever let anyone else have you. You’re so fucking weird, and beautiful, and angry. You’re precious to me, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ll always be in love with you. And that means damning you to me. I would say that I’m sorry, but I’m not. At least, not for keeping you. You’re the only thing I've ever wanted—the only sin I don’t regret.”

Your brain is ocean fog when his lips meet yours. He kisses you softly, because he doesn’t want to bring you out of your stupor just yet. His fingers travel down your sides, resting at the waistband of your panties. He pulls back and eyes you deviously.

“And if you don’t like me yet, I guess I’ll have to deal, but that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna keep gunning for your affection.” He smirks, hooking his thumbs around the sides of your briefs. Your entire body flushes in direct reaction to him, anticipating what comes next. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

With a devilish glint in his indigo eyes, he smirks up at you and says, “at least I know some things you love about me”

[flowerwrites06]

crying petals — pjm

Plot: Jimins’ roommate confesses to him. 

Pairing(s): Jimin x OC (Name: Gaia)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Roommate AU

Tags & Warnings: angst, suppressing feelings, explicit smut 

Authors Note: forgot to repost this lol 

Letting herself drown into a pool, throat suffocating with flowers and her mind swirling with uncontrollable jolts of need was never healthy. Even his scent as it lingered in the air, a strange mixture of cotton and vanilla began to haunt her in dreams as well in real life. It wasn’t healthy in the slightest.

Gaia tried to focus on her paintings, long hours spent staining her fingers and filling up canvas. All of them sketches of stupid plump lips and striking eyes that sucked you in. Lured you like a sailor to a siren. So she stopped painting people but then she made cotton plants, vanilla flowers and warm rays of sunshine gleaming down on them. A defeated sigh passed her lips, a curly tress escaping from her loose ponytail and hanging over her head.

“Pretty.” The raspy voice startled her for a moment but Gaia became far too good at hiding the way her heart jumped whenever he was near.

Jimin raked his fingers through his raven black hair and relaxed onto the couch next to her. “I like cotton flowers.” He leaned forward to take a closer look at the work.

“I know.” Gaia smiled faintly. Even as a metaphor, the painting looked so damn obvious.

“Is this my secret gift?”

She scoffed in a mocking tone. “Excuse me, this is for sale.”

Jimin parted his lips, feigning shock. “You’d make me pay for your artwork?”

Gaia hummed in response, a small cheeky glint in her eye. “Every cent.”

“That’s mean.”

“Tough luck, I need money.”

Jimin scoffed throwing his head back against the back of the couch with a wide grin unable to wipe off his face.

This was the most relaxed they ever were. In the rush of Gaia going to the gallery or Jimin rushing off to the agency, hardly any time saved up for them to just sit here in comfortable silence. Maybe this was a good time to tell him. Or the worst time ever if things went southward.

When was it ever a good time?

“Hey, Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

“I need to tell you something.”

Jimin turned his head a little but could only see half of her face so he simply admired the gorgeous curls tied in a ribbon behind her. “What is it?”

“Do—do you want to know the meaning of this painting?” Her stomach twisted, a confusing mix of excitement and anxiousness bubbling up inside her. Gaia wanted to turn back somehow. Change the meaning to make it lighthearted. But it was out now, her body and mind knew it. There was no turning back.

He sat up now keeping his eyes on the girl’s expression. “What’s the meaning?”

Her fingers hovered over the drying artwork, heart racing against her ribcages as she mulled over her words. “It’s us.”

“The flowers?”

“You like cotton flowers…I like vanilla flowers. It’s—us together under the sun.”

“That’s cute.” Jimin smiled down at the painting with a new found admiration.

Gaia stammered a little before attempting to give him a smile. God, why was this so hard?

“What’s wrong?” He tilted his head.

“I don’t know how to tell you.” She chuckled nervously. How was it still so nerve-wracking speaking to the man when he already knew so many of her other secrets? “The—the vanilla flower likes having cotton flower with it.”

“Right…”

Gaia sighed in defeat knowing the metaphors would stop making sense if she continued. “I like you, Jimin.”

Jimins’ expression softened, the smile fading into one more faint but true. “I like you too.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Her breathing grew ragged and shallow at this point, fingers trembling on her lap while her knees melted into jelly. Gaia wondered how much worse her body would react if she was looking right at him.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Her heart pounded so hard, she worried her ribs might crack.

“Uh—” Jimin scratched the back of his head. “How—how long?”

“I don’t know…” Gaia raised her shoulders a little, glancing at the painting again. “…a couple of years.”

“Coup­l—” Jimin’s voice almost raised but he silenced himself quickly, resting back on the couch now. “…okay.” He lets out a deep breath. “Uhm…”

Silence drawled between them longer than Gaia could truly take. She shifted on the couch, desperately wanting to look over at the male and see what his reaction was but—she couldn’t move. It was like one of her dreams again. She just sat there and felt the cotton reach up to her neck, suffocating her until the girl smiled before drowning. But this felt different. Gaia didn’t feel like smiling, this was terrifying and her body kept burning.

Gaia finally looked over her shoulder and searched his expression. As she feared, it was so damn unreadable, she wanted to look back again but she stayed. And then she spoke. “Jimin?”

“Yeah…” Jimin whispered harshly, shaking his head. “No, yeah—I uh—…” He cleared his throat as he shifted to the edge of the couch. “I need to go for a minute, okay?”

Before Gaia took a breath to speak, he pushed himself off the couch and walked away to his bedroom. “O-okay.” She nodded mostly to herself.

-

Gaia expected a lot of things out of their last conversation. In a perfect world, maybe some acceptance but realistically she at least thought Jimin might just reject her gently. So what did she get in the next two weeks?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Jimin stopped talking to her. Every morning he would drape on his denim jacket and rush out of the apartment without giving her a sideways glance. At night, Gaia would hear him come in without calling her name out to ensure it was him and not a burglar. Sometimes she heard other voices trailing all the way into the bedroom, giggling and moaning.

A tight ball squeezed in the middle of her ribcages as she slept. Deep into her dreams again, body lying in a bed of cotton flowers as they travel down and choke her. A part of Gaia wanted to scream for help, lash out for some kind of help but in the end, she just happily drowned in the cotton flowers like it was a warm blanket.

It was no way to live but she did it anyway.

Another morning, Gaia woke up scratching her eyes lightly to keep herself awake. She noticed from the corner of her eye Jimin saying his goodbye to someone he had the night before. The middle of her ribcages ached again as he gave her one small glance before walking back to the bedroom.

She wasn’t a bad person for telling him, right? Did she make it sound terrifying by using her paintings? Did Jimin think she was some kind of psychotic artist desperately wanting his love?

The thoughts both scared and angered her.

Jimin had no right treating her in this manner when Gaia hadn’t demanded him to do anything. She just spewed her feelings to man she thought she could trust.

How long did he expect them to live in silence?

Another night fell and much to Gaia’s relief, Jimin walked into the apartment without anyone under his arm. She stood at the kitchen counter drinking some lavender tea to aid in some better dreams tonight.

“Jimin?”

He hummed briefly, pushing his shoes off without looking over at her.

“Can we talk…please?” Gaia attempted to keep her voice calm but there was a part of her that felt his behavior was uncalled for. Except she felt too selfish to say it out loud.

Jimin let out a deep almost exasperated sigh before walking to the kitchen island, still in his denim jacket, trying his best to look like he wasn’t in the mood to talk to her. “What did you want to talk about?”

Gaia let out a light scoff at the blank look in his eyes when he met her gaze. “Why’re you acting like this?”

“Acting like what?”

“Distant and…” Her eyes flickered up and down his body as if trying to find some kind of shift that indicated this was a farce. “…cold. I—I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I just need some space.” Jimin answered plainly, barely even opening his mouth to speak as he shrugged off his jacket.

“I understand that but—could you at least say something about it?”

“About what?”

“Is there nothing you have to say after that day?” She shook her head.

“You said you had feelings for a couple of years.” Jimin shrugged, looking down at the cotton plants in a vase. “What do you want me to say to that?”

“It’s not what I want but how you feel about it.”

He scoffed immediately, bitter smile plastered on his face. “How I feel? Now you’re thinking about how I feel?”

“What—”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before spewing all that crap about flowers, hm?” Jimin walked away from the kitchen island towards her.

“I-I didn’t know how else to explain it, I’m sorry.” Gaia placed the teacup on the counter behind her. It wasn’t going to do much good with how much her hands were shaking.

“No I’m sorry because it’s clear I’m the bad guy for not giving you some kind consolation because you like me.” His usual sweet demeanor twisted when he seethed right at her.

“Jimin, you don’t have—”

“No no you want me to say something, I am now.” Jimin stomped closer until he towered over her. “How’d you imagine it, huh? I’d get all soft and tell you I feel the same way? I’d hold you and tell you I’ve always felt that way? Hm?” Hands wrapped around her arms, squeezing a little.

Faces stood inches closer to one another, the smell of cotton thick in her nostrils almost making it hard to breathe as her eyes watered. “Jimin, let go…”

“No this is what you wanted, right?” He muttered, moving his hands and cupping both her cheeks to make her meet his gaze.

Before she tried to take another dry breath, she felt his lips press against her. The cotton scent stuck in her throat, suffocating her as it always does. But she wasn’t happy. His lips were unmoving, just pressing like a robot. Light sobs shook out of her as she pushed him away until he almost stumbled against the kitchen island with a small grunt.

“I just wanted you to reassure me! That we were still going to be friends!” Gaias’ shakily shrieked before a light cough passed through her. “That maybe it was normal for me to feel like this and I wasn’t insane but—” She closed her eyes, averting her gaze feeling a light ache on her lips. “You don’t even care as a friend, do you?” Gaia quickly wrapped her arms around herself, gripping onto her own skin to stop her hands from shaking. “I’m so stupid.”

Jimin felt his mind numbing as his actions rushed back to him like a slap on the face. A soft tinge under his palm and on his lips, fingers gripping at the edge of the kitchen island. This was all wrong. He made it all wrong. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he spoke. “Gaia…I’m—I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Something squeezed painfully inside his chest. “It does matter.”

“Stop—pretending to care.” She whispered. “I’m sorry I even brought it up.” Gaia rushed back to her bedroom leaving her lavender tea cold and forgotten.

For the first time, she dreamt of a burning cotton field.

-

A couple of mornings past and Gaia began to drown herself into coffee, drowning in the scent of beans to somehow mask the cotton. She sat at the dining table as the sun reflected brightly through the open curtains. One knee to her chest while she scrolled through apartment listings. Part of her thought it was far too dramatic to be leaving the house she grew so comfortable in but she also didn’t want have a thick sense of tension around her every time she was inside here.

Some of them looked decent, colours similar to this one which helped make it seem more homely. However the prices on the other hand did not speak the same welcoming tone. The rent for this apartment was high enough, having to split it with Jimin. The very reason why they opted to get a good one together.

In a way, it burned her with anger even more seeing that Gaia had to be slightly dependent on the man who she thought was her friend. She heard footsteps coming up behind her but immediately ignored putting the cup of coffee near her taking a sip.

“What’re you looking at?” Jimin asked in a somewhat friendly voice.

She hated it. Not even a week ago, he almost scared her with how bitter and angry he was now he wanted to be gentle. “Apartment listings.” Gaia replied simply.

He left a small silence between them before speaking again. “Why?”

“It’s getting stuffy in here.”

“Then open a window.”

Gaia glared over her shoulder. “Did you need something?”

“I was just making conversation.” Jimin mumbled, playing with his fingers a little.

“Make it with someone else.”

“Come on, Gaia…”

“What?”

Jimin finally moved closer and sat on the chair near her, trying to search her expression but he was only reminded the hard way of how Gaia used to lock herself in the bedroom for days on end whenever she had a bad fight with a past boyfriend or a family member. This time he was the direct source. “How long are you planning on being mad at me?”

“For making me feel like an idiot and kissing me out of spite?” Gaia smiled with a bitter glint in her eye. “I don’t know, Jimin, you tell me. You like assuming what I think.”

Jimin pressed his lips together, averting his gaze. “I said I was sorry.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“And getting another apartment will?” His brows furrowed.

Gaia traced her finger on the brim of the coffee cup. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t have enough money to buy an apartment so you’re stuck with me until I manage to save up.” Her phone lit up for a moment to show a name. A name that made her lips twitch for some reason when she glanced at it.

He knew it was wrong. Very wrong. But Jimin still peeked a little at the name and managed to see ‘Seokjin Chur..’ before it faded into black again. He felt a squeeze under his ribs again causing him to sigh. “I—I don’t want you to leave.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” She brought the cup to her lips taking a full sip. The cotton was too strong when he was close, seeping through even the strong scent of coffee. It shouldn’t be this strong.

“You love this apartment, Gaia.” Jimin glanced around them. He remembered how much her face lit up when they first started decorating everything to make it look like home. Their home.

Gaia swallowed down the growing lump in her throat, trying to get more of the coffee scent into her nostrils. “I don’t love it that much anymore.”

“Why not?”

“It smells like you.” She suppressed the wince attempting to twist her features.

“Wh—”

“It smells like you and it—it makes me sad.” Sucking in her bottom lip, she forced herself not to look over at him. Why was it so easy to be vulnerable around him? To crack and tell him everything that’s bothering her. Even when he was causing this. Gaia huffed out a harsh breath, closing her laptop and walking back to her bedroom with her coffee in hand.

Jimin took a breath to call out her name again but the words hitched in his blocked throat. ‘It makes me sad.’ He rubbed over his exhausted face, letting out a shaking breath. The usually light squeeze in his chest now clenching so tight, it was agonizing. How helpless it felt not being able to reach inside him and soothe the ache. There was nothing he could do but breathe and tolerate it.

The table buzzed again and Jimin properly looked down at the lit up phone.

Seokjin Church

Hope you liked the flowers. I’ll see you tonight!

Jimin realized that night how sweet vanilla smelled when his heart was in excruciating pain.

-

The world was cruel in many forms but the worst form of all was waking up in the morning and still feeling her lips linger on his own. Jimin found himself touching his twin flesh from time to time, some confused part of his mind wanting to hold onto the memory. Despite the flooding texts on his phone, he opted to stop bringing any new visitors to the apartment.

Every time he sat alone in the living room, he tried to take the remnants of vanilla lingering in the air. Jimin watched Gaia come in and out of the apartment quietly. She started painting in her bedroom more which he knew she hated. Their bedrooms were too closed off and small to jog much inspiration.

She would leave for events Jimin hadn’t even heard about. He always assumed it was with that Seokjin popping up on her phone. He remembered a time he would always know what events Gaia went to months beforehand.

This was wrong. This was so wrong.

He couldn’t. If he even mentioned the idea that he started liking vanilla flowers a little too much, Gaia would have his head.

So Jimin stayed silent and just watched her, relished in the fading tingle on his lips and tried to take in the scent of vanilla radiating from her to calm him. He would even stop using the cotton scent on himself. It smells like you and it makes me sad.

Jimin took angry, disappointed, even downright hysterical but this? How do you soothe sadness when it’s already so mellow and delicate?

One night, vanilla flowers burst throughout the apartment. He selfishly took in the thick scent wafting from her bedroom, letting it stain his lungs somehow.

Eyes flickered over to her room, the door opened completely with Gaia looking into her vanity mirror, back facing him. Body adorning a pink fur coat up to her waist with a light denim skirt. Her long curls reaching below the coat. If Jimin looked a little closer, he noticed tiny sparkles on her tresses.

“Where’re you going?” Jimin asked, breaking the comfortable silence with a soft tone.

“Out.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.” Gaia mumbled keeping her gaze on the mirror instead of the male as she fixed up her hair.

That annoying squeeze in between his chest came back again.

Jimin walked a bit further inside, peaking at her reflection. Her skin glowed in the lights around the frame of the mirror, eyes shimmering like her hair but not a smile in sight. A layer of beauty to hide what was crumbling inside. “You could at least tell me where you’re going…just in case.”

She sighed. “Just in case what?”

“Something happens.”

“I’m not going alone.” Gaia muttered simply grabbing her purse, turning on her heel before walking past him.

As soon as she passed, a strong waft of vanilla touched him forcing him to breathe it in until he lost all the air in his lungs. All of it replaced with the beautiful flower lingering around her aura. Jimin closed his eyes for a moment. “Gaia…”

“What?” Gaia asked in such a gentle tone, stopping at the door as she turned to meet his gaze.

He noticed how glazed they became, the way she gripped onto her clutch. Jimin let out a sigh of defeat. She didn’t want to talk to him. ‘It makes me sad’. “Be safe, okay?” He attempted to smile.

Gaia nodded. “Good night.” She whispered before finally leaving the room while Jimin helplessly drowned in her lingering scent.

-

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, tossing and turning on the soft surface. Vanilla thick in his nostrils overwhelming him with thoughts. That stupid squeeze in between his ribcages. Every nerve in his body desperately wanted to turn back time. Maybe if he closed his eyes really tight, he would wake up from a dream and they were on good terms again. Nothing happened. Jimin still lay here in the darkness feeling heat curdle in his belly.

His heart jumped when the door opened to a man laughing lightly and a light shush followed afterwards.

Huffing, Jimin pushed himself off the bed and walked out of his room. The rushing cool air from the living room hitting his bare torso. Exhausted eyes flickered over to kitchen where he saw Gaia without her fur coat on, a thin strip pink crop top showing while she filled up a glass of water from the sink.

“It’s really cold here.” The man in a suit, white shirt unbuttoned, the skin on his ears and neck reddened while his stretched pillowy lips extremely flushed.

“It’ll help.” Gaia had a calm voice, giving the male tired smile as she handed him the glass of water.

“Ooh is that from me?” Raspy words echoed against the glass as the man reached out brushing away her hair to show off the small reddened marks on her neck. “Sorry…”

She let out a light sigh before giving him another faint smile. “It’s okay.”

Jimin tightened his jaw, fingers curling into his palm. “Have fun?” He almost seethed.

Gaia looked over her shoulder, smile immediately disappearing when she saw the man shooting daggers at Seokjin .

“Oh…” The man attempted get back to his feet.

“Seokjin —” She muttered but he was already walking over to Jimin with a grin, holding his hand out.

“Seokjin Chur—” Hiccup. “—urch. Nice to meet you.”

Jimin glanced down at his hand. All the places he could have traced with those fingers in a drunken frenzy, relished in her soft skin and marking the most sensitive spots. He tried to push down the grimace forming on his face. “Nice to meet you.”

“Forgive me, I don’t—I don’t always drink like this.” Seokjin chuckled nervously.

“He won his biggest case today.” Gaia spoke up, a small smile returning on her lips.

“So you two—know each other?” He wanted to pretend they were a one-time thing on a night of mistakes but Jimin noticed how much she tried not to smile at her phone.

“We met, what?” Seokjin whips around to Gaia for a few moments. “Two weeks ago? She was painting this gorgeous forest while I was on lunch break.” He slurred every word with such dedication, Jimin had to dig his nails into his palms further.

So that’s what she was doing all this time. Painting and spending time with an almost complete stranger. “Wonderful.” Jimin smiled sarcastically knowing Seokjin wouldn’t remember his behavior in the slightest. “I’m afraid we do have rules not to bring in visitors.”

“You’ve brought in enough visitors for me to know that rule is breakable.” Gaia folded her arms over her chest.

It was anger now burning in her beautiful eyes and Jimin couldn’t help but relish in it a little. Despite the little clench in his chest. He did bring a lot of visitors. Some of them didn’t even bother holding their noise. Now he knew she heard them all night, noticed them leave every morning.

“Besides…” Gaia walked forward and kept a gentle hand on the mans’ back to keep him from stumbling. “…we’re not dating.”

“Right—” Seokjin hummed.

“You give all your female friends hickeys?”

“Jimin.” Gaia warned but Seokjin merely chuckled waving the comment off.

“It’s alright. I’m sure two consenting adults are allowed to have a little fun, yes?”

Jimin hummed, the grimace a little too obvious on his face now.

“We should go to bed. I’m tired.” Gaia grabbed her coat and gently guided Seokjin into her bedroom not without giving a quick glare towards Jimin.

Jimin didn’t care though. He would take burning under her fiery gaze. Fire was harsh and wild. Easier to soothe.

-

Somewhere deep in the night, Gaia walked out of the bedroom, running her fingers through her messy hair while holding onto the plastic bag.

Jimin opted not to sleep much and just leaned back on the kitchen counter drinking some water. It was difficult trying to lull himself back when he could hear Seokjin humming and kissing on the other side.

He wondered how Gaia tolerated it when it was the other way around. When he would have girls making all kinds of noises unaware of another person in the apartment. She never complained for so long. Only once tonight when she officially had enough.

With a light grimace, Gaia opened the cupboard next to Jimin and threw the filled plastic bag inside with a soft metal clang.

“So you haven’t fucked?”

Gaia let out a loud sigh, clearly showing her annoyance.

“Didn’t hear much noise.”

“He’s drunk.”

“That didn’t exactly stop him leeching on your neck.” Jimin seethed taking a generous sip as he glared into Gaia’s closed bedroom door.

“Please stop.” She muttered under her breath.

He shrugged nonchalantly despite the heat in his belly bubbling up to a boil watching that door. “I’m just wondering why you didn’t go all out if you were getting back at me.”

Gaia scoffed. “You think that’s what this is?”

“What else can it be?”

“He’s a friend. I—like spending time with him.” She tried to keep her voice low, opening the tap to wash her hands. “I needed to see some people that didn’t make me feel like an idiot.”

“I never wanted to make you feel like an idiot.”

“Well you did. So stop judging someone who actually likes me.”

“So you are mad at me still.”

“Yes I’m mad!” It was a whisper but harsh and cut through the tension like a knife. “And not because you didn’t like me back…” She shook her head. “…because the one time I needed you as a friend at least, you walked away from me.” Gaia winced, tightly pressing her trembling lips together. “You ignored me and brought in girls, you knew—you knew I could hear them.” She closed her eyes.

Jimins’ expression softened as he took a few steps forward, inhaling another fresh waft of vanilla into his lungs.

“I always thought I could tell you everything but the moment I become vulnerable to you…you shut me out.”

“Then tell me you hate me.”

Her brows furrowed, glazed and reddened eyes flickering up to look at him. “What?”

“Tell me…” Jimin padded closer causing Gaia’s breath to lightly hitch in her throat. Their toes brushing against each other, noses just a breath apart. “…you hate me.”

Gaia shook her head lowering her gaze. “No.” It came out in a whisper with how close they stood.

“Tell me you hate me.” His head felt heavy, lungs flooding in vanilla flowers but he kept breathing in more. Selfish to take what soothed him.

“I won’t.” She fixated her eyes on his chest rising and falling deeply. The cotton smell was so subtle, so light but Gaia could still sense remnants of it on his skin.

Jimin closed his eyes forcing the scent to overwhelm him completely as he felt his nose brush against her forehead lightly. “Please…”

“I said I won’t!” Another harsh whisper almost crackling into a shout and booming across the room. But her soft sobbing broke the sound immediately back to its meek tone, tears burning in her eyes and flooding to the brim.

“Why not?!” Jimin couldn’t hold his trembling hands back when he held onto her neck, gently. Fingers caressed her curls, feeling the soft textures under his palms. More selfish actions.

Gaia raised her head this time, droplets trickling down the corner of her eyes as their noses brushed. The heat from his palms radiating onto her skin making her head spin. “Why do you want me to?” She whispered.

“Because—because if you hate me…it’s easier.” How absolutely selfish. “Maybe this—this thing in my chest would hurt less if you despised me.” Every words, Jimins’ anger melted into something of desperation as the pain in chest pulsed, aching and yearning to touch her more. “Maybe if you fucking ruin me, I’d stop thinking about you.”

Her eyes stung but she still opened to watch his twisted features. “I don’t hate you.”

Jimin winced, fingers digging into the skin of her neck. “Don’t do that.” It felt too good. It’s selfish. It’s so damn selfish.

“I don’t.”

“Just lie to me.” He whispered, pressing his burning forehead against hers. “Make the hurt stop.”

“I’m not going to lie to you.” She shook her head.

Jimin took in a sharp inhale, the vanilla choking him right at his throat, staining him inside and out. “Do you like seeing me get hurt?”

“I c—I can’t hate you.” Gaia’s expression finally contorted, sobs shaking out of her. “It’s—I’ve tried…” She gripped onto his forearm when his grasp on her skin tightened. So much of this felt like a dream in the haze of tears and chest pain. But when she felt the warmth of his skin under her palm, it was real. She knew this was real. “It’s so hard, Jimin…” Gaia sniffled. “Y-You make me—too h-happy…”

For a moment, the squeeze snapped and burst. Fluttering like butterflies happily flying around flowers after being stuck in their cocoon for so long. All it took were those simple words. Uttering in the moment of pure weakness and vulnerability. It felt liberating. “I—I make you happy?”

She now knew what the burning cotton fields meant. The cotton was almost revived like a phoenix in the fire into something more alive, more invigorating. Gaia felt it as she placed a palm over his chest, feeling how joyfully rapid his heartbeat was.

The corners of her lips curled up faintly. “So happy.” She nodded.

As the butterflies soared across his chest to his belly, Jimin moved his hands down her hips and moved her to lean against the counter. Their noses barely brushing against each other. All he had to do was take one more whiff of vanilla before he leaned and devoured her soft lips.

A whimper drowned in the kiss, hands coming up and pulling at his hair. Gaia’s knees melted back into its jelly form forcing her to pressed on the counter edge to keep herself from stumbling. As if sensing her movements, Jimins’ grip on her hips tightened as he lifted her off the floor and placed her gently on the counter. Slip dress riding up her thighs, bare skin forming a layer of goosebumps against the cool surface.

Tongue pushed through her teeth desperate to explore more of her mouth as if this was a dream and he might wake up at any moment. Jimin wanted to take. Every inch as his fingers moved up from her hips to the curve of her breasts. He needed memories of her skin to stain his palm for as long as possible. Fingers rubbed down her arms before reaching those soft fingers, interlocking them together.

Gaia breathed through her nose, unable to pull away from the kiss. She wanted his warmth to fill her lungs as they gave themselves away to each other. A tingle formed in her belly as their fingers twined so perfectly they were almost meant to be one. For the first time, Gaia didn’t feel like drowning. She was flying. Soaring across the skies while the sun beamed down on her. So warm.

Jimin pushed their joined hands above her head, pressing them against the overhead cupboard before taking her other hand and gripping both her wrists on the wood. He broke the kiss softly, still planting small pecks on her flushed lips. Hand wrapped firmly on both of hers, his free fingers traced down her body again, sneaking under her slip dress and palming over her heated panties.

A light gasp stopped in her throat forcing her to close her eyes, relishing in how slow and featherlight Jimin brushed his hand across her core. “Jimin…” Chest rose and fell letting her body loosen under his touch. Still so softly rubbing the thin clothing feeling her arousal soak through and her growing nub poke out in yearning.

He could watch her all night just moving like this. Achingly slow, admiring how Gaia squirmed and tried not to moan too loud but the heat radiated so strongly from her. Jimin could feel the slight burn hitting his palm. Nudging his nose against her cheek, he took another whiff, humming in delight when he caught the mixture of vanilla and arousal. “You smell so good.” Jimin mumbled, intoxicated in the thick scent as he dipped down to nuzzle against her neck. “Always smell so good.”

Gaia wanted to speak. She took a few breaths to form words but they always died on her tongue, instead spewing meek noises of desperation. So many she wanted. So many things she wanted him to do to her but they never formed. “J-Ji-I-I want..” She whined a little. Everything burned to the point where her core ached and clenched around nothing. It was so hot. Too hot. She wanted more.

“What do you want?” Jimin whispered, tongue darting out to lick across her jawline before kissing each spot again. His fingers still in the same drawling pace rubbing up and down her sodden clothing.

Another whimper choked out of her, spreading her legs further as she pushed her hips forward to catch more friction. “Y-You…I w-I want you...”

The corners of his lips curled up lazily, sweat thinly layering on his skin leaving in more of a drunken state as he relished in the beauty’s pleads. “You have me.”

Gaia whined again causing Jimin to smirk wider. Beautiful features contorted again feeling his fingers press a little harder against the erect nub, her lower belly burning with need. “I-I want m-more of you..”

Jimins’ breathing raced as much as his heart through his ribcages. His fingers paused for a moment enjoying Gaia squirm a little more while her hips reached for his hand again. Releasing both her arms, he sneaked under her slip dress again further until he hooked at the hem of her panties. Pulling down the ruined clothing he made sure to be slow, watching how it stuck to her juices before reluctantly detaching as it he pushed down to her ankles. Carefully he brought her legs up so they rested a little over his shoulders.

She gripped her hands at the edge of the counter watching him pull off her panties from her ankle and trace down her leg. Jimin held it over her core before rubbing the loose clothing up and down her core. Body jerked, gasps leaving her without her control as her walls clenched painfully around nothing.

Jimin felt his member stir angrily in his sweatpants, the mixture of vanilla and her sweet arousal swirling in the heated air almost making him moan. Dropping the panties on the floor, he turned his head, placing soft kisses on her ankle, across her leg to the delicate skin of her inner thigh. He couldn’t resist biting down gently with a light growl under his breath.

Gaia giggled softly bringing one of her hands out to bury in his hair. Darkening eyes watched him move closer until his reddened lips hovered over her core making him gulp. His sharp gaze flickered up to meet hers, almost unblinking as he leaned down and took her throbbing bundle between his lips. Features contorted, trembling breaths leaving her every second. She tried her best to keep her voice down, the coiling heat in her lower belly melting into more leaking arousal.

Her scent overwhelmed him completely, arms hooked under her thighs. Darting out his tongue, Jimin licked up her slit drinking in every drop of her, moaning in delight when it was the only thing he could taste now. Lips wrapped around her clit again suckling and shaking his head with a groan vibrating against her core.

Throwing her head back Gaia bit down her bottom lip to suppress a louder moan curdling in her throat. Light whines still managed to escape as her hips grinded against his mouth. He didn’t stop her though. He merely moaned in response, tongue lapping on her clit causing the coil to tighten.

One arm away from her thigh, Jimin swirled his fingers to drench the skin with her juices before teasing at her entrance. Two digits slowly pushing into her, walls so snug and warm. Lust blown eyes watched his skin glisten brightly as they slowly moved in and out before looking up at the beauty. Her hand pressed over her mouth, brows furrowed and choked moans emitting under her breath. He wished they were in a more comfortable place but the walls were too thin. And Jimin had no intentions of being disturbed while he gave Gaia everything she needed and deserved.

Standing back up with his fingers still knuckle deep inside her, he felt a slight ache between his legs feeling the front of his pants a little drenched. Jimin leaned in and absentmindedly rubbed his crotch against her thigh, nose nudging her cheek again. “I want you…” He whispered in her ear, nibbling on her earlobe gently.

His movements were still so careful, taking his time to search for that rough spot inside her before moving at a steady pace. The heat was overwhelming, coil ready to loosen at any moment as Jimin kept jabbing at that same spot over and over again. “Take me.” Gaia breathed out, peering at him through hooded lids. “Take me, please.” She reached out to caress his cheek, the skin so warm to the touch.

Jimin let out a pleased sigh feeling his member twitch in his pants. He released his fingers and messily pushed down his sweatpants along with his boxers so they dropped down to his ankles. Kicking them to the side, he canceled out any distance between them feeling a sense of comfort when Gaia placed on his cheek again. Her touch was so soft he could melt right there then. Fingers wrapped around the base of his length before prodding at her sodden entrance. He turned his head and kissed the inside of her palm, raising his drenched hand and placing it at her lips.

Gaia didn’t even blink before opening her mouth and taking his warm, wet fingers, suckling on her arousal. Then she felt him sinking into her ever so slowly making sure she could feel every second of her walls stretching, hugging him tight around his sensitive shaft. His fingers helped in concealing the loud moan almost flowing out of her.

“So good..” Jimin whispered watching her suckle on his skin with such dedication. “You’re doing so well, baby.” He pushed in further until their bellies pressed against each other, member completely swallowed by her heat.

She replied with a faint whimper under her breath, body succumbed to him as his entire length filled her up. Gaia gently pressed a heel against his back as a way to tell him it was okay to move. Only mere seconds had to pass for Jimin to start thrusting into her.

Pulling his fingers away he yanked at the sleeves of her slip dress letting her breasts go free before swirling around her nipple. Jimin moved deep, thrusting in until she was completely filled and moving out until only his tip was inside.

Gaia gripped onto the edges of the counter again, shivering a little wet touch against her nipples erecting them instantly. She threw her head back with a shaky breath. “Feels s-so good..” Hair matted to her temples as her mind lost all form of control, nothing but the pleasure coiling in her belly and the tingles under her skin from his touch swirled.

“Yeah?” He smirked against her lips before pressing a kiss, lips moved so sloppily against each other in their maddening rush of ecstasy. Jimin placed both hands on the counter to steady himself, jolting his thrusts faster until they could hear light skin slapping.

The force of his hips snapping into hers almost forced a choked scream but Gaia quickly nuzzled her lips into his shoulder. She trailed up his neck, moaning lightly in his ear. “H-harder—” It didn’t take even a few seconds wait before Jimin grew vicious with his thrusts, deep inside her, brushing against the sweet spot that made her head spin.

Jimin quickly bit down his bottom lip to stop his groan from echoing across the room. Hips snapping so hard, he felt more of her arousal trickle down his length making it so easy to just take more and more. The tightness in his lower belly grew stubborn and thick, rushing up to his tip.

Gaia whimpered staring down at how deep he was, only sliding out the tiniest bit before snapping in again. Over and over again, relentless but so giving. “Jimin I’m—” The coil sprung, her thighs shaking and almost shutting but interrupted by his moving hips while she leaned her head against his chest, letting out the smallest whimpers.

Just feeling how much her walls pulsed and clenched so tight around him, her release so incredibly sodden and warm caused a burst. Shaky breathing faded into light, tense moans as he wrapped his arms around her waists, hips jerking as he filled her up.

She let out a light, shaky moan feeling beautifully full of his warm release. Gaia pulled away a little to capture his lips again into bliss infused kiss. She could feel his fingers take through her slightly damp hair, tongue exploring her mouth again still with such enthusiasm despite their loss of breath and energy.

“Don’t ever leave me.” Jimin muttered into the kiss. “Please.”

“I won’t.” Gaia nudged her nose against his, eyes completely glossy but a smile clear on her face. “Never, I promise.”

-

“So Namjoon just called…” Seokjin raised his phone briefly with a faint, exhausted smile on his face as he came into the kitchen. “He’s waiting outside to pick me up.” The man was really good at looking the least hungover as possible since he seemed like he was fresh and ready to go to work. Despite his suit being the one he wore last night.

Gaia grinned before nodding, her mood so much brighter despite the slight tiredness she felt on her legs. A comfortable blue oversized sweater with some leggings to work at home for the rest of the day. Now that the apartment had a more than happy atmosphere, she could work in the living room like she always loved. “Do you want me to walk you?”

Jimin peered from his coffee cup standing on the other side of the counter facing Gaia.

“No it’s okay.” Seokjin shook his head holding his hand up. “I’ve troubled you enough.”

“Oh it was no trouble.”

“We love having guests over.” Jimin spoke up this time with a smirk plastered on his face.

Gaia sucked in her bottom lip for a moment to prevent the wide grin trying to stretch across her lips. “I had a good time, seriously. It wouldn’t have been safe to leave you alone that drunk anyway.”

Seokjin let out a light chuckle. “Thank you.”

The girl led him towards the door giving their final goodbyes until Seokjin took a breath to speak again much in a much lower tone.

“Sorry to ask but—did we—” He pointed at himself then her.

Her brows furrowed for a moment before her eyes widened a little in recognition. “Oh—” Gaia giggled lightly. “No, you—you kinda just threw up in my trash bag and fell asleep.” She noticed the older males’ ears turn a little red at the information. “It’s alright though, drunk men can be worse than that.”

Seokjin hummed before nodding profusely. It almost looked kind of adorable. “Just I could’ve sworn I heard you moaning…” He shrugged. “Must’ve been a dream.”

“Yeah, must’ve…” Gaia gulped unable to control how much her cheeks burned.

“I’ll see you later then, okay?”

Gaia chuckled a little nervously. “See you.” She slowly closed the door, giving one last smile to the older male before shutting it completely.

“I told you. You’re louder.” Jimins’ musing voice broke the momentary silence.

“Shut up.” She pouted walking back over to the counter and taking another quick sip of her lavender tea.

Jimin leaned forward, elbows resting against the counter. “So…no more guests over from now on, right?”

Gaia smiled, dipping down and pressing a quick kiss on his lips. “No more guests.” She traced her fingers across his cheek. “And you promise me one thing.”

“Anything.” He leaned into her touch.

“Start wearing that cotton scent again.”

Jimin chuckled. “Every day, I promise.”

Cotton fields and vanilla flowers bloomed under the sunlight again.

[cafeacademia]

🔮 how an arranged marriage with draco would be like. (his reaction to finding out/the leading up to the wedding/the wedding/after lol)

Hello my darling Sierra! I’m so sorry it took me a while to answer this, I was so SO excited when this popped into my inbox, because I kinda have a little bit of a thing for this even though I’ve never written anything for an arranged marriage AU (even though I have something similar in the works at the moment ?). Also, I greatly apologise if this was a bit shitty, I’m suuuuper rubbish with angst and I’ve never written about this subject before! Anyway, life got in the way a little bit, but here it is! I hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for sending this in and for celebrating with me!! I love you!

Draco was angry when he caught wind of the plan to marry him to someone he didn’t know

But what made him even more angry was that he had learned it from someone other than his parents

Narcissa had been quite insistent on keeping it quiet until it was all sorted and her sister, Bellatrix accidentally let it slip to Draco one evening

“I don’t want you to choose for me, I’m perfectly capable of finding a girl to marry myself!” Draco argued, he was seething with anger.

Of course he played it off as feeling as if his mother felt he was unable to find a good match for himself through love

But really, he was hurt because of the lack of trust between him and his parents

That and how on earth was he supposed to marry someone he’d never met?

“Come now Draco, we’ll be holding a ball and all of the suitable candidates will be there and we can see who is the best.” Narcissa tried her best to calm his rage, but despite her efforts, Draco was relentless with his angry silence

“See, you do get a choice.” His father would add.

But Draco didn’t see it like that. He’d have to choose out of people his parents had picked for him and he couldn’t shake the hurt in his chest that he’d never be able to marry for love

That was something he began to slowly realise was what was hurting him deeply, he’d never even get to fall in love with someone and marry the love of his life

As the ball drew closer, Draco tried his best to keep his mind off things

And he decided that whoever he ended up with, he’d do his best to make their lives together as bearable and as civil as possible, he’d let whoever he ended up with date to their hearts content and they could use marriage as a guise to keep their families happy

But when the ball arrived, Draco had not taken into account that many of the people at the ball were people he knew from his days at Hogwarts

And he felt even more nervous about facing the situation he was given

The evening was grand, the Malfoy manor decorated for the occasion and he felt like Narcissa was better dressed than he was

Draco was miserable

Being pulled around his own house to meet snooty parents of possible brides

It was exhausting

And the overly falsely positive small talk was beyond boring and extremely awkward, even for someone as charismatic as Draco

No stupid amounts of champagne flutes could get him through the evening smoothly and quickly enough

So when it all got far too much, Draco slipped out of the main room for a breather, though he hadn’t expected to find someone hiding in the drawing room

“What are you doing?” He asked, mildly pissed off and sounding absolutely done with the whole event

His sour tone startled you, having thought you were alone and you jumped and looked over your shoulder to see none other than Draco Malfoy standing across the room from you

“Fuck- I’m sorry, it’s just-.”

“The ball is a drag, isn’t it?” Draco asked

“What are you doing here?” Draco questioned

“I needed some space, it’s really crowded and-.”

“I meant here, in the manor.” Draco interrupted, though he had softened his voice a lot more than his hostile tone he’d worn earlier

“Oh,” you turned to face him properly and fiddled with your hands “The same reason as everyone else.” You said awkwardly

Of course you were, why had he expected anything different?

Draco remembered you from Hogwarts, he remembered liking you, despite not knowing you well

But what he did know was that you were much more interesting and more eye catching than the other girls currently occupying the manor

“Sweetheart,” Draco sighed, crossing the drawing room floor and approaching you, your attention caught immediately at the name he used for you

“I know you want this as much as you’d want thestral dung, but you are the best out of everyone here. I’ll cut you a deal, we get married, we play house and make it look like we’re the perfect couple but the rest of the time you do and see whoever you want.” Draco proposed

He knew if he didn’t offer, that he might actually have to make it work with someone who wasn’t as agreeable and he also knew you might not run into another good opportunity

He really didn’t want to see you in a miserable relationship

And as he stood there, watching you think about it for a moment, Draco thought it was strange that he was actually scared that you might say no

“I’ll do it.” You nodded, meeting his eyes

You barely knew Draco, bar from the odd moments at school, but he had always been nice to you in your later years there together and he was certainly handsome

There were also many benefits to becoming a Malfoy and it also meant you could be away from your family who had put you up to an arranged marriage without your consent

“You will?” He almost couldn’t believe it and Draco grinned at you, if only for a moment because that was an awful lot of weight off his shoulders.

“Yes, as long as you promise to get me away from my family.” You nodded

“I will, I promise, they won’t get a chance to even come near you again if that’s what you want, love.” Draco assured you.

“Now come, might I invite you for a dance?” Draco asked. Part of him couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reaction

It had been a huge surprise to Narcissa and Lucius that Draco had picked you out of everyone there

Mainly because they’d barely seen you since you entered the manor, but of course they had no idea you’d been hiding out and avoiding another horrendous attempt at matching you with a suitor

Thankfully though, everyone bought the rouse you two put on

It was easy to say you had been sweethearts at school and everyone believed you

It was also easy to act giddy and happy, because even if your happiness was not about marriage, you were both pleased to be heading out of the boring and dreadful process of being matched with someone

It wasn’t long before the wedding was planned and only weeks later was your wedding to take place

Of course, the night Draco had asked you and struck the deal with you in the drawing room, he hadn’t expected anything from you at all

But as the weeks passed and you spent some time together, seeing you in some of your most relaxed and casual states and seeing just how sweet and lovely you were, Draco was starting to wonder if the rouse was not turning into something else now

His feelings only seemed to blossom into something intense when your wedding day came and he caught a glimpse of you in your dress

What on earth was happening? This was supposed to be the easy way out and now he was developing feelings? That was not supposed to happen

But what he didn’t realise was that the same thing was happening to you too

He had no idea you’d had a crush on him nearly all the way through Hogwarts

And he had no clue that your heart had fluttered and soared at the idea of being his wife, even though the deal he pitched to you involved no romance

But as time went on, you slowly began to fall for him too

And as you entered the hall to walk down the aisle in your beautiful wedding gown, beautiful flowing fabrics that fitted and accentuated your figure beautifully, Draco found himself in love

And so did you, setting your eyes on the ashen haired boy, dressed in his all black suit with small elements of green and silver as the accent colours

And it was perfect, because you seemed so perfectly in love with each other than it fooled absolutely everyone

The way you both looked at Draco as if he had hung the moon and stars just for you

It wasn’t until after your vows, when Draco was told he could kiss you that both of you realised you were in love

Draco held you gently, he kissed you sweetly, tentatively at first and slowly to try and make it comfortable for you, but when he felt you lean into him, your fingers trailing over the lapels of his suit jacket until they met at the back of his neck

And Draco barely made it through the party after the wedding without touching you in some way

His hand was on yours the whole time and you were nearly glued to his side too

You both wanted to just get out of there and spend some time alone and talk about your feelings and what this all meant

And you finally got a chance towards the end of the evening to slip out of the party together

“I think I’m in love with you.” You admitted quietly as he walked out into the garden with you, walking you over to a beautiful fountain

“Well that’s lucky,” He smirked. “Because I’m in love with you too.”

And it really was lucky

Because despite the situation that neither of you had wanted to be in and a chance meeting in the drawing room during the party, you and Draco were both grateful that it had happened the way it had, even though you wish it had been in better circumstances

And Draco wished whole heartedly that he’d had the time to really love you before marriage and take you on dates and really know you

So he took it upon himself after your wedding to do all of that

And he moved slowly with you, marriage serving only as a front for now as you explored your love for each other

And no one was none the wiser while you slowly fell more and more in love as time went on

And it was finally a few months into your relationship that things got really serious and Draco dedicated himself to you

“I promise darling, that I will always protect you, no matter what comes our way.” He said, kneeling in front of you as you sat on your bed

And he even gave you a ring, one that was really special, because he’d been able to pick it instead of the wedding ring that his mother had chosen

He called it a soul ring because it represented his bond to you that the wedding ring you had been given could not

Draco counted you both lucky, because there was one thing to be pushed into an arranged marriage, and there was another to go into it thinking he was striking a deal to keep both of you safe, when in reality, it was the thing that brought you both closer

And to allow something Draco had never expected, to fall in love.

[spiltscribbles]

Here’s a prompt from the tag! “ Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.” bc I have a feeling Remis would be the type to end up eating Sirius’ dessert instead of his bc he doesn’t know what to order but Sirius knows his taste dkfjsjaha

~Notes: Oh no baby! I read this wrong, thinking it was Person A ordering for them instead because Person B didn’t know what they wanted.... And well this came out-- I can totally write a different prompt though to match this one! Just LMK! <3 <3

.-

Send Me A Prompt  |  Reblogs are like the tastiest dessert!!

.-

Remus pads softly into his and Sirius’s room, a mug of steaming Darjeeling in hand and clad only in a his robe as he gazes longingly at the sleeping form of his partner for nearing on three years now. 

The early morning sun pans across the wide expanse of Sirius’s shoulders, and dips into the planes and valleys of his muscular torso and angular face. Lying there, with his dark hair fanning the pillow and the blanket slung lazily around his hips, he looks like some sort of fallen angel. Beautiful and remote and impossible to touch by sullied hands that aren’t half as sacred. It makes his heart thud an uneven staccato when he remembers that he’s his— Sirius chose Remus, Sirius loves Remus— Maybe even nearly as much as Remus has always loved him.

How remarkable of a revelation indeed.

Gingerly, Remus sets down his tea and crawls back into bed with Sirius, insides thrilling when the dark haired boy subconsciously snakes his arms around him and curves around Remus’s body like so many times before, so often that Remus reckons it’s become by rote, an ingrained response to whenever they’re in close proximity to one another.

With a quiet laugh, Remus stretches around, begins peppering Sirius’s chest and abs and the space surrounding his cock with tender kisses, slowly rousing him to wakening the way Sirius always appreciates after a night of patrols for the Auror’s academy. And as usual, it doesn’t take long at all for Sirius to begin moaning out appreciative sighs, thrusting languorously for the warmth of his mouth, making Remus chuckle as he tugs down his pants, and kisses the length of him, peering up to watch as Sirius’s gorgeous, gray eyes flutter open.

“Wh— Moony?” He says in a peculiarly squeaky voice that Remus can’t ever remember slipping out of his mouth. 

“Yes— Problem, Paddy?”

Another discontent, borderline terrified noise rumbles in his throat, and before Remus could even ask what’s got his boyfriend acting like he’s touched in the head, the door to their flat flings open none too gently, and it’s an irate looking James who storms into the bedroom— fists clenched and jaw set as he glares daggers into the face of his practical brother.

“You’re dead Potter!” Is all he shouts before madness ensues— Madness that’s James’s flying fists for Sirius’s face, Peter’s choked laughter flowing in from the other room, and a Lily who looks stuck between horrified and amused

And Remus is so fucking bewildered as he slides off of his boyfriend to avoid any untoward hits accidentally aimed his way.

“Lily?” he presses expectantly, but is totally unsurprised when all she replies with is a bout of uninhibited cackles.

.-

Fifteen minutes, a magically healed split lip, and a physically restrained pair of animagi later, finds the ragtag group of friends surrounding the kitchen Island while a terse James and enraged Sirius are explaining what had happened the previous night. Namely, them getting hexed by a sour faced old bint with a Guinness in hand, after Sirius had driven his motorbike through her rosebushes.

“You guys got bested by a drunk hag!” Peter guffaws for the third time in a singular minute, clutching at his stomach while his body wracks with a continuous stream of  laughter

“I will singe your bollocks off Wormtail,” Sirius seethes from Remus’s left— Except no, it’s not Sirius. It’s James, his best mate James who’s now inhabiting the body of his lover. And God how strange of a fucking turn of events. It’s seriously unnerving. He’s just standing their, all too familiar arms crossed against his chest and thick brows furrowed. And God, Remus really wishes he wouldn’t do that— worry on his bottom lip mid snarl. It’s such a quintessentially Sirius thing to do. a look Remus knows well. One that Remus would always coax away with a gentle kiss and a hand carding through his hair and— 

“Oof!”

He glances over to where Sirius— wearing James’s face— is glowering at him with pure irritation after having elbow checked him. “Eyes front and center Lupin!”

Remus flushes, glancing over at Lily since she out of everyone here could understand his plight. But of course she’s only snickering to herself in her cup of coffee, the trader. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Just because ’s my body doesn’t mean you get to give another bloke the come hither eyes!” Sirius fumes, a sneer caught on his features that Remus never thought the face of the easy going James Potter could ever conjure. “Crikey, it’s plenty that you decided to give him a full on show already.”

“How was I to know this would happen!” Remus sputters the same time James defends that they even barely started, which of course made Peter fall over on his chair with pure delight and Lily walking over to the kettle so she can hide her own laughter.

“Lucky you,” Sirius snipes back, glaring darkly at James and snatching Remus’s hand to interlock with his— erm James’s?— own on his lap.

Remus is so totally fucked.

.-

Graciously, Professor McGonagall— who told the graduating Gryffindor  class of 78 to always reach out if they ever needed help with a strangely wet glint in her eyes— Replies to the pleading missive Remus had sent almost immediately, giving Remus the proper instructions to reverse the jinx and wishing him and Lily the best for the impending tribulations about to befall them.

“She’s totally loving this,” James mumbles moodily as Lily massages his head. And Merlin, is that a strange sight— Lily not only deigning to touch Sirius at all, but look at him sympathetically on top of that. Remus has to constantly remind himself of the body swap before his ridiculous envy begins carving at his insides when James only looks appreciatively back up at her, a gentle, open expression painted over his face that is ordinarily reserved for Remus and Remus alone.

“God this is weird,” Lily tells him, slowly inching away and sitting besides Remus instead. “I usually can’t stand even the sight of Black, and now I’ve got to treat him like the bloke I’m in love with.”

“That’s not what you said this morning Evans,” Sirius goads from Remus’s other end, suddenly reverting back to looking like the James of fifth year— when he was still too cocky for his own good and still didn’t understand how much it made Lily want to hex him to hell for it. “I actually think I recall a lot of back robs and straddling action this morning.”

Lily casts him a look that would absolutely scorch lesser beings, and Remus reasons that his own glower is emulating the same energy because Sirius quickly presses their foreheads together and squeezes Remus’s hand between both of his own in silent repentance. “I knocked her off once i realized it wasn’t you love.”

“Didn’t even bother to aim for the bed you absolute sod.”

“It was fight or flight while you had your grubby little hands all over me Evans!” Sirius airily sniffs.

“Oh I’ll show you grubby little hands!” Lily seethes, pouncing forwards right when Sirius hides behind Remus’s back.

“Children,” Remus intones, beyond over it. “Did you all not realize the massive problem with this little mishap.”

“You mean besides dealing with James’s pitiful little knob.” Sirius asks, faux owlish.

“You touch my knob Black and I swear to God I’ll shave off all your hair.” James snipes, which really isn’t all that fair considering how Sirius doesn’t even care about his perfect locks half as much as Remus does.

“Bloody hell! That’s brilliant!” Peter squawks from the loveseat, absolutely glowing. “James, you think you can get Moony’s name tattooed on his arse.”

James’s face goes sly, Remus’s favorite smirk toying the edges of his lips and his stormy eyes glinting with mirth that Remus only ever sees on his boyfriend’s face before a prank or while Remus is undressing in front of him. 

“What did I say about that look Moony!” Sirius shouts, scathing and skewering him with a look James only ever  employed as Head Boy  on the third year students stupid enough to get caught while trying to pull off a prank.

“Erm— Ahem.” Remus adjusts himself in his seat, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “Yes well, that is rather besides the point.”

“So what is the point, Rem,” Lily asks smugly, and Remus absolutely hates how much she’s enjoying this. She should be suffering just as much as him for the sake of Circe.

“Well didn’t you have that lunch date set up with your older sister and her husband for today?” Remus points out, a mutinous little part of him preening at how her face goes a sickly sort of pale at the reminder. Finally someone is as ill over this as he is.

“Oh bloody shite! You’re right! And Professor McGonagall said that this incantation can only be done at night, the same time as it was originally cast!”

“We’re not in school anymore Evans, you can just call her McGonagall. Or Minnie if you’re so inclined.”

“Shut the fuck up Black!” Lily shrieks, and Remus can’t help but unfavorably liken her to a banshee. “I promised Petunia that I’d see her before she leaves on holiday tomorrow! And she bloody hates Black!”

“nasty harpy.”

“What are we going to do!”

“Erm— Well maybe you can explain to her the switch up?” Peter offers, always meek in the face of Lily’s wrath.

“She already thinks I’m a freak for being a witch Peter! I can’t bring James looking like that and expect her to be fine with it!”

“Most people would consider James having upgraded,” Sirius argues.

“The tattoo will be bright pink I reckon,” James muses loudly to himself, pretending not to have heard Sirius. “A nice contrast to your pasty white arse don’t you think Padfoot?”

Sirius bares his teeth at him and Remus feels an impending migraine while Lily continues to lament the idiocy of their boyfriends.

.-

Remus idly contemplates how normal his life could’ve been if he had fought harder with the sorting hat to be placed into Ravenclaw. It would be a much less wonderful existence, to be sure, but it’d be so blessedly normal. Remus would probably have gone steady with that Hufflepuff prefect, Andre, and they would probably still be together. And Andre didn’t have a best friend who he got into insane and improbable situations with, so Remus definitely wouldn’t have been forced to do this. To be forced to go to lunch with his best friend’s wizard hating sister and her pug faced husband and not look longingly over the table at the face of his other best friend where the love of his life is inhabiting his body.

Jesus, is Remus’s life confusing as fuck.

“I need to take a pis— Oof, I mean. I have to use the gents,” Sirius declares as everyone’s entrees are being served, giving a pointed glance to Remus. And he supposes he should talk to him about that, how incredibly obvious Sirius can be when he’s flustered and isn’t trying to show it.

Five minutes after his boyfriend, Remus leaves to meet him in the first open stall, finally feeling less wrong footed for the first time today when Sirius takes him into his unfamiliar arms.

“I’m going to stab my eyes out with a fork Moony!” He hisses, and it’s odd how alien his face— James’s face— is to him. How Remus has never spent the time to memorize the precise slope of his nose, or the shape to his lips. How Remus can’t understand what it means when he squints his left eye or when he flares his nostrils with a slight curl to his mouth. But Remus does recognize the way Sirius has always grabbed his hips in that desperate way when he’s fed up, and how he always presses his nose to the curls behind Remus’s ear when he needs to be grounded. And it’s a bit awkward now that they’re the same height instead of Sirius needing to stoop slightly, and how Sirius now smells like that pricy cologne that James has always sprits with gusto. But it’s familiar enough to make Remus’s shoulders relax from the tension sown through them all day, and breathe out with relief with how the pair of them still understand one another with an innate sort of knowing.

Gingerly, Remus wraps his arms around Sirius’s now less defined torso, and they stand their, tangled into one another amidst the hush settling over  them.

“Oi! You berks!” James hisses from the doorway all too soon, clambering inside and stomping his feet. “I swear to Merlin if you pricks are fucking inside there!”

“Don’t worry Jamie, I’d never put my Moons through the indignity of dealing with that after he’s had me,” Sirius jeers, preening when James replies by throwing something hard against the doorway.

“C’mon you idiot,” Remus sighs, tugging on a lowly chuckling Sirius as they meet James by the exit of the loo.

“I’ve had three different birds sliding their numbers into my trousers on my way here alone,” James complains, shuffling foot to foot and looking more awkward than Sirius ever has. “It’s obscene.”

“It’s the life of the beautiful,” Sirius corrects as Remus swaths his hand away from his arse. 

“I’d rather not have Petunia getting a heart attack when she sees her sister’s boyfriend copping a feel of another bloke,” he chides before looping his arm through James’s and begins strolling back to the table.

.-

The rest of the lunch is thankfully uneventful, but as stilted as expected, filled with Sirius needing to be kicked in the shin every time he starts gazing absentmindedly at Remus, and Lily flickering her eyes over to James disappointedly while he pouts at her with Sirius’s best puppy dog eyes. And Every time Petunia starts eyeing them all as if they’re all fucking each other behind the scenes, Remus clumsily changes the topic to the weather or how lovely her engagement ring is or asking Vernon about bloody drills— Even if all he wants to do is reach across the table and hold Sirius’s hand.

But thankfully, it all seems to be going along decently enough— That is until the waiter comes around to take their orders and spends a little too long leering at Remus, asking if he’d like a cinnamon roll on the house.

“He’d like a slice of the chocolate fudge cake and he has a boyfriend that probably wouldn’t appreciate the extra service.” Sirius growls out, specs gone askew and dark knuckles paling from where he’s clutching his spoon vindictively.

The waiter only smiles at him, shrugging in that what can you do kind of way before dashing off to place the orders in with the kitchen.

“Hmm,” Petunia levels him with a glance, unimpressed looking. “So James.”

It takes a beat too long for Sirius to respond and Remus silently curses his every damn star. 

“Erm, yes Petunia.”

“How long have you been fucking my sister’s friend behind her back?”

Lily goes shellshocked and James looks ill while Remus sinks lower in his seat, trying to force Sirius to get it together through his eye contact alone.

“Hah— Wow, you’ve been watching those silly Muggle dramas have you Petunia.” Sirius says in a mangled tone of voice, but of course that’s the precise wrong thing to have said.

With matching red faces and spluttering words of indignation— a few curses thrown in for good measure— Petunia and her husband rise from their seats and make a hasty retreat to their car towards the back of the building.

“Oh Christ,” Lily groans, jumping up to sprint after them— but not without swinging a perfectly aimed cuff to the back of Sirius’s porcupine head. “I’ll hex you once you’re out of my boyfriend’s sodding body Black!”

“I understand Evans!” He calls after her before swinging his head over to James and Remus with a mischievous grin. “We tried didn’t we?”

“You just couldn’t keep your bloody jealous  temper in check,” James scolds with no real heat.

“Oi! And what about you lusting over Lily so blatantly you tosser! It was revolting.”

“Yeah, well maybe you’ll remember that next time you’re gazing at Moony’s arse out in public you mongrel.”

Exhausted, Remus just rises and tells them to stay behind and make sure Lily’s alright. “I need a bath and some quiet.”

“Can I join,” Sirius pouts. “I miss you.”

“Only once you’re my  Sirius again,” Remus instructs, brooking no arguments before he finds a safe place to apparate, telling himself that he deserves an entire bottle of that cheap merlot they bought last weekend.

[imaginedxlan]

Drivers License Pt. 2 (Ron Weasley)

a/n: You guys absolutely went off for part 1, thank you so so much!! Someone requested that I make a part 2 where y/n finally gets a happy ending, but without ron so I decided to kind of run with the idea, this time sort of from ron’s point of view.

disclaimer: the timeline in the books/movie are gonna line up in this one. I know they didn’t have a seventh year and i know ron kissed lavender before winter but this is obv not cannon, go with it, also fred dying was a prank anyway so YOU THOUGHT it would be included. absolutely not. 

After taking y/n’s affection for granted, Ron realizes he’s made a huge mistake when she’s moved on to be happy without him

warning(s): cussing, sadness, broke my own heart writing this

Pay attention to the gif, keep it in your mind towards the end. 

Part 1

___________________

And all my friends are tired Of hearing how much I miss you, but I kinda feel sorry for them 'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

It took a long time for you to move on from Ron, you didn’t have to look very far to do so. Ginny had told off Ron one night for hurting you without realizing the twins were awake and hearing all the nasty things Ron put you through. By that point he and Hermione were no longer together, she realized he was too good of a friend to lose to a ‘stupid school relationship.’ So now he was alone, completely clueless to the fact that someone else had begun pining over you. 

“Merlin, not this again.” Harry groans into his textbook. The wizarding world was on the verge of destruction and all Ron could speak about was how much he missed you. “Ron, we get it you fucked up with her, get over it.”

The boys had heard the same speech everyday. He would first start off with ‘I know I say this a lot’ then go onto name the things he misses most about you. Your hair, your eyes, your laugh, how small your hands are compared to his. He then groans about how stupid he is for, well, everything. 

“I never heard you talk about her before now,” Dean adds, actually semi-invested in the drama that surrounded Ron’s love life. “Whats so special about her anyway?”

How could he even begin to explain what was so special about you. As much as he wished he could say he lied to you about everything he said to you, how easy it would be if he never gave a shit about you, that just isn’t the case. You had this way of making him feel safe whenever he held you. He wasn’t lying when he told you that you felt like home, he just didn’t mean to say it to soon. Maybe that was the reason he decided to kiss Lavender Brown, knowing you were watching. He wanted to push you away in the most hurtful way possible that you never even thought about coming back to him, but immediately regretted that decision. 

You also had this weird hold on him, even when he was with Hermione, he would catch a glimpse of your smile and his heart would drop into his stomach. He would see your eyes sparkle in the light of the living room fire place when you were visiting the Burrow and want to scream out that he never meant to hurt you. He notices things about you that you probably hadn’t even noticed about yourself. The way your nose will scrunch when you focus really hard when Ginny tries to teach you wizard chess, how he wishes you would let him close enough to teach you. His heart aches when he notices you shift away from him, even after he and Hermione broke up. When you and Gin walk into the Great Hall for dinner and you go out of your way to sit as far from his as you can. 

“You don’t understand,” Ron huffs out, rolling onto his side, wishing you were laying close into his chest like you used to. “She’s something else.”

“Ron, I know you miss her and everything but I have to tell you that you missed your chance,” Harry tells him. “Ginny tells me more than she probably should about all of this, she’s finally moved on from you mate, let it go.”

But how could he? How could he move on when you’re constantly around? He can hear a laugh from all the way down the hall and immediately know its falling from your lips, he’ll hear the sound of an engine from his bedroom window and know you’ve arrived for one of your weekend stays. The way you get on so well with his family, you’re perfect for him, you always have been but he took you for granted and now all he can do is complain to his friends about how he let you go.

And I know we weren't perfect But I've never felt this way for no one, oh And I just can't imagine How you could be so okay now that I'm gone?

He thought for a long time that you were a temporary fix for his feelings that ran deep within him for Hermione, but being with her only made him realize that it was you all along. How could he have been so stupid? He refused to let his friends know you were together, in fear that Hermione would lose the feelings he had prayed she felt toward him, but in doing so he only pushed you away.

“Ron, we can’t keep sneaking around like this.” You would tell him after he pulled you into a broom closet in the middle of the day. “They’ll find out eventually, it’s not like Ginny would be cross with either of us.”

Ron was never able to give you a clear answer when it came to why you had to hide from everyone, not wanting to admit to you that it was because he was hung up on his best friend. Looking back now, it was the stupidest decision he ever made. While your relationship was chaotic and spontaneous and secretive, it was still something he now yearned for everyday, he needed to feel what he felt for you then. More specifically, he needed you to feel what you felt for him back then too. Admittedly, he never loved Lavender Brown, she was only there to stroke his ego. He thought he loved Hermione, but how can you fully love someone if your heart is connected to someone else? Loving you felt different than with anyone else, his chest burned and his hands tingled whenever you were around him. 

That’s why it hurt him so badly to see you move on, and not to just anyone. After Ginny’s outburst toward her brother over how he continued to treat her best friend, a certain Weasley grew closer to you. At first, George wanted to apologize to you for the way his brother treated you as well as help you navigate co-existing with the boy. However, the more time you spent with George, the closer you became. You found yourself laughing at his stupid pranks that wouldn’t have even warranted a grin years ago. You felt the need to be near him grow more everyday, Ron noticed your sudden draw toward his brother as well.

He couldn’t understand how after, according to Ginny, crying over him for days on end, barely being able to get into your car to drive to the Burrow in fear of seeing him you could all of a sudden move on to his brother. Now that he realized how bad he messed up, he’s miserable that you weren’t around him, that you didn’t love him like you used to. How could you not feel the same hollow feeling he did?

What Ron didn’t see was that you did feel that hollow feeling, for months actually. You watched him fall in love and out of it twice before he realized you were the one, but by that time you didn’t have anything left to give him. You were healing in a way that caused you to grow apart from him even further. You found happiness is sleepovers with Ginny, helping Molly in the kitchen, and now long drives with George. You no longer felt like you needed Ron to survive. You didn’t eat, sleep, and breathe him anymore and that killed him.

You were careful to never make Ron feel the same way you did when you saw him with Lavender and Hermione, you weren’t as cruel as he was back then, but it was no secret that you and the twin had sparked some sort of relationship. Ginny was over the moon, as she began to lose hope in having you as a real sister by being with Ron, George came in and saved the day. If you thought Ron was mature for his age, George was practically ten times more. The more responsible of the twins, he always seemed to know exactly what to do and say in every situation. He always gave the best advice. What to do when a professor wouldn’t let up, how to sneak around the halls of Hogwarts at night, and most commonly how to continue in your growth while the one person who seems to stunt it is living only a stones-throw away. While you were still in school and he was running the shop, he would send you letters updating you on his life and beg you to come work at the shop with him and Fred when you finish school, telling you that you would make an excellent addition to the team. His words never failed to make you blush.

He’s three years older than you, almost twenty by the time you had moved on completely from Ron, so nothing ever really happened with George then, but your growing companionship could only be expected to blossom from there. Ron couldn’t stand it. Of all people you could seek comfort in, it had to be his brother. He would hear you gushing to Ginny about the most recent letter you received in the Common Room or witness you and George chatting about something completely arbitrary over Christmas and seethe with anger. In his mind, if you had ever truly loved him like you say you did, you wouldn’t be so content knowing that you two would never be together.

Red lights, stop signs I still see your face in the white cars, front yards Can't drive past the places we used to go to 'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

It was no longer a secret to any of the Weasley clan that Ron was miserable. When he’s at school, he’s complaining to his friends about what he could have done differently so that he could have you. At home he begged his sister to stop bringing you around, as if he had any say in whether or not you visited the Burrow. Now being old enough to use magic outside of Hogwarts, he would apparate out any time he heard you pull up to his driveway. He would go to London mostly, distracting himself in the busy streets and crowds of people.

It never worked. Somehow everywhere he turned he thought he would catch a glimpse of your hair blowing in the wind. He would shake his head just to realize you were never there. Any white car that passed next to him would immediately strike fear in his heart, thinking you were behind the wheel, but you never were. He couldn’t decide if he was looking for you in everything or if he was so afraid to see you that he imagined you everywhere. Nevertheless, there was nothing Ron Weasley could do that would effectively distract himself from you, and he’s now starting to realize it’s all his fault.

If he hadn’t been so self centered to fall into Lavender Brown’s compliments and praises due to his egomania, he would have never kissed her in front of you. At the time he thought of it as kind of a test, how far could he push you before you were no longer kissing the ground he walked on. Seeing you still tremble at his touch or your cheeks heat up whenever he said your name made him feel good, like you would never leave him. Now that you’re gone, he’s kicking himself for pushing that limit. He didn’t know it would take him falling into Hermione’s arms in that hospital bed in front of you to ruin your good opinion of him forever, but if he did he swears he would have called out your name that day instead. 

On top of the Dark Lord plotting to take over the wizarding world as he knew it, his last semester was filled with memories of you. Any time he would walk into the common room his heart would fill with sorrow, recalling how it felt to first kiss you there. He would also replay the moment he kissed Lavender Brown in that very spot, after pulling away catching a glimpse of you rushing through the crowd of Gryffindors to get away from him. In that moment he felt like the world’s biggest arse, yet it didn’t keep him from holding onto Lavender a bit longer. He avoided certain hallways that would force him to pass the broom closets and empty classrooms he pulled you into throughout the school day, hiding you from his friends. What a stupid thing to do. Part of him knew back then that he would never feel the way he felt about you for anyone else, but he was greedy. 

Seeing you happy without him ripped his heart out of his chest and tore it to shreds. How you would smile down at a piece of parchment, assuming it was a letter from his brother. The sound of your voice carrying through the dorms as you and Ginny would stay up late in the common room talking about nothing and everything all at once. He couldn’t bear living right next to you, co-existing with you, while you just ignored him and grew apart from him.

“Y/n,” He calls your name. You’re alone in the common room, that is until he came in. You hadn’t heard him say your name in a while, you find it doesn’t have the same impact on you as it did a year ago and you’re grateful for that. “Y/n, can I talk to you?”

“What is it, Weasley?” You ask him, hoping the dismissal you intended in your tone translates. You had spent months avoiding him, avoiding the longing gazes, so that you could pick up the pieces of your heart that he shattered and put them back together. He doesn’t respond for a while, just admiring how you look in the glow of the fireplace. “I don’t have all night, get on with it.”

“Right,” He replies, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He takes a seat on the arm chair across from the couch that you’re sat on, careful not to get too close. Your face is cold, he almost doesn’t recognize you without your smile. “I messed up, Y/n. I know I did. I fucked it all just to have a quick fix because I’m arrogant and selfish. I was so lost back then, in my own pride, that I didn’t know what I wanted out of life. But I know now what I needed then, what I need now.”

You don’t reply. Your heart is sinking but you do a great job of hiding it. Your face doesn’t change even though your inside is screaming. After months of crying and misery, watching the first boy you had fallen in love with fawn over what felt like every girl in the school, you had finally stopped hurting. Your heart doesn’t ache when you see him anymore, you don’t blush when you hear his name and you stopped yearning for his touch. Yet now, he has the audacity to try and fix it. Months ago you would have welcomed this grand gesture of what you can only assume to be a confession of the love he never lost for you, but you’re not the person you were then, thanks to the boy sat in the armchair that forced you to grow up and move on from him so soon. 

“Say something.”

“Say something?” You ask, gawking at his audacity and slamming your book next to you. “You dangle your little relationships in front of me for almost a fucking year, pretending like I never meant anything to you and you’d like me to say something? Do you understand what kind of pain you caused? I cried until I had nothing left because you told me all these nice things about me, you told me you loved me, then you kissed Lavender right in front of me. Not only that but I spent hours, Ron, hours sitting next to your bed in the hospital scared shitless that you were going to die in there. You know who came twenty minutes before you woke up, Granger. I was there for hours and who’s name you did you call out? Hers. Months ago I would have eaten this shit up, Weasley. You could have come in here and told me my hair looked different and I would have fallen in love with you all over again. Not anymore. I’m finally happy, you don’t get to ruin that because things didn’t turn out the way you wanted them to with Hermione.”

He sits in front of you, shocked. Part of him expected you to always want him, to come back to him even after all this time but he was wrong. He looked at you, hoping that maybe you were lying, that you were just scared to get hurt again so you put on a face for him but the look in your eyes told him more than what just fell from your lips. You hate him.

“Y/n, please.” He whimpers as you start to collect your things to leave this room immediately. There are only two of you but you feel suffocated. “I love you.”

“Shut up.” You tell him, not in jest, not to tease him but genuinely wanting him to stop speaking. “Don’t you dare say that to me ever again. You don’t deserve to know what it’s like for me to love you, you never did.”

You leave him sitting alone in the common room, heart shattered from your words that dug into him like a thousand knives. He replayed it over and over again, to feel something other than the numbness that was sure to come in time when you love someone you cannot have. He still had to be around you, watch you live your life without him. He had to see you laugh and know he could never put a smile like that on your face ever again. In order to fully heal from the heartache he was facing he knew he had to separate himself from you, to leave for a while so he didn’t have to see you fall in love with his brother, but he couldn’t. He decided he would rather have you in the smallest way possible, watching you from afar, seeing you smile like you once did at him, then never see you again.

Sidewalks we crossed I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing Over all the noise God, I'm so blue, know we're through But I still fuckin' love you, babe

Years Later

Following your last year at Hogwarts, you followed George’s orders and began working at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The twins were overjoyed to have your help, George especially so to have you around so often. With you 18 and he 21, after all these year he made his move on you, your friendship blossoming into something more.

You finally knew what it felt like to love and be loved back. George never tried to keep you from his friends, he never snuck off with you to hide your relationship, rather he paraded you around, proud that ‘someone like him was able to swing someone like you.’ He made you blush every time he looked at you, his handsome smile always pulling at your heartstrings. You had become addicted to being loved in that way.

Ron didn’t love your new relationship with his brother as much as as you did. He knew you deserved someone good, someone who would treat you right, he just wished it didn’t have to be someone who placed you in his life indefinitely. His heart ached whenever he would see George’s hand reach for yours as you giggled through the backyard of the Burrow. The worst was when he caught the two of you kiss for the first time.

It was late in the Summer, just after you and Ginny finished your years at Hogwarts. You were visiting just like you always did that time of year and late one night Ron heard rustling down from the main floor. Fearing that an animal had gotten in the house, he immediately searched for the origin of the noise. What he was met with was worse than if an acromantula had found its way into his kitchen. There you were, your hands tangled in his brother’s fiery red hair and his resting on your waist, your body pressed up to the sink. As he watched your lips against his brother’s, he felt as if a fire had engulfed his heart, his chest beginning to sting as it became harder to breathe. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t stop you two, just turned on his heels and darted back to his bedroom. When he was finally safe in his solitude, he slid against his door and broke down. The memories of the two of you in that very kitchen years ago flooded his sense.

During winter break of his sixth year and your fifth, the two of you spent your time cooking and cleaning together in that kitchen, laughing over the littlest things. Even when you weren’t right next to each other, he could still hear your laugh over all the commotion in the house. It was and still is his favorite sound. He wishes that he could bring that sound from your lips again, hoping that maybe one day you’ll realize your love for his brother is really misdirected love toward him, but that all changed.

You’re now 22 and George is 25. You have officially been together for four year. The shop had expanded immensely, renovations to the first store and new shops opening up all over the country and the continent. You count yourself lucky to be a part of it, to be able to say your boyfriend was the co-owner of the most successful joke shop in Europe. Being able to see how his eyes glow like it’s his first day of work every single day still makes your heart smile.

Tonight is another unveiling event of a new shop, this one in Spain. However, this new location being the 10th shop to open up in the continent, the boys decided this launch party would be more formal than the last, a bigger celebration. You all are dressed up, George in a tuxedo and you in a floor length gown. You loved seeing George in his everyday clothes, thinking he would look handsome in a potato sack, but there is something about that boy in a suit. All your friends and family are there, investors too. It’s a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

Ginny is still your best friend, you can’t imagine a day when she isn’t. You still have sleepovers in the Burrow even though you had your own lives and own flats. She’s still with Harry, a ring now occupying her left finger. When he proposed you and Ginny immediately started planning the wedding, there was no question who the maid of honor would be. She practically begs her older brother to make an honest woman out of you every time she sees him because she wants to, like almost everything in your lives, go through this experience with you.

Ron is there, of course he is. One of the biggest milestones in his older brothers’ career paths so far, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He works at the shop sometimes, never with you, Fred and George would never be so cruel to ask him to do such a thing. He watched you for most of this night, his brother’s hand resting on your lower back every time he looked. While he knew your smile that you were putting on for investors and old friends was partly exaggerated so you could better play your role of proud girlfriend to the co-owner, he still admired how it sparkled like no one else’s he had ever seen. You grew more beautiful with every year you aged, this of course hurt him to still see you so happy without him.

You catch Ron’s stares throughout the night, you ignore them for the most part. You have come a long way, you were sixteen with you had your heart absolutely shattered by the boy and now you’re an adult. You have a job, a home, a life that at one point you could have never imagined living without him. The boy you were once completely and utterly bewitched by is now just a faint memory, a small ping in your chest when you think of how someone could hurt you so badly at such a young age. You catch his eye and smile at him, no longer angry with him. Like most things, George helped you process your anger. He couldn’t stand to see you so furious anytime you saw someone who mattered quite a bit to him. George has his moments when he hears something Ron did to you for the first time and becomes outraged, now that he loves you and everything, but he always reminds himself that its in the past. 

Ron smiles back, you can tell he’s forcing it, but it’s a step in the right direction. Something tells him that he’ll never fully get over you, that part of his heart will always be in your possession. The only way he can describe his feelings whenever he’s around you anymore is blue, every shade of blue. Sometimes are better than other, a sky blue, a bit brighter but still a hint of sadness. Other times are a navy blue, complete and utter darkness. He hasn’t decided what tonight is blue-wise. 

“Fred and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight.” George speaks into a microphone placed on an elevated surface in the new shop. You can’t help but admire his features, he looks so mature. “As you all know, courtesy of this bloody massive sign above our heads, this is our tenth shop to open across the continent. It feels surreal to say, eh Freddie?”

“You said it, George.” Fred replies. “Everyone in this room holds a special place in our heart, you’ve all, in your own ways, made this shop what it is today. We are so grateful to have such loyal and fantastic business partners, friends, and family.”

You want to cry, not a sad cry, but burst into tears over how far the two of them have come. When you first joined them in working at the shop, it was just a corner store on Diagon Alley, now it’s a world wide chain. You see the ins and outs of the business, knowing just how much work the two of them put into this dream. You’re able to catch George’s gaze, mouthing an I love you which he returns with a wink. 

“Before we let you all get back to the party, theres one person we would like to specifically thank,” George speaks again before pointing down to you and motioning you to come up with them. You shake your head at him, not wanting to impede on the well deserved attention and praise the boys are getting. “Y/n, this isn’t an option come on up here. Alright, for those of you who don’t know this is my lovely, gorgeous, smart, talented-”

“Alright, get on with it Georgie!” Fred interrupts, making the crowd of people laugh. “I think they get the point.”

“Okay, okay.” George puts his hands up in defense. “Like I was saying, or those of you who don’t know this is Y/n. She’s better known to most of you as the lady who was stupid enough to say yes when I asked her to be my girlfriend, but she was the stores first hired employee. She has been with us for all the renovations, all the expansions and has always supported us in every hair-brained idea Freddie and I have come up with. She has since become our creative director for the company as well as held a seat on our board for, well as long as we’ve had a board. Without her, I think we might just crumble to the ground.”

“Oh stop that!” You don’t mean for it to come out so loud, but you make the crowd laugh again and your cheeks heat up. You slide in front of George to bring your mouth up to the microphone. “They’re making my role seem much larger than it is, all of this that you’ve seen over the years has very little to do with me.”

“Pay no mind to her, she’s being humble.” George retorts, and you decide to stop fighting it. “I guess what I’m trying to say is our lives, especially mine, would be a lot harder if Y/n wasn’t in it. I couldn’t think of a better place, in front of a better group of people, to ask this question.”

Before you can process his words, your boyfriend is lowering down on one knee and pulling a small box out of his pocket. You hear gasps and whistles coming from the crowd, making you turn to see Ginny with the biggest smile on her face. You look back down to George, your hands going to cover your gaping mouth. This is not real. The red haired boy opens the box to reveal a ring, a massive diamond in the center with what seemed like a dozen smaller diamonds surrounding it. So this is where all the money the shops have been making was going.

“Y/n, my dearest love,” He doesn’t even get a full sentence out and you’re already shaking. “It will never make sense to me why you said yes to being my girlfriend, but I’m hoping whatever came over you that day is over you now so you’ll say yes to this one too. Y/n, will you make the happiest bloke to every walk this earth and marry me?”

You can’t even form words, your heart feeling like it’s migrated to your throat. You can only nod and pull him up from his kneeling position to pull him into the tightest hug you’ve ever given. “Yes, yes. One thousand times yes. Georgie, I love you!”

George gives you that smile that melts you in every way and places the ring on your left finger. Ginny finally got her way. He pulls you in for a small kiss and your friends and family clap and shout with joy. You can hear Molly shouting over everyone else. Everyone in the room is clapping and celebrating but one person.

Ron’s mouth is agape, watching as you say yes to spending the rest of your life with his brother. He wants to be happy for the two of you, he wants to be able to celebrate with his family but the dull ache in his heart that has been present since the night in the common room that you told him to never say the words you just shouted to his brother turns into a sharp pain. This is the final nail on the coffin that is the hope Ron held that you would one day be together. That small glimmer dying as the ring is placed on your dainty hand. It doesn’t take long for Harry to notice the look on his best friends face, excusing himself from Ginny for a moment. 

“You alright?” Harry asks quietly, careful not to draw attention to the one person in the room that isn’t happen for the newly engaged couple at the front. “Ron you have to at least pretend to be happy for them.”

Ron looks over to Harry and shakes his head. “I wish I could be happy for them mate. Everything in me wishes I had done something differently so it was me asking her that question.”

Harry is quiet for a while, watching as Ron’s face keeps the shocked and defeated look that its held since he saw his brother get on one knee. He balls his hands into fists every few minutes to keep himself from going completely numb. “You really still love her, don’t you? After all this time.”

“‘Course I fucking do.” Ron whispers, not meaning for it to come out as harsh as it did. He and Harry talk for a little while, just to keep his mind off the obvious stressor in the room, until Ginny is pulling Harry away to come and congratulate her best friend. Ron is left alone as we watches your smile, a genuine one this time, is glued to your face as you show anyone and everyone the ring. George is standing proudly beside you, holding your waist. You never look his way, too involved in sharing the most exciting moment of your life, though Ron wishes you would look over to him. He wishes he could catch your eye and sense some form of regret, then come save the day, but that never happens. Today is the darkest shade of blue imaginably, knowing for certain that your whole heart belongs to someone else. Quietly, for no one else to hear but him, he utters:

“I love you, I always will.”