#almost went invisible but i have a weird feeling that she already played it (even though i don’t ACTUALLY think she did?)

[titsthedamnseason]

yayyyy happy seattle night 1 and happy haim night 1!!! it’s time to play the surprise song game :) to clarify this is ONLY for the surprise song set so guesses of nbnc won’t be counted if it’s a setlist addition. if you think it’ll be a one night only surprise song thing then feel free to guess it but it would be way to much for me to keep track of everyone’s guesses otherwise. but anyway as per usual just drop your guesses in the tags or replies and i will give you a shoutout if you’re right 🩷

my guesses are right where you left me (i know) and the outside

[armpirate]

Soundleasure | Choi San || CH. 12

Pairings: Soft!San x fem!reader || Strangers to lovers, fake dating

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, online sex, ghosting

Warnings: inexperienced!San, fem!reader, masturbation, online sex, camboy, first times.

Summary: You can do whatever you please and be whoever you want on the Internet. And San knew that a little bit too well.

After finally following all the signs the universe was throwing at him, he started living a double life that no one was aware of. Everyone in his daily life knew him as Choi San, the reserved and quiet boy who wouldn't raise his voice, and would barely communicate with anyone outside of his comfort group. But only a few knew him as Soundleasure, the man with a sexy voice and a filthy mind that had their toes curling just with his narrations.

He never thought of the possibility of those two lives ever meeting, he had always tried for them to follow a parallel route and had always played safe to keep his friends from ever suspecting that side even existed. But his plans will start to crumble when he gets a little too close with one of his subscribers and she invades his real-self and altergo's universes without being able to stop it.

Y/n will not only help him to keep his secret from his circle, but will also show him there's more of Soundleasure in him than he'd like to admit. 

Previous || Next

MASTERLIST

Aprox. time of reading: 14 minutes

San looked so determined when he said he'd find a nice place to eat, just to end up regretting it five minutes later when they arrived at the restaurant area and he found himself struggling to find the place that could adapt to her the most. It wasn't like there were a lot of restaurants, which probably made it even harder for him to pick the right one.

—Um —he thought out loud—. There isn't much to choose from.

—It's alright. Let's just go wherever you want —she shrugged.

Seeing his eyes moving to the four open restaurants was a quite new experience for her. She was convinced he probably would've found the best place to eat in less than a second if he had been by himself, but his hesitation was more connected to the way he wanted to have her also enjoying her food.

—What are you craving? —San turned to her.

—Hmm... That Mexican restaurant looks pretty good.

—Let's go, then.

Her thoughts started to sound weird when she internally started praising San for such a small gesture as to having consideration for what she wanted, and she realized the type of men she had been seeing ever since she broke up with her ex boyfriend to be thinking that his attitude was one of a kind and deserving of the amount of praise she was throwing his way.

After they reached their table, she could almost touch his nervousness in front of her. It was like one thick brick around him, and that also limited a lot of his actions and words.

—You know you can relax, right? —she joked, looking at him over the menu.

—I'm relaxed —he sighed.

—No, you're not —her eyes slowly went back to the plastified paper in front of her—. You don't need to impress me, so you can calm down.

His body stopped to slightly bounce with the constant movements of his legs, fixing his eyes on her and completely ignoring the menu he was holding.

—You're not being tested, and I'm not here to judge you, just feel free to behave however you want —she shrugged, leaving the menu back on the table—. Just treat me as a friend. Would that make you more comfortable?

—I think so —he slowly nodded.

—You need to take it easy. Relax —the way she moved her hands made it seem as if she was taking something invisible off her shoulders—. I have enough with having people look like their balls are being stepped on when I'm walking by at work.

—Yikes, that sounds... —he grimaced just at the mere thought of it— hurtful.

—Uh-hum. I'm a heel on a ball.

Her humor was so random, and weird, that it instantly made him feel better at his own self. She wasn't scared of being open with that side of her, she was already doing more than asked to make it as easy for him, it was just fair he tried to do the same thing.

—I don't think you're a heel on a ball, more like a kick.

Maybe he tried a little too much.

Y/n stopped, lifting her eyes back to him, only to blurt out a chuckle at his comment and how nervous he looked after.

—I mean it because it's less painful, not because I think you're like a kick on the balls. Although, it's not like I know what it's like to be stepped on...

—You're doing it again —her eyebrows raised with her warning.

—Sorry.

Her gaze intensified with his apology, warning him without saying a word.

—So, I guess life at work didn't change? —he brought up, trying to reconnect the light-hearted conversation with something they could actually talk about.

—Well, it got slightly worse —her head quickly tilted, squirming just at the thought of the environment in her office—. There was a ramp down recently, and teams had to choose two people to fire them. Except mine, because I chose to earn less, so part of my salary would go to those two people, only for them to look at me as if I were the devil —she commented on the side.

—For what? You took a decision no one else would've taken.

—They don't know I did that, so they just think I kept my whole team because I'm the boss' daughter —she finally added—. It's alright though. I didn't do it for people to praise me for it.

—Honestly... After seeing my father getting kicked out of his position for a similar situation, your choice should be recognized —he softly said—. Not a lot of people would choose sympathy over greediness. It just shows off the kind of person that you are.

San seemed so genuine while he said those words, that Y/n couldn't help but smile, feeling full and proud of herself after receiving that praise from someone else that wasn't her own self while looking in the mirror.

It felt so different.

—What about you? How's your master going?

—It's going well —he puckered his lips, trying to think of something to be able to fill up the conversation naturally the same way she did—. Yeah... I bet you already know what it is like.

—Well, it's not really the same —she giggled—. Is that teacher still being an asshole to you?

—He seems to have a radar —he finally let out—. And if someone didn't send me texts only when I'm with him...

—Are you blaming me? —she pointed at herself, faking offense— If you need to answer one of my texts that fast, even during that class, it's because you want to talk to me really bad —and that was a checkmate—. Am I wrong?

His lips started moving nervously, stuttering the words before he was able to say them. Of course he wanted to talk to her, of course he was willing to take any chance to keep talking to her, but wasn't it too much to admit it just like that?

—May I take your order?

Saved by the bell.

While San rushed to shift his attention from her to the waiter, Y/n smiled at him, shaking her head lightly.

There was something so funny about making him so nervous.

—You're so different —she thought out loud, after the waiter left with their command.

—What?

—I wouldn't have expected you to be like this when we first talked —Y/n continued.

—Is it a good thing or a bad thing?

—Good —she quickly nodded—. I like this version much better than the Soundleasure one —she admitted.

—You do?

—It's different —her lips puckered while she approved what she had just said—. The person on those videos seems like a whole different you, you're more approachable than you might seem.

—I guess it's what you can call a character? —he doubted— Soundleasure doesn't have any limits or real problems, no struggles, no insecurities —he smiled down—. He just has to be there and put on a sexy voice. And I'm just... me.

—Hey! It's so hard to be just you —she joked.

While he smiled and looked at her, San wondered if it'd have been like that between them even if he hadn't stopped talking to her all of a sudden.

—I'm sorry —she looked confused at those two words—. I shouldn't have ghosted you. I guess I was intimidated and scared of what you'd think of me, and ran away instead of giving you an explanation.

—Hmm... Did I look that out of reach? —her eyebrow raised— It's alright —her tone turned softer with those words—. Just... next time... try talking it out before running away —she asked—. Honestly, I was kinda intimidated, too.

—You? No shit.

—Yes shit —she nodded—. I guess it's normal. You connect with someone online, hit it off, and then you wonder if it'd have been the same if you had met in person. Or if the chemistry is real and not just a projection of what you want on those texts and calls. I guess that's why I wanted us to meet.

—I guess we could try to still be in contact after all of this ends.

—I guess so —she agreed.

The rest of the lunch went by in such a comfortable and carefree environment, that San felt free to let go of the pressure a bit more with each passing minute. Talking with Y/n was easy. It didn't matter if it was through a screen or face to face, he just loved how he could be himself with her without worrying about anything else.

At least until the time to pay the bill arrived.

She looked nervous, and uneasy, looking one way and the other, moving on her seat nervously while they waited to pay for the food.

At first he thought it could possibly be because she didn't want him to pay, or because she felt bad about the price of the food they ate, but she was still in that uneasy state even after they left the restaurant.

Her hand quickly hooked on his wrist, dragging him out of the restaurant area to take him back to the shops.

—Where are we going?

—We can't be here —she whispered.

—Why not? You're acting as if I hadn't paid for the food —he looked confused.

Y/n was about to answer what he asked, but her words got stuck in her throat when she saw her father walking to the place where they were at, forcing her to quickly push San towards the bathroom corridor and hide as they stayed glued to the wall.

—What's going on?

—My father's here.

—What?

The way he asked with a high-pitched tone, making most of the people coming or getting out of the restrooms made her grimace, placing her index over her lips to ask him to stay quiet.

—My assistant told him I left early, and he called me. I thought that by saying I was with you, he'd decide to leave me alone. But he thought now was the best time to meet you, and now we're hiding from him because I need you to change your clothes before you meet him.

She stepped back, aware of his confused look mixed with the glimpses of scare.

—Sorry.

Her hand dragged his hood over his head, hiding his face before she pushed him towards the male restrooms.

—Y/n?

She stood straight at the thick voice of her father, finally aware of the way he was looking at her when he noticed where she was.

—The female's bathroom is on the other side.

—I know —she quickly nodded—. It's just that San needed to go to the restroom.

—And you were planning on going with him —his thick eyebrow raised.

—No, of course not.

—Why don't we wait for him in the cafe?

—Hmm, you go. I'll stay here —she tried to encourage him.

—Your boyfriend won't escape —his fingers gently hooked around her elbow—. Let's go.

That was exactly what she was afraid of, that San would sneakily escape, impulsed by the pressure.

After they took a seat in one of the cafes, back in the restaurant area, she made sure to let San know where they were, so he'd be able to find them once he got out of the restroom. And her father just waited for her to leave the phone aside to engage in a conversation with her, which was always related to the same thing: the company. It varied from what happened throughout the day, future projects, or gossip in the office, but it was always centered in that office she spent most of her day at.

It wasn't like she cared much about it in any way. What were they supposed to talk about? They both worked in the same place, they both saw each other every single day. There wasn't much to talk about other than that.

Her part of the conversation got interrupted suddenly, with the words slowly losing their power as soon as she looked up at the door of the establishment.

San's figure looked even better from afar with that outfit. She was surprised by how marked his waist was, with the black shirt tucked in inside his pants and secured with the black leather belt that fitted it all. But more importantly, she was surprised to see him walking over there with determination, taking his time before he stopped behind her father.

—Babe —Y/n excitedly called him.

Her father quickly turned to the man behind him as Y/n got up from her place to wrap her arm around his, gluing their bodies together.

—You wanted to meet him, and he's here —she cheered relieved—. This is San, my boyfriend. And this is my father —Y/n pointed at the old man, who didn't even make the attempt to get up from his seat—: Harry...

—Mister Y/s for you, though —he interrupted Y/n, quickly making clear how San should refer to him.

—Of course —San nodded— Nice to meet you, sir.

—Come on —she whispered, patting his upper arm to get him to take the seat next to hers.

Although he tried to adopt that mature and confident aura Y/n had hinted at while they were shopping, his real self was slowly coming through as the environment got thicker under the exigent look that was coming from the man's dark eyes.

—So, you're the famous San —he thought out loud, scanning the young man in front of him—. My daughter kept you from me like a secret. It's almost like you came out of nowhere

—Really? —he nervously laughed— It does look like it, doesn't it? —he mumbled.

—It's not that —she quickly added—. You know how private I've always been. That's why it seems like it came out of nowhere —she smiled.

—So... —her father tried to redirect the conversation somewhere else— Y/n told me you specialized in computer engineering.

—Yeah, I'm finishing the masters this year.

—But my daughter told me you were already working as such.

Y/n's face quickly distorted, pressing her lips tight and furrowing her eyebrows when she assumed they were already caught on their lies.

It lasted more than she'd have expected.

—I did, of course —San tried to get some control back—. I graduated, then started working, and then thought it'd be better to perfectionate my career. So I started a Master's program, right? —he tried to look at Y/n for support— But it's getting tough, so I left the company I was working at just last week. That's why Y/n didn't know.

—So you don't tell my daughter everything?

—Hmm...

—He told me, but I forgot —Y/n seconded, trying to save him—. Silly boy, don't you remember you told me the other night?

—Ah, ye... yeah. That's right! —he was desperately trying to keep up with the conversation—. I've been so busy and stressed lately that my head is a mess.

—Yet you still have time to see my daughter —his dark eyes moved between Y/n and San, unaware of how each of their features broke as each second went by—. That's really important. My girl deserves to be dedicated twenty five hours out of twenty four.

San could feel the weight on his shoulder slowly being lifted as he saw her father smiling widely, happy with the improvised answer he had just come up with.

—She's just as busy, actually. Always closed in that damned office. So it's good to see she's met someone that would understand her lifestyle, but would also push her out of it.

Y/n's smile turned more genuine and relaxed with every new word her father let out, praising San for his attitude towards her.

—So how did you two meet?

—A dat... hmm! —he held back the painful moan that was about to come out when her fingers pinched his side, right on his ribs.

—A blind date —she nodded—. We have a friend in common, so yeah. We kinda kicked off like that.

—Yeah, it was love at first sight —San tried to add.

—Was it? My daughter has always been quite adamant to that idea —his chuckle almost made San panic again.

—It was different with him —she tried to save face—. You know what you've always said about feeling butterflies in your stomach and light music playing in the background when you met mom? It was something similar.

—Huh —her father's smile went wide again—. So, tell me about you, San.

—About me? I don't have much to tell about myself.

And while it seemed like he did have things to tell about himself, the conversation quickly shifted from what was he aspiring to do in his future to the last match of the Patriots. Something that was supposed to be a meeting to give his approval to her new boyfriend, turned into a Patriots fan meeting to discuss several many things she didn't care about.

—Finally someone with good taste —her father cheered—. My daughter always goes for the New York Giants.

—Really? —San seemed so natural in his reaction, that she wondered at what moment he broke character, comfortable enough to be himself— How can you not support the Patriots?

Something she couldn't argue about: football. Her eyes instantly threw daggers at him when he even attempted to start the teasing.

—They're a good choice, too —San tried to get her glare to soften at him.

—I have an idea —her father quickly.

—No, you don't —Y/n tried to stop him, almost as if she were reading his mind.

—I'll host a barbecue this weekend with some friends, why don't you come?

—I'd love to —San rushed to answer, leaving Y/n with her lips parted as she unsuccessfully tried to come up with an excuse.

—Fine, then I'll be waiting for you two —he shifted his gaze to Y/n—. I'll prepare your favorite dessert.

She knew what it meant: she wasn't allowed to make up any excuses not to go.

Shortly after, her father left with an urgent phone call that was going to draw him back to the office, not before reminding San that he'd be waiting for him.

—He liked me, right? —San said excitedly.

Without answering, Y/n hit his upper arm, taking him by surprise.

—What?

—You were supposed to meet him today, and not see him again —she whined—. Why did you say that you'd go?

—I thought it'd have looked bad if I had said I wouldn't —he tried to defend himself.

Y/n huffed, knowing he was right, but also frustrated because she kept thinking declining it would've been the best idea.

—We could tell him something came up?

—That wouldn't work out —she pouted, puckering her lips before she turned to him again—. Why did you have to start talking about football?

—I wanted to sell off that confident facade. And I only thought I'd be able to pull it out that way —he tried to justify himself.

Now they were in deeper trouble. Y/n knew how important those barbecues were, and how it meant more than just watching an innocent football match on the big TV of her parents' house. It also meant building bridges of trust and intimacy with some of the partners her father always worked with. 

[tildeathiwillwrite]

First Meeting

Whumpril Day 20 (Touch starved)

Whumpril Prompts List

The Legend of Orian Goldeneye Masterpost

TW: mentioned sickness, guilt, mentioned oppression

Summary: It had been a couple weeks since Diana made herself at home at the old shrine. So it was only a matter of time before its other occupant reached out. (pre canon)

First contact happened the night Diana decided against going out to play for the nearby inn. Those nights she stayed well past midnight, when most of the patrons had made their drunken leave, and the rest were so intoxicated that they wouldn’t notice that the performer had departed.

She hadn’t been feeling too well the past few days, so the decision to stay in and rest wasn’t hard to make. Of course, she spent much of the evening practicing some new pieces and working on one of her own. It was rare she got the time and energy to play just for herself, and a few motifs had been bouncing around in her head for days now.

The sun had set long ago, and Diana was playing through her newly finished piece when something touched her shoulder.

She jumped, nearly dropping her flute, and glanced around. The room, one of the many cells that had belonged to one of the monks back when the shrine still had visitors, was empty. No one else was around but her. She slowly touched the spot where the hand had been. It had been like a hand, lighter than air, had rested on her shoulder, not imparting warmth but instead a strange chill.

Diana frowned and dropped her hand. Slowly, waiting for a repeat of the sensation, she lifted the flute to her lips and started playing again, going a couple measures back. The sixteenth-note run in this section sounded wonderful when she could play it correctly. Of course, she thought to herself as she stumbled through the notes, it isn’t likely that I’ll ever play this for anyone but myself.

Diana made it through the rest of the piece without further interruption. She exhaled slowly, looking over the notes. That sixteenth-note run for sure needs work, and maybe the octave jump towards the end. Other than that, it sounds okay. Not perfect. Far from perfect. But with a bit more practice, she might have the confidence to perform it.

Not that anyone would want to hear it. The audiences at the inn only ever wanted the songs they already knew. Perhaps she could play her new ones when street performing? She sighed and set aside her flute, scooting back on the cot she was seated on to rest her head against the stone wall.

She needed this night off.

So why did she feel so guilty?

Diana closed her eyes and listened to the faint sounds of Saint’s Shoal at night, muffled through the thick glass pane of the window. It was so different from Iron Hollow, where everyone hid behind walls of black glass when the sun went down. Dreamshapers enforced the curfew with merciless brutality, and few were out late as a result.

Little money to be made, in a place like that.

Diana didn’t regret moving on after only a few days, though the way her sparse audiences had reacted to her music made her feel a slight amount of guilt for leaving. She might have been the first bard to visit in years, the way they were almost desperate to listen, but most had been too terrified to risk going out to see her.

Perhaps if she had stayed….

Fingers brushed against her wrist. Diana flinched, eyes flying open, and she was reaching across the cot for her staff before she realized no one was there. She blinked, staring into the space where a person would have been. The first time could have been her imagination, but a second?

“I know you’re there,” she said softly, moving away from where her staff leaned against the wall next to the cot. “What do you want?”

Invisible hands seized her wrists, and Diana’s vision blurred as she was yanked into the dream world by… a teenager?

She slumped, overcome by dizziness. “Ugh,” she mumbled, pressing her fingers to the sides of her head, “that feels so weird.” When the sensation passed, she took a deep breath and studied the boy before her.

He couldn’t have been older than fourteen or fifteen, with curly black hair, round glasses, and a dark cloak that flowed like a waterfall down to the floor, with molten drops of gold swirling within liquid darkness. But the detail that told Diana that she wasn’t dealing with just any dreamshaper was the intense color of the teen’s eyes, a bright glimmering yellow to match the accents on his cloak.

“Hello,” Orian Goldeneye said softly. His arms were folded, and he regarded Diana with curiosity and wariness. “I want to know what you are doing here. This shrine hasn’t been used in years.”

“Waiting."

He raised his eyebrows. “‘Waiting’? Waiting for what?”

“You.”

“You waited. For two weeks. For me.”

Diana shrugged. “Yes.”

“...why?”

If Diana was being somewhat honest with herself, the ‘why’ didn’t make all that much sense. If she was being completely honest with herself, she’d chosen this shrine in particular because it was secluded and abandoned. She inhaled slowly and released the breath. “How long have you been the child of balance?”

Orian blinked. “I…” He frowned, thinking. “I don’t know. I’ve lost track.”

“Do you have anyone to assist you? Dreamshapers, non-dreamshapers, Morpheus himself?”

“No…”

Diana slowly rose to her feet and stuck out her hand. “Diana Ozborne. Musician, storyteller, occasional smuggler. I’m here to help you where the dream world can’t.”

He stared at it. “And you’re doing this… why?”

She smiled. “Because there’s no one else who will.” She’d heard stories as a small child, stories of how Orian had come into his position as Morpheus Dreamshaper’s successor. Even then, Diana had always thought the circumstances had been twisted against Orian, forced to make a decision in a place of desperation. And then Morpheus just… left.

“Why… why are you doing this?” Orian stammered, shrinking back, “what do you have to gain from this?”

Diana opened her mouth to say ‘nothing’, but reconsidered before the words left her lips. Technically, she gained a home by staying here, in this old shrine. Sure, it wasn’t most people’s idea of a home, but Diana’s expectations had been rather skewed from her years of traveling on the road. “A purpose,” she finally said.

Not that music and storytelling weren’t already her calling. But she sensed that her response was an answer someone like him would accept.

Orian stared at her, unblinking, for a long few moments. Finally, he reached out and clasped her hand. His hand almost didn’t feel real, like it didn’t have any more substance than the shadows of his cloak. His eyes widened in surprise.

“What is it?” Diana asked.

He quickly withdrew his hand. “Nothing… it’s nothing. I… I don’t really know… what to do with someone like you….”

“I can get past black glass. I can teach you lockpicking for anti-dreamshaper locks. I have many favors I can call in.” Diana chuckled at the bewildered look on his face. “I did say I was an occasional smuggler.”

“...you can teach me lockpicking?”

“Of course!” Diana reached for her bag and withdrew a rolled oilcloth and a practice lock. “Come over here and I’ll show you. Now, the first thing anyone needs to know about lockpicking is the different types of tools….”

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @whumpril

[renji-rue]

Hello, it seems as if you have requests open. Can I request any scp character with a reader who just has this weird shadow being that constantly follows them? The being just is constantly there watching from afar but the reader is used to it.

like "Ah yes that's my roommate, don't worry about them the worst they will do is just watch. It follows me everywhere and watches me when I sleep but don't worry you'll get used to him. Oh and before you ask they have enough manners to not watch you when you're in the bathroom so don't worry about that".

Thank you!

I didn't know what to do like halfway through but I tried?? I hope this is enough. :> Thank you for requesting!!

The Shadow and The Ghost < SCP 126 × reader >

Even as far back as you remember, the shadows always seemed to follow you. Well, at least one in specific. As alarming as it was at first, they became your normalcy. You didn't mind it anymore! Key word. You didn't mind it anymore.

"What is that thing?!" 126 exclaimed, finally acknowledging the shadowy figure that had been following from the start. The clacking of her heels rounded the corner as if she'd gone to hide. Not like it'd help the already invisible woman but still. "Its a shadow," you replied cheerily, stifling a laugh at her freak out.

"I named them Lorry!" You joked, grinning as you practically felt the woman's horror. "How long is it going to stand there?" She whined, "its creeping me out!" You shrugged. In truth? You didn't know. Probably until you were gone.

"If you're waiting for them to leave, I think you just might wait forever." You hummed, amusement playing at your voice. "Its fine! They're harmless, really." "Harmless doesn't make it any less creepy!" She huffed out, almost as if frustrated. "That's? That's true."

"Do you at least like having them around? Is it any use?" She sighed, giving in and finally coming out of hiding. The soft clicking of her heels echoed in the pale-ish room. "I guess? They're fine to have around. They spook people away but the companionship isn't bad either! It feels less lonely with them around. At least I know for sure I'm not alone. Good listener, too!" You smiled to yourself. With them there, 'talking to the wall' had a lot more meaning to it.

126 went quiet, stunned silence filling the room in the meantime. You could tell she was struggling to find the words. "I?" She started before cutting herself off, "Okay, I think I can deal with them." You raised your eyebrows in surprise, "Oh?" A small but smug smile forming on your face while turning to face the direction of the voice. "Is that so?" You bit back a grin as she fumbled on her words.

"Whatever," she huffed, a lighthearted annoyance to it, "let's go, Bob." You snickered softly, "Bob? I thought we agreed on Lorry!"

[rizubaby]

Uhhh I would like a one-shot scenario of Miu Iruma pegging her fem!s/o (you can think of any story leading up to it if you want, anyways thamks you very much-)

Filthy Girl | Miu Iruma.

18+ content warning | minors dni.

genre ; nsfw oneshot.

tags ; fem!reader, dom!Miu, pegging, degradation, fingering, spanking, using a collar/rope, (a little bit of) spitting, name calling, vulgar language.

note ; hi love, here it finally is! sorry for the wait. we all know Miu is hella nasty, so ofc this is going to be as well. hope you like it tho x

“Hm, you naughty girl, look at you,” Miu snickers, her eyes fixated on your half-naked body as her hands caress their way up your legs, letting her fingers dance around the inside of your thighs teasingly.

“So wet for me already? Tch, you filthy slut.”

Her gaze and skilled fingers are enough to make you nearly lose your mind, biting your bottom lip as you try to mute your aroused whimpers. Your cheeks are starting to burn up, and Miu notices right away. It's scary how well she can tell what turns you on, teasing you some more with her hands roaming your body.

With one of her fingers playing with the hem of your panties and her other hand cupping your chin, a wide, almost sadistic smile forms on her face.

“such a good girl for me,” she whispers, bringing her face closer to your ear.

“let me prep you first.”

As her fingers slowly start to peel off your already soaked panties, every moment up until now starts to flash before your eyes.

You two had met through a mutual friend, having seen each other at parties and such a couple times. You hit it off pretty well, and there was something about you that instantly made her drawn to you. Your beautiful innocent looking eyes, your style, your delicious figure, everything about you was beautiful in her eyes.

She had asked you out just recently, and the first date went really well. Although she's very boisterous and a bit weird at times, you like that about her, and you'd be lying if you said that was the only thing you liked about her.

Miu had invited you to her appartment for your second date, and you were excited to see where she lived. Fuck, not just that— you were hoping something would happen. Even though you didn't know each other that well or particularly long, there was some kind of invisible force drawing you to one another. She made you feel loved, appreciated, wanted. She had occasionally made a suggestive remark about you here or there, and whereas others would instantly be turned off by it, you absolutely loved it. It made you wonder what she'd actually do to you once it came that far, and you were dying just to find out.

But if there's one thing that took you by surprise, it was her immense lust and sexual prowess. Hell, this was only your second date! How could you let yourself get so carried away? For fucks sake, what if she only sees you as just another one night stand now? Way to fucking go, y/n.

How it all even came to this is not important, just the simple fact that it did. The gears were turning in your head and you were overthinking everything that happened up until now, worrying that this might turn out differently than you had hoped. You liked her, and you didn't want her to see you as just another one time thing. But god, if you weren't already getting carried away by how good she made you feel.

The way she was teasing the life out of you, degrading you like some filthy piece of trash made your body feel like it was on fire. And you were filthy, how could you get so fucking turned on by being talked down to like that? By being pleasured by someone you barely know?

Those voices inside your head didn't matter anymore. They were right, you knew they were, but you didn't care anymore. All you cared about right now, was how Miu was teasing the hell out of you, and how desperate you were to feel her touch.

“ahaha, you're so wet already... you like being talked down to, don't you? you fucking slut. Look at you, taking my fingers so eagerly, you're dying to be touched by me, aren't you?”

Her fingers had made their way inside you, your slick practically dripping down your legs and soaking her fingers. It felt so fucking good, the way she talked to you, the way she fingered you felt like absolute heaven. Miu's other hand made it's way to your soft breasts, unhooking your bra and pushing it up to reveal your beautiful tits. Her mouth attacked one of your nipples, sucking on your bud and massaging your other breast with her free hand. Your eyes rolled back, trembling underneath her from the feeling.

Within mere seconds, you felt your orgasm building up inside your stomach. It all happened so fast, your mind felt like it was spiraling into madness. Your eyes went foggy, whimpering and panting uncontrollably as you neared your high.

“That's it, show me how much you like getting fucked by my fingers, you dirty whore,” Miu teases, picking up the pace in which she was practically fingering the life out of you. A loud moan fell from your lips, her face moving up to your neck to suck on the skin, leaving dark red marks all over.

“I-I can't take it, p-please, I can't take it, I can't—”

Your incoherent moans send you spiraling down into your first orgasm, a euphoric feeling exploding inside you as your body starts twitching uncontrollably. Your broken moans are what made Miu smirk from ear to ear, getting so aroused and all worked up from seeing your fucked-out face.

“Good girl, y/n... You look so pretty like that, all numb from just my fingers, hah?”

Miu's fingers slowly pull out of you, completely soaked by your juices. She licks it off of herself before getting up, leaving you gasping for air on her queen-sized bed.

“Stay there pretty girl, I'm not done with you yet.”

Miu stands up and walks away, yet you're too tired and fucked-out to care. Still catching your breath and trying to pull yourself together from that, you lay there, waiting for her to return. As much you hate to admit it, this might be one of the best sexual experiences you've ever had, and it has nearly just begun.

Before you know it, Miu returns with what seems to be a handful of rope in her hands, along with some other items that you can't quite identify though your blurry, teary vision. You hear her snicker softly before you feel her warm hands on your body once again, a feeling you'd love to get used to. She flips you over, hands and knees on the mattress as she hoists your lower body up in the air. Her palms are eagery exploring your soft ass, a mixture of gentle caresses and harsh spanks in between, making you jolt from the impact each and every time.

“such a pretty ass, all for me to use...” she coos, her thumb slowly moving around your pretty little hole. It sends shivers up your spine, a foreign feeling that feels both wrong and so, so right.

Before you're able to turn your head around to look at the busty blonde behind you, you hear a click right next to your ear, followed by a soft tug. A collar has now found it's way around your neck, and Miu is holding the cord attached to it. Your head is gently but firmly pulled backwards by the collar and a wanton moan escapes your lips, allowing her to whisper into your ear.

“you're into this, aren't you, pretty girl?”

Her voice and teasing words make you weak to your knees, so all you can do is nod in agreement. You hate yourself for it, being so turned on by being completely dominated by her, someone you barely know a thing about.

You're unable to see her expression, but you just know she has the biggest grin on her face right now. This is it. You're completely and utterly hers, and unable to do a single thing about it. The thrill of it all makes your body tremble in anticipation, unsure of how much more your body can take before you completely lose it.

The sound of spitting can be heard just close behind you, and just moments later you feel something wet rubbing against your hole. Miu's fingers are prodding and teasing you once again, but somewhere completely different this time. Your body stiffens, almost short-circuiting by this feeling you're experiencing.

“relax, baby... this'll feel really good, trust me.”

Your heart feels like it's going to beat out of your chest, yet you do as she instructs and try to relax. You release the tension from your muscles and bite your lip, completely giving in. She's right. It does feel good.

Miu suddenly pulls her fingers away, leaving you feeling empty and longing for more once again. As you whimper from the sudden emptiness, she hushes you and tugs on your collar, bringing you closer to her. Her fingers caress your cheek, placing soft kisses along your neck to ease you.

“don't worry princess, you'll feel even better in just a second.”

She releases the grip on your collar for a moment and you hear her fiddling with something behind you. As you're finally able to turn your head around to look at your blue-eyed lover, an involuntary gasp leaves your lips and your cheeks instantly turn a bright crimson.

She's put on a strap-on.

As your gazes finally meet each other, Miu's lustful look makes you knees weak, bending over you and letting her hand caress along the curve of your spine. Her other hand reaches for yours, holding your wrists together behind your back.

“hm, you look so pretty like that... you're gonna take me like a good little slut, aren't you baby?”

And without getting enough time to even respond to that, you feel something poke against your back entrance. Miu forcefully makes her way inside your ass, making your head roll back and tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Fuck, it hurts— but it feels so good at the same time.

Her pace is picking up fast, effectively thrusting the air out of your lungs. You're in a complete state of bliss, thick tears rolling down your cheeks and broken moans falling from your lips like a waterfall. Your mind's going numb, tongue lolling out of your mouth with irregular breaths and moans filling the bedroom.

“That's it, moan for me you pretty little slut,” Miu degrades, “such a filthy girl, taking me all the way in your ass like that.”

She's right. You are filthy, taking her so well and moaning until your throat's feeling sore.

“I-I love it, please f-fuck me more...” you manage to bring out, making Miu pick up the pace significantly. A harsh spank echoes throughout the room, a breathless moan escaping you.

The more she's thrusting into you, the more your grip on reality seems to slips away. You can't think straight, head empty except for the feeling of her pegging you so fucking good ingrained into your brain.

You feel yet another knot build up inside your stomach, making your breaths quicker and heavier. Miu can tell, adjusting her pace to increase the stimulation with every thrust.

Before you can grasp it, your second orgasm washes over you and your body nearly collapses, thick tears rolling down your cheeks and mouth agape with soundless moans coming out of it.

“Such a good girl, cumming all over me like that. So dirty... ” Miu giggles, enjoying the sight of you twitching and moaning underneath her. She patiently waits for your high to be over before slowly pulling out. You instantly collapse, body practically turned into mush. Miu takes off her stap and leans over you, caressing you and gently wiping the tears from your face.

“You did really well, y/n... I'm sorry for going a bit overboard like that.”

Even though you're unable to properly answer her, you think to yourself “it's okay. I enjoyed it too.” You nod gently and close your eyes, trying to catch your breath and rest up from that incredible experience.

Miu lays down next to you and continues gently caressing your face, observing your features.

“You're so beautiful, y/n. You really are. Listen, I don't want this to be a one time thing... I'll wash you up, and then we can maybe watch a movie or something... deal?”

Your eyes open to meet hers, and for the first time you see a genuine, slightly worried expression on her face. The mask of the overly confident Miu has fallen, and made room for the real, somewhat insecure Miu. Who would've thought she felt the exact same way as you, maybe even being more worried about the whole thing than you were.

You gently place your hand on hers, assuring her you feel the same. You look into her dusty blue eyes, and a delicate smile appears on your face.

“Deal.”

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (7/?)

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Description: James Buchanan Barnes, the owner of the most expensive-looking club in town and your new apartment. He was a dick and you hated him. What could possibly go wrong when you, the new girl in town, start bartending at his club to pursue your dreams?

Word Count: 1.4k words

Bucky had seen a lot in his life, he wasn't the kind of person that was easily shocked by things, but the way he turned his head towards you was enough to prove him otherwise. Your sister and her husband were looking at him, whereas his eyes were focused on you. You looked at him and pleaded through your gaze for him to go along with your charade, and he did. 

“Um, yes. I'm James,” Bucky stretched his other hand that was free from your grip towards your sister. “Her boyfriend.”

Your sister took his hand excitedly, “I'm Carol, her big sister. I'm so glad she finally has a boyfriend. Most of them don't last a month.”

 “That's not true,” you murmured, hoping no one heard that but, of course, your sister did.

 “Oh yeah, Y/N? What was your longest relationship?”

 “It was more than a month, okay?” you answered, taking a stand for yourself and Carol arched her brow, folding her hands around her chest for you to explain further. 

“41 days,” you stated honestly, your voice dropping an octave with every word you said around your sister. Bucky hated that. He hated that your sister made you feel less about yourself, he hated that this Carol was making the woman he admired feel like shit. He wanted to say something, but your sister started chuckling and your brother-in-law chimed in too. Carol’s husband’s laugh was more out of awkwardness, whereas your sister found amusement in your embarrassed state. 

Bucky tightened his palm around yours, lacing your fingers with his, and turned to look at you. “41 days is more than a month,” he asserted in the most monotonous tone, and all the heads turned towards him. You hated his ‘I don't care’ tone, but the way he was addressing your sister with the same tone made you feel like a teenager crushing on a guy who was out of her league. Because that was the truth, if somehow you ignored the whole boss-employee thing and went out with him, sooner or later, he would have realized he's hotter than you, and he could get someone way better than you. Maybe that's why you said no to him. You'll never know the actual reason. But hey, now he's your pretend boyfriend. Surely, that would not end up in a disaster. 

Your eyes that were hung low, staring at the floor sparkled with glee, and you raised your head to face Bucky. “I know!” you exclaimed, and Bucky couldn't stop the smile that reflected on his face after seeing you grin giddily.

Carol frowned, and your brother-in-law spoke over, sensing the rising tension in the environment. “Honey, I think we should head over to the hotel.”

Your sister didn't say anything further, she glanced at you and then at Bucky before telling you about their schedule and informing you about yours. 

Once your sister left, you dragged Bucky inside your apartment and started pacing around the living room. 

“We have to think of something,” you announced, “You could say you have a work thing and skip going with us.”

 “That's only going to raise suspicion in your sister's eyes.”

“So what do you want me to do, James? Just pretend that we are together?” You raised your voice in frustration, waving your hands dramatically for extra emphasis. 

“Yes,” he answered honestly. Besides the raging crush he had on you, Bucky didn't want you to face your family alone. From what you've told him about them, and now he has seen your sister firsthand, he prefers not to imagine how difficult it must get for you when all of them team up against you. 

You looked at your boss for a second before shaking your head. “I can't ask you to do this for me. You've already done a lot.”

“Well, good because I'm not asking either. It's only one weekend, Y/N. I don't mind it,” he assured you, ”Also, your sister is somewhat entertaining.”

You laughed and at that moment Bucky decided that your laugh is the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. Nobody and nothing compared to the way your eyes sparkled with delight, the way your nose scrunches a little, the way your lips extend and almost reach your ears, the way your hand reaches to cover up your cute snort, and the way your chest rumbles with mirth. You had to be the most beautiful sight ever, Bucky thought. 

“I'm going to pretend that you did not say the last part because then I would have to hate you.”

“Oh, can't have you hating me,” Bucky mocked, pretending to be scared by wrapping his hands around himself and feigning a shiver. You shook your head in amusement, and Bucky relaxed a bit. He was actually petrified. He genuinely can't have you hating him. It would crush him and his little heart. “I think I should go now, I've got to pack for the weekend.”

“Ugh, this is the worst,” you groaned, “I'm going to throw myself out of the window.”

“Wow, my fake girlfriend has a morbid sense of humor,” Bucky teased, making you smile and you waved your hands in dismissal.

“You have a long weekend ahead of you, Mr. Barnes. If I were you, I'd enjoy my sleep while I still can,” you warned, and he snickered before leaving your apartment.  

You exhaled, a smile still lingering on your lips, and you started preparing for the next few days. 

***

You insisted on taking your car, but your sister forced you to travel with them, so now it was you and James seated in the backseat of your sister’s car while she listened to some classical music that you had no knowledge of, and her husband kept his focus on the road. 

“Y/N, last month me and Nick went to this Opera show and it was mind-blowing.”

You were about to say something like ‘cool’ or ‘nice’ with a fake smile, and end the conversation, but she turned to James and pointed her thumb at you. “Can you believe that this one does not enjoy classical music? When we were kids our parents always listened to some good ol' music, but she would come and play some break-up song by a teenager,” she huffed, “Who even listens to Taylor Swift?”

“I do,” you stated, taking offense that your sister was trash-talking about your favorite artist. It was fine when she said shit about you, but you drew a line when she came for Taylor. 

“Of course, you do,” Carol scoffed, shaking her head and looking at your boss/fake boyfriend for assistance in her stance.

 “I agree,” James started, making you frown and close your eyes in exhaustion. Your lips turned downwards while your sister smirked in victory. “I mean, Taylor Swift is not just an artist, she is the music industry. Reputation has to be the best album out there.”

 “Hey, you were singing a Taylor Swift song that day,” he informed you, and you merely nodded, that night was still a blur in your head.

Carol’s smile faltered, realizing she won't get your partner's support, and you looked at James only to find him already looking at you with pure adoration in his eyes. Your breath hitched and involuntarily your hand went to his, and he quickly held on to it tightly but gently, raising your hand to drop a feather-like kiss on your knuckles. 

This, with him, didn't feel like pretending. Everything with James felt so real that you had to remind yourself that you barely knew the man, and he is actually not your boyfriend. That didn't stop your mind from making up scenes and imagining what if this was real. This felt normal, usual but this also made you feel this weird sensation in your chest and caused a flush in your eyes and it was just the start of the weekend. 

You didn't realize it at the moment but you were up for the most amazing and devastating weekend of your life. 

⁓⁓

A/N- This is more of a filler chapter. Also, Bucky is a swiftie and you can't tell me otherwise haha. I hope you enjoyed it. Take care!!

TAGS: @bananapipedreams @akkinda10 @rivers-rambles21 @emmabarnes @goodcleanfunsis @valsworldofcreativity @boofy1998 @marvel-3407​

[riahlynn101]

Friends

Summary:  In some families being the youngest gets you spoiled; in the Afton family it marks you as invisible.

--

Being the youngest, Evan often found himself left out. Left out of games that the adults deemed ‘too dangerous.' Left out of conversations that his brother and sister decided he wouldn’t understand. Left out of, well, everything. It wasn’t fair, and he knew this. But it has never been in his nature to argue, fight, or even stand his ground.

So, here he sits, tucked away in his room, playing with his plushies. He likes to act out scenes from the show Fredbear and Friends. Although, it’s kind of hard when the main villain of the show is missing his head (courtesy of Michael), but he supposes it gives Foxy more character.

A knock at his door startles him enough that he almost drops Fredbear, to which he immediately apologizes to the bear.

“Evan?” Michael asks, knocking again. “Evan, open up. Mums called a family meeting in the living room.”

Evan sighs, placing his plushies in his closet. “Yeah, I’ll be right there!” He calls from his place by the closet. He doesn’t move until he hears Michael’s heavy footfalls stomping down the hallway. When he can no longer hear them, Evan releases a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.

Lately, his brother had taken up scaring him as a pastime. Which, he admits, is probably funny for anyone watching. But for him….

…. for him it feels like his entire body’s been dipped in freezing cold water and the only thing he can do is fall to the ground and cry.

He went to father once to see if he’d set Michael straight. No such luck. Mum was no better, brushing it off as a petty sibling feud. Except, aren’t feuds supposed to be both ways?

Evan has never, ever held any ill-will towards any of his siblings. Minus that time that Elizabeth’s glitter pen exploded on Fredbear, so he ripped the heads off all her barbie dolls as retribution.

The headache he got from her screaming and the spanking he received as punishment were well worth it. But besides that, he’s never acted out because his feelings were hurt.

He enters the living room, to see his sister and brother already taking up most of the couch, which means he has a choice to make. Squeeze into that tiny space left between Lizzie and the arm rest, or sit on the carpeted floor that leaves everyone’s tailbone hurting after a while?

They’re both staring at him, so he makes a quick decision and sits on the armrest. He ignores their stares and near inaudible questions regarding his weird sitting position, instead focusing on mum, who periodically pokes her head into the room. She’s on the landline, and judging by her overall, unimpressed demeanor he’s guessing fathers on the other line.

He can’t understand what they’re saying, but he does pick up bits and pieces.

“.... pick up…”

“No…. told them yet….”

“.... hurry up…”

After what seems like forever, there’s the undeniable sound of a landline being slammed back into its cradle. Their mum steps out of the kitchen (fully this time) and clears her throat. “I’m afraid I have some news,” she says after a moment of silence.

“Did fatha die?” Elizabeth blurts out.

“No,” their mum answers, exasperated. Elizabeth tended to have that effect on people. “Kids, your father did something inexcusable, but he’s fixing it. As such we’re welcoming a new member into our family.”

Knowing what his dad is capable of, Evan finds himself wondering what poor, unfortunate soul found themselves assigned to the hell that is the Afton household.

“Is it a puppy!?” Elizabeth squeals.

A spark of hope keeps him from feeling glum, after all having a puppy or kitten around would mean having a constant companion to share his woes and happiest moments with (even if he’d be forced to share its attention with his siblings).

“No, sorry Lizzie,” she apologizes. “It’s a person. A little boy, about two-years-old.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Evan watches Michael’s ever-present smirk fall. He feels a twinge of sympathy for the boy. Hasn’t even set foot in the house and already Michael has a growing disdain for him.

“A little boy? What’s his name?” Evan asks to balance out his sister’s questions.

“Uh…. good question. I’m not sure. Just, when they get here, I need you all,” she stares pointedly at Michael, eyeing him, “to be on your best behavior. I know it’ll be an adjustment, but eventually we’ll get used to it. A new normal.” She smiles, clasping her hands at her waist.

Evan furrows his brow. Their house has four bedrooms. The master bedroom, Elizabeth’s bedroom, Michael’s bedroom, and his bedroom. So, where is he going to sleep?

It seems Michael has a similar worry, because not a second later he’s hounding mom about where the kid’s going to sleep.

“...but I’m not sharing my room, right?”

Their mom shook her head. “No, actually-”

“Well, of course he’ll be sleeping in my room,” Elizabeth interrupts, slapping a hand over her heart.

“Actually, I was thinking of having him stay in Evan’s room,” mum says. She smiles fondly at him; in the same way she always does when her or father is about to put him through something highly unpleasant. Although, with all things considered, he doesn’t think sharing a room would be all that bad.

Might help his nightmares go away.

“Okay,” he tells her, because there’s no use in making a fuss. She reaches out to ruffle his hair, and Michael sends him a sympathetic look. Rare for him (and even rarer that it’s directed at Evan).

Evan tries to picture his new roommate. But it’s hard when the only thing he has to go off of is his age and gender. At best all he can scrounge up is a mental image of a toddler bearing a striking resemblance to him and Michael, though that might be because he’s staring at one of the many framed pictures of them as young children decorating the living room walls.

“Good,” she says. “We haven’t bought a bed, so you’ll have to share until your father and I can go out and buy one.”

“That-that'll be fine, mum."

X-x-x

At mum’s insistence Michael, Elizabeth, and him sit together on the front porch. Michael claims the plastic lawn chair that they brought with them to watch the fireworks a few days back, and Elizabeth threw herself down on the porch swing immediately upon being forced outside to wait for their father.

Heaving a sigh, Evan takes the bottom step.

“Dad cheated,” Elizabeth blurts out-a nasty habit of her’s that they’ve yet to nip in the bud.

“No shit Sherlock,” Michael grits out.

Evan tunes them out. He decides right then and there that he doesn’t care how his new roommate (brother?) came about. Cheating or no cheating, Evan finally won’t be the baby anymore.

“Evan, sorry about you having to share your room.”

He watches a young family, on a midday stroll, cross the street to avoid their house. “Eh, it could be worse.” Evan turns back to look at his siblings still in their chairs on the porch. “I could be sharing with you.”

“You bastard!”

The only thing that saves him from Michael’s wrath is their father’s beat-up Chevy pulling into the driveway, faster than normal.

Elizabeth is the first to run to the car. “Daddy!” She greets their father, who is still unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Lizzie, darling, simmer down.” He sounds exhausted.

“Oh, but I want to see him!” She bounces on the balls of her feet, clasping her hands.

“Just a minute, let me unbuckle.”

Evan wishes he could feel that excited about, well, anything, and looking at Michael who’s watching from the porch, he probably feels the same way.

Elizabeth, as annoying and crass as she can be, brings a sort of light to their family. Even someone like their father who is probably a serial killer in his downtime, likes to listen to her prattle on.

Their father finally frees himself from the confines of the car. “Go get your mother for me, would you?”

“But daddy,” she whines, stamping her foot.

“Now, Elizabeth!” He snaps, pointing to the house. She flinches (as do both Michael and he) and reluctantly does as he says.

Once the door shuts behind her, their father smiles at them-and not one of his you’re-in-so-much-trouble-and-I-have-a-milion-and-one-ways-to-torture-you smiles-no this one is more genuine, if a bit strained. “Boys,” he says, opening the car door. He reaches inside, hovering over something inside. “Meet Gregory.” Small hands clutch their father’s purple work shirt. Evan cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of him.

“Michael, come help me.”

His brother makes no move to leave the porch, watching the display with something akin to apathy.

“Michael, I said-”

“Let me,” he interjects, hoping his father won’t decide to turn his anger on him. “I want to help.”

His father sighs, turning around. In his arms is his new roommate, or baby brother, or long term guest (he still hasn’t decided what to refer to him as). Evan remembers his mum mentioning how he’s only two, but Gregory’s smaller than he imagined. Burying himself close to their father’s chest is probably doing him no favors.

Their father manages to release himself from Gregory’s clutches, giving him to Evan to hold. Evan, who hasn’t held anything heavier than his Fredbear plushie, can feel his knees starting to buckle. Father has already turned back to the car, grabbing something inside. Evan starts to form the words to ask for help, but before the words can leave his mouth someone is taking Gregory from his arms.

“Careful, klutz,” Michael warns, now holding Gregory. “Be a shame if you had an accident.”

Evan huffs.

“We’re going inside with Gregory!” Michael announces, to which their father grunts. “Come on, squirt.” Evan falls in line behind Michael. Over his shoulder, Gregory watches him intently.

“Welcome to hell,” Michael says, throwing the front door open.

Mum, who is following Elizabeth out of the kitchen, gasps. “Language!”

“Well, it is,” he defends himself, setting Gregory down, which would be fine, except Gregory-who has probably been through a lot today-has decided to cling to Michael. “Hey, let go!” He bends over, gently but firmly detaching Gregory’s tiny baby fists from his gray t-shirt.

“You have fun with that,” mum says, stepping outside to help father.

With a lot of concentrated effort, he manages to wrestle one of Gregory’s fists away from his shirt. Only for him to reattach himself to Michael the minute he had the chance. Evan stifles a laugh.

Michael wiggles his body trying to make him fall off. “Get off, you little koala bear.”

Elizabeth doesn’t even try to pretend she isn’t laughing at Michael’s expense. “It-it looks like he likes you, Mikey,” she teases.

Her comment seems to give him the power to finally break free from Gregory’s hold. “Shut the fuck up!” He yells at her, face red.

Gregory is thrown to the floor. A loud thud reverberates throughout the room as his head bounces off the hardwood flooring. No one makes a sound, watching Gregory with fearful eyes.

He eventually sits back up, which is probably a good sign, but he takes one look up at Michael and starts wailing, loudly.

While Evan is glad, he isn’t the only one to have that reaction to Michael’s face, he also doesn’t want Gregory’s first day being a part of their family to be more traumatic than absolutely necessary. So, he does the only thing he can think of.

Kneeling down next to Gregory, he wraps his thin arms around him. “It’s okay,” he tells the still wailing boy. “Where does it hurt?” He asks, pulling away to look him in the eyes.

Gregory seems to consider this, wiping at his eyes with a loose fist. “Here,” he croaks, pointing to the crown of his head.

“I see,” Evan says in the same serious voice that Uncle Henry uses when he finds him sobbing under the tables at Fredbear’s. Gingerly, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the spot.

Like magic, Gregory stops crying. “All better now?” He asks, sniffling.

“All better,” Evan confirms. “Now, come on. I want you to meet my friends. They’re upstairs.”

Hand-in-hand, they climb the stairs. He shows Gregory his-their bedroom, and introduces him to Foxy, Bonnie, Chica, Freddy, and most importantly, Fredbear.

“I like them,” he says, nodding his head as if in some sort of agreement with himself.

No longer the outlier in his family, and on the verge of tears for the hundredth time today, it’s all Evan can do to mumble out, “they’re your friends now, too.”

[alpacaparkaseok]

The Pact - Shocker

Pairing/Genre: OT7 BTS x reader (not poly), idol!BTS, best friend BTS

Word Count: 8.1k

Premise: The truth about the pact the boys have about you has been revealed. What happens when you agree to go on a single date with each of them?

Warnings: angst, lots of feelings, but a lot of those are fluffy, happy feelings lol

a/n: there’s not much left so say except for thank you. I hope you enjoy, I tried my best!

Shocker (finale)

series masterlist

“Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.” -George Orwell ‘1984’

Sunday, 3:12 am – immediately following the events of date #7

           The fact that the lights are still on isn’t surprising in the least. It’s been like this after every date. Yoongi is no exception, apparently.

           He pauses outside the door, resting his hand gently against the doorknob. It’s nearly silent, but he can hear familiar voices speaking in hushed tones on the other side of the door. He stares at the dark door, unable to shake the memory of your tear-stained cheeks and swollen ankle from his mind. You had sounded so worried, so afraid of what comes next.

           You’d mumbled out his name when you made it to your bed, the exhaustion on your face momentarily replaced with a look he could only interpret as blind fear. And the way you’d looked at him, wide eyed with a quivering lip…he doesn’t think you noticed, but he nearly caved. He almost laid down beside you and taken you into his arms, deeming the time on the beach not enough.

           With you, it was never enough. Slivers of time and longing looks you never noticed; it would never be enough.

           If the botched date wasn’t evidence enough, it was then, when you gazed up at him and mumbled out his name, Yoongi knew.

           Tonight…it wasn’t enough.

           So he just leaned forward and watched how your eyes fluttered shut as he pecked your nose.

           “I know.”

          Jungkook straightens up from where he was slumped on the couch beside Jin the second the door opens and Yoongi walks in. The scattered conversation that they had all been using as a distraction fades out as each boy focuses in on the newcomer.

           Hobi is practically invisible beneath the huge sweatshirt he wears, his face barely visible as he speaks. “How was it?”

           For some reason or another, there’s always been a postdate analysis of sorts. It’s usually just like this: all of the boys gathered up in the living room in various states of consciousness. Jimin was the only one to slide by without an impromptu meeting after his date, partially because he was too exhausted to see straight and also because everyone knew he’d tell them all the details at breakfast the next morning. He did, and Taehyung actually managed to break a bowl when he lost it over the story of how you and Jimin got kicked out of the basilica.

           Namjoon, on the other hand, had been pretty grim when he realized that Jimin had been teasing you endlessly about your little kiss.

           Now, Yoongi shuffles inside and plops down unceremoniously beside Namjoon, who looks a little worried at the silence. Dropping his heads in his hands, Yoongi rubs at his face before leaning back against the couch.

           “It was fine, if you don’t count the twisted ankle.”

           “What?” Jimin sputter out, suddenly wide awake. “She got hurt?”

           “What happened?” Hobi follows up, leaning forward until he’s nearly slipping off of the couch. “Is she alright?”

           Yoongi is quick to explain your little accident, omitting your tears from the storytelling. He doesn’t want to embarrass you or make the others feel bad. The others listen with rapt attention, Jungkook’s mouth in a little ‘o’ all throughout.

           Jin remains silent on the couch, as he usually does during these little meetings. He’ll occasionally comment on something or voice a question, but he tends to remain fairly quiet. Drinking in the information, eyes clear despite the late hour.

           It’s unnerving.

           “So…it’s not a bad injury?” Namjoon asks, crossing his arms.

           “No, she’s fine,” Yoongi reassures. “Just tired. She went straight to bed after I dropped her off.”

           Taehyung grins knowingly. “Adorable.”

           Everyone is silent as everyone turns to their thoughts, the same thing on everyone’s mind. It’s Hobi again that breaks the silence, stretching and yawning as he gets to his feet.

           “Well, that’s that. It’s over. Gentlemen,” he eyes everyone around the room, shuffling toward the hallway where the warmth of his bed calls to him. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

           “Wait!” Jungkook also hops to his feet, much more alert than the older boy. “What happens now?”

           There are a few non-committal answers from around the room, but two people remain silent. Meeting eyes from across the space, Jin and Yoongi share a silent agreement.

           Jin clears his throat, and it’s only then that the boys realize that it’s been hours since he last spoke. With a soft smile he utters, “We let her choose. Whatever she wants, if she wants to go back to normal or decides to date someone.” His eyes return to Yoongi, and suddenly the memory of two years prior is laid out before them. “Then…we let her go.”

           “I’m just saying, if he didn’t want you to find it, he would’ve hidden it in his underwear drawer. Sock drawer is a stupid way to go.”

           You sip at the horchata Gina brought over for you, huffing out a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

           Gina shrugs. “Just saying. So what did you get up to yesterday?”

           Yesterday. You had woken up with red eyes and puffy cheeks from all the crying you had done the night before. Slightly embarrassed but more feeling miserable for yourself, you had crawled to the shower and tried to get your thoughts straight.

           When you emerged, you had a couple of texts to welcome you. They were from Jimin and Taehyung, welcoming you back to the groupchat. There were plenty of happy emojis and balloons taking up the messages, enough to make you crack a smile. You shot back a thank you text, letting out a sigh of relief.

           It was good to be back.

           When Namjoon texted and tentatively asked about the state of your ankle and if you were open to them popping over, you took nearly an hour to decide. Nervous about seeing all of them, cautious because you had no idea what would happen if you were in the same room.

           Who would you radiate toward, without even realizing?

           It was then, when that question popped up, that you realized that you had known the answer all along.

           It was startling, how the answer had been there all along. So simple, yet so unattainable.  

           “The boys wanted to check in on me,” you sigh, glaring down at your ankle. It’s still sore, but much better today. Although it’s safe to say you won’t be flying kites anytime soon.

           “But…?”

           “The thought of all seven of them in my little apartment at the same time was overwhelming,” you admit. “I needed a minute. To think. And I know I’ve had weeks to think about it, but yesterday was the first time I felt like I could see the full picture…if that makes sense.”

           Gina nods thoughtfully, reaching over to refill your glass of horchata. The sun is steadily making its way to the horizon, another day wrapping up. “It does. You’ve been going out with someone different each week, you’re probably suffering from information overload after all of those dates and the confession on the pact…how are you not exhausted?”

           “I was yesterday. I was torn – Gina, I want to go back to normal so bad. Just the way it was.”

           “Ignorance is bliss.”

           You set your glass down, pushing back from the table and crossing your arms. “Wouldn’t that be better?” You muse. “That way, nobody gets hurt.”

           Gina tilts her head to one side, eyes flashing. A smirk forms on her face. “You wouldn’t be saying this if you hadn’t already decided on someone.” She leans forward in her seat, staring into your soul. “Who?”

           You school your features into a neutral position. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

           “No, no. You don’t get to shut me out. You have feelings for someone, don’t you!” Gina points an accusing finger at you, letting out a startled laugh. “You totally do! What went on in your head, yesterday? Or maybe you’ve loved them for a while, and this is what it took to realize it-”

           “I can’t do it, Gina.” Your eyes are wide as you plead more with yourself than her. “I can’t do that to the others.”

           “And what, you plan to just let him go?”

           Dropping your head into your hands, you squeeze your eyes shut. “Do I have another choice?”

           The scrape of the chair against the floor alerts you to Gina rising from her seat, and you expect her to leave. She has every right to, you’re frustrated with yourself as well. However, a second later she’s rubbing your back, urging you to look up. Once you do, she offers you a small smile.

           “You always have a choice.”

           Gina stays for a couple more hours, offering her support as you blubber on about how worried you are. While your heart is urging you to throw caution to the wind and go after what you’ve wanted for longer than you ever realized before, your mind does a great job of conjuring up different reactions from the others.

           All of them are depressing. Every time you close your eyes you’re met with the crestfallen expressions of your best friends. Scenarios play out in your head, where you’re blissfully happy for a few seconds before everything comes tumbling down.

           “You’ve gotta get out of your head,” Gina chides as she eases off the couch. “You’re miserable.”

           You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…I can’t do anything. I can’t. That’s horrible of me.”

           “They’re grown boys; they knew what they were getting themselves into with this. Just…tell me something before I head out.”

           “…ok.”

           Gina pauses before the door, hands on her hips. “Why him? Because from where I’m sitting, they all love you.”

           The question takes you by surprise, but the answer is rolling off your tongue in an instant. “I want to be loved, yes. But more than that…I want to be understood.” You stare at a framed photo on the wall, solemn. “He understands me.”

           You don’t hear when Gina leaves, the thoughts in your head too loud. Instead you stay seated on the couch, chewing on your lip. Wondering.

           Remembering.

           All the times he’d been there – he was always there for you, how could you never notice? – never drawing attention to himself. Just there. Just in case you needed him.

           What’s stopping you?

           A knock on the door stops your train of thought, and you hobble up to your feet. Swinging the door open you say, “Did you forget something?”

           Jin stands on your porch, clutching a garment bag to his chest. His ears are bright red, set aflame by the setting sun. He’s wearing his glasses, which he pushes up on his nose. “I…no?”

           “Oh!” You step back, wincing a little from your ankle. “I thought you were Gina! I…hey.”

           “Hey.” Shuffling on his feet, Jin looks down at the bag he’s holding, seeming to remember why he was here in the first place. “Oh, here. I know it’s a little late, but I got your dress dry cleaned and…well, yeah. Here you go.”

           His hands tremble a bit, but you don’t comment as you take the bag from him. “Thank you. Your sweater is actually hanging up in my room…why don’t you come in while I grab it?”

           “Can I?” Jin looks down at your doorstep, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to intrude…”

           “Just come in!” You call over your shoulder, already heading down the hallway. “This will only take a second. Besides, it’s cold outside.”

           The door clicks shut, Jin stepping inside and shoving his hands in his pockets. You rush inside your room, throwing your dress on a hanger in the closet and scanning your clothes for Jin’s blue sweater. When you find it – grinning at the whale on the front – you pause. Holding it in your hands, you take a deep breath.

           “Hey,” Jin’s voice rings out down the hallway. You catch a slight tremble in his tone, which is mirrored by your shaking hands. “I a-actually wanted to talk to you for a second. If that’s ok…?”

           Clearing your voice of the emotion that’s riding you, you respond. “Just come down here.”

           A second later Jin is tentatively peeking inside your room, giving you a nervous smile. His eyes then land on your dresser, widening a bit.

           “So you did steal my copy!”

           Gasping, you toss Jin’s sweater at him and lunge for the dresser. There’s the pact, out in the open for anyone to see. “I- I was gonna give it back-”

           “I can’t believe you’d steal from me.”

           “It was for a good cause!”

           Jin rolls his eyes, laughing as he snatches the pact from you and holds it up in the air. “Nuh-uh, I’m taking this home with me. You’ve had it for long enough.” He makes a point of folding it up and sticking it in his back pocket, staring down at you with an amused expression.

           Suddenly you’re transported to his living room, dancing in his arms. Staring up at him like he put the stars in the sky while he looks at you like you’re the forbidden fruit.

           Is that why he’s here, now? To finally give in to the temptation?

           From the way the smile slides off his lips, you can tell that he’s remembering the same moment. His mouth opens a bit, looking as though he’s about to speak. After a moment, it shuts. Then he slowly reaches out, arms encircling you as he studies your expression. Waiting for any moment of discomfort.

           The second Jin pulls you into his embrace and you rest your head against his chest, his shoulders deflate and he lets out a long sigh.

           It’s not a sigh of relief.

           “Do you remember the first time we hung out together? Jimin wanted to bring you to the Spring Day set, and it was freezing. We were all complaining about our toes falling off and yelling at Namjoon for writing about such a cold song.”

           You chuckle, nodding. Jin’s voice rumbles through his chest as he continues. “I thought that it was so embarrassing, too. We were complaining like kids in front of Jimin’s pretty friend. I figured that you’d never want to hang out with us again. I’ll never forget how angry Jimin was with us after, saying that we were probably making you uncomfortable. Obviously, we all said that it was stupid of him to bring you to a freezing music video set for our first meeting.”

           Jin tightens his grip, laying his cheek atop your head and swaying gently back and forth. You’re not sure if he even realizes that he does it, but you don’t ask. Not as he’s walking down memory lane. It feels like it’s been centuries since you first met.

           “You know what I remember the most about you from that day?”

           You hum, nuzzling in a little closer. Hanging on for just a moment longer.

           “You never complained. Like, at all.” Jin cups your chin, making you look up at him. He smiles softly, but his eyes are sad. “I thought it was a superpower or something, seriously. You just smiled and joked around with Jungkook and Tae. If you were cold or uncomfortable or even weirded out by us, you didn’t say anything.”

           You roll your eyes, latching your hands behind Jin’s back. “I was definitely weirded out, but I didn’t want Jimin to feel bad. He was so excited for me to meet you guys.”

           Jin chuckles, the sound momentarily warming you up. “But the point is, you didn’t complain. You’ve always been like that. Even now, being dragged on seven dates and having to deal with us figuring out our own feelings, you never once complained. You never backed away.”

           The sadness that lingers in Jin’s eyes has you tightening your hold, wondering how to get rid of that sorrow. Your train of thought is interrupted when Jin brushes back a strand of hair, softly tucking it behind your ear.

           “You are beautiful and a wonder. You will always be important to me, no matter where life takes us. You will always be that person that I’ll drop everything for, ok?” Jin takes another long, adoring look at you before reaching behind him and gathering your hands in his. He slowly pulls away from you, staring down at where he holds your hands. “I might be an idiot at times, but I can tell when I’m in the way.”

           As he takes a step back, you watch as he drops your hands. “Jin, wait,” you reach out, grasping his arm as he moves to turn away. “Jin- Seokjin, what’s going on-”

           “You and Yoongi have that in common, did you know that?” Jin offers you a close-lipped smile, placing his hand on yours where you cling to his jacket. His thumb swipes over your knuckles once – twice – before he’s stepping back yet again. “Neither of you are complainers. I mean sure, there’s the funny complaints that everyone makes. But he has a penchant for suffering silently. I’d say he’s a bit of a masochist, but that’d be a lie. He just cares.”

           Jin has made it to your doorway now, where he pauses and leans against the doorframe. He crosses his arms, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, a faraway look in his eyes. “I think he doesn’t know what to do with it, all those feelings. He just cares so much, about everyone. For you.”

           “Jin,” you gasp out, “what are you doing?”

           One corner of his lips pull up in a smirk. “Me?” He shifts his weight to his other leg. “Letting go.”

           “What are you even talking about?”

           “Don’t get me wrong, I intend to complain. You’ll get an official complaint in the mail soon enough, just give it three to five business days to get here. But I realized something a little while ago: complainers always find some new to complain about. And while that sucks, it also means that they move on. They find something new, no matter how long it takes.”

           He keeps looking at you with that sad smile, and it’s ripping the ground out from under you. You want to scream, throw something, or perhaps dissolve into tears. But nothing happens. You just keep breathing.

           In.

           Then out.

           And Jin keeps speaking. He’s rambling now, something he does when he’s nervous. His brows are still furrowed, and you wonder if he’s making this up as he goes. If the only thing he knew what that he had to find a way in, only to find a way out.

           “As twisted as my logic sounds, I think it gives me hope. Eventually, I’ll be ok. Probably be complaining about the weather or maybe even a girl in no time. Just give me some time, and I’ll bounce back.”

           “Jin,” you croak out. “…you don’t complain, not about these things. Why are you doing this? S-stop doing this.”

           “But it’s like I said: Yoongi doesn’t complain. Jagiya, I know him. Better than you do.” Jin closes his eyes, pinching them shut before opening them again. “He’ll never get over you. I mean it. And if my logic holds true…that means that you’ll never move past him, either.”

           Folding his sweater over his arm, Jin steps back into the hallway. You step forward, your stomach churning.

           “Seokjin!”

           He hesitates for a single heartbeat, almost looking like he’ll turn back around and declare it all some twisted joke. Like he’ll pull you back into his arms and admit that he’s been inside his memories for the past two weeks, replaying “La Vie en Rose” as he lies awake at night.

           But he doesn’t. He refuses to look at you as he marches down the hallway. As he walks, he continues to speak.

           “I was angry that night, when you called him instead of me. When you accidentally deleted your essay. He left, and I was stuck at home, pining after you like some teenage boy. I think even then, I knew that it wouldn’t be me in the end. But I’d die trying.” He laughs, joking but it doesn’t come off very funny.

           It’s when he’s reached the door and goes to pull it open that you call out to him again, sounding like you’re on the verge of tears. “But it was you, wasn’t it?” You run a hand through your hair. “You wrote the note, o-on the back of the pact.”

           With his hand on the doorknob, Jin glances back at you over his shoulder. Now you understand why he couldn’t stand to look at you a moment earlier. Those are tears glistening in his eyes.

           He looks at you for a long moment, eyes so clear and bare that you can see the very moment he lays down his weapons and admits defeat. “Would it change anything?”

           He’s already twisting the doorknob, but just before he opens the door, he hesitates. Waiting for an answer, you realize. Some small part of him still pulses with hope, even after all he’s said.

           You can’t give that hope.

           “There’s a difference, you know,” Jin mumbles, eyes dropping. “Just because I loved you first doesn’t mean I can love you the best. I think sometimes the world forgets that.”

           And then he’s gone.

           In.

           Out.

           Perhaps the most shocking development has been the fact that you’re still breathing. When Jin leaves your apartment, the sky doesn’t fall. Your heart, while aching, doesn’t shatter into a million little pieces. The quiet hum of your dishwasher continues on, oblivious to all that’s transpired.

           A few tears slip down your cheeks, which you quickly wipe away. When your dishwasher buzzes, you drift over to it as though in a daze. Wiping your hands on your dishtowel, you move to open the dishwasher.

           But it’s that dishtowel with stitched stars that Yoongi gifted you forever ago. Stars.

           You are the stars I’ve been reaching for ever since that night.

           Snatching the towel from where it hands off your oven, you fumble for your phone. Dishes long forgotten, you bring the phone up to your ear and nervously tap your foot. “C’mon, c’mon…”

           “Jagiya?”

           “Hobi!”

           “Hey, what’s up? How’s your ankle?”

           You chew on your lip, struggling to regain composure. “I- yeah. The ankle’s fine. Look, I need to cash in my question now.”

           Hobi chuckles on the other side of the phone. “That’s what I was afraid of. Wanna come over to the studio?”

           “Be there soon.”

           It’s dark outside, countless stars winking down at you as you hurry inside the Hybe building. You throw a glare up at them, wondering if they were in on it the entire time. If the stars have always been aware that Min Yoongi had no interest in them, much preferring your company to the twinkling lights in the heavens.

It’s your first time in here, the boys having recently moved into the new building. As such, you’re instantly disoriented. At a loss for where to go, you call Hobi.

“Hey, where…?”

“Turn around!”

You whirl around to see the elevator doors sliding open, Hobi hopping out. “Hey, you made it!” He instantly pulls you in for a hug, which you gratefully receive. “Everything ok, jagi?”

It’s then that you realize how you must look. Tear-stained cheeks and tired eyes don’t make for the best combination. “Oh…yeah. I’m alright.”

Hobi doesn’t believe you at all, but he doesn’t push it. Not here, out in the open lobby. Instead he pulls you into the elevator, punching one of the buttons. “Long day?”

You laugh quietly, leaning up against the wall of the elevator. “A little, yeah. What about you? What are you up to?”

“Oh, we’re recording a new Japanese OST. Wanna listen to it once we get up there?”

“Is that even a question?”

It feels unbelievably good to be here with Hobi, falling into an easy conversation despite the nervousness coursing through your veins. Once you reach the eighth floor, Hobi leads you down the hallway toward a closed door.

“What’s that?” He asks, pointing to where you still hold the dishtowel in your hands.

You blink, not even realizing that you brought it in with you. “Oh…um…part of my question, I think?”

Hobi chuckles, pausing outside of the door. “I was wondering when you were gonna use that question.”

At the end of your date with Hobi two months ago, he’d allowed you two questions about whatever you wanted to know. You only asked one, wanting to keep the other for a future time. You never thought it would lead to this.

“Ok, let’s head inside.”

Your eyes widen, but Hobi doesn’t notice as he pushes the door open and strides inside. The sight that greets you makes you want to sink through the floor.

Namjoon and Jungkook sit in front of the recording equipment, while Taehyung and Jimin lounge on the couches at the back of the room. Yoongi is busy on the other side of the glass, eyes closed as he raps into the mic. His dark hair is straight, kissing his brows while he clenches his fists at his sides,

You’re frozen in place as suddenly you’re surrounded by his voice. It’s lilting, more like singing than rapping. The words coming from his mouth stop your heart.

“Don't have to be right, just wanted you to stay the way you are, kindhearted, always smiling, but-”

“Hey!” Taehyung jumps up from his seat, alerting everyone to your presence. “You’re here!”

Jungkook swivels around in his chair, wide eyes crinkling as he grins. Namjoon quietly greets you, cheeks pink as he struggles to focus on the task at hand.

It’s Jimin that notices how lost you look. “Everything alright?” He ambles over to you, bending his knees a bit to look at you. He grabs your shoulder, eyes scanning your face. “Jagiya? Want to sit down?”

But you’re still clinging to Hobi, one hand wrapped up in the fabric of his jacket. “I…actually, Hobi, weren’t you gonna show me your new studio?”

You look back at Hobi, aware that everyone in the room is now staring at him as well with confused looks. You give Hobi a pleading look, but not before you see someone on the other side of the glass.

Yoongi stands before the microphone, frowning as he looks at you. As you lock eyes, he tilts his head to one side and mouths a single word.

Jin?

“I…uh, yeah. Yeah, let’s go look at it first and then come right back, right?” Hobi says, the confusion clear in his voice. Thankfully, he doesn’t question you and instead steps back through the door. “Be right back, guys.”

Just before you walk away, you turn back to try to communicate to Yoongi that you’re here for him, not Jin. But he’s gone, the side door to the studio still swinging from where he walked out.

           Your head is still spinning by the time Hobi heads into his own studio, hardly pausing to admire it before he’s whipping around to face you. The second he closes the door, he’s crossing his arms and giving you a worried look.

           “What was that all about?” He asks. “What’s going on?”

           “Hobi,” you croak out. “Hobi, I need help. I need answers.”

           Plopping down on his cushiony swivel chair, you squint at him. You can feel a headache coming on.

           “I can’t give you the answers if you don’t ask the questions, jagi,” Hobi chides, pulling up another chair to sit in front of you. His gaze catches on your wrist. “You still wear the bracelet I made you?”

           You pause, glancing down at the bracelet. “Of course. Everyday.”

           Hobi smiles softly to himself before leaning back and letting out a long sigh. “Ok. Tell me what’s going on.” He eyes the star-spangled dishtowel still in your hands. “I assume this is about Yoongi?”

           “I…how did you know?”

           He nods to the towel, chuckling softly. “He came to me asking if I knew how to embroider. I didn’t, but I got him a little embroidery kit to practice with on tour. It cracked me up when he ended up buying plain white dishtowels and would spend his time backstage embroidering little stars on them. I didn’t know he was planning on giving them to you at the time…do you guys have some sort of inside jokes with stars or something?”

           You stare at Hobi like he’s just grown a second head. “He what?”

           “What?” Hobi blinks. “Did you not know that he stitched them?”

           Of course not. When Yoongi had gifted you the dishtowels, you’d thought it was sweet, if a bit odd. You even remember joking with him about it, saying that he’d paid off the neighborhood grandma to do it for him.

           “No! I never knew that! Why would I…why would he…”

           “So…you don’t have an inside joke about stars?”

           You sigh, throwing a hand over your eyes. “How could I be so blind?” Slumping down in the chair you ask miserably, “I mean, it makes sense, I guess…he’s done so many things-”

           At this, Hobi stops you. “Like what?”

           There is a long, long list of things that Yoongi did for you that he never told the boys.

           “Or there’s that time he passed up on his Laker’s tickets because I had that end-of-year project due, and I was worried that nobody would show up to my presentation.”

           You remember that with a jolt. You had to give a twenty minute presentation on the effects of addiction, something that hardly seemed like a riveting topic. The general public was invited to the lecture hall, but despite your valiant efforts handing out fliers and sending e-vites, you were convinced that it was going to be a flop.

           It was. There were about seventeen people scattered about the hall that typically seated three hundred. Your hands were shaking and you thought you might burst into tears on stage because you felt like an utter failure, but then movement caught your eyes.

           Sneaking in and taking a seat on the very back row, sat Yoongi. His bucket hat was pulled low across his eyes and a couple of body guards tried (and failed) to looked inconspicuous as they took seats near him. When you stuttered, he help up a thumbs up and quietly encouraged you to go on.

           Jin’s words from earlier come back to you. I think he doesn’t know what to do with it, all those feelings. He just cares so much, about everyone. For you.

           By this point, you’re exhausted with all of the things Yoongi has done over the years. How blind you’ve been to his unadulterated kindness. Hobi senses it, seeing your shoulders droop. He falls silent, allowing you to sort out your thoughts before you speak.

           “Does he still want me?”

           Looking up at Hobi, you allow yourself to feel the question at you repeat it. “How could he still want me? After how blind I’ve been to my own feelings?”

           Hobi smiles softly, leaning forward to take your hand in his. He gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Jagi…I don’t think Yoongi completely understood his own feelings most of the time.”

           “But he’s done so much-”

           “That he has. But when you love someone, you don’t do those kinds of things for gain. He didn’t do those things to make you fall in love with him.” Hobi laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. “He did it because you’re the right person. And when you’re with the right person, it’s simple. Does he still want you? Simple.” He shrugs. “Yes.”

           Yoongi is gone, Jungkook tells you when the boys eventually come knocking at Hobi’s studio. They sit in a semi-circle, pondering all that they’ve learned. Hobi had quickly explained the situation to them, and despite your worry, nothing happened.

           Nobody yelled, nobody banished you from their life.

           Instead, Jimin had laughed. Laughed.

           “Pay up, loser,” he’d commanded as he elbowed Taehyung. Taehyung whined and said that he’d Venmo him in a second.

           “Wait, you made a bet?” You shriek. “About who I’d go for?!”

           The boys all laugh nervously, Namjoon slowly edging toward the door. You snap your fingers at him, glaring. “You don’t get to leave, Kim. Were you a part of this?”

           “I…yeah…”

           “But Yoongi’s gone,” Jungkook repeats. “Aren’t you gonna tell him?”

           You sigh. “How am I supposed to tell him? Just march up to him and throw myself at him?”

           Namjoon shrugs. “I mean, that’d work for me.”

           “Yeah,” Jungkook chuckles darkly. “Just go for that.”

           Hobi rolls his eyes, leaning forward in his seat. “Just do whatever you feel comfortable with, jagiya. But do it soon. You’ll psych yourself out if you wait much longer.”

           It feels like you’ve time-traveled back to middle school, gossiping around the lunch table about your crush. Somehow, that’s comforting. While there’s a bit of awkwardness in the air, you can’t help but feel like you’re back.

           “Oh,” Taehyung snaps his fingers, mouth open in a little ‘o’, “but whatever you do, make sure there’s cookies. Or some sort of dessert.”

           “What?”

           “You know, to celebrate if he accepts your confession, or to make you feel better if he rejects you.”

           Gasping, you jump up to your feet. You point an accusing finger at Hobi. “But you said that he’d still want me!”

           “He does! Taehyung, take that back right now.”

           Tae stands up, his grin softening as he steps forward. That’s when you see how much they’ve been hiding behind their playful demeanors. For you. To help you.

           Wrapping you up in a hug, Taehyung squeezes you tight. “It’ll be fine. Don’t you worry.” And then, quieter so no one else can hear, “We’ll be fine.”

           You’ve never considered yourself to be a nervous baker, but here you are. Sliding another cookie sheet into the oven while two batches are cooling on your kitchen table.

           By the time you made it home last night, you could hardly keep your eyes open. While sleep did come to you relatively quickly, you were wide awake the second the sun crested the horizon. Wide awake, and a nervous wreck.

           Is this how the boys felt when they came to take you out? If so, they deserve a medal of bravery. You’re still within the comfort of your own home, but you can hardly breathe properly.

           Perhaps that has something to do with the fact that Yoongi just sent you a text that he’s on his way. Bouncing on your feet, you run your hands under the cold water in an effort to rid yourself of clammy palms. Drying your hands on the infamous dishtowel, you smile softly.

           Everything is going to be ok.

           Yoongi doesn’t get there for a long time. It’s long enough that you’re worried, and you pick up your phone to call him. A second later, you hear another phone ringing just outside your door. Hardly believing it, you rush toward the front door only to pause.

           “Here we go.”

           Swinging the door open, you come face to face with a guilty looking Yoongi. He’s halfway back down the stairs, but freezes in his steps as he hears the door open.

           “Yoongi?” You’re absolutely bewildered. “Where are you going?”

           Letting out a breathy laugh, Yoongi slowly begins trekking back up the stairs. “Oh…um…I thought I left something in the car.”

           “That’s a lie, isn’t it?”

           “What, are we not lying to each other today?”

           Smiling softly, you shake your head and open the door a little wider. “No. Not today, I’m afraid.”

           Something akin to fear flashes in Yoongi’s eyes at your words, but a second later he’s back to normal. “Smells great. Are you baking cookies?”

           “I’ve baked about a thousand, yeah. Can’t stop. It’s a condition.” You ramble as you turn and head into the kitchen, hoping that he’s following. The sound of his footsteps confirms that he is. “Want some?”

           When he doesn’t answer, you turn around to see what’s going on.

           Yoongi stands beside your table, fists clenched in the sleeves of his cardigan. He’s practically staring holes into the sweet treats, brows furrowed as he takes a deep breath. When he exhales, it’s shaky.

           “I’m fine, you know,” he grinds out, not looking at you. “You didn’t need to bake me cookies. I’m not…I’m not mad.”

           “Mad? What?”

           “Isn’t this why you brought me over? To let me down easy?” His voice is quiet, yet every word is like a bullet. “That’s why you were at the studio last night, wasn’t it? You were talking to the others about Jin.”

           Your heart stops.

           Is that why he disappeared last night? He thought that you’d made your decision, and it wasn’t him?

           “Yoongi, that’s not-”

           He’s already stepping back, refusing to look at you. His eyes are trained on the floor as he stumbles back toward the entryway, looking like he’s doing his best not to full out sprint. “I’m fine, jagiya. I know you’re worried sick about us, but don’t worry. I already told you not to worry, don’t you remember? I shouldn’t have said all of those stupid things on the beach…is that why you brought me over? You felt like I needed some sort of special treatment?”

           You take off after him, unable to believe what you’re hearing. “Yoongi, listen to me. This is for you. It’s all for you.”

           But he doesn’t hear you, he’s busy fumbling with his shoes that he slipped off beside the door. His hands are shaking, but he still refuses to look at you. “I’m so sorry for worrying you,” he says earnestly. His black hair is falling in his eyes, but it doesn’t shield his pink cheeks from your eyes. “I…wow, this is humiliating, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come-“

           “I invited you-”

           “-but I didn’t want to worry you even more, so I came over – why can’t I get these shoes on?!” He collapses to his knees, dropping his head into his hands as he finally gives up on his shoes. “Even that was a stupid mistake,” he whispers, never one to raise his voice. “I bought these for our date but then I realized that they would be stupid to wear to the beach.” He laughs at himself, no humor in the sound.

           You take a look at the dark shoes, which appear to be made of leather. They lace up, but it’s obvious that they’re not broken in yet. Crouching down beside Yoongi, who keeps his face hidden in his hands, you struggle to find words.

           “They look nice,” you mumble, voice raw. Have you been screaming? Or perhaps it’s the emotional exhaustion, finally setting in. “Very pretty.”

           “I wanted to wear them for you. Just once.” Taking a deep breath, Yoongi sits back and brings his knees up to his chest. He back presses against the back of your couch.

           And you’re here. Sitting beside him in the entryway to your small apartment. So far away from where you thought you’d be.

           As Yoongi glares at his shoes, you notice just how bloodshot his eyes are. Like he hasn’t slept in days.

           “Isn’t it odd?” He muses, tired eyes dragging over to meet yours. You’re unable to breathe as he stares at you without the barriers he usually puts up for himself. For the first time you can ever remember, Yoongi looks at you and lets you see everything. Perhaps he’s too tired to mask the longing anymore.

           Your voice comes out as nothing more than a whisper. “What’s odd?”

           He inhales sharply before breathing out slowly. “After everything, I’m still trying to impress you.”

           The small confession strikes you like a bolt of lightning, and you screw your eyes shut. Once the feeling passes and you’ve composed yourself, you open your eyes again to find Yoongi’s again on his shoes. He nibbles on his bottom lip as he reaches out and eases his shoe from your hands. Then, he slips it on his foot.

           As he begins to tie the laces, you open your mouth to say all of the things you should have a long time ago.

           “I see you everywhere I go.” Your eyes are trained on his deft fingers as he pauses for a moment before continuing to lace up his shoe. “For a long time, I didn’t know what to do about it. I just brushed it off as a side effect of our friendship. In my mind, it was better to ignore it than to face it, because then what? I could never have you.”

           His hands are trembling again as he finishes his right shoe and reaches for the left.

           “You’ve always been so good. There whenever I needed you, there just in the off-chance I called. On stand-by, like my own personal assistant.” You chuckle, perhaps a little insane by this point. “And I convinced myself that whatever that was between us, it was enough. It was just gonna be me and my seven best friends for the rest of my life. But then…things started to change. You guys challenged me to view you as something more.”

           He’s nearly finished tying his shoe now, your time is nearly out. But he fumbles, unable to quite finish.

           “That night you guys came up with the dating idea, I knew I was walking into a trap. I wasn’t worried about anyone crossing any boundaries, I was worried about me making the biggest mistake of my life. Sitting there I think I was starting to realize I had feelings for you, and I was one slip-up away from hurting everyone else.”  Now he stops breathing. But his fingers are still slowly working at the laces. “I cared for you then, but I loved you when you showed up at my door seven dates later.”

           He’s just managed to finish tying his shoe when you stop speaking. He doesn’t speak, only staring down at those laces with wide eyes as he processes what you just said. You take his silence in stride, still talking. Still confessing.

           “I didn’t know how to tell you that I was torn between the what-if’s and the what-is. That I was drowning in the possibilities everyone was offering me, but that when I was with you I was finally able to see the world for what it is. But you just said, ‘I know’ and I thought that you did. I figured you knew, because you’re you, how could you not know what I was thinking? You always do.”

           Yoongi stops nibbling on his lip long enough to voice a question, his voice hoarse. “The world for what it is…what is it?”

           You take courage in his curiosity, deeming this a good development. “It’s only tolerable because you’re in it.”

           He falls silent again, deep in his thoughts.

           “Yoongi,” you call softly, heart hammering against you ribs. “Could you look at me for a second?”

           He does, eyes wide with confusion.

           Those eyes, the ones you see everywhere you go. Crinkled up in laughter, joking with you over something stupid. Proudly watching you from the back row as you present to a small crowd. Filled with adventure as you sneak your hand into his pocket at the haunted house, inviting you to dive inside.

           It was those eyes that you saw looking back at you that night with Jungkook, out of breath and lost as suddenly it wasn’t Jungkook kissing you, but Yoongi. That forbidden dream become real as you squeezed your eyes shut and allowed yourself to pretend for a moment longer before pulling away.

           It’s now, looking into Yoongi’s dark eyes that hold so much promise, that you find it easier than ever to say what you should have said that night when he showed up to help you with your essay. Looking frazzled but ready to swim the entire ocean if it would help you. Instead, you had just given him a lingering hug before excusing yourself to go to your room and sleep.

           Sleep hadn’t found you that night, because you had been awake and asking your ceiling why a man like Min Yoongi would do anything for you.

           “Yoongi,” you whisper. “I love you.”

           He doesn’t move, but just blinks. Once. Twice. You see the doubt swirling in his eyes, so when you reach out to pull at his shoelace, you repeat it.

           “I love you.”

           One shoe at a time, you untie the laces. You undo the pain you’ve caused him, break down the barriers he put up.

           “I love you.”

           You continue to repeat the words, focusing on his shoes and not daring to look up at him just yet. Not until you get his shoes off, because then you feel like he can’t run away.

           So you undo the knots and repeat those words with a shaking voice. “I love you, Yoongs.” When you go to slip the shoes from his feet, he helps you, kicking them off and reaching forward to place his hand under your chin and make you look at him.

           Yoongi is crying when you look at him, the tears falling silently. A part of you wonders if he even realizes that he’s crying.

           “You…” he swallows, those eyes so wide. “…love me?”

           It’s simple.

           “Yes.”

           Yoongi furrows his brows again, trying to understand everything that’s happening. “But…Jin.”

           There will be time to explain everything. For now, you answer the question Jin asked you yesterday, standing before this very door. “The pact, the note. It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change how I feel. He came over yesterday to ‘let go’, he said.”

           Something like recognition flashes across Yoongi’s face at those two words, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead he nods slowly, trying to follow what you’re saying. “And you feel…”

           “I feel very in love with you, yes.”

           What happens next is burned into your memory for the rest of your life.

           Yoongi sits up, reaching across to you in a flash, pulling you until you’re falling forward. He lets out a shaky breath, pulling you into his lap just like he did on the beach. And as he holds you, he laughs. He’s still laughing as he plants a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s grinning as he presses his lips to your cheeks.

           Tears are still falling down his cheeks as he brushes his lips against your own. Hesitantly, as though worried you might pull away and tell him it was all a joke.

You return the kiss fervently, speaking in a language only you two can understand. He pulls away, staring down at you as though surprised to find that you’re really here and not just a figment of his imagination.

“I love you,” he whispers. And then he’s kissing you in earnest.

Breathlessly, desperately, and with a touch of insanity that only comes after spending two nights wide awake and heartbroken. As he holds you tight and kisses you harder, you know that he’s healing himself with each touch.

           One kiss, one shattered fragment of his heart sliding back into place.

           Your hands wrap around his neck and wind into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as he gasps and whispers those three words again. “I love you.”

           When the smell of burnt cookies pulls you apart several minutes later, Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist and sticks to you like glue. He rests his chin on your shoulder, planting a few lazy kisses along your jaw that sets your skin aflame. “Mm, I love you,” he mumbles between kisses.

           Placing the burnt cooking atop the stove, you chuckle. “I know.”

           “Agh,” Yoongi groans, burying his head in your shoulder. “I thought you meant something different, ok?”

           “I know.”

           “Yah! I was trying to be understanding of your feelings I thought you had for Jin!”

           Reaching to turn off the oven, you grin. “I’m never letting you live that down.”

           As Yoongi feigns annoyance while shoveling cookies into his mouth, you marvel at all it took to get to this point. Yoongi notices your attention, puffy cheeks turning pink. But he doesn’t shy away, instead he silently offers you a cookie.

           “So…” he begins, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve been thinking.”

           “Dangerous.”

           “Well, I know how much you like bad boys.”

           “Mm, true.”

           Yoongi laughs along with you before continuing. His eyes sparkle like the night sky, drawing you in. “Are you free this Saturday?”

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[zafirosreverie]

Go on without me (Agatha x reader)

a/n: i took this idea and some dialogues from a song in spanish named "Sigue sin mi" by Marco Antonio Solis, in case you want to listen it.

Warnings: angst.

"Forgive me"

You blinked and slowly opened your eyes, frowning at the darkness around you. Your room was never dark and you remembered perfectly well leaving the hall light on. Now that you thought about it, you went to sleep a few hours ago. Why weren't you in bed? Or better yet, where were you?

"Forgive me"

The voice sounded a little louder this time, though it was still a whisper. You turned around, following it in the dark. You knew who it was, but the pain you heard didn’t match the image you had of her.

"Aggie?" you whispered when you saw a figure in front of you.

The witch turned to look at you and you gasped, taking a step back. She was crying, and her eyes were filled with pain and remorse. This was not your Agatha, this was a broken woman.

"I'm sorry" she whispered. "Forgive my big mistake"

You tried to get closer to her, but it seemed like there was an invisible barrier between you two.

"Aggie" you said "what's going on?"

The witch just looked at you sadly as she moved her hands and various images began to appear around you. You saw everything, from the night she left, promising to return, to her arrival in a small town, the way she pretended to be Wanda's friend, how she sabotaged various things to further destabilize her, how she killed a dog, kidnapped some children and fought the Scarlet Witch. You saw how she tried to steal the chaos magic. You saw her losing.

You gasped when the scene of her punishment played out in front of you. Wanda had condemned her to the same torture that the town's residents had suffered, she had trapped her in the role she had chosen. Agnes.

"Aggs-"

"I don't have much time" she interrupted. "I managed to break one of the seals, just so I could see you, even if it's this way"

Then you got it. You were on a different plane. Your mind connected to hers, but your bodies thousands of miles apart. That is why there was a barrier between you.

"Tell me what to do" you said "W-where are you?! I'll get you out of there" you promised.

Agatha smiled sadly at you and shook her head. You felt your stomach churn as more tears fell down her cheeks.

"Forget me" she told you.

You froze.

"wh-what?" you whispered, fear spreading through your chest.

"Forget me" she repeated "you have to move on"

"What are you talking about?" you said, getting as close to the wall as you could.

"You were right. I shouldn't have come, I shouldn't have wanted more power ... I shouldn't have left you" she cried

"Don’t worry. We can fix this" you smiled at her, even though you could already feel your tears as well.

"I'm afraid there's no way to fix it" she said "I won't be coming home this time, love" her eyes were full of guilt

"No, don't say that" you begged, as tears began to spill onto your cheeks.

"Go on without me" she whispered.

"No" you said firmly "I won't leave you"

"You have to" she pleaded "Forget me. I wish the best for you, find someone who loves you as much as I do, I hope that love and luck will follow you wherever you are"

“NO” you yelled “Tell me where you are, Agatha, tell me what to do! Tell me how to help you! And stop this nonsense!” you demanded

"Go on without me" she said again.

"I can't" you said "Y-you, you promised that you would come back. You said that when you came back you would teach me magic. You said that you would make me part of your world. You promised Harkness, you fucking promised!"

"My world is not that beautiful, and you already see it, Y/N" she said, pointing to the frozen images around you "You have to run away from it before you get hurt"

"I don't care! You promised we would be together!"

You were hurt and angry. But more than anything, scared. Scared because she wasn't fighting, because she wasn't trying to break Wanda's spell, not beyond what she had already done to contact you.

"This is my fault, right?" you fell to your knees "I wasn't enough for you ..." Out of the corner of your eye you saw Agatha kneel in front of you on the other side of the barrier.

"No honey" she said she "you were more than I deserved"

"Then why do you want this?" you asked

"Because it's not your fault that everything turns out the other way around for me, Y/N" she sobbed "I know you are not happy. It is not fair that you pay for my mistakes, love"

You looked at her through your tears and wished you could hug her, kiss her. Feel her.

"I was happy Agatha" you said

"And you'll be again once you forget me" she said, but you weren't having it.

"I was happy before you left" you almost screamed "I was happy when I woke up with you, when you kissed me, when you took me by the hand, when you patiently explained your magic to me. You make me happy"

The witch just looked at you and sobbed even louder. This was too hard for her, she hated seeing you like this and she hated that it was her fault, that she was hurting you. For a moment, she was tempted to change her mind, but she had made up her mind. You deserved better.

"Fight" you said "fight. You can stop this, you already broke one of the seals, you can break the rest. I know you can Aggie, please" you begged.

Agatha knew you were right. She was powerful enough to break the seals that held her prisoner in her own mind. It would take her time, months, maybe even years, but she could do it. But she was sure that you would wait for her as long as it took. And that was exactly what she didn't want. She didn't want to stop you, she didn't want to steal more time from you. She wanted you to move on, to live, to be happy even if she was not by your side.

And she was tired. Very tired.

"From fighting without succeeding now my feet have gotten tired, love" she told you, asking for your forgiveness with her eyes.

"Please" you whispered, but she shook her head.

"Go on without me" she said for the third time "from here I will ask that your life go better"

"No" you sobbed "I don't know how to live without you, Aggie" you confessed

"You will learn" she assured you "you will find someone else who will teach you to do it"

"I don't want someone else!" you screamed

"Love, please. I don't want you to get hurt" she sniffed, resting a hand on the barrier that separated you.

"And what do you think you're doing right now, Harkness?!" you growled "You say you don't want to hurt me, but you're sticking daggers in my chest! You say it wasn't your intention, that you want me to move on, well you would have thought about it when you looked at me with that damn smile that made me tremble, or before you stole the kiss that made me feel like I was something special "You hit the wall hard, scaring her" You didn't want to hurt me, you wanted to kill me! "

Agatha felt her heart break even more with every word that came out of your mouth. She wanted to hug you, kiss you, tell you that you were special, that she loved you. But someday you would thank her for this, even if you couldn't remember her.

"You have to understand" she whispered "You already suffered with me, you only deserve love from now on"

"Tell me who gave you the right to want to save me" You screamed, looking into her eyes "You couldn't hurt me more than this" you whispered, feeling the anger move away and transform into pure sadness "if I'm with you it's because I want to be, Agatha"

The witch couldn't hold your gaze and with a wave of her hand, the barrier disappeared. You gasped when you almost fell on your face, but she managed to catch you. No, no, no ... she could control it?! She could let you kiss her, hug her, and she hadn't done it before?!

But she was doing it now.

Agatha lifted your chin and kissed you firmly, erasing the anger you had and, for a moment, the sadness as well. That kiss gave you hope, that she had reconsidered, that she was going to keep her promise and come back to you.

The witch tried to put all of her emotions into the kiss. She wanted you to know that she loved you, that you had always been the best thing life gave her and that she would do anything for you. Anything.

Even let you go.

You gasped as you felt her vanish in your arms. You were waking up.

"No, no, Agatha, no, don't do this to me" you begged her, scared. You tried to hold on to her, but you were losing her.

"You have to live" she whispered, giving you one last kiss

"No! Agatha, please!" you screamed, everything around you was fading fast. You looked at her while she smiled sadly at you "... I love you" you whispered

"I love you too" she said before disappearing.

_________

You gasped when you woke up. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks and you quickly wiped them away with your hand. You looked at it, confused.

"How weird" you said "I must have had a bad dream"

Although you weren't really sure what you had dreamed of, you couldn't remember it. But it wasn't strange, was it? People often forget their dreams.

You shrugged as you fell asleep again. You didn't feel the engagement ring disappear from your finger.

____________

Meanwhile, somewhere in an abandoned town, a woman smiled as she removed a ring from her finger. She wasn't sure where it was from, but she did know that she didn't need it anymore. She kept it in a box that she left to the bottom of a forgotten drawer.

She paid no attention to the tear that rolled down her cheek. She had been crying a lot, she realized. It must be the allergies.

____________

Agatha sighed and whispered, knowing that no one would listen to her. Not Agnes, not you.

"Meanwhile, here I will cry with my mistake"

[burnedbyshoto]

matryoshka doll

— Momo is a modern day princess, so it makes sense as to why every single person she’s asked if they wanted to have sex reject her because they felt unworthy. But she’s a girl with carnal needs and if that means having anonymous sex is the only way to have them met, so be it.

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pairing: yaoyorozu momo x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, stuck in a wall, anal fisting (giving), fingering, marking, degradation, daddy kink!reader, princess!momo, praise, pwp, cursing, service top!reader, phat ass!momo

word count: 3,333

a/n: i stayed up until 4 am reading bkdk angst fanfic and im so, so tired...... momo has a phat ass that is full of stretch marks and cellulite and I drool at the thought of it. no I dont take any feedback on that.

kinktober day 9 main kink: anonymous sex | kinktober masterlist

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Momo has a secret.

A deep, dark, twisted secret.

It wasn’t so much that it was horrible, humiliating, or even a nuisance for all of humanity, but it definitely was a secret she was keen on keeping until she was six feet under.

Why was that?

Oh, well, you see, it involved one of the most taboo topics in the world: sex.

Yaoyorozu Momo lived a sheltered, elite life. At the tender age of four, she had managed to create an object by replicating a Matryoshka doll's exact molecular structure. She didn’t need to assume that most individuals couldn't compose the doll's molecular structure regardless of their intellect or education. Yet, with a determined gaze, her person and mind no much older than four years old, she succeeded in producing a single, lone, beautiful Matryoshka doll.

But, because of her natural-born intelligence and near-prodigious level thinking, the wealth that her parents held led her to a life where something such as a peck on the cheek was considered scandalous. 

Kissing on the lips was considered a "marriage only" rule, and sex wasn’t even a word she knew.

Middle school for Yaoyorozu Momo consisted of her and her private tutors within her home. Her education was created just for her, and she had evening outings with her similar circles to ensure she had an appropriate social life. All in all, Momo didn’t know what sex was until she was sixteen, sitting in the common area of the dorm room with all her female friends who casually brought up the idea of what they could potentially be into, of who they would. Momo would quote: fuck, marry, or kill of three randomly generated boys within the class.

Of course, Momo’s eyes fluttered at the word fuck, having already known it as a curse word, and only as such as Bakugou always seemed to be yelling it. She had wrongfully spluttered when Mina had wiggled her eyebrows at Uraraka on why, oh why she had only chosen to ‘fuck Midoriya’ and not marry him. To Momo, who also at the time, was aware of her current blossoming feelings towards the smart but somewhat flutter tongued classmate of theirs, had been rather confused at the results Uraraka gave too.

“Kill… uh, Iida-kun,” Urakaka fidgeted, blushing harder under the intense stares of Mina and Hagakure (who had a mean glare despite not being able to see her). “Fuck Deku-kun, marry Todoroki-kun!”

Momo had assumed she would wish to marry her at the time crush, not choose the option to curse him out!

“Uraraka-san, you wish to cuss out Midoriya-san?” Momo had asked, saving the naturally rosy girl from their pink-skinned and invisible friend. “Why is that?”

“Hold on?” Jirou interrupted immediately, Momo’s undoubtedly closest friend rose from her slouched position next to her, her hand placed on her shoulder. “What was that?!”

“Well, isn’t the, ahem, please excuse my vulgar words, ‘fuck,’ option meaning to curse someone out? As Bakugou-san does to many people when he uses that word?” Momo had asked so innocently, so purely that the girls all almost felt horrible for popping the innocent bubble the modern-day princess was in -- keyword: almost.

For the first time in her life, Yaoyorozu Momo was not the most knowledgable in a subject; her cheeks stained red with embarrassing heat when Tsuyu took charge of explaining the alternate definition to what ‘fuck’ meant. 

“You mean babies don’t come in storks?!” she had cried uncontrollably that night. She was utterly overwhelmed by this new level of information that would send her in a spiral of the need to acquire further details for the sake of education and, well, yes, the science of fucking.

From the moment she was sixteen until she was twenty, Momo’s knowledge of sex went from being the lowest in the class, to as it naturally should have been, the most knowledgable person on it. She knew of things, the different branches of sex, where to experience certain types of kinks, and theoretically, where the human body's best parts to touch when having sex. So, the moment she had turned of consenting legal age to have sex, Momo would be lying if she said she wasn’t ready to have sex. 

But there was something in her way, something that not even years of studying could help her with, or could change the circumstances of which she found herself in. It seemed that though her friends enjoyed her sudden new-found genius towards the art and science behind sex, no one thought of her as a… sexual being.

“I c-can’t have sex with you!” Jirou had flushed red, her eyes scattering to every edge of the room, refusing to look at the wealthy heiress who had asked her best friend over during their last week of high school to do the deed. “You’re the modern-day royalty: Yaoyorozu Momo! I’m not… qualified enough!”

Momo frowned, “Oh?”

.

..

.

“Sex?” Todoroki had echoed, his eyes alarming wide despite his composed, neutral expression. Momo nodded her head, ignoring the small wisp of fire that emitted from his hair. “Oh, well, I don’t think I can do that for you, Yaoyorozu. It’s nothing against you, but I don’t think I’d like to have meaningless sex with you for the first time.”

Momo winced, “Oh, okay.”

“That sounded a lot meaner then intended, I apologize.”

.

..

…

..

.

And that’s how it seemed to go.

Aoyama hadn’t been interested in having sex at all with Momo. Mina said she was severely unworthy. Tsuyu simply rejected her because their relationship wasn’t one that had possibilities of sexual encounters. Iida said it would be irresponsible of him to take something of value of hers. Uraraka cried about how inferior scum like her had no right.

Ojiro apologized, having been in a relationship at the moment and wouldn’t. Kaminari said him sexually touching Momo would give the world every right to skin him where he lay. Kirishima had blushed brighter than his hair and stammered; he couldn’t without a proper relationship between the two of them. Kouda had run off crying. Sato had mumbled about how he enjoyed setting tea and pastries together but couldn’t imagine putting his tea in and on her pastry, or some weird allusion like that.

Shoji had bowed his head in apologies, saying she would regret sleeping with him. Sero had run away, crashing into a glass door explaining he wasn’t good enough. Tokoyami stated they weren’t a fated pair and rejected her kindly -- she thinks. Hagakure was in a relationship and politely declined her. Bakugou scoffed and told her to look elsewhere. Midoriya had stammered and suggested that he wasn’t the best option. Mineta just was never an option for her.

She had asked eighteen people who had all told her they would help her with anything, and the only thing that kept being thrown back into her face regarding something that she didn’t see to be anything that special was that she was royalty in their eyes. It was fine at first; honestly, it was! Momo had nodded her head, merely retreating to her home and creating an arrangement of sex toys most suited for her. And for a while, it had been enough.

But like the Matryoshka dolls, she was so fond of making, so good at making, she had several layers underneath that shouldn’t be ignored. And her sexual pleasures and gains had been a neglected part of her for too long. 

From having the longest, thickest dildo she could make for herself, up her cunt, to the vibrator and fuck machines she should create (because she was not allowed anywhere near a sex shop), she had been blissful. Each orgasm ripping through her pleasantly, causing her sweaty chest to arch off her bed, her legs slamming closed as it burst from inside of her, causing her to bit harshly on her fist just in case. But just as even playing with your favorite game day after day, feeling alone, lonely, and unwanted, Momo found that even her toys weren’t enough.

She needed more.

No one would fuck her because of her status, because of her last name and the wealth that she brought, so she decided that if she was to do this, to gain the human touch she ever so desired and lusted over, she was going to have to erase her identity.

She had found a little place in the back alleys of Tokyo. They were hiring anyone who dared to visit and the only requirement to join was that you were willing to be fucked. Momo had shown up for the interview, face obscured by a hoodie she wore and was hired the moment she walked in with her spandex shorts hugging her tiny waist and fat ass. She had always seen places like this within her porn research but had never actually assumed fuck ho(l)es existed. 

She certainly didn’t expect to be put in a wall where only her ass and cunt hanging out and the cold, wet tip of a sharpie marker to write against her clear virgin skin: FREE HOLE TO FUCK. VIRGIN LITTLE WHORE. She could feel that written on her skin, but she was unaware of the words that surrounded her placement on the wall: “put a tally and a review for every pump of cum you shove in me!”

There was no need for a picture by her whole because the people who frequented this place had no desires of that, and so, Momo found peace even as the starting alarm blared in her ear that customers were finally being let it.

To sum up the experience her first night at this joint, the first time experiencing a hot, living, throbbing cock in both her cunt and ass, Momo would have to blush. Her eyes shifting from yours onto the floor as she smiled. A chuckle on her face as she thought back to the end of that four hour fuck feast and remembered that there were nearly eighty-three tally marks on her bruised and blistered ass, of how her cum and all that cum continued to seep from her clenching holes for two days afterward… she loved it.

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You needed to blow off some steam.

Having just been entirely, horribly dumped by your ex and having precisely zero side pieces on the side to fuck, you went out of your way to secure a quick, easy fuck to get your mind off of things. There was no reason for you to simply not join Tinder and ask the first swipe to come over and fuck, but you didn’t want to see a face. You didn’t even want to know their face. As a matter of fact, you weren’t even so much as interested in your own orgasm at the moment than just making someone else cum. So when a pretty woman handed your glowering face a flyer as you were storming around the streets of Tokyo hoping for a sign from god, you almost cried at what the flyer informed you of.

A local... hole in the wall filled with glory holes and exposed asses, cunts, and cocks alike. 

Was it destiny?

You sure believed so as you found yourself tailing to the obscure address, praying for the establishment to be open and, for the most part, empty because you had no plans on performing shit in front of watching eyes. Handing a thousand yen over to the admissions lady as your fee to the use of their prized cunts, cocks, and asses, you shoved the black ticket into your pocket and brisked in.

As you entered the back room, the tension in you back and pressure on your chest seemed to melt away immediately at the scent of sex, dried cum, and sweat. It was an altogether horrid stench, to be quite honest, but right now, it sent fire to your core, your lips licking at the walls and corners willed with awaiting to be attended to people. Twisted pleasure coursed through your veins as you walked around, your eyes taking note of the graffitied words around the individual holes, taking note of the black sharpie words on bruised and battered skin, and some cunts still dripping with someone else’s cum.

‘Loose cunt’ one person had.

‘Hasn’t been broken in yet,’ said another.

‘Loves it when you ‘accidentally’ fuck their ass,’ scrawled on another.

 You couldn’t help but smile at the twisted humor, moving until finally, you saw one that exposed ass first to the world, eight tallies marked on her skin, and oh, the words painted on her smooth, perfect skin and the surrounding walls pulled you in.

‘Tightest fucking pussy.’ ‘100/10 recommended, been back multiple times for more.’ ‘Slip your fist up her ass, she LOVES it.’ ‘Favorite fucking whore here.’ ‘Would fuck again.’ ‘Slut likes it rough and mean.’ ‘Please fuck me!!!!’

You watched as the shiny slick of her cum slowly seep from her spread cheeks, not quite dripping, but definitely wet with her arousal. Something was calling you to her, your feet stumbling nearly tipsy with this outworld lust and drunkenness as you stopped behind her slapped pink ass. And without much need of thought to wonder where to stop, your hands found themselves grabbing her thick, supple ass and you moaned at the warmth emitting from her skin, of how her skin was so soft, so moveable, so bouncy. It was larger than your hands, your fingernails running against the cellulite, and stretch marks on her ass that made you want to kiss and run your tongue against even more. You couldn’t hear her, you couldn’t possibly know if she had liked the way your fingers dug into her ass, but her ass bounced, teetering with your grip as you could imagine a soft, juicy moan. 

“I wonder if you can hear me?” you asked, most likely to no one, fingers spreading her ass, spanking the used whorish skin of hers so that small, tight, clenching pink asshole was on full display for you. “If you sit there for all these hours and listen to men fuck you with their ugly moaning and pathetic growling.”

Her ass rolled in your hands, and you smiled, taking that as a sign that yes, she heard everything, even you. Raising your hand to the bottle of lube, you saturated your fingers with the cold, transparent liquid, turning your fingers down over her still exposed, flush hole. You watched as the lube dripped down, splattering messily around her tight, rimmed muscle, watching her clench and unclench the muscle in alarming beauty.

“I must apologize, princess,” you sighed, looking at the names scrawled on the walls that this cunt and ass seemed to be most responsive to, and number one on that list was princess. “Your daddy isn’t feeling particularly rough today, so I hope you’ll behave with my softer movements.”

You're not quite sure where the reference to yourself as daddy had come from, but the way the ass muscles clenched between the lone hand that held her cheek made it worth it. 

Your lube coated finger edged the pert opening of her ass, feeling the way the already used muscle expanded for your finger if a little stubbornly.

“Relax, princess, daddy sees you like being fisted, so I’m going to make sure you feel good. 

You pressed your finger in until the knuckle disappeared beneath the muscle, your grin growing into a hazy, lustful gaze when you felt her ass bounce. This moan vibrated all the way to her anal cavity as you wasted no time in adding a second finger. Her ass was tight, the ribbed walls of the cavity bumping and gliding against your moving fingers, and you grinned when she loudly moaned. You didn’t need to be an expert to see that she had never been fucked softly or thoroughly before. She must have been used to the terrible, animalistic rage that the men here possessed when fucking these people behind the walls. If you didn’t know any better, you would assume that she lost her virginity here. 

Your fingers curled, stroking and persuading her body to ripple and twitch with your commanding movements, and another finger added in, and another finger added in. Soon enough, you had four fingers in, all save your thumb. The stretch of her ass around your nearly formed ass was incredible; she took you so well, not a sound of agonizing pain was heard through the wall, although you swore you heard sounds of elation. The damn slut did enjoy it.

Your thumb pressed to her cunt, rubbing the slick folds of her pussy, softly fucking the outermost part of her inner walls, much against her approval if the way he ass bounced heavily in need had anything to say about it. 

“Ah, does the princess, not like this?” you asked, your hand that was currently not four fingers into her ass stretching out her cheeks even further as finally you retracted your hand out, made a fist, and sunk back in. Now there was a scream. But the way that it shot curling ravenous fires into your core, you knew it wasn’t one of horror or pain. No. It was one of absolute, slutty pleasure. You moaned at the sound, your arm beginning to thrust into her ass slowly, intentionally, and with burning passion and desire to hear her wail again. She sounded so pretty, sounded so slutty.

Your now free hand moved to her cunt, your mind trying to stimulate her more, trying to ignore the way her ass was hot and deliciously tight around your forearm as your pinched and rolled at her clit. Your thumb stayed on her clit, but your fingers stretched to enter her clenching cunt that seemed to be in synch with her ass. YOu moaned in content at the feeling of her inner walls suctioning against your intruding finger, and you laughed upon feeling your moving arm within her ass against her cunt. And that beautiful, pitchy whine resonated deeply again, and your mind melted.

Your fingers and fist doubled in speed, the growing sharp moans through the walls fueling you to move faster, to be rougher, to make her see stars. No wonder why no one fucked her with love here, you thought as leaned down, teeth tearing against her ass cheek that read: mark me, please. Who could stay composed when this fucking slut was this goddamn loud.

“Such a good fucking princess, so slutty, so nice for your daddy,” you grunted,  against her skin, your hips snapping at air as the heat and wetness in your pants made you uncomfortable -- the need for more biting through your clothes. “You like my fist up your ass? You like everyone’s fist up your ass, don’t do? Doesn’t fucking surprise me with those stupid loud moans you make.”

Your words were hissed, your fingernails scraping against her pulsating, throbbing inner walls, and then it happened.

Her ass and her cunt clenched against your fingers and fist. And your jaw dropped as a rippling effect ran across your arm that was buried in her ass.

Was that a?

Holy fucking shit?!

“Princess, did your ass just orgasm?!”

A confirming, pathetic moan sent your mind to the moon.

Suddenly feeling as if this was too much for you, and with no way to relive yourself in this type of fuck room, you removed your hand quickly from her ass, your dominant hand grabbing the hanging sharpie on the wall and added two more tally marks on the number of times she’s cum.

You race out of there, the fire in between your legs too much to handle. Well, at least not before adding one more, important piece of information on her ass and on the wall: ‘if you fuck my ass like daddy did, maybe my ass will orgasm for you too.”

[skzsauce01]

Ruin My Life

Synopsis: Six times you and Minho “ruin” each other’s lives, and the one time you almost actually did ruin his. 

Warning: none

Word Count: 3.9k

Pairing: fem!reader x Lee Minho; friends to lovers

one

Minho always looks like trouble, but he especially looks the part when he dresses as a greaser for Halloween. The entire hallway looks his way when he enters the building even though the low 7:30 AM sunlight blinds their eyes when he opens the door. He has a lollipop in his mouth in place of a cigarette, and when he gives a curt “Good morning” nod in your direction, the girl beside you pretends to swoon.

“Hello, Danny,” she mutters to herself, mimicking an Australian twang. She’s conveniently dressed like Sandy in a poodle skirt and cardigan. “I’d let you ruin my life.”

When you tell Minho about what you heard after school, he laughs so hard he almost falls off the wall he’s sitting on. “Seriously?”

You take a bag of pretzels from the shared pile of treats between you two and rip it open. “Yes! I can give you her name if you’re interested,” you say, half-hoping that he doesn’t actually want it. “What a weird thing to say though.”

He shakes his head and holds his hand out for a pretzel. “No thanks to the name. I think Chan’s supposed to be Danny, so I’m not her summer fling that don’t mean a thing.” He waits for you to drop three in his open palm and, with complete mockery, says, “But I’d let you ruin my life.”

You shoot him a disgusted look, and he laughs.

“Aren’t you glad I made you watch Grease?” you transition. “So who are you? A T-bird? Someone from The Outsiders? Just a generic greaser?”

“Generic greaser, I guess. What are you?”

You point at the pointy, black hat perched on your head and say in disbelief, “I’m a witch!”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, and you know you have just walked into a trap. “No, I meant your Halloween costume.”

“Get bent, you jerk,” you roll your eyes.

However, the pretzel you throw at him doesn’t stop him from chortling at his own joke.

two

You agree to feed Minho’s three cats the following weekend while he and his family have a last-minute emergency out of town. You show up to his doorstep on a late Thursday afternoon to say your regards, but everyone in the Lee household is in pandemonium. You slink past his mother to Minho’s room where Soonie and Dori are lying on his bed. Minho himself is packing a duffel bag.

You knock on his already open door to alert him of your presence. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, looking up. “Sorry about this. I would have asked someone who lived closer, but my mom doesn’t trust anyone else with the house key.”

“It’s okay. I like playing with Dori.” You’re still standing at the threshold, feeling too shy to enter now that you’re both older, and you crane your neck to see farther inside. “Where’s Doongie?”

“Under the desk. You can come in.”

“Right.”

You settle into his desk chair and pick up Doongie to pet. There’s nothing else to do, and you scan his walls for something to look at. Your eyes land on his calendar where there are reminders for the biology exam next week and the dance competition at the end of the month. You want to ask if everything’s alright, but it feels insensitive to pry.

“My mom made you dinner,” he says. “To thank you. It’s on the dining table.”

You smile as you remember all the times you stayed over for dinner at Minho’s when you were younger. His mom made the best japchae. “Tell her thanks for me.”

“Will do.”

“Minho!” you hear his mom shout. “We’re leaving!”

Minho heaves his bag over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. “Thanks for doing this. My offer of letting you ruin my life still stands, by the way.”

You snort at the comment, which makes Doongie jump off your lap, which makes you and Minho burst into laughter. “Yeah, well, what are best friends for? I’ll see you Monday?”

“Yeah. Key’s on the coffee table, by the way. And you know where the cat food is right?”

“I got it. I’ll be the best cat sitter ever.” You stand up and give him a hug. “Everything’s going to be okay, Minho.”

He holds you a little longer, and you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek. It’s surprisingly erratic, and yours begins to match in tempo.

“Thanks,” he repeats, finally pulling away.

You stand awkwardly at the foot of his bed and give him another smile as he starts to leave.

His foot has just stepped into the hallway when his mom yells again, “Lee Minho!”

“Coming!” he shouts back. He turns back to you, like he wants to say one more thing. “Don’t forget to eat or else she’ll think I didn’t tell you and get mad. And send me pictures of the cats!”

He disappears before you can even nod, and you hear the front door swing shut. You sit back down and idly spin in his chair, enjoying its cushiness. You’re not hungry yet, so you reach for Dori, who eagerly snuggles into your arms, and snap a picture to send to Minho.

Dori loves me more. Consider your life ruined.

three

The day before the biology exam you’re back at Minho’s house. Two open textbooks and an array of different colored pens decorate the dining table surface while two lazy cats lie on the floor beneath. You flip through your notes for the lesson from two days ago. In the meantime, Minho is frantically shuffling through your flashcards.

He abruptly groans after turning a card around and slumps back into his chair. “I’m so screwed. My test average is already bad, so this is just gonna make it worse. I barely remember what we covered today.”

Minho’s version of bad is everyone’s above average, but it’s unlike him to complain about his scores because he knows it. “Is everything alright?” you ask. “You don’t have to answer, but you seem off.”

“You remember that emergency last week?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you try to arrange your facial expression into something less obvious. “Yeah?”

“Well, it’s not about that.” He looks over to see you caught between relief and annoyance. He grins for a few seconds and then turns slightly more serious. “Dance team stuff. Someone got injured, so we have to fix the routine.”

You nod sagely. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, but my bio grade doesn’t have to.” With a newfound sense of energy, he straightens up and dives back into reading flashcards. “Thanks for letting me borrow your notes. I’d let you ruin my life.”

He says it with the same joking manner as last time, but you don’t answer in the same way. “I don’t think you need any help with that,” you say as you hold up his quiz from a few days ago. There’s a big, red 79% circled at the top and ugly slashes through the numbers of incorrectly answered questions.

He shrinks and makes a face at the low score. “In my defense, I was busy with dance, and it’s at least passing.”

“Well, your 90% test average is suffering.” You shut the textbooks and motion for him to put down the cards. “Tell me about lysosomes.”

“92, but alright. Lysosomes—”

When the tests are passed back another week later, you and Minho gather around your locker after school to compare scores.

He counts down, and you steadily lean in closer in anticipation. “Okay. 3… 2… 1!”

“95!” “95%!”

There’s a brief second where the two of you process each other’s grades before both of you burst into cheers about not only having matching scores but also good matching scores.

“Yogurt place or cafe?” you ask. It’s been a longstanding tradition between you and Minho to get celebratory desserts for receiving scores over 90. “I have a coupon for the new froyo place.”

Minho shakes his head dejectedly, and your heart sinks. You rarely have an excuse to hang out with him outside of school nowadays.

“I’ve got practice in” — he checks his phone — “in fifteen minutes. Raincheck or I’ll bring you coffee tomorrow morning?”

You brighten up at the prospect of Minho-delivered coffee. “Coffee. Definitely coffee.”

He nods and waves goodbye to you. “See you then.”

“Don’t be late tomorrow!”

four

Because you knew that you were getting coffee delivered to you, you didn’t have any before heading to school and are currently fighting the urge to fall asleep standing up. The bright sunlight that comes in whenever anyone walks into the building greatly helps.

“Morning,” Minho greets, a cardboard cup carrier in his hand.

You spot your drink and eagerly snatch out of its place. “I’d let you ruin my life,” you sigh, too happy to snap at Minho’s smirk at the use of the phrase. You notice the red and gold label wrapped around the cup. “You went to the expensive cafe too? Goodness, how much does this cost?”

“10,000 won.”

“There’s no way it was that expensive!” you argue.

“Delivery fee.” He sips on his own coffee while he waits for you to hand him his money.

You pull out your wallet and give him half of what he wants. “There’s no way it was more than 5,000.”

He smiles and pockets the money. “4,000 actually.” Before you can demand your change, he looks at an invisible watch around his wrist and says, “Can’t be late. See you.”

He takes off before you can protest, and you moodily drink your coffee instead. At least it’s good and full of caffeine.

Lia, the one who dressed as Sandy for Halloween and the person who just witnessed highway robbery, steps closer and asks, “Was that your boyfriend?”

At the word ‘boyfriend,’ you heat up. You snort and shake your head. “Boyfriends don’t overcharge their girlfriends for a drink. He’s my friend.”

“He seems sweet,” she says.

You’re about to correct her when your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out and smile when you see the notification on your lockscreen.

Lee Minho paid you ₩1,000 - delivery fee has been revoked

“He’s sweet, I guess.”

Lee Minho requests ₩1,000 - jk

“Never mind.”

five

You can’t believe you let Minho talk you into attending one of his dance competitions. It’s not that you’re not supportive of him and his extracurriculars, but none of your friends are free this weekend, so you have to sit in the audience by yourself. You’re not exactly lonely, but you certainly feel out of place. It’s also not fun once you remember that you have a stack of homework waiting on your desk.

When they announce your school’s team to the stage, you join the applause and shout your friend’s name as loud as you can. Minho somehow manages to pick you out of the crowd and nods at you in acknowledgement. Even though you know he can’t clearly see it, you mouth, “Good luck,” to him.

When the spectacular performance is over, you clap and shout his name again. It’s the last performance, and you anxiously wait while the judges deliberate the winner. You text some votes of confidence to Minho in the meantime. Soon all the teams gather in the room. The feedback from the head judge’s microphone quickly silences the whispers.

They’re not third.

Or second.

Or first.

They’re fifth.

You look over at Minho, who is patting his team members on a job well done. He’s smiling goodnaturedly, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You grab the bouquet of flowers you bought for him and head down to the ground floor like many others are doing.

Heart thumping, you tap him on the shoulder and hold the bouquet out to him. “Hey. Congrats on making top five,” you joke in an attempt to cheer him up.

“Thanks, I guess. It went better than we expected, but you know, first is ideal,” he shrugs. He points at the flowers in your hands, melancholy nearly gone. “Did you buy those from the supermarket?”

“Would it be better if I said I stole them from the neighbor’s garden?”

“Did you really?”

“No.”

“Lame.” He takes them anyway. “I didn’t think you would actually come.”

You again think back to the stack of homework you have and the amount of studying and procrastinating you had planned to do at home. “Me neither.”

“Thanks for coming though.” He pauses for a bit, and you already know what the next line he says will be. “I’d let you ruin my life.”

“You’re already ruining mine.”

Like you’re both in kindergarten again, he shoves you in retaliation — lightly though because he doesn’t actually want to hurt you — and knowing you can’t push him as easily, you stick your tongue at him. He is soon called away for a group photo, and he volunteers you to take it. You do so, and after, with the help of a team member, you and Minho get a picture together with the fifth place trophy. You both smile at the camera, but you’re gently elbowing each other in the ribs all the while.

A minute later, he shows you his phone screen, and you see his post of the recent picture.

being number five and ruining lives, reads the caption.

You like the post anyway and end up setting that photo as your lockscreen.

six

“I hate this,” Minho mumbles to you, his breath making clouds in the winter air. “Why do they do this to us?”

You walk alongside him, trudging at the same snail’s pace as he is. “I know,” you reply. “C’mon, let’s just get it over with so we can leave.”

You drag him by the arm to the front of the giant Christmas tree. He puts an arm around your shoulder and you an arm around his waist. The two of you plaster wide grins on each of your faces while your respective mothers snap photos of their children in matching outfits. The fathers have learned to disappear once they have arrived at the outdoor mall, and you wish you and Minho decided to slip away before the current situation.

“I hate this tradition,” you say through your teeth. You wince when someone’s flash goes off, the light blinding in the night.

“Me too. This vest looks so stupid.”

“The bow around my neck agrees.”

It happens every year, but you and Minho never grow tired of complaining. Your mothers, best friends themselves, insist on documenting the friendship of their children, so you and Minho are subjected to ridiculous Christmas Eve photos in front of the same tree every year. For whatever reason, neither of you have ever rebelled and refused. Darn people-pleasing personalities.

When your parents are satisfied with the results, you and Minho rush to partially get rid of your outfits. Minho unbuttons his vest, cursing at his cold fingers, and you fumble with the knotted ribbon around your frilly shirt collar. Of course you decide to cut your nails the day before.

“Y/N?” someone says. “Is that you?”

You look up from your ribbon and see it's one of your classmates. “Oh, hey, Lia,” you greet. You point at her bags. “Last minute shopping?”

She sheepishly nods. “I like your dress, by the way.” You don’t miss the way her eyes flicker back and forth from you to Minho. “Do you guys know you’re matching?”

“It’s a stupid tradition,” Minho interjects. His vest is draped over one arm and the other is busy loosening his tie. He looks at the limp bow around your neck. “Do you need help?”

“Yes.”

Lia shoots you a knowing smile and starts turning away. “I gotta go, but it was nice seeing you guys. I’ll see you after break. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” you say back, more concerned with getting the cursed ribbon off than goodbyes. Minho echoes the sentiment.

You tilt your chin up and let Minho take a stab at the knot. Whenever his cold hands accidentally brush against your neck, you flinch and your pulse jumps. You hear him swearing under his breath over how tight the knot is, and you meekly apologize and feel yourself grow warm. Everyone’s staring at the spectacle, but you want the stupid thing so badly you don’t care.

“Why did tie it so tightly?” he mutters, finally managing to pull it apart. “I think my hands are cramping.”

“I’d let you ruin my life,” you mockingly say before dropping the act. “But thanks for real.”

“Only for you.” He smirks. “You have to get the dads though.”

You groan. He really does want to ruin your life. You and Minho’s dads are notoriously hard to convince to leave the mall once they’ve found a nice spot to eat and chat. “Anything else,” you plead.

He shakes his head. “No. I did it last year too.”

You take his hand and drag him with you, despite his protests. His fingers are still chilly, but his palms are surprisingly warm. He mutters about your own cold hands at the same time, but you’re too preoccupied with scanning the mall for your fathers to say something witty back. You accompanied him last year, and he would do the same to you this year.

As expected, Minho gives you dirty looks while you spend fifteen minutes begging and waiting for the dads to hurry up. You innocently smile back all the while.

seven

You spent a good portion of your winter break at Minho’s house, playing with his cats, eating his mom’s delicious japchae, and lamenting about school starting up again. School is in session now, and you wait for your first period teacher to open the door as you scroll through your phone outside in the hallway. Minho stops by to return the scarf you left at his house, and to your delight, there’s free coffee that comes with it. He puts the emphasis on ‘free.’

“I’d let you ruin my life,” you say, taking it from him. It’s from the expensive cafe again. “Wow, what’s the special occasion?”

“Just ‘cause,” he replies. “See you after school.”

“See you.”

What a weird way to begin the day. You wonder if Minho’s done anything to the drink; no way he would give you something for free. However, when you cautiously taste it, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. You swirl it to further check, but there’s still nothing.

Even though he said it was free, you still send him the money anyway.

A few minutes later, Lia shows up and says good morning. The two of you idly discuss winter break, and you both find out that neither of you did anything interesting.

“Are you going to go?” Lia asks. She points at the giant poster advertising winter formal tickets.

You shrug and sip on your Minho-delivered coffee. It still tastes normal, and you’re not sure what to make of it. “I don’t know. I don’t have anyone to go with.”

“Aren’t you dating that guy I saw you matching outfits with at Christmas? I don’t know if I already told you, but those were cute outfits.”

“Nope. He’s still my friend.”

“Is that disappointment I hear?” she teases. At your stuttering attempts to retort, she laughs. “I’m kidding. But he is cute.”

“Do you still want him to ruin your life?”

“You heard that?” she groans. “Oh my goodness, that’s embarrassing.”

When you tell Minho what happened after school, he doesn’t laugh. It’s not particularly funny anyway, but he usually smiles a little. Today he’s stony. “So is that your answer?”

“My answer to what?” you bewilderedly ask. You think back to morning and even when you were last back at his house only to come up blank with what he can be referring to. “What did you ask?”

Realization hits him. “You didn’t read the coffee label, did you?”

The cup has long been tossed into the trash by now. “Was I supposed to be? What did you ask?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he quickly brushes off. He hops down off the wall. “I gotta go to practice.”

“Wait!” you call after him but he runs off.

A few minutes later, you find yourself digging through the trash can you threw your empty cup in earlier. Luckily, it’s mostly filled with paper cuttings and other coffee cups. However, the latex gloves you borrowed from your biology teacher don’t lessen your disgust, especially when leftover liquid drips out. Your teacher watches on in amusement as you scrutinize every one.

“This must be a very important piece of trash,” she remarks.

“It is. Oh! It’s this one!”

The label is stained with coffee, and you can just barely make out Minho’s handwriting in black ink. Why did he have to write it so small? No wonder why you didn’t notice it earlier. You hold up the cup higher to the light, and your eyes grow wide as you read the message.

want to ruin my life forever and be more than friends? will you go to winter formal with me?

You nearly drop it in your surprise. Oh goodness. You really, really messed up.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your ribcage, and every part of you is buzzing with adrenaline. Minho likes you in that special way, and you…

You…

You kind of feel the same?

Yes?

Wait, no?

No!

You definitely feel the same.

You hurriedly thank your teacher for her help and rush out of the classroom with Minho’s cup in your hand. You have to fix this now. You burst into the dance practice area, out of breath, and everyone looks at you in confusion.

“Yes! The answer is yes, Minho!” you shout and triumphantly hold out the cup.

The dance captain looks back and forth between your panting frame and Minho’s frozen figure. “Let’s take a five minute break?” he says, more of a suggestion than an order.

You walk over to Minho while everyone else disperses. He meets you halfway. His mouth is open, like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

You smile at him and thrust the cup into his hands. “Hi. The answer is yes to both questions.”

“But you said you told Lia we were just friends,” he breathlessly says, like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Well, we were just friends ten hours ago. I didn’t realize I wanted to be more than your best friend until I read your note.”

A hesitant smile creeps up onto his face. “I didn’t think you would actually take me up on my offer of ruining my life. I thought I screwed it all up by even asking.”

“No! I really like you,” you blurt out. “Like really, really. And I think I have for a long time now. It just… took awhile for me to find out.”

“I like you too, life ruiner.”

You try to playfully push him, but he wraps you in a hug before you can even touch him. You squirm in his grasp and giggle when he holds you even tighter.

“Life ruiner, life ruiner,” he chants in your ear. “And you’re all mine now.”

~ ad.gray

[harrypotter-imaginess]

A/N: Expect a part 2 soon!

Also if you’re interested in letter commission they’re open here!

* You’re probably in his house, a few years younger than him.

* He noticed you as this painfully shy thing, and didn’t really think much about you

* Just another shy kid, you would find your friends and be on your way in no time

* Still he can’t help but notice you

* Always quietly trailing behind the others on the way to class

* Maybe you’re just nervous? He heard you were muggle born

* So imagine when Cedric see’s you cheering the loudest on the quidditch stands for your house team.

* A massive grin on your face as he catches the snitch

* “Well that’s kinda cute”

* He always see’s you with your nose in a textbook, a slight crease between your eyebrows

* He wonders if he should go over and help

* “No, best to leave them to it” he tells himself

* You don’t talk much during meals, not unless you’re spoken to first

* And yet, you’re a friend to everyone

* Need some parchment? You’re already cutting yours in half. Dropped your ink? Here, they can have one of yours. Forgot your book? Don’t worry we can share!

* You’re so...

* Kind

* Your kindness radiates off of you like the heat of a summer day

* And before he knows it, Cedric is always looking for you.

* He knows all your favorite places, your favorite nook in the library to read, your spot at the hufflepuff table, the place in the back of the stands where you cheer for him.

* He’s only just worked up the nerve to talk to you, you’re in your favorite spot in the library when George Weasley beats him to it

* “Hey (Y/N), working on Snape’s assignment?”

* “Yeah, I’m really stumped on this part of the potion though.”

* “Oh, I remember that, the trick is in how you stir it. I know because Fred and I blew the thing up.”

* He hears you laugh

* Looks like he’s not the only one who’s noticed your kindness

* His face feels hot as he takes another glance back at the table

* You’re laughing at something George is saying, and George is grinning as he watches you

* And Cedric feels his heart squeeze a bit

* He’s never seen you laugh like that before, so open and free

* Well, he won’t ruin your fun, and he spins on his heal back to his friends

* “When did they even become friends” he mumbles to himself

* “What’s wrong?” George asks, but your eyes stay fixed on the golden boy who’s laughing at something his friend had said

* For a second- when you saw him coming this way- you hoped...

* “Nothing, do you remember this potion too?”

* After a month of hanging out with Fred and George your public profile is through the roof.

* Before you were practically invisible, but now everyone knows who you are.

* “They’re pretty cute aren’t they?” One of his friends says, gesturing to where you’re sitting with George and Fred in the courtyard

* Cedric sighs, he had started to think of you as his little secret

* But now everyone knows

* “Yeah they are.”

* He wants to approach you, he really does. But he feels awkward about it now

* He doesn’t want you to think he’s only talking to you now that you’re popular

* He’s wondering what the most organic way to approach you would be when you show up on the quidditch pitch for try outs

* All in your quidditch gear, strapping in your helmet

* Now nothing would delight Cedric more than to give you a spot on the team.

* You’re a hard worker and he knows that

* But he just doesn’t think you have what it takes to play

* So imagine his surprise when you execute all the drills perfectly, and your team even wins during the try outs

* He watches your team swarm around you, burying you in head pats and hugs, the smile on your face is absolutely bewitching

* “Looks like we found our keeper, huh?” Heidi Macavoy says, and Cedric only grins

* “I think we did.”

* Cedric makes sure he’s the one who personally tells you that you made the team

* “I’ve got some bad news-“ he’s teasing, and he almost feels bad when he see’s your face fall

* “Oh my god I didn’t make it did I?” Your face falls into your hands.

* You didn’t make it and they sent the golden boy, Cedric Diggory, himself as some sort of consolation prize

* “The bad news is...you’re going to have to start waking up pretty early on Saturdays to be at practice on time”

* Wait what?

* You slowly lift your head to see a bright yellow quidditch robe in your size

* The smile you have on your face is worth it.

* He’s thinking that smile is prize enough, so when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze him into a hug he stumbles back

* His arms hover for a second, before softly eating on your back

* “Thank you for the opportunity you won’t regret it!”

* You look at him with such wide shining eyes he can’t help but chuckle

* He pats your head

* “I’ll hold you to that”

* You don’t give him a chance to regret getting you on the team, let alone any of the others

* Always early to practice, always hanging back even when everyone’s left just to get a few minutes in.

* You’re a hard worker, he already knew that, but now it looks like everyone else is starting to know too

* “That (L/N)’s a real hard worker aren’t they?” Maxine asks casually as they’re walking to class

* Malcolm nods from beside her

* “Aye, I went out a few nights ago because I couldn’t sleep, thought might as well go for a run, they were on the pitch with the Weasley boys practicing blocking”

* Cedric sighs, another thing he’s going to have to learn to share

* “Yeah, they’re a really hard worker, kind too.”

* Malcom carries on with the conversation but Maxine doesn’t miss the glint in Cedric’s eye

* Ah, so he’s fond of you is he

* That’s a little weird considering Cedric could have a Veela girl, or literally a super model

* But he’s got a crush on you

* Shy, awkward, hard working, kind - you

* Well she gets it, she’s got a soft spot for you too

* Cedric sighs frustrated as he walks to his class

* He’s been playing quidditch with you for an entire term now

* But the two of you haven’t got any closer

* Maybe this is just the best he can hope for, a casual aquantince - it’s better than what he had before

* He shouldn’t be greedy

* But then the Draco Incident happens

* He’s not exactly sure what happened- he has not a single doubt that Draco I Instigated it somehow-

* But by the time he gets to the scene, his prefect badge glimmering

* “What’s going on here?”

* “The mud blood was about to attack me!” Draco snarls

* Cedric flinches at the word, in all 15 years of life Cedric’s never actually heard someone use that word

* But you don’t move an inch, your eyes narrowing into a glare

* “That’s rich coming from the weasel faced-inbred-derelict that was just threatening me” You snarl back

* Cedric has to cover his laugh with a cough

* He manages to get you out of the situation with only ten points taken from your house

* Little enough that no one in your house would hold a grudge against you, but size able enough so that no teacher would say he was playing favorites.

* “A weasel faced derelict” he whispers to himself

* Grinning as he watches the Weasley boys pull you into their fold

* Asking you what happened only for you to shake your head-

* He wants to know what happened too but

* His grin grows even wider

* Right now he’s just happy to have seen a side of you he didn’t know about before

* “So brave and kind”

* The total package

* Looks like he finally has something to talk to you about

[novawrights]

When Home Finds You

Plot- Reader remembers a darker time in her life before coming to Lady Dimitrescu's castle, Lady Dimitrescu shows her the home she's been searching for.

TRIGGER WARNING FOR PAST SELF HARM/DEPRESSION.

I sat in the library looking at the calendar on the wall. You would think a timeless vampire wouldn't need one but from what her daughters said, it was a recent thing when you had arrived a few months ago because they hadn't seen one before. So you took advantage of keeping track of each important date. Birthdays, special things they celebrated or treasured, even your birthday, all written in with flowing cursive writing. But one specific day was just a dot. They all shrugged when they saw it thinking it meant nothing but to you, it meant everything. My thumb subconsciously stroked my upper left thigh where thin scars crisscrossed across the fair skin. Most of my life I have felt alone, an apartment in the States that only held the essentials like clothes; basically a place to eat and sleep while I went to my job as a waitress and came home with no one to tell my day to, gossip with or have girls or friends nights. Early on I drifted apart from friends and the moment my so called accepting  family figured out I was were more into women they swiftly and cruelly disowned me. That's when I became best friends with a silver razor blade. Four years of cutting any piece of skin that could be hidden, becoming an expert in covering and tending to wounds, but three years ago, I forced myself to stop. I was then pulled from my thoughts when the big, oak doors opened and revealed Lady Dimitrescu. Or as I somehow got away with calling her, Alcina. Neither of you knew how it started or why she let's it be when the first moment a maid says it, her golden eyes flash with the fury of lightening in a thunderstorm.

"What are you doing in here all by your lonesome?" She asked, voice laced with concern that her eyes mirrored. I shrugged not taking my eyes off the calendar with today's date being the anniversary when you stopped cutting.

"Thinking about how I got here." I murmured. It wasn't a lie. Had I been left to my thoughts any longer I would have eventually made it to the day I showed up on her doorstep soaking wet and damn near hypothermic. She hummed as she sat in the chair next to me and placed a tray with two tea cups on it. Probably the one drink I had ever seen her drink without any blood in it.

"A strange day indeed. My daughter's usually devour any intruders immediately but for some reason they were definitely part of the argument to keep you alive." Her voice smooth with agreement with a hint of a smile and I chuckled in response.

"Oh yeah?" I teased as I looked over in her direction. While she was this tall, incredible and powerful woman, the soft spot she only had for her daughters, now extended to me. She met my gaze, golden irises meeting my steel gray with the softness only so few saw.

"I'm not one to believe in fate. I've lived far too long to really give it credit should anything good, or bad, come my way. But you took that belief and stomped all over it." She sighed as she turned her gaze into the fire I had long forgotten I lit. "Now I know I promised to give you privacy with your thoughts, but something is bothering you enough I can feel the storm cloud from my chambers across the castle." I sighed knowing she wasn't going to let this go. It was weird she had offered me who ended up agreeing to be a maid, privacy. Especially so soon.

"Several years ago things kind of fell apart. Family disowned me and friends drifted apart so I was literally coming home to an empty apartment every day after work." I started as I took the teacup from her hand and took a sip, letting the apple cinnamon flavor warm me. I could feel her eyes fall on me as she mirrored my action with her own tea. "When you get lonely, you don't always have the best coping mechanisms. Mine, was self destructive. Easy to conceal and no one would know since I never wore shorts or went out to the beach or wore dresses when I went to a club." I snorted before taking another sip. "Extremely glad I hadn't known you or the girls then." I added as a whisper as I turned my gaze to her. Her eyes darted across my face as if she was trying find the answer without me saying it. It was only until her eyes widened a moment later that I knew she figured it out. "You would have eaten me alive." She coughed. Not the best time to throw a suggestive joke like that but the line we danced across between attraction and a degree of softness reserved for lovers, was always front and center of my mind.

"We would have." She agreed softly. I looked at the calendar and gestured with my chin.

"That dot next to today's date, is the day I forced myself not to cut myself anymore. The day I threw out my razor blades."

"How long?"

"Three years self harm free." She didn't say anything and I heard the rustle of her white dress as she moved. I felt a twinge of fear squeeze my heart. Would she kick me out? Mock me? Strip me of my clothes and humiliate me that I wasn't strong enough? But to my surprise, a black glove and white sleeve entered my peripheral vision. I looked up and blinked away the tears that I hadn't realize were popping up.

"Come, my dear." She whispered. I wiped my eyes and took her hand as she led me from the library. It didn't take me long to realize she was leading me to her chambers.

"Al..." I murmured. She sent me a small smile as she opened the doors to her room, before leading me to the room where her bath was held. It always reminded me of a in ground pool for how big it was but also since it was indeed, in the ground surrounded by black tile.

"Get in." She gestured. I looked and saw it was already filled, the room smelled of lavender and the water still warm by the steam rising from it. I was thankful she turned away so I could have some modesty left since this was a boundary we hadn't come close to breaching. I stepped into the water and nearly moaned at the warm feel of it on my skin. When I got completely in I sat on the little ledge as she walked towards it.

"Tonight is about you. Because not only am I glad you had some impulse to travel, and travel here of all places and your car to break down in the middle of a storm, I'm also glad you've gotten over whatever life has thrown you. Even if there were a couple roadblocks in the way." I nearly teared up as she knelt on the tile and grabbed a purple bottle. She tapped my head as a non verbal cue to wet my hair, which I complied with, before resurfacing where my head my her hands with shampoo already lathered and ready to be coaxed into my brown hair. My eyes fluttered shut and a moan escaped me as I let myself relax and surrender to her fingers. Even when I felt like it was enough, she kept going.

"Times like this I wish I had my music. Even if you guy don't have electronics, most of my bands do vinyls still so a turntable would work." I sighed.

"I'll see what I can do, my sweet." The pet names were becoming more frequent these days, not that I was complaining. Another tap a few moments later for me to rinse out my hair of the sweet smelling shampoo and I couldn't help but enjoy the domestic intimacy between us. After rinsing my hair and feeling more relaxed than I had that day, I felt like my head was a little clearer and the storm cloud had gone away. She reached around and stroked my cheek.

"Dry off and meet me in my room." She whispered. I blinked as she practically glided out of the room before standing. I took one of the big fluffy towels she used and towel dried my hair as much as I could, and dried my body off. I noticed a pair of my old running shorts and a tank top waiting for me to change into. I ignored the blush creeping up my neck seeing a pair of underwear laying with it.

After changing I walked out of the room to see her in front of her fireplace with a silver goblet with her blood laced wine with another with plain red wine that I liked. I took a seat on the sinfully comfortable, crimson red couch next to her.

"I've felt this draw to you since you arrived. It's why the tasks I gave you kept you closer to me and report to me instead of anyone else. It's why I've done so much more for you as a maid compared to everyone else that has walked through these halls." She started. "If my instincts are correct, you feel the same or follow the same trail of thouught." Lady Alcina, the one who seems impossible to fluster or look unsure, cast this vulnerable air around her; and it surprised me. I swallowed knowing there was no way out of this conversation.

"I-I-I do." I stammered. I looked up at her and met teary eyes filled with love, adoration, compassion and genuine happiness.

"Fate does seem to come into play sometimes." She murmured before she leaned in where her wine red lips met mine. I'm not one to use cheesy movie clichés, but this kiss felt like I was home and complete in a way I thought was just a cruel joke for me. I felt her hand softly touch my thigh where the spandex had ridden up and a few scars where revealed. Pale lines that were almost invisible gleamed in the fire light. When she pulled away from the gentle kiss, her eyes flickered toward them, almost as if she knew my panicked trail of thought was going.

"You are so beautiful, my love. No scar, bruise, wound or anything will ever make me think otherwise." She assured me as her thumb caressed them much like mine had done just a while ago.

"But most of all," she continued, "You're home.

With me and my daughters. " I hadn't realized how much her words would mean to me until I felt tears falling in rapid succession that she brushed them away before pulling me towards her chest. There was one thing I had been hoping to find and I found it in the arms of Lady Alcina.

[dcforts]

[week #1: summer solstice]

1.9k, deancas, established relationship, night out.

Dean killed the engine in the parking lot and looked across the street.

The huge neon sign on the door said Summer Solstice in yellow and orange and was decorated with palms and flamingos. It was flashy and intimidating.

“Is this the place?” asked Cas from the passenger seat. Dean looked over at him. He was wearing that baby blue shirt Sam had gotten him for Christmas and had styled his hair in a cute way – at least before Dean had gotten it all messed it up in the garage before they even left. Now there were some locks doing what they wanted in the back. Dean liked it anyway.

“Yeah,” he said, looking towards the entrance again. “That’s what Google says.”

“Mh,” said Cas. He didn’t sound convinced.

“We don’t have to go in,” said Dean, a little nervous.

A couple of young girls were disappearing behind the door right then. They seemed happy and relaxed and Dean was feeling uneasy.

He was too old for this. Had too much trauma, a too complicated history. This was more of a place for Claire. Or maybe not. Maybe she was too cool for it and she’d make fun of him if she knew where he was.

He and Cas didn’t belong there.

They should have stayed at the bunker, kissing on the couch, like the did every Friday night. Dean liked that.

They could still just drive away, pull over in the middle of nowhere and sit on the hood. But they did that all the time. This was supposed to be them trying new things – being out in the world, proud and all. They thought this Summer Solstice's Rainbow Friday could be a good start.

It had taken them all afternoon to find something they liked, driven an hour and a half. Cas had read him the place's entire website and now they were there and Dean was thinking of chickening out. He couldn’t believe himself sometimes.

Dean sighed. “We don’t have to go in, man,” he repeated like a broken record.

Cas was looking at a group of people coming out of the bar. They looked like they were having a good time. Behind them was a couple of guys walking hand in hand. The couple crossed the street to get into the parking lot and stopped to kiss all sweet and soft right in front of their car.

Fuck, alright, Dean was feeling really old and not at all okay.

He wasn’t even sure if he ever kissed Cas in public like that. Actually, that was a lie. He remembered every single kiss they ever shared, he just didn’t know if “no one around for miles” counted as public.

“I think we should go in.” Cas said but then looked over at him and his expression changed. “Are you feeling okay?��

Dean gulped, overheating all of the sudden even if he didn't have his usual jacket on. “Yeah, yeah.”

He rolled down his window, and now he could hear the bubbly pop song that was playing in the bar. That didn’t help.

“Dean, are you sure?”

Yeah. Yeah, sure. He was okay. He was. He could go to a damn bar with his boyfriend. That's what people did. He could do that.

“We can just see if we like it,” Cas said. “We don’t have to stay if we don’t.”

“You said you wanted to try their cocktails.”

Cas looked like he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes at him, “I think I’ll survive if I don’t.”

“It’s just – I’m not used to this kind of –" he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I know,” Cas said anyway and Dean felt like he really did. He sighed and slumped against the seat. He caught Cas’ eyes. “We don’t have to like it,” he said once more. “It’s just something that we’re trying.”

Dean was watching his eyes and hearing his voice and he was feeling calmer already. He kept saying we and that was really helping for some reason. He couldn’t believe he'd just been freaking out about going into a bar.

“Okay, yeah,” he said, and this time he meant it. Kind of. He looked over at the place again. “So. What’s with that name anyway? Summer solstice?”

He was stalling.

Cas let him, “The longest day of the year,” he said, like a professor. Dean liked when he used that voice and didn’t say that he knew that already. “It signs the start of a new season.”

“What’s that – what’s that cocktail you wanted to try?”

“I think one was called Heatwave Sweet Heatwave,” he said and Dean couldn’t help but huff a laugh, “Oh, God”.

“And another was – Feeling Beachy.”

“Alright, stop, you’re killing me.”

Cas smiled at him. He knew Cas wouldn’t be let down if he said he wanted to go home. But Dean didn’t want to go home. He’d chosen his outfit and all, even ironed his shirt.

He didn't even know what was holding him back. He sighed, took one last look at the neon sign, then rolled the window up and took the keys out.

“Alright, come on, let’s do it,” he said opening his door.

Cas got out, rounded the car as Dean locked it and grabbed his hand.

Crossing the street felt like a huge deal, but being pulled by Cas' strong grip made it easier and Dean felt lighter and lighter. He kind of held his breath when he passed under the rainbow flag by the entrance, but nothing happened, no cold shower, no electrocution. And once they got in, he just felt – normal.

It was a long room, bustling with people, crowding the bar and the dancefloor on the far end. They were of different ages and wearing all kinds of different clothes - not the usual patrons of the hunter bars Dean was used to, but no one turned to stare at him like he'd thought would happen. They were all just chatting away and dancing and minding their business.

Cas squeezed his hand. Dean started to relax.

The bartender was half his age, had an hawaiian shirt on and sunglasses on top of his head. He was wearing one of those flag pins, but Dean couldn’t remember what it meant. He took one look at them and said, “First time?” and Dean thought he must have looked like grade-A idiot.

Not even the time to open and close his mouth like a fish that the guy had slammed two shots on the counter in front of them and winked, “On the house. Welcome.”

So that was a good start.

Then Dean got addicted real quick to a concotion called Tropic Like It’s Hot and went back for seconds and thirds on the mini sandwich platter on the buffet table, all while saying sandwich with fruit should be made illegal worldwide.

They played really terrible remixed songs that Dean didn’t know but got the crowd going, but then they played a bunch of his girl's Taylor and a bunch of the ones Cas liked. Cas said he wasn’t gonna dance but still followed him onto the dancefloor and kind of moved his head and feet a bit while working through his second Feeling Beachy and Dean got to dance all stupid around him and make him laugh so that was nice.

He went to the bathroom for two seconds and when he came out, Cas was at the bar again and someone was chatting him up. Dean prepared for the worst, but when he got closer the guy smiled all bright and said, “Hey, you’re Dean, right?”

He looked a little like Benny, which was weird, and was wearing very short shorts ,which Benny wouldn’t have worn, even if he could’ve totally pulled them off in Dean’s opinion.

Anyway, the fact that it looked a little like Benny made Dean feel instantly comfortable around him and he felt only moderately scrutinized when they were joined by a couple of his friends who asked about their whole life story – even the damn bartender from before leaned over the counter to listen in. Apparently they were all regulars of their Friday events and they all knew each other.

Dean almost doubled over in laughter when Cas said he was an exterminator and that got him thinking that he should definitely stop drinking Tropics, because apparently they were pretty strong under all the sugar. He was glad to let Cas handle the conversation and they were nice to them, even said they hoped to see them back before they left with their drinks.

Dean realized it was the first time he was being seen for who he was by total strangers and not feeling worried about it at all. It felt good, it felt exciting.

Dean looked at Not-Benny walking away with his short shorts and wondered if he could pull them off too.

“Yes, of course,” said Cas all serious, and Dean realized he’d asked that out loud.

Yeah, he should have stopped drinking like a drink ago.

Cas got suddenly very close to his face and said “Is everything okay? Do you wanna go?” and Dean leaned forward to kiss him, because everything was okay, and it was Friday night after all, and that was still his favourite thing to do on a Friday night.

Not-Benny found them again and gave them flower garlands to wear for being newbies and Dean only itched to get rid of his for the first ten minutes, but then he didn’t and the itch disappeared. Also, Cas kept pulling him around with it and that felt especially nice.

They came out of there two hours later and Cas stopped him by the car to kiss him all sweet and soft right there in the parking lot.

Dean felt dizzy and happy and not at all too old.

They got breakfast at a diner on the way to the bunker and although Dean longed for his bed, the sight of Cas sitting across from him sipping on his coffee, his left side lighted by the rising sun was so nice that he also kind of wished he could stay there forever.

“We should get something for Sam,” said Cas in the end, so they got up, went back to the car and drove the rest of the way, speeding with the windows rolled down, humming those catchy songs that got stuck in their head.

Sam was yawning in the kitchen, waiting for his coffee to brew, when they appeared on the door. He had an amused expression on his face in two seconds when he saw them, “You guys are just coming in?”

Dean gave him his donut. Sam smiled at him and said, “Really nice garland, man. Cas sent a pic.”

Dean regretted giving him his donut. He scowled at Cas, “How do you even do that?” He hadn't even seen him using his phone.

Cas was stealing Sam’s coffee and pretended not to hear him, his back turned, doing the worst impression of the Invisible Man ever.

He also put a cup in Dean's hand though, so Dean stopped scowling at him. They got out of the kitchen right before Sam started lamenting, “Guys, you drank all my coffee!”

They collapsed in bed without undressing and Dean got to unbutton Cas’ baby blue shirt and slip a hand in to touch his skin, then bury his nose in his neck. He smelled of pineapple and coffee and still somehow of that cologne he’d sprayed himself with the night before.

"In my defence, you look very good in that picture," whispered Cas, sounding like he was one moment away from falling asleep.

Dean stayed awake for a while longer, basking in an unfamiliar state of quiet euphoria. He was smiling.

He was okay. He was.

@bend-me-shape-me said #deancassummerprompts21 and I said YES

[rainingpouringetc]

but god i want to feel again

written for alastair pain day 2021 (even though it’s two days late) title from ‘touch’ by sleeping at last, which i listened to on repeat while writing

tw for brief implied period-typical racism, abuse, alcoholism, bullying, toxic relationships

read on ao3

all i want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed.

invisible machinery, these moving parts inside of me well, they’ve been shutting down for quite some time, leaving only rust behind.

well i know, i know- the sirens sound just before the walls come down. pain is a well-intentioned weatherman predicting God as best he can, but God i want to feel again, oh God i want to feel again.

~‘touch’ sleeping at last

---

Alastair rolled his shoulders back. He’d done this a hundred times before. It never got easier.

“Come on, now, Baba,” he groaned, lifting his father’s arm across his shoulder. Elias mumbled something incoherent and drooped further, stumbling over his own feet as he was dragged over the cobblestones. “Time to go home,” Alastair murmured, silently tallying how many times he had taken this exact route from this exact tavern in just the past month.

Twelve years old and he knew the location of every pub in every city he’d ever lived.

Their house was visible just up ahead—the third they’d lived in this year. Alastair noted that all the lights were out and thanked whatever god was listening. He couldn’t deal with redirecting Cordelia’s questions on top of getting his father cleaned up. Tonight was already draining enough.

He managed to get Elias up the steps and into the washroom with less trouble than usual, a sign that his father was perhaps more lucid than he’d originally believed. The clock on the mantle had read just past midnight—perhaps he was just tired as well.

“‘M fine, ‘m fine,” Elias slurred as Alastair attempted to wipe his damp forehead with a wet cloth, pushing his son’s hand away.

Alastair huffed and set the cloth aside before turning to rummage through the cabinet for a glass. They always kept a glass in the washroom for times like this. He filled it halfway and offered it to his father. When Elias only glared at it, slumping down on the seat and leaning heavily on the wall, Alastair held the glass to his lips and tipped it back, forcing him to drink. 

When he pulled the glass back—his father having blessedly drunk it all without much of a fight—Elias stood abruptly. He was still quite drunk and thus swayed on his feet for several long moments. Alastair leaped forward to steady him, but was immediately pushed away with all the force of a heroic—however disgraced—Shadowhunter.

Alastair hit the wall hard and gasped as the breath whooshed out of him. His head spun—had he hit it? He must have—and his vision blackened at the edges. Elias was still struggling to keep himself upright. Alastair watched as he took a step and immediately crumpled to the ground. He stumbled forward yet again, trying to help, wanting to help, but his father cried out and Alastair froze in place. The last thing he needed was his mother—or, worse, his sister—hearing the noise and coming to investigate. 

Alastair looked down and realized that at some point he’d dropped the glass. It had shattered on the floor. Head still spinning, he bent down to try to gather it together, instantly cutting his hands. He inhaled sharply, ignoring the pain and sweeping the remains into a small pile in the corner. He could ask Risa for helping taking it out in the morning. 

His hand was bleeding rather substantially, blood running over the Voyance rune on the back. The only Mark he had. 

“Are you alright, Baba?” he asked quietly, careful not to speak loud enough to agitate his father’s headache. 

“‘M fine,” Elias repeated. “Go to bed, Alastair. I’ll be just fine on my own.”

Alastair didn’t believe it for a second. He stood and carefully maneuvered his father’s arm around his shoulders again. He couldn’t risk taking him up the stairs—Elias might fall, or someone might hear. There was a small room just down the hallway that Alastair had left his father in on numerous occasions to sleep off a hangover. It seemed tonight would be another one.

He shouldered the door open and deposited his father on the couch, making sure to leave him on his side and support his head with a few pillows. He knew he shouldn’t leave his father alone. Something could happen, and if Elias died because he suffocated on his own vomit there would be no one to blame but Alastair and his selfishness. But his hands were throbbing now, and his stele was upstairs in his room. He took the stairs two at time, skipping the ones that creaked the most, and shut the door gently behind him.

As soon as it was closed, Alastair slumped down against it, trying to steady his breathing. In, hold. Out, hold. In, hold. Out, hold. Over and over until the spinning stopped, until he could think again.

His stele was on his desk. His mother had given it to him last year, claiming it was a birthday present. Alastair knew it was because she’d spotted the bruises on his arms.

For a moment, Alastair considered leaving the cuts be. They would scar if he did, and it would hurt until then. But Alastair would revel in the pain, in the ability to feel something—anything—besides dull fear and numbness. It was the direction he knew he was heading towards. If he allowed it to consume him—

No. He wouldn’t let it. He wouldn’t let it change him.

Carefully, Alastair picked up the stele. It stung where it pressed against his cuts. He traced an iratze flawlessly and held his hand away to survey his work. 

Practice makes perfect, he thought wryly.

---

Alastair sat almost fully turned around in his seat on the carriage, watching as Cirenworth disappeared into the distance. Cordelia, who had run behind them down the lane, struggling to keep up, had long since faded into nothingness.

“Turn front or you’ll fall off the moment we hit a bump,” Elias snapped from beside him. Alastair did as he was told, stubbornly looking anywhere but at his father.

Alastair did not understand why his father had insisted on seeing him to the Academy. Alone. There would be no one to make sure he returned in one piece, no one to steer him away from welcoming taverns or haul him out of a pub before he drank himself to death. 

But for once, Alastair found he didn’t particularly care. He was going to the Academy, and his father’s health would no longer be his primary concern—his primary burden. He would be around children his own age. He would have a chance to finally—finally—make friends.

It was much more exciting and nerve wracking than he’d expected.

Cordelia had Lucie, a fact that Alastair was endlessly grateful for. But he was all alone. Cordelia could hardly count as a friend. She was his sister, after all, and therefore obligated to tolerate him, yes, but also to tease him at every available opportunity.

This was something he couldn’t risk messing up. He needed this. He was more desperate than he wished to admit.

Alastair spent the remainder of the journey in silence, shutting down all of his father’s attempts at conversation with a stoic nod or by blatantly ignoring him. It wasn’t his favorite method, but he truly could not deal with his father making him more nervous than he already was.

When they finally arrived at the Academy, Alastair’s stomach was a jumbled mess of nerves and whatever he’d eaten for breakfast—he couldn’t even remember at this point. He was too busy praying his father would leave before he could embarrass Alastair.

The universe wouldn’t give him a break, though.

Elias clapped his son on the shoulder and insisted on helping carry his bags up to the dorms. He nearly slipped on the stairs four times. He dropped the bags twice. Alastair wanted to crawl into a hole by the time they arrived. His roommate was nowhere to be seen—likely they hadn’t arrived yet—so Alastair went to stand beside the bed nearest the window. His father dropped the bags to the floor beside the other bed.

“No, Father, this one,” he said, pointing.

Elias blinked at him. “This bed is closer to the door,” he told Alastair, speaking slowly as if the implications should be obvious.

“I know. I just—I want the one closer to the window is all,” Alastair stammered, face hot. What did it matter? In a minute his father would leave and he could take whichever bed he liked most.

“Closer to the door is safer,” Elias insisted, sitting down on the bed and folding his hands together. 

Alastair simply nodded, trying to play along. He might’ve gotten away with it, too, if the door hadn’t burst open at just that moment, revealing a slightly disheveled looking boy. Alastair assumed this was to be his roommate then.

“You’ve chosen your bed already then?” the boy said without preamble, nodding to where Alastair’s bags were sitting next to his father.

“He has,” Elias answered.

The boy nodded and swung his bags up to rest on the bed next to the window. Alastair swallowed thickly and said, “Thank you for your help, Father, but I think I’m alright now.”

Elias grinned. “Of course you are. I’ll be on my way then.” He stood and strode to the door, turning to say, “Goodbye, Alastair joon.” He disappeared into the stairwell.

Alastair turned to his roommate to find the boy was staring at him. “What was that he called you?” the boy questioned a bit rudely.

“Joon?” The boy nodded. “It’s Persian,” Alastair said hesitantly. “It’s just—something you call people you care about.”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “That’s weird.” Alastair flushed. Before he could defend himself, the boy stuck out a hand. “Piers Wentworth.”

Alastair took his hand. “Alastair Carstairs.”

Piers’ eyes widened. “Carstairs? As in—was that Elias Carstairs?”

Alastair nodded, confused at his tone. “He’s my father.”

“Your father?” Alastair nodded again. Piers dropped his hand. “I heard he spends most of his time at the bottom of a bottle.”

Before Alastair could process the words fully, Piers pushed past him and was gone from their room. When the words hit him, Alastair picked up the first thing he could find—a volume of poetry from his bag—and threw it as hard as he could at the wall.

---

Alastair wasn’t sure when he started to become numb. He thought it might’ve been sometime during winter, when Augustus Pounceby kicked him down the stairs and he broke two ribs. Or perhaps it was after that, when Piers locked him out of their room overnight and he slept curled up in an alcove, waking to find Augustus and his friends crowded around him, laughing. 

All he knew was that it was a slap in the face the first time he heard his sister’s name come out of one of their mouths. It was Augustus who had said it—said something so awful Alastair’s mind had blocked it out immediately. All he registered was Cordelia and danger. 

That was the last straw.

He’d grown used to their abuse, to their snide comments and kicks and punches, but if there was one thing that could snap him out of this it was his determination to protect his sister. She was too young, too kind, for this. He wasn’t too numb not to protect her a bit longer.

The next day when Augustus and his gang cornered Alastair again, he made sure there was a clear sight of some of the dregs—the mundane students. Alastair had tried to befriend them as well. They had turned him away, exclaiming that they didn’t realize they allowed people like him in the school. What should he care if a few of them were hurt to save himself and his sister?

The moment Augustus looked like he was going to make his move, Alastair made his, raining down insult after witty insult on the small group of dregs watching on. Augustus stared at him in surprise, then burst into laughter, even joining in once he regained his balance. Piers was there too, and Clive—soon enough the whole lot of them had turned their attention from Alastair and were focused solely on those poor mundanes.

It happened again, and again. Soon enough, Augustus and his friends weren’t seeking Alastair out to kick him around—they were seeking him out for help in their own schemes.

Is this who I’ve become? Alastair wondered faintly as Clive pulled him along down a corridor, speaking rapidly about a prank they were going to play on a few of the girls.

The numbness began to creep back in, diluting the anger and pain of which he’d long been so afraid.

---

Things were different, certainly, when Alastair returned from the Academy. Cordelia managed to pry some of it out of him, but he couldn’t allow her to see the full picture. That would mean telling her about their father’s drinking, and even he wasn’t so selfish as to tell her that yet. 

The years passed, and Alastair allowed that numb shell to solidify and thicken, dampening the swirling mass of indignation and heartbreak that lay beneath. 

And then he met Charles Fairchild.

Or, really, he met Charles again. They had seen each other—talked, even—at various Shadowhunter functions whenever the Carstairs were near London or whenever the Fairchilds were traveling to an Institute near them. Alastair had always picked Charles out effortlessly at such events, with his slicked back red hair and piercing green eyes.

Alastair knew better than to pretend he did not find Charles attractive. It had been no secret to himself that he preferred men—he’d known it since before the Academy, really. But it also wasn’t as if he’d had any opportunity to act on it. 

So, when he was sixteen and in Paris for a few months, when he saw Charles again and the man dropped one too many thinly veiled hints, Alastair allowed himself to be swept away by the romance of it all—the mystery and charm and utter newness that came with Charles and all he represented.

It was wonderful those first months. Perhaps not what Alastair had expected. He supposed he hadn’t thought there would be quite so many rules, but Charles was very insistent. No one could suspect a thing. It was exhilarating.

Until it wasn’t.

He didn’t know when, exactly, it shifted from exciting and new to tedious and tense. Perhaps it was when Charles became engaged to Ariadne. Perhaps it was after the first dozen or so broken promises. Perhaps it was when Alastair realized a life with Charles was a life with doors shut and curtains drawn.

But who was he to complain? That was life, wasn’t it? Few people in the world were lucky enough to have a perfect whirlwind romance, and those who did often left others in the dust. 

And Charles liked Alastair, had told him he loved him. He smiled at Alastair and didn’t act like he was a waste of space. 

So while that numb shell stayed firmly in place to keep everyone else away, Alastair propped open a back door for Charles to come and go in his life as he pleased.

They didn’t see each other as often as Alastair would have liked, and when they were apart they didn’t risk sending letters—“Letters can be intercepted! Opened and read without your consent,” Charles had explained—but that didn’t stop Alastair from dreaming of a time when they could be together without the strings of society attached.

He dreamed of a time when he could feel again.

So he let the little things slide. When Charles and Ariadne didn’t split up when Charles had said they would, Alastair just said, “Next time.” When Charles chose Clave meeting after Clave meeting over Alastair, Alastair simply attended the meetings himself for a chance to see Charles. 

And when Charles pushed him away at every oncoming footstep, every creak of the floorboard, Alastair pretended not to see the fear and shame in his eyes.

---

Alastair decided that Thomas Lightwood was the single most lovely person to have ever existed on the planet.

He also decided that he must be loopy from the exhaustion of the day because he’d never been prone to such sickeningly sweet thoughts before.

But he couldn’t deny it either. There was something in the way he wore his heart on his sleeve that made Thomas so approachable, so loveable.

Alastair found himself wishing he could bottle up this whole day and carry it around with him wherever he went. This whole murder trial business was far more bearable with Thomas there with him.

And yet—all good things must come to an end. Alastair knew it, perhaps better than anyone. And this… this was too good a thing to last very long.

Alastair did not wish to hurt Thomas. Thomas was good and kind and all the things Alastair never had been. Beyond all possible expectations, Thomas had entered the small group of people for which Alastair would do anything. 

Even if it meant pushing him away.

Thomas was grieving. Alastair knew that. He knew that it was messing with Thomas’ head, making him act more recklessly and crave things that were bad for him. Alastair didn’t want to be bad for Tom—he wanted desperately to be good for him. But that couldn’t happen until things changed.

If they ever did.

If anyone would ever be willing to step forward and claim their feelings for him without fearing embarrassment or shame. If anyone would ever be willing to open the door for him and let him step out into the light.

At this point it was almost second nature to pull away from his touch, turn his eyes down and let the lies roll off his tongue. If he closed his eyes, he could almost ignore the sound of his own heart cracking.

As he strode away from him—from that single loveliest person to have ever existed—Alastair wondered if this would do it, if this would be the thing to push him over the edge and break something in him that couldn’t be fixed. 

He could feel it—feel the gears inside him grinding to a halt and shutting down. Soon there would be nothing but rust left behind, and he would be blown away by the wind.

[tags - @littlx-songbxrd @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @barbra-lightwood @lifewouldbebetteronmars @imherongraystairstrash @itsdaughterofthemoon @stxr-thxif @knifescythe @axoloteca ; i just used my standard taglist, sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged <3]

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (14/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.4k words

Warning : angst, sad reader, angry reader, dumbass Bucky, Steve being likable for once, smartass Sam, reader finally having some friends, mention of assault, confrontation, drinking, fluff, Bec is Bucky’s sister - Rebecca

Unlike you, Bucky remembered everything. He could never forget that you were hurt because of him — tied to a chair for hours while he couldn't save you — crying on the bathroom floor as he held you. The only thing common in all of those instances was him. You had to go through shit because of him, and yet, you still didn't blame him. You wrapped your arm around him as if he wasn't the cause of your pain. It was clear that his past and the baggage that he came with didn’t bother you. In fact, you understood and accepted his trauma and still loved him. You didn't love him despite his baggage. No, you loved him with every bad thing he offered.

Bucky was sure you were delusional. No sane woman would want to be with the man who was responsible for her captivity, yet you snuggled closer towards him the moment this thought occurred in his head. And Bucky loved you more because of that, and he thought he wasn't physically capable of loving you more than he already did. Bucky knew you reciprocated those feelings, it was very obvious that both of you were a goner for the other. Nevertheless, those emotions were not voiced out loud in your relationship yet. And Bucky wanted it to stay that way.

Bucky decided to sneak out of your bed and house before you could wake up. He was aware it was cowardly of him to just leave without giving you an explanation. But if he stayed to explain, you would have asked him to stay, and he didn't have it in himself to tell you no. You were the ray of sunshine in his stormy life and he could never say no to you. You could ask him to get you the sun, and he would get it for you, even after knowing that it would kill him and the humankind in the process. He would still do it.

But what he couldn’t do was refuse you, so he would have to leave you instead.

***

You woke up a bit disoriented, unaware of the surroundings you were in. It took you a minute to process that you were in your own house and not held captive. Once you came back to your senses instinctively you called for Bucky. He held you while you slept the previous night, so he had to be out in the kitchen. When no response came back, you went out to check for him, only to be met with an empty house.

When you tried to contact him, Bucky was distant. He didn’t respond to your texts and your mind was telling you that something was wrong, but you shoved those thoughts sideways, hoping that maybe he was busy with work. But you both went through something traumatic, you needed him to be with you. If he were busy, he could have at least texted you.

Well, if he was going to ignore you, then you wouldn't be one of those people whose life revolved around their partner. You had a book to write and ambitions that didn’t involve him. 

Two hours later, when there was no word from him, you stared at the blank  screen on your computer. You weren’t unfamiliar with writer's block, but it had been months and you haven't written a single line since the incident in the club involving Rumlow. And now that you were alone with your thoughts, you started doubting everything. Should you have stayed in that corporate 9 to 5 job? You'd have a stable life and a fixed salary. Maybe you could have even got a promotion. Should you have filed a complaint against Rumlow? Bucky wanted you to, he even assured you the cops would be on your side, but you just weren't ready. You realized that by choosing to remain silent, you were sending a predator out in the world. He could do that to other people and you could have stopped it.

A knock on the front door interrupted your train of thoughts and you were grateful for the person on the other side. You assumed it was Bucky, he didn’t need to buzz in because he literally owned the building. Well, it could also be any one of his friends. Sam and Steve also didn't need permission . And the other day when Peter came by to give you your phone (you left it in the club), he didn't buzz in either. 

Seeing Wanda, Peter and Pietro on the door was a good change and God, you needed a change or else you'd go mad with self-loathing. 

“We brought pizza,” Wanda exclaimed, lifting the bag in her hand to show you.

You didn't say anything, just smiled at them thankfully. You were really delighted they were here. Not only that, but you didn't have many friends here, and you considered your work friends, your only friends. It was nice to see that they saw you as a friend too and not just someone they work with.

“And beers,” Pietro chimed in, raising the carton in his hand. 

You looked at Peter before teasing, “Is he even legal, guys?”

Seeing you joke around with them made Wanda happy. Between all the testosterone, she truly needed a female friend, and she was relieved to see you treating them as friends rather than colleagues. And she understood the trauma that must haunt you since your kidnapping. She was an empath and when you didn’t show up at work, she grew worried. 

Half an hour later, most of you were on your second beer. Pietro was on his fourth. That man was fast at everything he did. A movie was playing in the background that none of you paid attention to while everyone was settled on your couch. It wasn't a very spacious couch, you were all squashed into it, but it was too comfortable to leave. You were sitting in between Peter and Wanda, while Pietro was situated beside his sister.

You forgot how nice it felt to have friends and bitch about people to them.

“And just like that he was gone. I woke up and he wasn't there,” you told them, “Hasn't been taking my calls either.”

Pietro took a sip of his drink before saying, “What an ass!”

Wanda raised her bottle, nudging all of you to join her, and said, “Fuck men!” 

“Amen!” you agreed, Peter and Pietro nodded too.

“You should focus on your book,” Pietro advised, “Bucky is gonna regret if he loses someone like you, babe.”

The book. Your book. You couldn't tell them why you weren't focused on the book. It was still a lot to process, and you were not ready, so you nodded before chanting, “Fuck Bucky!”

***

“What are you doing here?” Sam questioned as he and his husband entered the  office.

“Last I checked, I own this place.”

Sam huffed, “I meant why are you here instead of her place, smartass?”

Bucky looked around to avoid the questioning gaze of both Sam and Steve. He hadn’t talked to Steve since the argument they had over you. Of course, they did discuss business as usual, but nothing related to their personal life.

 “She doesn't need me,'' Bucky murmured and looked at Steve. “You must be pleased to know that it's over.”

Bewilderment was clear on the faces of both the men because Bucky exhaled loudly before continuing, “I almost got her killed. It would be wise and safe for her to not be with me.”

Steve finally spoke, “Did she say that?”

When his best friend shook his head ‘no’, Steve sighed in exasperation. “You are an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, that's what you wanted, didn't you?” Bucky retorted, “For me to focus on work and not on her.”

 “I was clearly wrong, pal,” Steve raised his hand in exasperation as if it was obvious, “And I’m sorry for that.” 

“Well, it's over now.”

***

“Before I met Nat. I dated a girl who pretended to be gay,” Wanda scrunched her nose, remembering the awful memory.

“Oh yeah, weird Sallie,” Pietro smiled teasingly, “Did you guys know that when Wanda brought her home, she hit on our dad?”

 “No!” Both you and Peter cried out, stupefied at his words.

“Yeah,” Wanda outlined, “And on Pietro too.”

 “I mean, Mr. Barnes is not like this,” Peter brought the conversation back to Bucky and you sucked in a heavy breath. “I’m sure he had a good reason for doing all of this.”

“Seriously?” you were pretty drunk, but not drunk enough to talk about Bucky. You looked at Wanda and Pietro for support, but they shrugged their shoulders in a manner that said, ‘He's not wrong, though.’

You wanted to go to bed and sleep. But you knew they were right. Bucky would never hurt you intentionally, you knew that. “Do you guys know where he is now?”

***

Since trying to talk some sense into Bucky wasn't working, Sam and Steve retaliated back to talk about business.

“Clint is officially out of here,” Steve reported, “Torturing him would just create more ruckus. Rumlow is behind us because he wants his weapons in the government, and Clint would just be a casualty in all this shit. He has three kids.”

Sam huffed, “We told Laura. Her wrath would be worse for Clint than our fists.”

Bucky didn't say anything and just nodded. Steve could feel something was on Bucky's mind, wrapping his arms to his chest, he raised a brow towards his best friend.

“I’m just tired of all of this,” Bucky said sadly, “Is this what we left Rumlow for, pal? You have a kid at home, Wanda has a wife, I have ma and Bec and I haven't met them in years, in fear of someone following me. And now — Well, now I’ve lost the girl too."

Steve and Sam looked at their friend with sympathy. They knew the toll their work took on all of them. Hell, they had a four-year-old daughter at home, and could barely sleep at night, always terrified of losing their kid because of their job.

Sam was about to ask Bucky to suggest an alternative that would help all of them could to make it out of there and just work on the club and not some shady business. Suddenly, the office door flung open and on purpose, everyone’s hand reached for the gun in their waistband. But in walked you with a beer bottle in your hand and a pizza slice in another.

“JAMES BUCKY BARNES!” You exclaimed, your steps wavering a little as you walked towards him. Oh, and you looked royally pissed.

Instantly, Bucky was on his feet and making his way towards you, to hold you — to be near you. And before you could say anything, he was engulfing his arms around your waist, his head settled at the crane of your neck and you frowned. Okay, You did not expect that. You thought he would ignore you, and you would give him a piece of your mind before leaving.

Sober you would have asked him to have a mature conversation like adults, but tipsy you wanted to flip him off and leave. Your arms hung around your sides awkwardly, trying to understand the situation before finally pushing him away.

“You left me,” you spoke so softly that if Bucky wasn't so close, he wouldn't have heard it. “I needed you and you left me alone.”

Bucky’s heart broke at your words. He didn't consider how his rash decision would affect you. You were kidnapped by the person who assaulted you. Fuck, he cursed himself. He was supposed to be protecting you, not hurting you. You sounded so hurt that Bucky wanted to get on his knees and ask for forgiveness. He was so focused on your physical injuries, he did not even realize he was hurting you emotionally.

Steve cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable to present. He interrupted and took his husband’s hand in his, “We’re going to go.”

Before they could leave, you shifted your attention towards Steve and pointed a finger at him. “Why do you hate me?”

Steve stammered, he didn't expect you to put him in a spot like this, but you had a tad more than necessary liquid courage in your system.

“Doll,” Bucky breathed, and you moved your gaze back towards him. Steve took the opportunity and left the room with Sam.

You were on the verge of tears by now — both of you were — Bucky wasn't a man who could voice his feelings, but with you, all of his armor came shattering down. With you — he would tell you his vulnerabilities and fears just so he could let you in. You meant so much to him that the fear of losing you blinded his sense of understanding. He realized that he acted immaturely and by doing so, he almost lost you.

“You hurt me,” Your voice wavered, the traitorous tears made their way down your eyes, and Bucky couldn't see you like that. Instinctively, he stretched his hands to wrap around you, but stopped, “Can I hold you?”

You sniffled and nodded, and Bucky engulfed you flush against his chest. After a while, you snaked your hands around his shoulder too, and a sob broke down from your throat.

He didn't remember how long he held you like this, but after a while, he picked you up and made his way to the couch. He stood before you and then slid one hand up to your cheek. Likewise, he brushed his thumb across your cheek. And then you slowly straddled his waist as you both settled down on the soft sofa. Bucky’s hands fell naturally to your hips to pull you closer.

“I love you, Bucky,” you whispered, once your tears suspended. You enveloped your arms around him and pressed your forehead against his.

Bucky didn’t know whether you meant it or not. You were pretty drunk. He hoped you did.

“I love you, doll,” he confessed as he kissed the crown of your head. He noticed that you were on the brink of sleep, your breathing even, and you looked so peaceful in his arms.

 He felt at ease — calm even with you in his arms and in that moment he decided he was never letting you go no matter what.

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