#but 3.1k words! that’s a lot! wrote that today!

[me-myself-and-my-fos]

So I think what I’m gonna do is M-F I’m gonna write in the morning for maybe 2-3 hours and if I feel like I wanna write more I will. But if not I’ll spend my afternoons/evenings here or maybe writing fics for my ships

[potatomountain]

CIY- 2

Chapter Two

📍pairing: detective ateez ot8 x detective reader

📍word count: 3.1k

📍network: @pirateeznet

📍Warnings: (TBD)

📍Beta readers (and sole motivation): @flurrys-creativity , @candypop1611 and @daesukiii

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Bringing your old things from your last desk to this one was easier said than done all because you forgot the hour trek from your apartment to the office. While you had been packing up your apartment the last two weeks, your things from your old unit were still in the box by your front door so you had just grabbed it on your way out. 

The subway train had been packed, but at least there was no rain on your way this time, just a bit cloudy. The front door to the office was locked so you struggled opening the door with the key but managed, finding it a bit dark. You were assured there was no alarm system you had to worry about, but the camera in the corner of the office still had you a bit hesitant- despite being told it was for show.

Nevertheless you shrugged it off, setting your box of things on the desk and then searching for the light. There was some streaming down from the hall, not much, so you didn't want to bother with whomever was there. Instead you shimmied off your bag and then suit jacket, adjusting the gun on your harness. You hadn't worn it yesterday since you didn't think it was important, but today it gave you a sense of comfort.

Truce or not you didn't expect things to be easy, even if they said the work would be.

You started off the day with unboxing your things: setting up your desk organizers, the cute pieces you used to bring some joy, but mostly pictures. One of getting your detective badge, one with you and your father who was a former detective himself, and one with-

Staring down at the photograph, your chest was tight; it was the first Christmas party with your last unit, all nine of you in chaotic Christmas cheer. Your eyes lingered on Chan a moment longer before you set the photograph back in the box. He wasn't your Captain anymore, your superior nor your friend; not after he recommended you get transferred.

Eventually you could stand to look at the picture again, it wasn't just Chan in it after all: it was your whole unit, who you adored. It was just raw right now, that's what you told yourself. You did set up the picture of you and Hyunjin at Disney, as well as one with you and Minho with the cat you had gotten him as a graduation gift from the academy.

The rest of your items were just office supplies you liked to use for organization and more. Easy enough setup that you were staring at the items unsure what to do now. You still needed a chair, having ordered one yesterday to be here some time today. Seonghwa had said he'd supply the phone, but there was none in sight. You didn't think he would go back on his word so soon, so wrote off it's absence for now.

Luckily you had brought your laptop, and while you no longer had access to your old unit, you should have some here. 

That was much more limited than you thought, cursing under your breath as you attempted to access files- even the files of the detectives here were classified, which raised some questions. You were a part of this unit, you should be able to see who you are working with. 

In theory that was the case, but you had to resort to a good ol’ Google search of the names you knew.

Vice-Captain of the crime syndicate unit, Detective Park Seonghwa- all that came up was his name and a lot of articles about his parents who ran Park Pharmaceuticals. So a rich kid who went into law enforcement as opposed to business like the rest of his family? Interesting.

Detective Song Mingi- a few articles of a brief mention of him as a first responder, all in successful chases. So he was a good driver? Erratic maybe. You couldn’t find anything else on him, not from Google at least, unless the dating profile for tinder that came up was his but you hoped not.

Detective Jeong Yunho- an article of a Jeong Yunho receiving an award for saving a kids’ life, but there was much more on his parents. In particular his father, a former detective who was shot and killed in a standoff with a well known, and still running, crime syndicate family. Well, he made sense.

Next was Kang Yeosang, however nothing popped up in the search engine. You tried again, adding keywords to help the search and yet still nothing. No police articles. No name on graduation lists. You started a deeper search, attempting to look at any mention of this unit in general but once more you came up empty handed. He was a ghost, and the unit itself was one to the public eye.

Definitely fishy. Even with their work, there should be some mention of this unit somewhere. You could remember media outlets covering the older unit before- so why was this one practically nonexistent?

You were getting frustrated with the lack of results, instead moving on to the final detective whose name you could remember: Choi Jongho. As soon as you put the name into the search engine however, your laptop was forced shut, a figure looming over you and holding it closed.

Looking up at the perpetrator with a glare, you bit out. “Excuse you? What do you think you are doing?”

Yeosang's cold stare met yours unwaveringly. “I should be asking you that. Why are you searching for us online?”

Letting out a huff, you turned to him as you stood up straighter. “Why can't I find anything about you online?” 

His jaw tightened, annoyed you ignored his question and instead asked one he wasn't too happy about. “Because I prefer it that way. Again- why are you searching our names?”

It wasn't easy to erase someone completely from the internet, not in this day and age, but he managed to do that. Pair that with his sudden presence it left you even more suspicious. Again something fishy seemed to be going on.

“Why do I have basic level access to the police database? I can't access anything about this unit or your work and I can't do my job if I don't have access. So how else am I going to gather information?”

Yeosang met your defiant glare with his own cold stare. Neither of you said anything, his eyes seeming to search yours for any weakness but you weren't relenting. He pulled his hand off your laptop, stare unwavering even as the door opened. 

You didn't have to look to know it was your chair, the delivery man announcing a package in your name and asking for a signature. You reluctantly turned, grabbing the small tablet and signing for the package.

As you did, Yeosang leaned in, his breath on your neck. “There is nothing for you to know so stop digging. This is my only warning.” He pulled away, some distance put between you both by the time you looked back up at him. 

“Now you have me thinking you're hiding something.”

He stiffened, head tilting to the side as the look in his eyes somehow turned even colder. “Seonghwa might have called a truce, but keep in mind we don’t want you here. We don’t trust you, and we’ve spent years getting as far as we have with our work. Don’t risk fucking it up.”

“Or what?” You weren’t intimidated at all by the challenge in his deep voice; instead you rose to it, lifting your chin defiantly and stepping closer. “What the fuck are you going to do Pretty boy?” 

He rolled his bottom jaw, tongue flicking out to touch above his lip, drawing your attention to a small stud there. You hadn’t noticed it before, but he had two small clear studs- cyber bites if you were recalling it correctly- one dead center beneath his nose and a labret as well. Funny, you didn’t expect him to be the type to have a piercing at all, let alone one like this. It just had you even more apprehensive of this unit.

The look he gave you only intensified the feeling in your gut that something was wrong. “You don’t want to find out, meddlesome bitch.”

Before you could retort, he turned and left down the hall. It took everything in you not to follow and demand he follow through with those words, your hands balled into fists at your side; instead you huffed out in frustration, trudging over to the box of your chair. “They’re the biggest fucking jerks I’ve met on the force.” 

You found yourself missing your old unit at that realization. Sure not all of them had been friendly at first, but it was nothing like this. No threats had been made, nowhere near as many barriers put into place to keep you out, and their coldness had been more out of social awkwardness than a severe distrust for you. You had taken your morning routine’s for granted, the late night calls and their sometimes overbearing gestures.

Tears pricked the back of your eyes as you angrily opened the box, ripping it a few times in the process. You didn’t regret the actions you had taken that necessarily had you transferred- only the feelings that got torn to shreds when you were told of your transfer and their lack of fight to keep you on the unit. It made you question your place in their lives, and left you vulnerable and betrayed.

Maybe it was a good thing this unit was so adamant about keeping you at a distance and so open about their dislike of your presence.

All of this went through your head as you set up the chair, working through your emotions and your anger finally dissipating for now. The one month suspension to keep from contacting your previous unit was beginning to be a blessing, the distance giving you room to breathe as you knew their constant presence or interactions would just work you up like this. You couldn’t really focus on anything else the last two weeks, but now you were back at work, you had something to focus on. 

Even if they weren’t going to give you work, warning you not to dig- you were going to. You had the decency not to dig into them right after the warning however, that just wasn’t smart, but you could dig into something else: their work.

Sure you didn’t have access to their files, but as you sat down in your newly assembled chair and opened your laptop, you knew there was plenty more to look at online. Gang activity wasn’t as sealed off as this unit was, you could start there. You could contact some of your reporter contacts and get information that way, and basic access to the police database was enough to see files of felons and gang related crimes.

No need to focus on your past unit, or how it left you feeling. No need to focus on this unit and their attempts to block you out- just focus on work. 

Taking a deep breath and filled with newfound determination, you went to work.

— — — — — — — — — 

Your old unit handled cases of runaways and cases committed by minors but you were just now realizing how many of those cases could be tied back to gang activity. Of course, the more severe the crime or case you usually were left off of; in hindsight you could now see why Chan did things that way. The number of young teens who clearly were being pulled into gangs was too large for comfort and it greatly unsettled you. 

You could hardly be quiet when discovering a young child had run away due to a very abusive home and you had no choice but to send the child back to that home and file a report with children services. The hell you raised at that command had caused your first suspension and since then you had been more than a little mouthy to the higher ups and to Chan. If Chan had put you on cases that involved gang activity you knew you would have raised hell continuously as those cases would’ve been sent here.

You were rethinking your decision to come here now, aware that if you managed to stay in this unit you would question their every decision and probably break more than a few rules. You couldn’t afford another transfer, as the next time you did cause problems it would be the loss of your job. 

All of this ran through your mind as you had gone out for your late lunch break, sipping on your usual cafe drink on the way back. The break had been much needed as your emotions had been getting out of hand looking at the files, but you got the gist of the organized crime of the city.

There were six gangs, three of them mafia and three new gangs aspiring to take the old down. They were organized enough, but also reckless and bold as well. Most of the underage crimes belonged to those two of those three new groups: The Blue Goblins and the Green Vipers. Each family had a color they coordinated themselves with and you had a good idea of their geographical layout based on this now. 

The third newest gang was the Black Pirates, appearing about four years ago and quickly monopolizing control over the docks and trade out of the city that way. You couldn’t find anything on them, barely any members incarcerated, just a few dead ones and witness accounts from other gangs.

‘If you want to move product through the south, you have to get their permission’ was mentioned in several files. Their water based operations were fitting of their name, but you thought it odd how little there was. For the older gangs it made sense, they had so much money and time to perfect their operations- a young gang like this with so little arrests or screw ups?

Sighing you stepped back into the building, rubbing the inside corners of your eyes in frustration. You nearly dropped your drink when you saw someone hunched at your desk, fidgeting with something. Your first thought was your laptop, having left it open since you didn’t expect any of them to come out nor did you expect to be gone long.

Apprehensively you approached the desk, walking around to see your laptop still on but now there was a phone next to it. “I was wondering when it would be brought out.”

Yunho looked up through the bit of hair that was in his fair, his expression relaxed as he stood up which didn’t help your nerves at all; you didn’t trust anything but their clear distrust of you. “Just in time.”

He stepped back towards the hall, large hands stuffed into his pockets as he watched you slip into your desk chair, eyeing him warily. “Seonghwa said line 3 connects to his desk, he’ll contact you with work when he figures out something for you to do.” You nodded slowly at his explanation, setting your lunch and drink down. “Line 4 is Yeosang, and 2 is Captain’s desk when he gets back.”

You nodded again, waiting for him to leave… yet he just stood there. Clearing your throat you tilted your head with brows raised. “What else do you have to say?”

He hummed, lips pulling up into a bit of a smirk. “Just wanted to comment on your notes. They're pretty detailed for such a short time. I was curious though, with all this information what do you plan to do with it?”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to pause and turn to your notes. Everything was still there and yet you felt as if his question had a much deeper meaning. “What do you mean ‘do with it’?”

“Exactly that. Having the information is one thing, but what are you going to do? How would you do this job with that information?” He didn't seem to be condescending you but you were still wary.

So you thought it over, looking at the notes one more time. “Old mafia would be harder to shut down, especially if they have ties to law officials or higher. But they're cleaner and less harmful in the short-term.” You started off. “They would take a lot of planning and no mistakes to tear apart.” You looked over at him, somehow relaxing when he seemed to nod with approval. It sparked you to sit up straighter, a bit more enthused.  “The newer gangs are the problem. Too reckless, too much blood, so they would need priority.  They're also more likely to make a mistake, get too cocky.”

“Uh-huh, how would you do that?” He encouraged, leaning against the wall.

You opened your mouth to reply with the first thing that came to mind, only to stop. Technically it wasn't entirely legal, so you had to wrack your brain for the proper way. “Stake outs, gather more information, know who to watch, and figure out a way to catch them in the afternoon of the crime with enough evidence. Get enough, you can pit members against each other in confessions to lessen their sentence…” 

Yunho seemed disappointed, shaking his head. “And would you do that all by yourself? With the resources you had now?”

“No I-” You frowned, narrowing your eyes on him. “You ARE being condescending!” 

He grinned wider, standing up straight. “Not really, I was just curious. That is the way things work, as a unit. Keep doing what you're doing, think about that question. When you have a better answer- let me know, wise little girl.” He hummed, pulling out his hand to wave at you before turning and heading down the hall.

You flicked him off when his back was turned, calling him several curse words under your breath as you turned towards the laptop. “My other answer was fabricate evidence to aggravate the two gangs not only against each other but a larger family. They'd have their heads so far up their asses they'd piss off a big boy and get themselves destroyed in no time.” But that was neither legal nor safe really. 

It was also those ideas that resulted in more than one fight with Chan. Things had to be done legally or they weren't right- you couldn't take the law into your own hands no matter how frustrating it was.

Sometimes, sometimes you wished you could.

Taglist (form): @mingsolo | @wowie-hockey | @crispybaguettes | @tiny-apocalypse | @philijack | @lelaleleb | @idfkeddieishot | @isiloiale | @candypop1611 | @vannabanana1995  | @piratequeen-queenofgames | @starstruckforyou | @minheeskitten | @amphiroxx  | @cloudysannie | @fire-and-flame | @sugarnspice630 | @hongjoongswifefr | @sanhwalvr | @plutoneu | @auroreen | @sousydive |  @fatalt | @asteroidshowers | @Bts-army380 |

[moni-logues]

Different Spaces

Pairing: Bangchan x reader

Genre: friends to lovers, smut

Summary: Chan has just returned home from tour and you hope you aren't wrong that something has changed between you. Only one way to find out...

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: one (1) handjob, little bit of cum-eating, that's pretty much ya lot!

AN: YES, she's a MULTI BLOG NOW. And obviously it's Chan. It was always going to be Chan lmaooooo. Anyway, this idea crept into my head last night and then I wrote it today to put off writing something else 😅😅😅 I HOPE YOU ENJOY! It's unbeta'd (except for @minttangerines reading it to make sure it didn't suck lol) so forgive the typos please!!!

ETA: you can now find part two HERE!

*~*~*

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it was different. It was definitely different this time. 

Chan sat in front of you, between your legs, his back against your chest and his head in the soft space between your shoulder and collarbone. You leant against the arm of the sofa with your hands on his stomach- 

That was different. You had the hem of his T-shirt between your fingers, toying mindlessly, while your other hand rested on his warm, soft skin beneath it. He had one hand resting over yours, his fingers not exactly entwined with yours, but not exactly not.  

You’d held hands before. On occasion. Entirely casually, platonically. Except for the part where you wished it wasn’t casual, wished it wasn’t platonic.  

You’d had feelings for Chan for as long as you could remember, since you first set eyes on him. Honestly, you were used to it. Comfortable with it even. You knew you weren’t going to do anything about it and that meant it didn’t worry you. It would be your little secret and you would soak up all the time with him you could, you would enjoy all the friendship privileges he offered you and you would clutch them close to your heart in the absence of any actual body to hold.  

It was only before he went away this last time, a couple of months ago, that you felt something change. Something about how clingy he had been the night before he left, a little more tactile than he usually was. He was ants-in-his-pants fidgety and wouldn’t sit still. He was wrestling you into a hug one minute and then pushing you to the other end of the sofa the next. He held you so tightly and for so long when you hugged him goodbye that you had joked it was like he was going off to war. He had laughed only half-heartedly, which, for Chan, might as well have not been laughing at all. He had pulled back and looked at you intensely with his hands still on your waist and you had waited and waited for him to say or do something else but he just kept looking. 

“Are you going to like, actually leave?” you had asked. 

He snapped out of his trance and ruffled your hair.  

“Course I’m going! Why? Trying to get me to stay?” 

You weren’t, because you knew he was going to leave, anyway, that he had to go, but he sounded hopeful (or were you imagining it?). 

“Yeah. I did consider locking you up for a second, but taking care of one animal is enough; I’m not sure I could cope with having to feed and care for you, too!” 

He had done a proper laugh then and you were reassured that whatever had just happened, it was a blip, a glitch, nothing more. He had hugged you one last time, shorter, looser, and then turned to leave with a salute. 

Then he was back, hugging you just as hard, fresh off the plane (rather unfresh, actually, and he had the cheek to ask to use your shower!).  

And it was the same as it had ever been. 

But it was also different. Because he had told you so many times while he was away that he missed you; he had said ‘wish you were here!’ so often that you actually believed it; your gallery was full of ‘found you!’ photos of ugly statues and ‘thought you’d like this’ shots of architecture and souvenirs—souvenirs he’d actually bought and brought home for you. He didn’t usually do that.  

And now, there you were, with your hands on his skin and your cheek resting lightly on the top of his head and he was laughing at the film you were watching and taking your hand from the hem of his top, crossing it over his torso and holding it there. He closed his fingers over yours. Holding hands. You flattened your palm over his stomach and stroked sideways, the circle of your arms tighter around him, and you wanted to ask what this meant. Did it mean anything? Had he just been lonely on the road? Did he just want some physical contact? Were you just... there?  

You weren’t one to be stuck in indecision. You didn’t have the patience for it. You decided, when you first met, that you weren’t going to act on your feelings because trying to date an idol was an insane thing to do. And you didn’t need the stress.  

But you also didn’t need the long, drawn-out stress of a ‘will they? Won't they?’ scenario with one of your closest friends.  

And, if you were going to be really honest, you kind of did need a good fuck. And you’d thought about fucking him a lot, one might say too much. And if he was interested, if something had changed and he saw you differently now, well, then the bedroom was calling for you.  

“Chan?” you said quietly. 

He twisted his head a little. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I... touch you?” 

You drew your fingers back, softly grazing your nails against his abs. He giggled. 

“What do you mean? We already are touching!” 

You slipped just the tips of your fingers beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms and the waistband of his boxers. 

“No, I mean... touch you.” 

“Oh, sh-… Uh.”  

You didn’t move your hand; you felt his heartrate quicken, thumping back against your chest.  

“You don’t have to say yes. It’s ok if the answer’s no.” 

“Yeah, no,” he said. “I mean, the answer’s yes. It’s ok.” 

“Are you sure?” you asked. 

He swallowed and nodded and put his hand over yours, carefully encouraging it lower. 

“Yes, I’m sure.”  

His hand left yours as it disappeared beneath the fabric of his clothes and you couldn't breathe as your fingers ran over the velvet skin of his soft cock, which twitched on contact. As you pushed his trousers and his boxers down, you almost couldn’t look, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointment, after all this waiting, after every fantasy, but you needn’t have worried. Of course, it was fucking perfect. Just like the rest of him. You wrapped your fingers around his semi-hard length and he shifted. 

“You don’-” Then he hesitated. 

“Don’t what?” 

“Uh, you don’t have to be gentle...” 

Then he wrapped his fingers around yours, squeezed a little tighter, and your thighs squeezed, too. You chuckled, a little embarrassed, a little shy actually, a little over-awed. 

“Channie likes it rough, huh?”  

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was blushing; you could feel the heat radiate from his cheeks. 

“Um, well, uh-”  

He was stammering now and you were amazed that he could be bashful with his cock in your hand, shy even though he was directing you. 

“I like it,” you whispered and you felt a shiver go through him.  

He kept his hand over yours and you smiled to yourself because you should have expected this. Control freak Chan, perfectionist Chan, Mr ‘I’ll just do it myself’ Bang. It was cute. But you weren’t going to let him get away with it. You let him control you, let him show you how he liked it, let him get himself to the point where his breathing was heavy and his bottom lip was bitten between his teeth and his brows were furrowed.  

“Hey,” said, nudging his head with yours. “Who exactly is giving this handjob? You want me to just leave you to it or...?” 

He spluttered and stopped and immediately let your hand go. 

“Sorry, I-” 

“You don’t have to apologise; I know you. But I want to do this for you, y’know?” You turned your head and gently bit the top of his ear before pressing a kiss to it.  

“Yeah, got it. All yours.”   

“Thank you.” 

You had him panting again in seconds, because he had already given you his secrets, and when he tipped his head backwards and whined, it made your cunt pulse. 

“Ok, you’re right, you’re right,” he gasped. “This is better. Fuck... Oh shit.” 

He was moving like he couldn’t help himself, his hips snapping up, fucking himself in your fist and you could feel his thighs twitching, feel the tension coiling in his body.  

It was building in you, too, as you soaked through your underwear. He wasn’t quiet and every moan, every grunt, every gasp of your name made your head spin. You hoped it wouldn’t stop here. After all this time, something was finally happening and you needed it to keep happening, you needed him to feel you, too. A moan fell from your own mouth as you imagined him fucking you, imagined that it wasn’t your hand around his cock but your cunt. That he liked it even rougher when he was inside you. That the deep black intensity he had inside him came out. That he fucked you like he danced, with every inch of his body and every ounce of strength.  

“I’m-.. I’m-…"  

You didn’t need him to tell you. 

“I know, babe. Go on, make a mess. Make a mess for me.” 

With a shudder and a cry trapped low in his throat, he came, over your hand, over your fingers, over his stomach and his T-shirt. He was gulping in air with his eyes closed and a hand clenching and unclenching at his side.  

“Oh, shit,” you whispered as you swiped a finger through the mess on his skin. “Who’s going to clean all this up?”  

You raised your hand and brought it almost to your own mouth, then pretended to think twice before pressing down on his bottom lip. It was a bold move, you knew, but you were feeling emboldened.  

Then he opened his mouth and took your cum-sticky fingers in without a second’s hesitation. Would the night’s surprises never end? He licked your fingers clean and ran his tongue over your palm before he swiped his finger through the mess on his stomach and lifted it to your lips. You laughed. 

“I can do you one better.”  

You shuffled and climbed out from behind him, pushing him down and straddling him. It was the first time you had been face to face; you both blushed when your eyes met and you couldn’t stop the giggle that rose in your throat. He giggled back and you recognised that you were on the verge of hysteria; if you let that giggle become a laugh, it wouldn’t stop until you were both crying. You tried to rein it in, this strange, self-conscious shyness that was gripping you, this wild giddiness that made you want to scream with laughter and cry ‘I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!’. You were looking at Chan and you knew he felt it, too; his eyes glittered and then all but disappeared as his smile widened. He bit his lip to try to keep it in, but it was no use.  

He snorted and covered his face with his hands as a loud laugh bellowed forth. You never could resist his mirth. You were helpless to it at the best of times. He was curling over, his whole body shaking, and you were climbing off him, flopping to the floor, weak with it, the laughter sapping your strength and overriding any capacity for being serious. It was too absurd. That this had just happened. That one day—one moment—you were friends and the next you were making him come over himself, that he was licking his own cum from your fingers. That you had wanted this for such a long time and sworn off it. That you had no idea it might be something he wanted. That you never even thought to ask! That it could have been this easy? All this time?  

Your brain was elsewhere as your breath shuddered and tears streaked your cheeks. You thought you had got yourself under control: your breathing was shaky and your stomach hurt but your eyes were dry and you sat yourself up. Then you looked at Chan, face also tear-streaked, flushed with glee, and you both collapsed again. 

“Don’t look at me,” Chan said, his voice thick and wobbly with laugher some minutes later. “Don’t look at me, please, I can’t laugh anymore, but can you get me a fucking tissue or something?”  

You shut your eyes, scrunched your face, and pressed your fist to the bridge of your nose; you couldn’t laugh anymore, it would kill you. But you knew that if you turned to look at him, helpless and messy on his back, that another fit would catch you. You crawled to the end table and threw the box of tissues in his direction. 

“Thanks.” 

You leant back against the edge of the sofa and let your breath resume its normal rhythm, let your heart slow down, let Chan wipe himself up and tuck himself away. You felt him sit up as his knee knocked your shoulder and you turned so you could just see him out of the corner of your eye. He looked down at his cum-stained T-shirt and gingerly pulled it over his head. Then he looked at it, displeased. 

“This was clean on like, an hour ago.”  

“Oh, shit, sorry, dude. You want me to take the handy back or something?” 

He looked alarmed for a second. 

“Do you want to take it back?” 

“No.” 

“Good, neither do I.” 

“I would kind of like to know where the fuck it came from though.” 

“What are you talking about? You started it! You offered!” 

“Chan, you were holding my hand. We don’t hold hands! Look at all this shit you bought me!” You gestured broadly to giftbags and boxes, trinkets and jewellery on the coffee table. “Besides, I’ve always wanted it; you haven’t.” 

He stared at you, mute, looking like you’d just asked him a long division question.  

“You always wanted it?” 

“Yep.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” 

“Because you didn’t want it!” 

“How would you know?! You never asked!” 

“Ok, well, did you?” 

He looked up; he looked down. He looked thoughtful. He looked a little apologetic. 

“I don’t really know,” was his eventual answer. 

“Well, there you go. That’s why I didn’t say.” 

Silence reigned and you didn’t want this to collapse, to fizzle into awkwardness.  

“Do you want it? Now?” you asked. 

“Yeah.” At least he sounded sure about that. 

“What changed?” 

When he looked at you and caught your eyes, there was a look there you hadn’t seen in them before. It was almost painfully soft, tender in a way that pierced your heart. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you like he was looking at something precious, something sweet. Then he shrugged. 

“I’ve never been away from you that long before.”  

“And?” 

“I didn’t want to be. It made me not want to go at all. And I couldn’t work out why it mattered so much. I’ve been away before. I’ve been here, even, and just been busy and not seen you for a while. But it felt different this time, somehow. I really didn’t want to go. And I talked about it and everyone told me I was like, the world’s biggest idiot. They all apparently thought—or knew?—I had feelings for you already and they all just said ‘tell her! You’ve got to tell her! Go for it!’ and I wanted to. I was going to, the night before I left, but then I realised I’d be confessing all that stuff and then just... fucking off. I didn’t want to do that. So, I... did nothing, I guess.”  

“Fair enough.”  

“You wanted it all this time? Me, you wanted me?” 

That he even had to ask was adorable, broke your heart a little. Who wouldn’t want him? He was everything you could have asked for and more; he ticked every box; he made your sad little heart sing like a songbird. And he still had to ask.  

“Since the moment we met.” 

“Shit.” 

“Shit.” 

“I had no idea.” 

He looked like he meant it, too: a little dazed, a little confused, just a hint of wonder on his face.  

“So, what now?” he asked.  

You shrugged. 

“You mean right now, or general future ‘now’?” 

“I guess both?” 

“Can I be honest?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Right now, I would really like to do something about how badly I want to fuck you.” 

And he was bashful Chan, again, his eyes wide and the tips of his ears pink, his mouth slightly open with surprise. You watched his Adam’s apple bounce as he swallowed.  

“I... am amenable to that.” 

“Want to try that again with something even slightly sexy?” 

And he blushed bright, covering his face with his hands.  

“Fuck, ok, give me a second.” 

You laughed and moved from the floor to sit opposite him on the sofa, your knees touching. You waited patiently for a second or two, then tapped his leg. 

“I’m flustered, ok!” he cried. “You’ve got me all... flustered. I don’t know... I-.. Agh. I swear I’m not this bad usually. I promise. I just--… this has really taken me off-guard! Fuck, I didn’t know. I-” 

You interrupted him to climb into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He lifted his face to yours and you kissed him, just a light peck on his petal pink lips. 

“How about you let me lead, then?” you asked, your voice soft and low. “Can you do that? Can you let me take control?” 

He looked at you pleadingly, his eyes round and wide, and you were worried that it meant no, that he was going to say he didn’t want that. 

“Yes, please.”  

Fuck.  

With your hands on either side of his face, you pulled him closer and kissed him again, deep this time, deep and slow and breathless. He tasted of honey butter chips, which you had never liked before that moment. His tongue rolled with yours, soft and sweet and every bit as good as you had imagined. He whined quietly, just barely, when you pulled back, when you sank your teeth into the plush pink of his lower lip. When you looked at each other, nose-to-nose, his eyes were wide again, sparkling and bright and looking at you like you were the whole world. 

It wasn’t weird and it wasn’t uncomfortable and it wasn’t awkward; it didn’t feel like crossing a line or pushing a boundary; it felt like you should have been doing this all along. It was different for the two of you, sure, it was different. But you’d been ready for this change since you learnt his name, since he held his hand out to you and smiled politely. This different was good. This different was everything you’d ever wanted.  

[farfromstrange]

Ease The Pain | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!Reader

Summary: Matt helps to ease your period pains.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), vaginal fingering, description of blood and period pain, use of "Good girl", hurt/comfort, praise kink

Word count: ≈ 3.1k

a/n: I love how Tumblr just keeps not showing my works in the tags so I have to post them again. Fun. Anyway! My period pains are the fucking worst. I hate my life. If men like him were real I'd sure feel a lot better. Anyway, I wrote this in like an hour or so because I'm that desperate. Hope you enjoy!

Pain. 

That’s all you can feel in every inch of your body. The core of that pain lies in your lower stomach and back, but it has already spread to your head and the rest of your muscles, even your legs, and feet. 

It’s Saturday, and you should be up and enjoying your free time but instead, you’re bound to the bed while the worst cramps of your existence ripple through your uterus as it brutally sheds its lining just because you chose not to get pregnant again this month. 

Every position you try feels only comfortable for a split second before another surge of pain appears somewhere in your body, mostly your stomach, but every time a cramp hits, your head seems to explode too, and shifting is futile. 

You’ve tried everything you could think of. Painkillers, heat, curling up into a fetal position, standing up, sitting down, you even took a hot shower, but none of it managed to take the pain away for more than a minute or two. So you have accepted defeat, realizing you don’t stand a chance against the monster that is mother nature. You decide to suffer in silence until the cramps ease up, which could take another day or two. 

Every once in a while, your eyes flutter close and you find yourself blinking back to life a few minutes later disoriented and almost shaking from the pain. Another wave of cramps tears through your body, keeping you wide awake as you roll onto your side and pull your legs up to your chest. 

The door to the bedroom opens and it creaks, which makes you grind your teeth. You feel the sudden urge to tear the glass apart, nerves thin from exhaustion, and the noise only adds to your pain.

“Sweetheart,” Matt’s voice is gentle from where he’s standing against the door frame. 

You bury your face in your pillow. “Go away!” you groan. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he says. 

“You’re right, I’m not, but there’s nothing you can do about it. I just hate my fucking body right now and it hates me.”

“Well, at least you’re not pregnant.”

You lift your head to glare at his stupidly attractive person. He’s not wearing a shirt, that bastard, and his grey sweatpants are hanging dangerously low on his hips. 

He ducks when you toss a pillow at his head. “Fuck off!”

He wants to laugh, but the sound of your pained moan into the pillow has him sprinting toward you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry. If it’s that bad, maybe you should take some more Advil.”

He strokes over your upper arms, pulls the hair out of your face, and presses feather-light kisses to your shoulder blade, which feel soothing at first, but the cramps ruin it for you once again. You’re forced to switch positions, curling up on the other side of the bed. 

Matt follows, sitting up against the headboard on his - previously your - side of the bed.

“I’ve already taken the full dose today,” you tell him. “If I take any more, I’m gonna have more problems than my fucking uterus stabbing me to death. Ugh!”

You hate this. You’re in pain, exhausted, and bleeding so badly, you’re sure you’re going to have to go to the bathroom soon. Every last contraction of your uterus has you cursing Eve for eating that stupid apple. 

His hand moves from your arm to your lower back. Gently forcing you onto your stomach, he starts digging his fingers into the sore muscles of your pelvis. You sigh. Now that is something you haven’t tried yet, too embarrassed to ask him for help with something like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You keen into his touch, letting him loosen your muscles one by one. The cramps continue in the front, but the tension in your back finally releases and gives you a second to breathe. 

“You need anything?” he asks, leaning over to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Tea, maybe? More pillows? Or do you want me to run you a bath?”

Sleep threatens to take over. “No,” you slur. His hands are working wonders and you start to question how you even deserve him. “Keep going. Feels good.”

Your approval is all he needs to knead firmer at the flesh protecting the bone of your pelvis. You melt into the mattress. His lips move back to your shoulder, leaving messy kisses over your heated skin.

“Ow, fuck!” The next sharp cramp directs itself toward your entire front, tearing your abdomen apart. “Why does this keep happening?” you cry. “I hate this!”

You’ve been suffering from periods for so long, you should have gotten used to it, but every month feels different, and sometimes worse.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. “I wish I could help you.”

“Yeah, but you can’t. Too bad!”

That was rude.

You whimper a small apology into your pillow.

“It’s okay, I know you’re in pain. If it helps to yell at me, go right ahead.”

You want to laugh, but you’re too worn out to make any other sound than pained puffs of air from deep within your chest.

Another harsh cramp has him moving his arm around your body, his hand continuing the massage on your stomach now, and you can’t help it; The pressure offers sweet, sweet relief for the pain that has kept you on edge for the past eight hours and his touch sets every fiber of your being on fire. You push your hips back, wanting him to push his fingers deeper into the flesh. In response, his other arm comes to rest around your shoulders from the front, and he pulls you flush against him. 

In his attempt to make you more comfortable though, he accidentally brushes over your sensitive nipples, and you moan, so oversensitive from the hormone outburst, it hurts. 

He “accidentally” does it again, just to test a theory, and when you moan again, louder and higher this time, Matt realizes he just opened Pandora's box. You wouldn’t have asked him to even if it killed you, which it might, and he read somewhere that orgasms produce enough oxytocin to help with period cramps. He knows you don’t care much about studies, but he can’t deny that there is something plausible about this theory. Most importantly though, he just wants to help you. Hearing how much pain you are in hurts him, and he wants to stop your suffering in whatever way he can. 

“I have an idea,” he breathes into your ear, fingers moving lower until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts that you haven’t bothered taking off. “Do you trust me?”

Goosebumps erupt on your skin. He keeps sending electrical shocks down your spine with his touch alone and no matter how hard you try to refuse yourself such a lucrative treat, your body has a mind of its own during this particular time of the month. Even though you’re in pain, the arousal is only a foot away. 

He pulls at the waistband when you don’t answer, letting it slap against your skin. It’s not painful, but you can feel the burn spread from your stomach straight to your core.

“But-” you try to interject. 

He won’t let you. “Do you trust me, angel?” he asks. 

“Always,” you say without hesitation. 

“Then let me help you.”

You’ve never done this before. You’ve never let him touch you during your period before, ever, not since you got together. You’ve always felt far from sexy, bloated and bleeding, and moody most of the time, if you’re not uncontrollably eating whatever you’re craving before puking from the pain, but you can’t help the whimper that passes your lips this time when a certain gush of wetness that isn’t blood starts coating the walls of your cunt. 

He’s shirtless and so incredibly hot, he looks almost biteable. His muscles flex, you can see every last dent in his bicep, and it grows seemingly two sizes every time he moves his hand to touch you. 

The way he’s almost choking you with his elbow has you clenching around nothing. And it hurts because God, you’ve never been this sensitive, not even after several rounds of sex with him, but you don’t care. Your clit pulsates and it rubs against whatever fabric is closest. The friction is bittersweet. You try to move your hips to feel the same jolt of electricity again, to get rid of the pressure resting between the sore folds of your cunt, but you can’t seem to find relief.

Matt grows confident in his actions and starts to cup your breast ever so slightly. You gasp, tears shooting into your eyes. Your brain is fuzzy. Your body tingles. Your nipples get hard the second he brushes them, and the more he squeezes, the harder they seem to get. Your skin flashes hot. You’re not sure what feels better – the hand on your stomach or the one on your breast. 

“Do you want to stay like this or can you sit up against the headboard for me?” you hear him ask. 

In your state, you can either nod or shake your head, and you’re not sure which one is the better option. The curled-up position is the only one you can feel comfortable in, but if you don’t sit up, he can barely touch you. It’s a desperate situation and you’re so overwhelmed, you want to cry — but it’s not a question of wanting anymore, you need to cry because your body is a bundle of hormones and your mind isn’t yours to command. 

He tilts your head toward him to kiss you. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”

You whimper again, tasting the coffee on his lips. 

Slowly, the hand that once rested on your stomach inches lower and lower and lower until… you throw your head back into the crook of his neck and he tightens his grip to make sure you don’t slip away. 

The moment he presses his calloused fingers to your clit, your vision explodes. You try to spread your legs while at the same time scratching at his arms and pulling at the dark hairs that adorn them. Your muscles are too sore to throw your leg over his hip, a familiar position from the many lazy mornings spent drowning in each other, and you can’t seem to find another way to get his hand closer either. He’s already cupping your pussy with his entire hand, drawing circles on your clit, and with how swollen it is you jolt with every stroke, but it’s still not enough. You need more space. 

“Wait,” you say. “I need… can you…”

The systems in your head completely shut down. 

He reads your mind. His hand slips away, pulling you up with him against the headboard. Instead of forcing you to sit up though, he places you over his lap, a pillow under your stomach, and your legs spread over his thighs. The slight bow in your back from the positioning of his knee works better than any position you could have thought of. 

“Better?” he asks.

You spread your legs wider. There’s enough space now, you can move freely and still roll over if you need to, and the sheets can easily muffle your moans.

“Sweetheart, talk to me,” he strokes a hand over your exposed ass cheeks, “are you okay?” 

You don’t want to imagine the mess you’re making, lying naked over his lap while actively bleeding out of the very folds he’s touching with his skilled fingers now. You’re wet enough for him to slide across them, returning to your clit. 

“Just touch me,” you whine. “Please, Matthew, just touch me.”

And for the love of God, you think, don’t think about the sheets. 

“Anything you want, baby. This is about you,” he says and finally, God finally, he gets to work.

There has to be something he takes to make his fingers feel so amazing every time he touches you. He never fails to amaze you with his skills. The fingers he uses as fists more often than not to beat criminals senselessly only do good for you. They comfort you and bring you pleasure where and whenever you need it most. He would never hurt you, especially not with his hands.

You cry out when he picks up the pace. “Matt,” his name is only but a breath on your lips, “Your fingers…”

“What about them?”

“I need them,” you say.

His thumb stays on your clit while he circles your entrance with his ring and index finger, pushing in only slightly and you hiss, as he expected, from the soreness of your walls.

“Fuck!”

“Relax,” he tells you. 

He moves his fingers deeper, slipping right in, the wetness and heat of you engulfing and hugging him like you were made to take him. He sighs and curls his fingers inside, finding your g-spot with ease. He knows exactly where to press to have you crying out in ecstasy, and you have to bite down on the sheets to keep yourself from screaming. 

Pain is the last thing you can think about. All you feel is the burning pleasure in your core, the electricity that spreads through your cunt like an explosion and rests in your lower stomach as the biggest knot you’ve ever felt, and it doesn’t take long for you to feel the pressure that has your legs shaking as it waits to be released.

All the while Matt keeps massaging your back with his other hand, matching the circles he draws on your clit and the thrusts of the two fingers that he has shoved deep inside of you. With every painting he draws, you inch closer to the edge of release. It’s only moments away, you can feel it. 

The sounds you’re making are incoherent, muffled through the sheets, but he can tell from the way you’re bucking into his hand that you’re closer than ever. 

“You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart,” he’s purring the gentlest of praises into your ear, “You’re such a good girl, letting me take care of you. You deserve it. You deserve to feel good.”

You moan, reach for his shoulder, and cling to his skin for dear life. Your legs start to shake around his hand, locking him in place. You’re thrashing around wildly, not letting him finger you but rather riding him in a way that has you coming faster than you thought possible. 

Matt only chuckles. “That’s it, take what you need. You can come whenever you need to,” he says. “And I know you need to, baby, so do it. Let go for me and come.”

“Oh, fuck, Matthew!”

Your walls spasm around his fingers as you come apart. You’re crying, moaning, possibly even screaming and you clench so hard around his fingers, you’re scared you might break them.

His tongue is silver, trained, and too damn good at articulating words that drag out your orgasm to the point it hurts, especially now. “That’s it. Let it out. I’ve got you.”

It wouldn’t stop. You’re wasted, exhausted, and spent, but you can’t stop from pulsating heavily around him. 

Only when the pleasure turns into an uncomfortable soreness does the wave of the orgasm start to ease back into the ocean. 

Your clit is aching, swollen, and wet from how coated his fingers are, and you can already feel the wetness trickling down your thigh. The blood, you think. It’s not just arousal or your cum, you’re sure of that. 

The bed probably looks like a crime scene now. You have to change the sheets. Not even as you’re crying, quivering from the intense orgasm, you can help the shame from swallowing you whole. He can’t see it but he can smell the copper. It has to be more than uncomfortable.

You whimper when you finally come down from your high, still holding onto his arm.

“The sheets,” you manage to choke out. “Matt, I’m so sorry…”

He shushes you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t not worry about it. I just bled all over your sheets.” 

He helps you sit up and into his lap where he holds you close to his chest.

“It’s just blood, baby,” he reminds you with a gentle kiss on your lips. “I don’t care. It’s natural. Besides, have you ever seen me not covered in blood?”

The crinkle in his eyes is playful and you manage to laugh softly.

“Hm?”

“No, I guess not,” you say. “But still…”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

Your head drops to his shoulder. “I love you.” There are a million other things you want to say, but for now, those have to be enough. 

The pain is gone, finally, and you can breathe again without getting an excruciating headache. He hugs you tight to him, stroking your hair and kissing your scalp to make sure you’re okay, that you know you’re safe and that he wouldn’t go anywhere. He’s with you, until the end of the line.

“C’mon.” He manages to tear himself away from you eventually. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?”

You pout, feeling his dick more than hard in his sweatpants underneath you. “What about you?” you ask.

Matt shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss. “I’ll take care of that.”

“We can-“

“No,” he cuts you off with a finger to your very tired lips, “You’re too sensitive for that. Let’s wait another day and then we can think about it, okay? I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you already are.” 

Thanks to your hormones, his considerate nature has you crying like a baby in seconds.

He is confused at first, touching your contorted features in worry before he reminds himself that it’s normal. You’re more emotional than usual, but it’s okay because your body is doing unspeakable things that no man could ever understand, and you’re going to feel better soon enough. The world just sucks for now, then maybe again in the next twenty minutes if you happen to come across the picture of a very cute dog or watch one of your comfort movies, but you’re going to be fine. 

So instead of making fun of you for something you can’t control, which he never would but he knows that some of the men in your life have and it scarred you for life, he holds you to his chest and tells you, “You’re going to be okay.” And he keeps telling you this until you manage to stop crying and are smiling again, thankful and so in love, you forget how fucking awful you feel for just a second. 

It wouldn’t take long for the pain to reappear, but until then you could enjoy the relief in the arms of the man you love.

Having Matt Murdock by your side is much better than painkillers, and much more effective, too.  

And as you lie there on his lap, his arms around you and his lips on yours, you can’t help but keep wondering,

How did I get so lucky? 

[aperrywilliams]

My Inspiration (Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist!Reader)

(Not my pic. Credits to the creator)

——————

Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist!Reader

Summary: You’re having a creative block, and Spencer is there to help.

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: Nothing I can think of. Fluff in the way I like it. Spencer is the best boyfriend in the world. Fight me.

A/N: I wrote this one for this request. Feel free to send me more requests.

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It's not like it didn't happen before. You were very aware of what a creative block was. In all honesty, you go through one every so often. This time though? It was taking a toll on you.

You have been spending two weeks working on your canvases without getting something you could call worthwhile.

It's not you don't have ideas to work with. You have plenty of them but nothing really to get you going. But you had compromised on having something for your friend's opening gallery exhibition. You thought a month would be enough, but now you lost two weeks, and the anxiety only increased.

It wasn't helping you were sulking alone in your apartment. Your boyfriend Spencer had left for a case in Los Angeles a week and a half ago, and the prospection of having a productive couple of days turned anything but that.

Today you were so adamant about getting something done that after tossing and turning awake in bed all night, you got up at dawn and locked yourself in your studio. Now it was 4 pm, and you didn't even remember if you had eaten anything during the day.

That also meant you left your phone in your room all day and didn't see Spencer's messages saying he was coming home.

When Spencer arrived at your shared apartment, he suspected you were working on something, and that's why you hadn't answered his messages.

But when he entered the room you were, he didn't expect to see you throwing your brushes toward the canvas before you, cursing profusely.

"Hey, what's wrong, love?" he asked you, concern dripping from his voice.

Hearing him talk brought you back, and you quickly turned to see him.

"Oh! Spencer! Baby! I didn't know you were coming home today," you tried to sound casual and chirping as you launched into his arms. It was a considerable contrast to the outburst happening just two seconds ago.

Spencer wrapped you in his arms, but after kissing your temple lovingly, he pulled back to meet your eyes. You saw the worry written in him.

"Something happened?" He asked you again.

You huffed in frustration. One thing was your creative block, but to worry Spencer about it was the less you wanted. You knew he had had a difficult week catching an unsub; why bother him with this kind of thing?

"It's nothing, really," you tried to dismiss, turning your gaze away from him and moving where your canvas was. You swore the empty textile was laughing at you.

"(Y/N)..." Spencer called you. It was enough for him to tell you he didn't believe you.

You have learned in your two years of relationship that Spencer can read you like a book. He would know something was happening, even if you tried to mask it. With a frown, Spencer took a look at your studio. He spotted several canvases at mid-finish scattered in a corner on the floor, a lot of messy draftings on your desk, and your smock seemed rumpled and dirtier than usual. If he needed to guess, you have been struggling with your work for at least a few days. But what gave you away was your tired face, the prominent dark circles under your eyes, and your messy hair. Feeling his eyes inspecting you made you feel terrible, and you didn't want to look at him back. Spencer took some steps forward and gently put one hand on your back to catch your attention. You shyly turned but were still afraid of looking up at him. He rested both hands on your shoulders.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that, right?" he gently reminded you. "Is something related to those canvases?" he asked, although he knew the answer already.

"Yeah," you sheepishly replied. Your eyes shifted up until finding his gaze. You have been caught. What was the point of not admitting the truth? "I haven't been able to finish anything. I've been trying to direct my ideas for days, but I'm not getting anywhere. I have a creative block, and no matter how hard I've tried, I can't get enough inspiration to put my ideas on canvas," you sighed, defeated, with your lips quivering from the sudden urge to cry.

"Come here," Spencer quickly enveloped you in a tight embrace. You gave in and clutched to him as if your life depended on it, hiding your face in his chest. "It'll be okay. Maybe you need a little break," he suggested. "Why don't you rest for today, and we can do whatever you want. Take your mind off of it for a while. I think it would help."

It was a reasonable suggestion, but you were very stubborn. Spencer learned that early into your relationship. Parting from his embrace, you shook your head.

"No, Spencer. I can't. I need to finish this. I already promised Albert something for the gallery opening. I can't fail him," you explained, moving to your desk to grab a new sketch.

“(Y/N), if you have a block, it will not go away just because you push yourself to do it. Love, please, take a break. I promise it will help,” Spencer insisted, giving you his signature puppy eyes. How to say no to that?

Giving up, you strolled with Spencer to the living room and plopped on the couch. Before following your lead, Spencer asked, “Did you get lunch?”

As a cue, your stomach grumbled so loud Spencer could hear it. Your guilty face didn't help to disguise it.

“I thought so. Wait here.”

Spencer rushed to the kitchen, and a while later, he returned with a sandwich and a glass of water for you.

“Here, you need to eat,” he said, handing you the sandwich and sitting by your side. He settled the water on the coffee table.

You didn’t know how starved you were until you took the first bite. The sandwich and the water were gone just minutes later. Spencer kept a respectful silence, not wanting to bother you as you ate.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. Spencer frowned.

“Why are you sorry?”

“You just came back, and you’re taking care of me. It should be me doing that to you,” you sheepishly explained.

“(Y/N), you don’t have to apologize. I’m your boyfriend, and I’m happy to do something for you,” he smiled at you, taking the tray from your lap and leaving it on the coffee table so you could settle more comfortably on the couch.

Crisscrossing your legs, you let out a deep sigh.

“I just feel awful. I’ve been trying to deal with this, but every day seems harder than the previous one. I don't know if it makes sense, and I don’t know why this time it feels worse,” you tried to explain. Spencer nodded.

"Well, it is a common occurrence, even if it doesn't feel like it. A recent survey indicated that 31% of creative professionals suffer creative blocks due to tight deadlines and 30% due to the unwillingness of clients to take creative risks,” Spencer informed you.

“Tight deadlines, uh? It wasn’t a tight deadline two weeks ago,” you argued. Spencer shook his head.

“Don’t do that,” he requested. You narrowed your eyes.

“Do what?”

“Take it as it is your fault. It's not.”

You huffed.

“But I think it is! I mean, I’m stuck here, and it's not that something bad is happening to me or someone is stressing me out. So it has to be my fault,” you shrugged.

“It's not. You know that. It had happened before, right?”

“Yeah, but this time- I don’t know. I - I feel so useless. Like I am a failure. And I don’t know what to do,” you whined. You hate being all fuzzy with this, but the lack of sleep and the stress didn't help to be calm about it. Spencer scooted to your side, grabbing both of your hands with his and tracing soothing patterns on them.

"Well, some studies have shown there are three elements to focus on when trying to overcome creative block and get productive again. The first is to veer from pursuing meaning to making meaning, which implicates identifying and engaging in meaning-making activities, not only making art. Second, you must get out of your head and actually do work, engaging in a recursive process where you can learn what the piece is about, making it rather than by planning, dreaming, and obsessing about it. Finally, to develop a genuine sense that it is okay not always to be perfect. The researchers say most people tend to know this conceptually but still have not allowed themself it at a deeper level."

You hummed, taking in his words.

“Sounds easy,” you mumbled incredulously. Spencer chuckled.

“I know. Easy said than done. But we can start with the second one. And that means you are not authorized to back to your studio until tomorrow,” Spencer informed you.

“What? No! I can’t do that. I need-“ Spencer softly squeezed your hand to stop the rant you were about to initiate.

“(Y/N), I don’t even go to try to guess when was the last day you slept enough, but I can see it, and if you want to get out of your head, you need to sleep. I promise you will return to work soon, just not today, okay?” Spencer shifted on the couch to lie full on it, opening his arms for you.

Spencer was right; you knew it. So you stopped fighting against it. Pouting, you accepted his offer and cuddled with him. Felling his embrace dissipated any reluctance you could still have on you. Softly stroking your back, Spencer lulled you into sleep in no time.

The time you woke up, the first thing you noticed was you were wrapped in a cozy blanket. The second: Spencer wasn’t there with you. Still dizzy from the sleep, you sat to check your surroundings. On the coffee table, you saw a piece of paper with your name on it. Narrowing your eyes, you took the piece of paper and unfolded it.

It was a note in Spencer’s handwriting.

‘My love,

I hope the nap was good. I needed to run some errands, and I didn't want you to wake up just yet.

If it is okay with you, I want us to have a special dinner tonight. So get ready and meet me at nine in the park across the street.

Always yours,

Spencer.’

A smile tugged at your lips. You checked the time, and you had one hour to get ready and meet Spencer.

At nine, you were crossing the park to where you knew Spencer was. When he saw you coming, he stood from the bench, grinning at you.

God, you loved that smile on him.

“Hey beautiful, how was your nap?” he asked, reaching for your hand. You gladly complied, interviewing your fingers with his.

“Pretty good. I must say I was a bit disappointed when I didn't see you by my side, though,” you pouted dramatically to what Spencer chuckled.

“About that, I hope I can make it up to you tonight. Shall we?” He asked, signaling to the street ahead.

“Sure. Where are we going?”

Spencer shook his head.

“Nu-hu. I can’t tell you. It's a surprise.”

You guys took a cab to Penn Quarter and then walked for a while. You still couldn’t make it where you were going. You were passing a neighborhood full of restaurants and places you could visit, but Spencer didn't slow down the pace until you reached a big old building. Looking up and down the front, you recognized it then. It was the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

“What are we doing at the SAAM?”

“What do people do at a museum?” Spencer teased, a grin plastered on his face.

“Yeah, I know. But most people can’t visit after 7 pm,” you pointed. That didn’t make to go away Spencer’s smile.

“Most people can’t make a call and ask a favor from a friend who works here,” he shrugged. “Come on, let's go inside.”

After greeting the guard who let you in, you walked down a long corridor to a set of stairs. You went up to the second floor, and without letting go of your hand, Spencer led you down another hallway to a smaller room. This was illuminated with a warm light. Several paintings were hanging from the wall—some you immediately recognized.

It couldn’t be. Right?

You knew the museum would run an exhibition about the history of color, but it wasn't scheduled until a few weeks more. You have been hyperventilating about it for months, and now you were looking at some of the pieces you knew would be there.

“Spencer? Those are-?” You could barely articulate.

“Yes. I would like to say these are all the pieces for the exhibition, but some haven’t arrived yet,” he explained, surveying the room.

You were so dumbfounded that you didn't know what to say, so instead, you jumped into Spencer’s arms with such force that you nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. That’s when you notice the center of the room. There was a little table set for two, with a bottle of wine, glasses, and candles lighting. He followed your line of sight and grabbed your hand.

“I thought we could have dinner here too so we can have more time to appreciate everything, don't you think?”

You grinned, still amazed by everything but mainly by the man before you.

“Spencer Reid, you are something else,” you mumbled before resting your palms on his cheeks to bring his lips to yours. You kissed him with your heart and soul. You didn't recall someone doing for you something like this before.

When you parted, he rested his forehead on yours.

“I must assume that you liked the surprise,” he concluded. You laughed, patting his chest.

“Don’t get cocky on me, Dr. Reid. You still have to give me the description of each piece in this room,” you anticipated making Spencer smirk.

“Yes, ma’am. But first, dinner,” he announced, signaling the table.

While you ate dinner, you couldn't stop looking around you. You were surrounded by so much talent and beauty that it could have been overwhelming, but the truth wasn’t like that, quite the opposite. The beauty of each piece adorning the walls accompanied the beauty of a unique moment with the wonderful man sitting in front of you. Was this finding meaningful? Partly yes.

After dinner, hand in hand, you walked the length of the room, examining each piece. And just like you requested, Spencer had something to say about each one.

"Did you know people have been painting for as long as 30,000 years? The Early Cave paintings were drawn with red or yellow ochre, hematite, manganese oxide, and charcoal and may have been made by early Homo sapiens as long as 30,000 years ago. These would have been ground to make up a primitive paint substance. Other ingredients used were animal blood and fat,” he explained, as you were looking at a replica of a primitive painting.

"Before the emergence of linseed oil in the paint, artists had to mix the dried pigments into a paste using egg yolk. Can you imagine that?”

You laughed at his expression.

“I would say it was a waste of food,” you quipped, making Spencer chuckle.

You moved to another piece that showed an artist from the XIX century painting on a canvas, with a bowl next to him.

"Artists used to store their paint in animal bladders. The bladder was fashioned into pretty purses until the paint tube was invented in 1841,” Spencer informed.

“Yuk!” You complained. “I didn't know that!”

“Sorry, I won’t develop more about that in the future,” he apologized, moving to another painting.

“Thanks, baby.”

You kept walking and admiring each piece. There wasn’t any rush, and you even forgot about your creative block. On the contrary, this was flooding you with ideas and energy.

"Linseed oil was in short supply during World War II, forcing paint manufacturers to research other options. This led to the invention of artificial resins, which were cheap, held the color well, and lasted a long time. The resin was patented in 1915 by Otto Rohm from Germany. It continued to be developed until it became widely available," Spencer explained, pointing to a canvas comparing linseed oil and resin.

“Thanks, Mr. Rohm. My job is better, thanks to the resin,” you pointed appreciatively. Spencer nodded.

The tour continued, and you swore you didn’t want it to end, but at some point, your focus wasn’t anymore on the paintings but on your boyfriend.

You should have been paying attention to the piece of art in front of you. It was the reason Spencer brought you here, right? But you couldn't avert your gaze from him, mesmerized by how his eyes sparkled, explaining why Rembrant never could use green in his paintings. Spencer moved his hands enthusiastically, eager to share every detail he knew with you. You couldn't help but stare at him wet his lips every time he finished a sentence, the way his nose scrunched up when he tried to read the description in the foot of the paint. The way mindlessly his fingers played with yours as you walked hand in hand by the gallery.

Then it hit you. You could have done this by yourself, and you would never feel your heart so full as you had it now. It wasn’t the exhibition itself. It wasn’t the act to witness the beauty of each piece what you needed to get inspired and overcome your block. You needed to feel it, and for that, Spencer was the missing piece. Your love, your biggest fan, the man who believes in you and loves you for what you are and not for what you have done or not.

That’s what true inspiration is—experiencing your own life in the deepest, feeling the pain, the happiness, the love, and wanting to tell the world what’s for you through a canvas.

The realization made you smile and be grateful for the most important person you had the luck to love. That’s why Spencer saw you staring at him and asked if something was wrong; you shooked your head and, after kissing him passionately, whispered:

“I love you, Spencer Reid. My heart is yours, and the world will know it.”

——————

Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[chelseachilly]

king of my heart - pt 10

is this the end of all the endings? my broken bones are mending with all these nights we’re spending

pairing: reader x ben chilwell summary: as ben continues his recovery, you make the most of his time off by visiting some family and friends warnings: suggested smut word count: 3.1k

a/n: sorry this one kinda took a while, it’s a bit longer to make up for it! it’s also totally fluffy and features ben serving major dilf vibes plus james maddison still at leicester bc i wrote this before they got relegated 😬 

see my masterlist for previous chapters

Although it’s still difficult for Ben as Chelsea’s season continues and he remains unable to play, it gets a bit easier as time goes on.

His physiotherapy is going well, with significant progress being made week by week. You manage to slip into a good routine again, going to work everyday and coming home to Ben and Oscar each evening.

There is a silver lining to Ben’s injury, you discover, which is that his weekends are free. You both know that once he’s back on the pitch, the hectic game schedule will resume as well, so you decide to make the most of it.

You explore London together more than you’ve ever gotten the chance to, taking Oscar for long walks around Hyde Park once Ben’s knee can handle it, going for nice dinners, and meeting up with friends.

Much to your relief, Ben starts inviting his mates around the house more, including the boys from the team. It’s so nice to see him joking around with the guys again, seeming more and more like himself every day.

Mason and Reece even manage to convince Ben to come to a game now that he’s feeling up to it. You had avoided the subject as you didn’t want to upset him, but Ben seems to be in fairly high spirits when Saturday rolls around and it’s time to go.

You take an Uber to Stamford Bridge, holding Ben’s hand the whole time you’re in the car, when you arrive at the stadium, and as you find your seats just behind the bench.

Despite the smile plastered on his face and the way he happily chats with the familiar faces around the stadium, you know that it took a lot of strength for him to come here today. You’re determined to help him summon that strength in any way you can, whether it be a hand rubbing gentle circles on his back or just your calming presence next to him.

Just before kickoff, as the two of you are chatting with some of the physios and benched players, the commentator takes note of Ben’s presence.

“And here we have Ben Chilwell back at the Bridge for the first time since his injury in September. Welcome back, Ben!”

Ben smiles and waves at the cameras as they pan to him, and you can’t help but stare at him with admiration as the fans begin to chant his name. You know it isn’t easy for him to sit on the sidelines, but you’re proud of him for keeping a positive attitude and choosing to come support his club and friends.

Their opponents, Brentford, score a goal in the first half, which Chelsea quickly equalizes at the beginning of the second. Although you both leap up from your seats to cheer, you can see the smile fade from Ben’s face as the rest of the team celebrates on the pitch.

“Hey,” you whisper in his ear as you sit down, once again taking his hand and squeezing tightly. “You’ll be back out there before you know it.”

Ben just looks at you for a moment before smiling slightly and nodding.

He brings your joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before you resume watching the game.

-

As the year comes to a close, you and Ben try to spend as much time as possible out of the house and seeing friends and family.

You’re excited for your first Christmas as a couple, and you decide to spend Christmas Eve with his family and Christmas Day with yours. It’s a bit overwhelming meeting Ben’s entire extended family for the first time, but they’re all just as lovely as his parents and siblings, making you feel right at home.

On Christmas morning, you make the drive to your mum’s house, where she and your brother are eagerly waiting for you to arrive before opening any gifts. Despite your protests, Ben insisted on buying your mum a luxury handbag from the same company where he got one for his own mother. Although the gift is technically from both of you, it’s pretty clear who paid for it - and if your mother didn’t already adore Ben, she certainly does now.

He went a bit overboard on his gifts for you as well, including a spa weekend, a pair of new headphones, and finally, a beautiful necklace with your first initial on the diamond-encrusted pendant. It’s beautiful and thoughtful and though you wish he wouldn’t spend so much money on you, you can’t help but love it. The trainers you bought him feel like they pale in comparison, but Ben insists without hesitation that they’re his new favourite pair, and you can tell how genuine he’s being.

Max is equally excited about his gift from Ben, an advance copy of the new FIFA, which the boys spend a good two hours playing while you and your mum prepare dinner.

“I love seeing you this happy,” she says as you’re mashing the potatoes with a grin on your face, listening to Ben and Max shouting at the TV in the other room. “He’s a very nice boy.”

“Yeah, he is,” you smile.

“Your father would be so happy for you,” your mum says sincerely, resting a hand on your back. “And even happier to have future grandchildren with strong genes for football.”

“Oh my god, Mum!” you exclaim, blushing and continuing to work on the potatoes. “We’ve been dating less than a year.”

“Well, I knew I wanted to marry your dad after the first month or two,” she laughs. “It’s just a thought, dear.”

Ben walks in a second later, a wide grin spreading on his face as he sees you and your mother both still laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, walking over and wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, leaning into his warmth as he grabs the masher from you and takes over, letting you relax against his chest.

-

A week into the new year, Ben suggests that you drive up to Leicester to see his close friend and former teammate James Maddison and his family.

You’ve met James a couple times, when he was in town playing Chelsea or for various work engagements, but you have yet to meet his partner or their son Leo - Ben’s godson. They also had twins recently, a boy and a girl, and you know that Ben is excited to meet them.

You drive up on Saturday morning to catch James’ match against Bournemouth. Ben is excited to show you around King Power Stadium, the home of his former club, and introduces you to many of the staff and players prior to the game. You think it’s a testament to the kind of person Ben is that they all still seem to hold him in very high regard despite him having left for Chelsea in 2020.

Of course, it was the right move for him and his career, and nobody would hold it against him - especially James, who practically leaps into your boyfriend’s arms when they see each other. It’s clear that their bond is still strong despite the miles between them and their very different lifestyles since James started a family.

“Y/N, nice to see you again!” James says with a smile when he pulls apart from Ben and comes over to hug you quickly. “Thanks for coming. Kennedy’s buzzing to meet you after.”

“Of course, I can’t wait to meet her and the kids,” you smile, leaning into Ben’s side as he wraps an arm around your waist. “Good luck out there!”

As James leaves to prepare for the match, you and Ben find your way to your seats.

Leicester end up winning the game, much to your excitement. Obviously your loyalty lies with Chelsea, but you’re happy to be here supporting James and it makes for a great atmosphere at the stadium as they secure the three points.

You all head back to James and Kennedy’s house afterward, and Kennedy greets you with a big hug. She’s a beautiful woman with a natural motherly aura about her, and she makes you feel safe and welcome right away. You know Ben has liked her since she started going out with James, so you have no doubt that the two of you will get along well.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you!” the brunette says with a wide smile, gesturing for you to head into the living area. “Please, come in, make yourself at home.”

“Hey, Kennedy,” Ben says, leaning in to hug her. “Where are the babies?”

“Napping, but they’ll be up soon.”

As you’re in the process of thanking Kennedy and complimenting their lovely home, a little blur of motion comes running out from the other room and toward Ben. You watch fondly as Ben lifts the toddler and spins him around in a hug.

“There’s my little man!” Ben says excitedly. “I missed you, bud.”

“I missed you, Uncle Ben!” Leo responds enthusiastically. “Can we go play football in the garden?”

James squats down and ruffles his son’s hair affectionately.

“Remember, Leo, Uncle Ben’s still got a hurt knee and he has to take it easy, so he can’t play football right now,” he says. “How about you show him some of the moves you’ve been practicing, though?”

“Okay!” Leo begins to tug at Ben’s sleeve and Ben smiles and looks over at you.

“Leo, I want you to meet someone very special first,” Ben says softly, beckoning you over. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Hi Y/N,” Leo says, smiling and waving at you. “Did you go to the game too?”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Leo,” you smile, leaning down to his height. “And yes, I did. Your dad played very well.”

Leo nods and resumes tugging on Ben’s sleeve, walking in the direction of the back doors.

“Typical, I just won a match and he only cares about Ben being here,” James laughs, looking to Kennedy. “Want to join us outside, babe?”

“Sure, let me just grab some drinks and we’ll be out in a few,” Kennedy says. “Y/N, want to join me?”

“Absolutely,” you agree, watching Ben be dragged off by his godson, turning back just to flash you a warm smile.

Kennedy gives you a quick tour of the main floor of the house and the two of you enjoy the time to get to know each other a bit while the boys play outside.

Your eyes naturally go to an adorable photo of Ben and James on the wall from their teen years with the England U21s. Your heart does ache a bit once again at the reminder of what he’s been working toward for so long, of how important it is to him to represent his country.

“How’s he doing with the injury?” Kennedy asks you softly, as if she read your mind. “James has been a bit worried, he knows Ben’s struggled a lot in the past when he’s been hurt.”

“Ups and downs,” you say, running a hand through your hair. “His recovery is coming along well, but it’s still hard for him mentally.”

Kennedy nods as she leads you into the kitchen.

“That’s life as the girlfriend of a footballer,” she says, offering you a glass of wine which you gladly accept. “I imagine it’s been a lot for you, too. When he FaceTimed James a couple weeks ago, he kept going on and on about how you took care of him and how you’re helping with his physio and everything.”

You can’t help but blush at that, taking a sip of the cold rosé she just passed you.

“I just try to be there for him as much as possible,” you shrug. “I wish there was more I could do.”

“Well, he seems to be doing a lot better than last time he was hurt, so I think you’ve helped him quite a bit,” she smiles.

You help her grab a couple beers for the guys and a juice box for Leo and head out back to the garden. You’re greeted by just about the most adorable sight ever - Leo is kicking balls into the net with James acting as goalkeeper, pretending to try his hardest to save the shots his son is taking. Meanwhile, Ben stands beside the net, loudly cheering for his godson and celebrating each goal with him.

“A strong attack from young striker Leo Maddison,” Ben says in his best commentator voice as Leo approaches the net. “He shoots…and he scores!”

Leo jumps for joy as the ball goes into the net past James and you and Kennedy join in cheering for him.

“Mummy, Y/N, I scored six goals!” Leo exclaims, hugging Ben’s legs.

“That’s amazing, honey!” Kennedy shouts back as the two of you settle into the patio furniture with some warm blankets.

As you continue to chat, talking about your job and how you like living in London, your eyes can’t help but wander over to Ben playing happily with Leo.

Your mind can’t help but wander, either - particularly to the idea of the little football-playing children your mum was going on about on Christmas.

You’re nowhere near ready for kids - you’re not even ready for marriage yet - but right now it’s startlingly easy to picture Ben as a father.

“Do you want kids?”

Kennedy’s question startles you, and only then do you realize how obvious it is that you’re lovingly staring at Ben tossing the ball gently at Leo over and over again so he can practice his headers.

“Oh, um,” you mumble awkwardly, crossing your legs. “Yeah, I always figured I would someday. With the right person.”

Kennedy smiles knowingly and glances over at Ben, lowering her voice a bit.

“He’s always been great with Leo, you know,” she says a bit coyly. “I can see Ben being a great dad someday.”

Although you can feel yourself blushing, you nod in agreement and continue to look over at Ben with affection in your eyes and butterflies in your stomach.

The twins wake up shortly after and you all head inside to curl up by the fireplace and meet the babies. They’re completely adorable, though the sight of Ben holding their tiny little girl in his arms only makes your heart thump even louder in your chest.

Later that night, after you’ve all had a nice dinner and watched Cars - Leo’s favourite film at the moment - James and Kennedy take the kids to bed, leaving you and Ben curled up on the couch.

You feel so at peace right now, just the two of you enjoying each other’s embrace and the peace and quiet after a loud and exciting day with James’ family. It’s probably the happiest you’ve seen Ben since the injury.

“You have a good day, baby?” Ben asks softly, carding his fingers through your hair. Your cheek is pressed to his chest, your legs tangled together.

“Mhm,” you confirm, running your thumb over the small ‘21’ tattoo on his hand. “Kennedy’s great, and their kids are so sweet.”

Ben nods in agreement, kissing the top of your head.

“I also loved seeing you with Leo,” you admit. “You’re really good with him.”

“Yeah?” Ben smiles, and you nod. “Well, he’s a great kid. And I feel a bit guilty that I only get to see him a few times a year, so I try to make up for it.”

“Well, he clearly adores you,” you say, pressing your lips to his jaw. “Although, I can’t imagine who wouldn’t.”

“Aww, someone’s feeling cheesy,” Ben teases, his arm tightening around you slightly and hand cupping your face to bring you in for a kiss.

You laugh and kiss him back, his lips soft and warm against yours as they meet once, twice, then a third time for good measure.

After you pull back just far enough to rest your forehead on his and peer into his beautiful eyes, you feel suddenly emboldened to ask the question you’ve been thinking about all day.

“Have you ever thought about…um…” You move away from him slightly, your legs still intertwined but your head now resting on the pillow next to him. “Do you think you would ever want kids?”

You’re not sure if you’re expecting Ben to panic or freak out or recoil from you immediately or something, but he does none of the above. His eyebrows raise for a moment, and your stomach begins to churn, but then a smile spreads across his face.

“Yeah,” he answers casually. “Yeah, I mean, this injury’s definitely made me think more about life beyond football. And I think I would want kids to be a part of that. Would you?”

“I think so, yeah,” you respond, smiling back at him. “Not now, obviously, but…”

“Someday,” Ben finishes, squeezing your waist.

“Someday,” you echo.

It’s not a promise, exactly, though it feels a bit like one. You’ve been together less than a year and you know the future isn’t guaranteed, but you also know that you love this man more than anything in the world. You want everything with him.

Ben adjusts your positions slightly, pulling one of your legs over his lap so that you’re straddling him and running his hands up and down your thighs.

You subconsciously roll your hips against his as you lean down to kiss him, making him moan into your mouth.

As his warm hands begin to wander under your jumper and touch your bare back, it takes all of your willpower to stop him.

“Ben,” you scold gently, though you remain in his lap. “There are other people in this house, including children, we can’t fuck on the couch.”

“I’m pretty sure Leo was conceived in my bathroom during a party, they owe me one,” Ben chuckles, though you just narrow your eyes at him. “Fine, let’s go to bed.”

He gets to his feet, lifting you up along with him and kissing you passionately. Although the friction created with your legs wrapped around his waist is addictive, you hop down immediately when he begins to walk away from the couch.

“No way I’m letting you carry me anywhere with that knee, Chilwell,” you say firmly, reaching out your hand for him to take. Although Ben sighs slightly, undoubtedly frustrated that his injury is interfering with yet another activity he loves, he nods and takes your hand.

As his fingers thread through yours and you walk down the hall to the guest bedroom, giggling like children, you’ve never been more excited or hopeful for what the future might bring.

yourusername via stories

tagging: @xjval @majx00 @delicateearthquakellama @lunamelona @kenanlotus0 @madriiid​ @mountstars​

next chapter 💙

[grippingbeskar]

Heyy! I saw an ask you posted saying you take fic requests so I thought I’d throw my hat in the ring.

This is a Frank Castle request for a smutty one shot:

Basically Frank and the reader are both hiding out in Micro’s basement and they are already together and while Micro is in another room they start to do the nasty.

Then Micro accidentally walks in and is all, “Gross, guys, c’mon I’m right over here.”

Reader tells him to get out.

And Frank says something along the lines of, “I’m planning to fuck my girl into this mattress either way.”

Micro goes away and they continue.

Very dirty. Very smutty. Maybe a little choking kink if you are comfortable writing that.

Anyway😂😂😂I’m so sorry I let intrusive thoughts win

homewrecker

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k

a/n: omg it’s been so long since i wrote something for frank I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! thankyou so much for ur request i LOVED writing this!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Because I’m bored, Frank.” You whine, and he just rolls his eyes, sitting on the other end of the make shift bed. You let your head fall back against the concrete wall, taking stock of your surroundings for the thousandth time today.

You’ve been in here for hours. Literal hours. Usually you can at least walk around the dirty basement Micro set up as his hold, but today you haven’t even been able to do that. The list of people not after you was shorter than the list of people that are, and while Micro works outside, somewhere, trying to get you two off the map, it leaves you with very little options but to sit here and stare at the wall.

At least you had one nice sight in this little room. The mattress hardly fit the both of you, and the walls were cracking and cold, but Frank sat in front of you, shirtless and a little sweaty because he had been trying to work out for at least 20 minutes. Every time he tried, though, you would push his arm, making him fall flat out of a push-up, or kick at his legs while he tried to do chin ups over the frame of the door.

It’s not that you didn’t want him to work out. God, he looked so fucking good when he did, all sweaty and breathing hard. It reminded you of how he looks after you fuck, and the mere thought was just too distracting when your cooped up in this room. So, you resorted to becoming a literal nightmare and ruining every attempt of his, because if you were suffering, you were going to make sure he was too.

“You’re bored, and makin’ me fall on my ass is the way you wanna entertain yourself?” He brushes off the dust on his pants from where you shoved him out of a plank.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve got TV or anything.” You look up at him, trying to compose yourself as he stands. No, more like looks above you, coming around the foot of the mattress on the floor and slowly kneeling next to you.

“Come ‘ere.” He shuffles next to you, wrapping you into his bare chest. He smells like metal and dust, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t look further down, where his sweatpants aren’t hiding anything. Like, at all. “You’re worried. Look, I’ve been through this a hundred times over, I know it’s a lot but Micro’s gonna sort his shit out. We’re gonna get out of here, me and you, and then you can watch all the fuckin’ TV you want.”

“Yeah? Even Love Island?” Frank groans into the top of your head and you laugh. “So much Love Island that I pick up an accent?”

“Fuck me. Whatever you wanna do, princess.” His arm tightens and you look up, still averting your gaze from his pants. Frank and you have been together for a while now, and in literally any other situation you would have wasted the hours with him inside you, going slow and steady until both of you couldn’t think about time. You had spent a lot of hidden nights like that, but you know Micro was right outside.

The walls were concrete, but the door was flimsy. It was meant to look like part of the wall, so you could easily blend into the background. You didn’t even know there was a door there until Micro shoved you both into it when you arrived, needing you both to hide yourselves from the FBI agents he was sure were watching him.

That was three hours ago. Maybe he had left? Surely enough time had passed, and you had been so patient. You hadn’t so much as kissed Frank since Micro locked you in here - you were trying to be good. Respect his place. And a part of you didn’t really want anyone hearing the way you were with Frank - it would totally ruin your bad ass reputation.

Frank was the deciding factor, though. He hooked a finger under your chin, bringing your face up to his so he could kiss you. It was soft and soothing. He knew how scared you were, even if you didn’t admit it, and if he could do something to take your mind off it, you knew he would.

He tried to move underneath you to get a better angle, but you turned your face and looked towards the door.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low, like he had just woken up.

“Micro is outside.” Frank just shrugs and kisses you again, and it takes all your self control to pull away again, although not too far so you could still keep your hands on him. “Frank.”

“Fuck ‘im. He’s probably not even there.” He pulls you back, and you let him flip you over on the mattress. His mouth moves across your throat, leaving a trail of wet kisses down to your collarbone.

“Frank - we can’t just-“ He looks up at you, and the sight makes you want to strip him down right there and then.

“You don’t wanna - that’s okay, baby. We can do whatever -“

“Fuck, Frank! I do, I really fucking do.” The smile that grows on his face is impossible to resist, and he starts to pull your shirt up, laying kisses along your tummy and working his way up to your sternum, stripping your shirt off over your head. “But Micro-“

“I can feel how fuckin’ wet you are, baby. You don’t really care about that, do you?” His hand hardly touches you, just skims over your leggings which are very clearly tainted with the evidence of how right he is. You fight under him as his hand grips your upper thigh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

He pulls your pants down with zero hesitation, hands running wildly over your now exposed body. He has no aim, just lets his hands wander all over your curves, gripping your hips and settling on their place, sliding you further down the mattress and closer to him.

“He can’t hear us, i-okay?” Frank isn’t listening, thoughts lost in how he now has his fingers hooked under your panties, dragging them slowly down your legs. He smiles at how easily you caved in, lifting your legs so he can throw your underwear off. You lean up on your forearms and spread your legs on instinct.

“Christ, princess. So pretty, always so pretty.” He slides in between your legs, his bare torso connecting with your dripping pussy, making you whine into his mouth when he kisses you. “Can’t hear us, okay?”

Frank mocks as you struggle to contain your noises. He slides a hand between your bodies and without another second for you to catch your breath, his finger spreads you open and dives into you.

“Oh, fuck Frankie.” You try to whisper, and he moans at the nickname, grinding his hips down into the mattress. His finger works you slowly, a wave of pleasure making your whole body shudder. You pick your legs up and start to slide his pants down, secretly grateful he wore sweats. Easier to take off.

“So greedy. This why you were being such a pain in my ass? Huh?” You just nod, and the heel of his palm begins to rub against your clit while he adds another finger.

The sensation is too much, but you almost cry out when his free hand comes up around your throat. He was kneeling now to keep himself upright, fucking you with his hand so fast you were almost sure someone would be able to hear it.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it princess?”

“Yes, Frankie! Oh fuck s’good - t’s so good fuc-“ You are cut off when his hand wraps around your throat, only allowing about half of your normal breathing to break through his hold. Your eyes start to roll back in your head from pleasure, and you can feel your legs begin to shake in the angle Frank was bending you at.

“There’s a good girl. Taking what I give her.” You tried to swallow, and his hand only just shifted to allow it, and you nodded desperately. “Doesn’t matter who was around, you’d still take it wouldn’t you? If I asked all nice?”

“Whatever you w-want I swear-“ He kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, and before you squeeze your eyes shut you can see how hard his face is screwed up, clearly holding back until you were ready for him. He lets you suck in a breath, and you use the chance to choke out a final plea. “Gonna cum, Frankie.”

“Good, baby. Go on then, don’t hold back. Wanna hear you scream.” The words have you almost panic - you don’t think you can control the sounds coming from you now, he had you to wired. You tried to turn your face into the pillow to muffle yourself, but one finger had enough strength to hold your face to his.

“Fra- can’t please, s’too l-loud.” Trying to whisper, but Franks smirk told you he didn’t give a shit.

“You’re fine, baby. Let me hear it.” His eyes are so wide, and looking up at you through his lashes. It’s the last thing you need to fall off that edge, and no pillow over your face would stop the borderline pornographic noises that echoed against the concrete walls. “Sound so perfect.”

Frank was holding you down as the orgasm wracked through your body, leaving you spinning. You could only tell what way was up when Frank started kissing you again, and you practically shot off the mattress when the head of his cock slid over your clit, coating him in the evidence.

“You good, princess?” His large hand began to unwrap from around your throat, and he kissed the faint lines his hand made as you whimpered in approval.

“Always.” Your eyes fluttered open and he hung over your face, kissing your nose, and then both your cheeks. Your hand ran down his chest, taking your time until you finally reached his aching cock, shifting underneath him so he could slide in easier.

“You sure? What about-“ It was you kissing him now to shut him up, and you just shook your head.

“Fuck him. Probably not even there.” You mumbled into his mouth and he laughed, bringing both of your hands up over your head, and holding them in one of his own.

“That’s my girl.” He moves up, and you can feel him pressing against you. He’s still holding your hands above your head, and you can do nothing but wait patiently. His free hand runs slow strokes over his cock, and he watched your reaction as he lets your hips roll against him, trying to control himself as well as make you work a little bit.

You were positive he was about to fuck you - fuck you like he did when you were in that motel for three weeks. Slow, hard, holding you down so you didn’t have to do anything but feel him, feel how good he makes you feel. He was so close, you could feel the very tip of him beginning to stretch you out, and you bit your lip in anticipation until -

“What the fuck is wrong with you people!?” Micro bangs in the door, and with how clearly you can hear him, you know he heard everything you and Frank just did. And said. Oh god- “If I come in there and I see Franks bare ass-“

“Don’t open that fuckin’ door.” Frank growls, his abs tensing from holding himself still. You wiggle your hips and his head snaps back to you, a look of slight confusion until he sees your face, screwed up and desperate. “You are gonna fuckin’ kill me, princess.”

“Put your fucking clothes on! That is my only mattress you fucking perverts!” Frank no longer cares about how close Micro is to coming in. He’s the only one with a key to the door. He could open it at any second - 

Frank slowly slides into you, both of you trying to cover relived moans of each others names as he bottoms out, hitting the deepest part of you that nearly has tears coming from your eyes. 

“Fuck off!” You yell, but it doesn’t come out as demanding as you want it to. Franks hand tightens around your wrists, and he sucks in a deep breath before beginning to pull out of you, so fucking slow. 

“Jesus christ.” Micro mutters clearly through the thin walls. Frank hears the lock start to turn on the door, and even you are a little intimidated when he growls out a threat.

“I’m fuckin’ my girl here either way. You come in here and see something you shouldn’t, and you’re gonna lose your head.” He never looks away from you, sliding slowly, carefully back inside of you and stilling. The anger of his threat and the tone of his voice is no indication of how he’s fucking you, so gentle and sweet. He presses another kiss to your nose, and smirks when he hears the lock click back into place.

“Fine! I’m leaving. Not like I was saving your asses out here. Whatever, I’m taking your fucking car.” Micro is pissed - and he should be, you would if the two people you had spent hours trying to sort out were currently fucking on the only mattress you owned. But you didn’t fucking care - about anything but Frank and how he was slowly getting faster now that he had heard Micro leave. 

“Fuck, faster baby, please.” You moan and he answers by doing exactly as you say, hitting you so hard you start to sink into the mattress. 

“Want it faster? Make the whole building hear you?” You tried to speak but just whined out a jumble of words, nothing making sense in your head except for ‘please’ and ‘fuck’. “Yeah, that’s it. They can hear, but only I get to watch. No one else.”

“No one else, Frank.” He hums against your skin, and you don’t hold back letting him hear how fucking good it feels. You don’t know why you were holding yourself back from him before - fuck everyone else, nothing was worth missing out on this. This, being with him here even in this shitty little room with no TV and cracked walls. It didn’t matter as long as you were both safe.

“So fuckin’ tight. Always s-” He lost his words as you kissed him, both of you melting into the moment together. He stopped trying to hold himself up, relaxed his back and dropped half of his weight on you, the feeling of him against you sending you into overdrive.

He knew you were close, because you always squeezed your eyes shut tight and made these short, sweet sounds that he always told you he loved to hear. He kept the same pace, knowing as soon as you finished, watching you come undone underneath him would be his final straw.

“God, Frank I love you so much. M’gonna fucking cum, baby.” He dropped his forehead onto your shoulder, his hand coming up to wrap around your throat again. Fuck - he knew you so well.

“Sound so pretty, princess. Want you to come all over this fucking mattress. Feel so good, christ.” You scream his name as best you can, a strangled cry coming out as he tightens his hand around your throat. You come, the concrete roof fading into stars and spots as you lose oxygen. It makes everything feel urgent and intense, and Frank’s come is already beginning to seep out of you as you ride him through your high.

“Oh fuuu-ck.” He groans into your neck as he slowly starts to pull out of you. You aren’t ready for the loss of him, and he soothes you with sweet kisses along your jaw and cheek, wrapping you up into the poor excuse of a sheet and pulling you close. Your vision starts to come back to you, and you focus on the deep breaths of Frank behind you, the hot air on the back on your neck. You can imagine how he looks right now, and smile knowing you were the cause.

“I love you, princess.” He whispers into your ear, pressing a kiss just below.

“I love you more.” You can feel his smile against your skin.

“Mm.” He wraps you closer, and almost seems to fall asleep, his breathing evening out and his arms relaxing around you. It surprises you when he speaks again, and you have to tear your eyes open. “We have to buy a new mattress.”

“Fuck. We do. Maybe we should make dinner, too.” Frank doesn’t say anything, just huffs a breath and you laugh. “He’s gonna be so mad.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll handle him.” 

“We should probably put some clothes on.” As much as you love how you both are right now, Micro will probably be back any minute. 

“I fuckin’ hate this. We- You shouldn’t have to-” You turn around in his hold to face him, and kiss him on the jaw.

“Shh. Soon, we’re gonna have our own place, our own bed, and we won’t have to wear clothes, like ever.” He shivers slightly and closes his eyes like he can picture it. “Soon, okay?”

“I know, I just hate that you gotta do all this shit, deal with him-”

“He is helping us. We will have all the time in the world when we get out of here. We just have to get out of here.” Frank kisses you, his hand coming up to hold your face. You love it when he kisses you like that, because his hand nearly takes up your whole face and you can completely disappear in his hold.

“How did this turn in to you calmin’ me down, huh?” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Im just trying to soften you up so we can watch Love Island later.” He groans and his shoulders slump forward, rolling you off the mattress where you start getting dressed.

Eventually you tear yourselves out of the room to make dinner, and as pissed as Micro is when he comes back, the promise of a new mattress and incredible dinner Frank ended up cooking was enough to make it up to him. As you were going through to the kitchen, you looked back at the little slot in the wall where the door is, and you smiled. To think a few hours ago, you were begging to get out of that room - and now it was the closest thing to home you had.

You were pretty sure, though, looking at Frank spread out on the make shift couch trying to tune the TV so you could watch the newest episode of your shitty TV show, that you could make a home anywhere, as long as it was with him.

[guardianofrivendell]

Midamîn

Fíli x OC Tullaina (Midamîn = my happy place)

Warnings: talk about grief, losing a loved one, lots of sadness but also soft Fíli and... Fíli finally realizes something

Timing: this story happens about ten years before the quest, a few years before Adorable so Fíli and Tullaina are in their late sixties, early seventies (human equivalent of age 19-20 I think?)

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: This is a fic in Fíli’s POV. The title will make sense when you’ve read this story, it works for both Tullaina and Fíli, each for a different reason. This was a fic I wrote around one line of dialogue I had stuck in my mind for ages, and I commissioned the wonderful @mysandwichranaway​ to make this stunning artwork of my fic! They were incredibly fast and finished the art when I hadn’t even written down 100 words. Amazing!

@laurfilijames​ thinking of you 💚 

The door opened with a loud croak, turning everyone’s attention from their dinner towards the young Dwarf entering the small living room. 

Blue eyes searched every face sitting around the table, looking for the one person they wanted to see, tired shoulders slumping even further when he couldn’t spot them. 

“Tullaina’s not home yet?” Fíli asked, even though he already knew the answer. 

Dís shook her head, the worry evident in her eyes although she tried to hide it. Thorin placed his hand on her shoulder, telling her it would be alright, but the encouraging smile Dís gave her brother in return didn’t fool Fíli. He may still be a young Dwarf, barely in his seventies, but he was old enough to know what the lines around her mouth meant. He’d seen them countless times before, every time he and his brother got into trouble or were home late or when someone mentioned his father. 

“We have to go out and look for her,” Kíli said, getting up from his seat.

“Sit down, Kíli,” Thorin spoke, his tone leaving no room for debate, “finish your soup.”

“But it’s already getting dark! It’s not safe for her to be out there!”

“And not for you either. She’ll come back when she’s ready. She always does.”

True, but she usually tells someone where she’s going or takes Kíli with her, Fíli thought. She hadn’t done either today. 

Today marks twenty years since the horrible mine accident where Tullaina’s parents lost their lives, along with too many other Dwarves. Tullaina had left around noon and she’d been visibly upset. Fíli and Kíli had shared meaningful looks but decided to give her space and talk to her when she returned. Kíli suggested taking her to the lower fields she loved so much and both brothers agreed it was a good way to try and cheer her up. But it was past dinner time now and she still hadn’t returned. 

Fíli took his usual place at the table and watched his mother and uncle eat their dinner in silence, his own meal left untouched. Kíli was staring at his empty plate, his thoughts no doubt on Tullaina… 

She was strong, Fíli would never dare say otherwise, but he also remembered how she was in those first months after their passing. Her eyes had lost their warmth, the dull brown a reflection of the sadness inside. She barely ate any food, refusing all sweets and treats, mumbling something about being unworthy. She had lost her spark. 

Kíli and her had been going on long walks to take her mind off things and to offer her a chance to talk in private. According to his brother, she never did. 

When Kíli had to start training and school again, Tullaina went on those walks on her own and she gradually started to turn back into her old self.

Of course there were still days where she was quiet and closed off - they all had days like that, losing a parent does that to you - but they always found support and comfort in each other. Fíli was willing to do anything in his power to make her happy, if it meant he would never see her like in those first months again. 

“Maybe Kíli and I could go look for her together, we only want to make sure she’s alright,” Fíli suggested, anxious to go and do something. He wasn’t the type of Dwarf to just sit down and wait. 

“Tullaina clearly wants to be alone, Fíli. We all process our grief in a different way, let us respect her wishes,” Thorin answered, his expression soft and kind.

“She shouldn’t be alone,” Kíli muttered, picking at his fingernails, annoyed that he couldn’t be there for her.

No, Fíli agreed, she shouldn’t. He couldn’t shake the image of her walking around in the dark with no destination in mind, just trying to find a way to get rid of the emptiness inside. Tullaina was fierce, she could definitely handle herself, but right now she was also vulnerable, consumed by her grief, an easy target for the dark figures that were looming around the village at night. 

When his father passed away, Fíli was lucky to have his brother and his family to support him. They made sure he knew he was loved, that he was allowed to grieve and always had someone to talk to or a shoulder to lean on. His mother and uncle Thorin did their best to fill the void his father left, without ever trying to replace him. Fíli never felt alone because they grieved together.

Tullaina’s entire family had been ripped away from her, there was no one left. No, that wasn’t entirely true, she could always count on Kíli. And him, even though their relationship had shifted in the last few years from being just friends to…to what exactly, Fíli hadn’t quite figured it out yet, he felt that ‘friends’ didn’t capture their dynamic anymore  - and of course she had Dís and Thorin, but he knew it wasn’t the same. They weren’t her real family. His mother had taken her in with the best intentions and he couldn’t be more thrilled about that, but they had unintentionally taken away the last thing she had left from her parents. Her home. 

Fíli’s eyes widened and his lips parted when he realized he found the answer. 

“I know where she is,” he said, more to himself than the others. 

He pushed his chair back and jumped to his feet, ignoring the protests from Kíli, his mother and uncle when he opened the front door. “I know where she is!” he yelled at them before the door fell into the lock, shutting out their replies. 

*

The streets of Ered Luin were almost completely abandoned, most of the mountain’s residents safely tucked away in their homes, enjoying their evening meal or taking rest after a day’s hard work. The few people who were still out greeted the young prince, but Fíli was too determined to reach his destination to acknowledge them as he ran by. 

He tried not to think about all the trouble she could’ve found herself in by now, every scenario worse than the previous one. No, he refused to let his mind go down that road. He had left his home on a hunch, not entirely sure Tullaina was where he thought she would be, but he simply had to check. Kíli was going to be furious that he went without him, most likely claiming he was the one who should have gone, being her best friend and all, but Fíli wanted to be the one to comfort her. Was it so wrong of him to be selfish for once? 

His feet followed the once so familiar path, not slowing down until he reached the narrow passageway on the outskirts of the mountain that led outside. Judging by the weeds and branches blocking the small gap between the rocks, it hadn’t been used for a very long time and it made Fíli second-guess his suspicions. It didn’t look like someone went through it recently. 

The cold mountain air whipped his face as he slowly climbed through the gap, careful not to tear his clothes on the branches. He was sure to face a good scolding from his mother upon his return for leaving like that at this time of night, and he really didn’t want to add torn clothes to the list. 

The Dwarf settlement in Ered Luin was located safely inside the mountain, the streets and houses skilfully carved into the stone. But it hadn’t always been that way. 

Some of the miner families used to live in small houses on a ledge outside the mountain and it was almost like a community on their own. Tullaina and her parents were  part of that community, so naturally Fíli and Kíli had spent a lot of time there.  

Fíli stared at the remnants of what once had been a busy street filled with food stalls, friendly conversation, laughter and mischief. A lot of mischief, he remembered fondly. 

But that had been before the accident, before the lives of the people who lived here were permanently changed. Damaged beyond repair. 

After the accident, the families moved back into the mountain one by one, the memories too painful to stay, leaving the abandoned houses at the mercy of the elements. Tullaina had an incredibly hard time leaving her childhood home behind so Fíli had a strong gut feeling this might be where he would find her. 

His hand never left the stone walls, acting as support as he tried to walk over the slippery cobblestones without planting his face in them. It was a good thing it was such a clear night, the moon doing her best to illuminate the overgrown ledge so Fíli could successfully avoid tree roots and other obstacles. How trees and other greenery were even able to grow here, he didn’t know. 

“Nature always finds a way I guess,” he muttered to himself. 

Tullaina’s house stood at the end of the street. A lovely small house, partially carved into the mountain but with a wooden front, making it almost look like a forest cottage that had oddly been misplaced. 

Fíli inhaled sharply as he noticed the rough shape it was in. The trees and undergrowth growing nearby were slowly but surely taking over everything, their branches reaching in through the cracks in the windows and wooden panels like fingers trying to rip out the frontage. The front door had lost the battle with gravity and hung half off its hinges, its green paint peeling off, revealing the rotten wood underneath.

The faint light of the moon gave everything an eerie glow and Fíli stood motionless, unable to fathom how it almost looked like the house itself was grieving too. 

The wind picked up and he knew he had to move quickly, it wasn’t safe for him to stay out here much longer. He gave the front door a gentle push, just enough to make room for him to climb through and step inside. 

If he had thought the outside was in a rough shape, it was nothing compared to what he found indoors. Furniture broken or tipped on its side, rugs torn or half-eaten by rodents, the branches making their way inside over the ceiling and he could see mold creeping up the walls, giving the whole space a musty old smell. The floor was littered with shards of glass from the broken windows, dry leaves and small twigs, their snapping and crunching echoing through the house every time Fíli stepped on them. 

There was nothing left of the warm and cozy place Tullaina once called home. It was enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth. Had it truly been the right decision back then, he wondered as he let his fingers glide over a dust-covered side table, one he recognized as the culprit of the scar on Tullaina’s left knee. Had there been no other option but to tear her away from all these memories? 

As the doubts started to take over and the secondhand guilt settled in his stomach, the image of a grief-stricken Tullaina appeared before his eyes and he shook his head to get rid of it. No, his mother had done the right thing. It was Tulls’ own choice not to come back here all these years, even though they had suggested it a few times. As his Uncle had said earlier this evening, they needed to respect her wishes. Even if he didn’t entirely agree with them. 

Where in Mahal’s name could she be, he wondered. His gut feeling had never been wrong before… He was about to go and test his luck on the rotten stairs when he heard something.

A sniffle.

“Tullaina?” he called out, his voice echoing loudly through the moon-lit room. No answer. 

Where was she? There was no way he had imagined the sound. Another choked sob reached his ears and his head jerked in the direction of the sound. The wooden floor croaked and protested under his weight as he carefully made his way further into the dim living room, his eyes flitting around looking for her. 

He found her hidden behind the beat and dusty couch, curled up on the worn red carpet, shivering and hugging herself for comfort. Her eyes were closed and there were still wet tear streaks on her cheeks.

“Here you are,” he said, trying to keep the relief out of his voice so she wouldn’t feel guilty about worrying him. He knew the guilt had been eating at her the entire day, there was no need for him to add more. 

She didn’t open her eyes, instead she hugged herself a little closer and tried to make her even smaller. Her whole frame showed what Fíli felt in that moment, pure and utter heartbreak. His instinct told him to go to her and take her in his arms where she would be safe, where he could try and make her feel whole again and hug her, show her that she was not alone, until all her tears were spent. But Fíli was afraid he would overstep. 

He chose to sit down on the wooden crate next to her instead of joining her on the rug, not knowing if she would welcome his presence. They sat like that for a while, the silence between them almost deafening to his ears but he was struggling to come up with something to say. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to come alone, he thought, what if she preferred Kili to talk to instead of him, maybe he should go and hug her, maybe he- 

“It should’ve been me.”

She whispered it so quietly, Fíli had almost missed it.

Tullaina lifted her head and her eyes met his, full with unshed tears, just waiting for her to blink so they could spill and roll down her cheeks, but he knew they would not do anything to ease her sadness. Fíli’s resolve not to overstep melted like snow in front of a forge, without any hesitation he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her into his side. 

“I shouldn’t even be here,” she sobbed, hiding her face into the crook of his arm. Fíli felt how her tears soaked his tunic but he couldn’t care less. There was something else on his mind right now, something that made him purse his lips in frustration. He knew exactly what she meant with those words and he hated that she still felt like this.  

Tullaina has been blaming herself for the death of her mother ever since the accident. And Fíli understood where she came from. Every few days, her father forgot his lunch and Tullaina would go to the mines to bring it to him. On the day of the mining accident, she’d already made plans with Kili and him so her mother had suggested she would go and bring the lunch for once. They had hugged and said their goodbyes before Tullaina made her way over to the Durin’s house, not knowing it would be the last time she saw her mother. Or her father. 

It wasn’t her fault. 

It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. But that’s not how Tullaina saw it. 

Even after all these years, she felt responsible, as if she had been the cause of the explosion. If she had gone to the mines like she always did, her mother would still be alive today. It didn’t matter to her that in that scenario she would’ve been the one to die alongside her father. Fíli didn’t think he could’ve handled that. 

Thick, wet tears kept rolling over her cheeks onto his clothes while sobs racked her entire body, and Fíli could do nothing but his best to comfort her. 

“I-I know that I can’t change the way you feel, Tulls,” he began, carefully choosing his words, “but if it’ll help I can keep telling you that none of it was your fault. Because it wasn’t.”

She released a shaky breath. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated over and over again as he gently rocked her - he’d done this so many times with Kíli when he was still a pebble and had a nightmare, that he started doing it on instinct - until eventually her sobs died down a little. He placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her head upwards, but she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, too embarrassed to meet his. 

“Hey,” he spoke softly, almost cooing at her, “hey, look at me.” 

His free hand caressed her cheek ever so gently, softly wiping the remaining tears away. Fíli lowered his head and kissed the top of her head. The loving gesture made her look up, and when her brown eyes locked into his blue ones, Fíli all but lost his ability to breathe. He swallowed heavily when every possible emotion fought for the upper hand as he kept holding onto her. She was so close… 

A shiver ran through her body, which prompted Fíli to lazily rub her arm and whisper comforting words as she laid her head on his chest. They sat like that for a while, neither of them saying anything, simply enjoying each other’s company. He knew they should go back, but his selfish side kept him right where he was. 

“Every morning I thank Mahal that he didn’t take you away from me that day,” he confessed, his voice low but steady. The arm that was still wrapped around her shoulders tightened its hold in an unconscious attempt to bring her even closer. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Tullaina hummed quietly in response and Fíli wondered if she was even awake at this point. Maybe it was for the best. 

It was in that private moment Fíli realized why he could not lose her. He’d known this before of course, in the same way that he could not lose Kíli or his mother, but in the past few years it somehow always felt different with Tullaina, just like he felt that the term ‘friend’ didn’t really fit her anymore.

And now he knew.

It wasn't friendship he felt for her… It was love. 

Permanent taglist:  @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​ @kumqu4t​ @the-banannah​ @dark-angel-is-back​ @the-fandoms-georgie​ @lathalea​ @xxbyimm​ @sokkasdarling​ @katethewriter​ @aredhel-of-gondolin​ @starry-cookies @thepeanutcollective @elvish-sky​ @moony-artnstuff​ @emmapotato88 @kirenia15​ @vicmackeybullshxt​ @hey-its-nonny​ @moarfandomtrash @beenovel​ @cassiabaggins​ @shethereadinghobbit​ @justfollowtheroad​ @laurfilijames​ @fizzyxcustard​ @brokennerdalert​ @linasofia​ @naimadrawsstuff​ @errruvande​ @m-sterboggins @amaryllis23​ @enchantzz​ @narniaandthenorth​ @sketch-and-write-lover​ @blairsanne​ @ruthoakenshield​ @midearthwritings​

Fíli taglist:  @bluewingedangel​ @spidergirla5​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @clumsy-wonderland​

[vgilantee]

Soft Focus Fog {Benedict Bridgerton}

Chapter 2 - White Dianthus

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

words: 3.1k

a/n: chapter 2 is finally here! i wrote most of this while dealing with covid which was a whole lot of fun /s. today was also the day chapter 1 was supposed to be posted had tumblr not broken and posted it four weeks early (no i won't stop complaining about that) (i don't post prev chapter links anymore, so head to the masterlist linked below for all other chapters and content!)

the painting/s described are Miss Catherine Tatton (1786 by Thomas Gainsborough) and London: Interior of Rotunda at Ranelagh (1754 by Canaletto). i don't know when the artworks joined the public collection but they're gorgeous paintings so...

warnings: n/a

pronouns: she/her

series masterlist

as a flower, the white dianthus was used as a symbol of pure affection

You were sat in the drawing-room after breakfast reading, keeping your aunt company as she worked on a needlepoint when the doors were pushed open, and in rushed Edith, travelling cloak still on her shoulders. Your aunt quickly stood to meet her daughter halfway, pulling her into a hug. As Lucia leaned back to properly look at her daughter’s face, you could see just how much Edith had grown to look like her mother. It had been years since you had seen your younger cousin and you were in awe of the beautiful young lady she had become. She had the nose and jaw of her father - features that you, yourself had from the Lamberton blood you shared - but her frame and eyes were her mother’s. Edith’s smile was something else though, something entirely her own, and it pulled together what she had been given by her parents to complete her beauty.

“Mother!” Edith laughed out as she was pulled back into a hug. “I have only been gone three months.”

“I know, my dear, but I have missed you.” Lucia brought a hand to Edith's cheek and looked at her softly. “Am I not allowed to miss my child, the only one still living in the same home as I? Cherish these days before you should wed?” Edith tilted her head as she rolled her eyes, and in that action, she finally saw you.

“Cousin!” You had barely placed your book down when Edith skipped the final step and jumped to hug you with a laugh. “It has been too long!” Your arms wrapped around her, joining her in her soft laughter. When she pulled away, one of her dark curls fell onto her face, and she attempted to blow it away. 

“I have missed you too.” Edith stepped back completely and properly adjusted her hair, and you flattened down your dress that creased from Edith’s excitement to hug you. “You have grown so tall and beautiful! The gentlemen shall be tripping over each other for a dance with you this season.” She looked down, avoiding eye contact with you as you complimented her. 

“All this excitement, I could hear it from my office.” Both you and Edith quickly turned to look at the door where the new voice came from and there stood - with his tie slightly loosened - was your uncle. Edith bounced once on the balls of her feet before moving quickly to the other side of the room to her father. 

The man, who was normally known for being formal and proper, let out a loud laugh and hugged his daughter, lifting her off her feet slightly as he did. 

After returning her to her feet, Lucia walked over to join her husband and daughter, and you sat back down on the sage lounge. You continued to read, as to not listen in on their reunion too closely, feeling it was a moment for the family to share alone. Though you heard snippets; Lucia asking that her brother and his wife had treated Edith well, questions about how it was in southern France, and various questions about her studies. 

A loud clap brought you out of your book and you looked up to see Walter with his hands together in front of him.

“Now, how about you beautiful ladies change shoes and we go to the park for a picnic?” He placed one hand on the back of his wife’s back and turned to Edith. “And if you wish, you can change from the dress you have travelled in, of course. I shall go down to the kitchen and see if they have any foods appropriate for a picnic to bring with us.” 

Parasol resting on your shoulder to hide you from the sun, you walked beside Edith who had her hand looped through your arm. Though the social season had not yet begun, there were still many families who were enjoying the warming spring weather and picnicking or walking through the park. You followed behind Walter and Lucia, who seemed to have a very specific place in mind. 

“Do you think you should like to marry this season?” The conversation always came back to that. It was not surprising - the topic was the reason you were in London after all - but you hoped that people would quickly tire of asking you about it. 

“If I meet a man who is my perfect compliment, who I could imagine loving for the rest of my days, then maybe I will.” Beside you, Edith hummed. “But I am in no rush to find that man. I do not mind if it takes me another five seasons to find him, or if I never find him at all. I should rather be happy and unwed than married to a man I do not and can not love.” You knew that your opinions on marriage were radical and considered strange by many, but still being unwed at twenty-four was also considered very strange to those same many, so you did not mind.

There was a lapse of silence as Edith thought about your words before she gave your bicep a light squeeze. Her head turned to look at you, and one of her curls fell in front of her shoulder. 

“I hope you find happiness, cousin. And are lucky enough to find companionship with someone you love.” As she turned back, you leaned over and pressed an appreciative kiss to the side of her head. 

Before her family moved to London, you had been very close with your cousin. Though six years your junior, you were both the youngest daughters of your families and quickly fell into spending time together. (Though her other option for a cousin to spend time with at the time was your then three-year-old brother Edward, it worked out well for the both of you.) Then, when you were eleven and Edith was five, she moved away, only seeing each other at family events, and almost never in London. 

You had remained close through letters, and still cared for her deeply, viewing her more as a sister than a cousin, and you were overjoyed with being able to spend more time with her.

On top of a small hill by the creek, you watched your uncle take a slow turn with his hands on his hips before he gave a nod toward Lucia and held out his hand. By the time you and Edith had made your way toward them, the picnic blanket had been laid out with two wicker baskets sitting in the centre. 

“A wonderful spot for a picnic, wouldn’t you agree, my love?” Lucia, with help from Walter, carefully sat on the blanket, tucking her dress neatly around her. 

“I would. A marvellous choice, dear.” Walter carefully sat down beside his wife, moving to open the closer basket. You and Edith took your places opposite them, helping unpack the other basket and lay out the platters of food. 

There wasn’t a large spread of food - small sandwiches and sweet pastries - as the picnic was more to spend time in the warming weather and converse with your family. So it was not long until the food was all but consumed, shortly after the sun had drifted past its highest point. The servingware was being packed away when your attention was pulled away.

“Edith!” It seemed, through your brief interactions with Eloise Bridgerton, that she was a young lady who operated at one volume, and that was a loud excitement. 

Upon noticing her friend, Edith quickly rose to her feet with an excited laugh. The young ladies walked toward each other with their hands extended, and when they finally met in the middle, they took each other by the hand. Behind the uniting friends, you saw the rest of the Bridgertons continuing to walk in the direction of your picnic. 

Though you had never met the family (outside of your meeting of Eloise the previous night), you had of course heard about the large Bridgerton family. Eight children named in alphabetical order of birth, four young ladies and four young lords, all under the dutiful care of their widowed mother. But hearing about a large yet close family such as theirs, and seeing it was another matter entirely. 

While Eloise happily reunited with Edith, two more young ladies of similar age walked toward the pair, and a young boy and girl acted as though they weren’t making jabs at each other behind their mother. Your aunt and uncle, who had also moved to their feet, were talking to the mother who had reached the end of the picnic blanket. And finally, lingering behind them all, was three young men, brothers holding a conversation among themselves. 

Upon realising that you were the only one left sitting, you followed suit and stood, readjusting your bonnet and flattening the back of your skirt. Edith’s head whipped in your direction and motioned for you to join her conversation. 

“Eloise tells me you met last week, cousin.” Edith spoke when you were no more than a step away. “In a fashion very fitting of her, might I add.” Eloise gently nudged Edith in the arm as the other two women covered their mouths with gloved hands, attempting to hide their laughter. 

“I did meet her, yes.” You sent a soft smile toward the mentioned lady, laughing lightly as she huffed. “It was very memorable. In the best way possible, do not worry, Miss Eloise.” She rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“I’m glad. Now if you two of you would stop giggling, I should like to introduce you.” They dropped their hands away from their faces, but kept smiling with thinly hidden laughs. “These are my sisters, Daphne and Francesca. Our youngest sister Hyacinth is over there with our youngest brother.” As you turned to look again at the youngest children, your eyes caught on those of one of the brothers. Upon realising that your eyes had met, the corner of his mouth flicked up and you felt a warmth rise to your cheeks. Quickly, you moved your attention back to the ladies. 

“It is lovely to meet you both.” After a short curtsey exchange, the five of you fell into easy conversation, discussing details of Edith’s time away. The conversation did, however, quickly moved to the excitement of both Daphne and Edith making their societal debut in the upcoming season. 

“I think your uncle is requiring your attention, Miss [Y/N].” Daphne raised her hand gently and you turned to follow the direction of Daphne’s point and see the three adults turned to look toward you, Walter with his hand outstretched. 

“Excuse me for a moment.” You nodded your head to each lady in turn before walking over to join their conversation. As you walked toward the adults, your eyes again found their way to the Bridgerton brothers. Just as you reached your destination and looked away, you caught the movement of the same brother as he turned to you.

“This is the Dowager Duchess Violet Bridgerton.” You curtsied to Violet, and she mirrored the action, though not as deeply. “Lady Bridgerton, my niece, Miss [Y/N] Lamberton.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Bridgerton.” Violet smiled, eyes creasing tenderly. You noted that although her face carried soft creases of age, most of the deeper lines came from her smile. 

“And you, Miss Lamberton. Have you been enjoying your time here in London thus far?” Her tone was warm, genuinely curious as to how you had found the city she called home. 

“I have. It has been good exploring some of the places I visited as a child. And finding new places as well. Much has changed, as have I, and it is nice to explore those changes.” Violet hummed at your words. There was a slight pause in conversation, and it was clear that the Lady Bridgerton was trying to avoid asking the topic on everyone’s lips; why you were still unwed and if you were going to find a husband this season. 

“Perhaps we may find time for you and your family to join us for some tea before the season begins.” Though Violet was talking to you at the beginning of the question, it was posed toward Lucia.

“We may not find time before the season begins, but I should like to try. That sounds lovely, Lady Bridgerton.” Your aunt then asked Violet if Daphne had decided on what dress she was going to wear to the Danbury ball, and you were grateful for the complete conversation change. 

The following day, you left the Lamberton house with only Eleanor for company, leaving to allow Edith to spend the day with her parents. They had offered you the use of their smaller carriage for the day, and took it to one of the local art galleries. 

“Would you like me to join you inside, Miss?” Eleanor asked as the footman helped you down. She stood by the carriage and waited as you adjusted your lace cap before handing you a blue-stained leather notebook with a charcoal pencil wrapped on the front. 

“No, thank you, Eleanor. I should be quite alright on my own.” You turned to address the footman as well. “You are free to further explore London if you wish. I should be ready to return home in five hours. Half past four, I believe.” Both the footman and Eleanor nodded and you turned to make your way up the few stairs and into the gallery. 

The gallery itself was made of one large building broken into four long rooms, each filled with paintings across the walls. Each room had a dotted row of plus benches to sit on and properly observe the art. 

After a slow lap around the first of the large rooms, you finally decide on the first painting to take a closer look at. 

The blue of the young woman’s hat drew you in, the baby blue eye-catching against the white of her wedding dress and the dark greens of the background. She was beautiful, you thought as you described the strong directions of the brush strokes. 

You tilted your head to the side, tongue poking between your lips as you thought of the word to describe the painted woman’s hair. 

“Most people do not come to the gallery to write, but I imagine doing it while standing is difficult.” The voice quickly distracted you from your word hunt. Stood beside you, eyes on the portrait, was the Bridgerton brother who had caught your eyes the previous day.

“Writing while standing is no skill, Mister Bridgerton.” You closed the journal, with the pencil tucked between the pages. “As for what I am writing, I find describing paintings in words to be an enjoyable exercise. Good practice as well.” You tried not to stare at him as you spoke, but he had captured all of your attention. 

“Interesting. Maybe it is something I should like to try one day.” Finally, he looks at you with a light smirk. “Is that all that brings you to the gallery alone today?” It was not unusual for you to explore an art gallery alone while at home, and you had forgotten that it was something that may have been considered more improper in London. But you enjoyed the solitude and the ability to take your time at each artwork. He tilted his head as he asked, smirk seemingly permanent on his face. 

“I wanted to get out of the house today, leave my cousin to spend it with her parents.” He nodded, understanding the importance of spending time alone with family. 

“Would you be opposed to my company for the rest of your time here?” You thought for a moment, while he stood with his arm offered to you. 

“If you tell me your name, then I will accept your offer.” You shifted your weight to one foot, smirking at him. He shook his head with a light laugh, and you carefully looked over his features with his focus away from you. There was something in his smile and laugh that was contagious. It made you feel safe and happy, wanting to mirror his energy. 

“It seems as though you already know it.” His eyes easily met yours, and although his smile had dropped, you would still see it in his eyes. 

“I only know your family name, and if we are to spend time together, I should like to know which Bridgerton you are.” You brought your hands together in front of you, head tilted encouraging his answer.

“Benedict, my lady. Benedict Bridgerton.” Benedict held out his hand, palm upturned, and when you placed your hand on his, he bent down to brush a kiss. You barely felt his lips as they barely touched the back of your gloved hand, but you did feel the distracting warmth of his hand.

“A pleasure. I am [Y/N] Lamberton.” He dropped your hand, standing back to his full height, once again offering him your arm. This time, you placed your hand on his forearm, turning together to move on to another painting.

At each painting, you stopped for a moment and discussed details of it together and you quickly learned that Benedict was an artist. Though you enjoyed describing details of paintings in writing, he had a way of describing technique and colour that showed practice and a deeper appreciation that only comes from someone who has spent hours in front of a canvas fighting with a brush. 

“What do you think they are discussing?” You would admit that some of the conversation focused less on the technique and more on the lives of the subjects within the paintings. Benedict was pointing at a group of four, two gentlemen and two ladies, at the front of the painting. 

“They seem to be admiring that gentleman’s lengthy sword.” Benedict snorted - though he tried to cover it - and looked at you with an incredulous look. You smirked, not looking at him, and he continued to try and hide his laugh.

“It is a very impressive sword. She definitely seems to be appreciating it.” Raising your journal in front of your mouth to hide your laugh, you turned away from Benedict. As you turned, you noticed the clock hanging on the far wall.

“Oh goodness, is it already after half four?” The question is directed more at yourself, but when you look back at Benedict, he is taking out his pocket watch. After a short confirmation from him, you took your hand from his arm, already taking some skirt to make a rushed leave.

“I had a very lovely time with you today, Benedict. Thank you for your company.” With one hand, you lift your skirt to curtsey before walking quickly out of the gallery to a waiting cart and Eleanor.

reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

[licensedqueerio]

Could you do a Fred Benson x reader where they were dating and reader finds out he died? And maybe they're friends with Eddie so when they hear he is the main suspect in the murders they try to find him to figure out what happened?

I wrote this so fast omg, but I was so excited to!! I will gladly write more about this if prompted, but for now, here you go!

---

Word Count: 3.1k

Pairing: Fred Benson x Reader

Warnings: Stranger Things season 4 spoilers, swearing, violence, death

Request Here

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You met Fred Benson when you were thirteen years old.

You fell for him immediately. And you fell for him hard. He was nerdy, snarky, clever, and genuinely a good person; he ticked all your boxes. But you thought he was too good to be true, so you tried to ignore your feelings for him throughout your last year of middle school.

But come freshman year, you were put in almost all of the same classes together, so the two of you becoming friends was inevitable. And it was wonderful. But it did nothing to stop your budding feelings for him. You finally got the nerve to ask him out sophomore year and he said yes, to your utter delight.

The two of you have been going strong ever since. He was the managing editor of The Weekly Streak while you took the front cover photos. You got to see each other almost every day and have a beautiful relationship.

You were totally, one hundred percent in love with him.

Even when he became insecure about your relationship; insisting that you deserved better than him. He believed he was a murderer. You knew he wasn’t and that the car crash had been an accident.

He never forgave himself though. For letting the driver die. Though, ‘let’ was a strong word. There was nothing Fred could have done for the driver, he should have died on impact, but it took his brain a little longer to catch up to that fact.

You did everything you could to reassure Fred that he wasn’t a murderer. Assuring him that yes, he should have helped, he couldn’t help that he panicked and ran. He definitely should have gone to the police, but you understood why he did it.

That didn’t make it okay.

But it also didn’t make you love him any less. You’d been through a lot together, and honestly, you didn’t ever want to give him up.

The two of you worked through that, and were still working through it, but Fred’s view of your relationship had improved significantly since the crash. He was doing a lot better now, but it still haunted him.

You wished there was more you could do for him.

This morning you’d woken up with a budding sense of dread, which usually meant today was not going to be a good day. So you did what any normal person would, you went back to sleep. You woke up later that morning, your mom informing you that Fred had called for you earlier. You called back, leaning against the wall besides the phone, holding a mug of too hot coffee.

Fred picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hiya, lover,” you greeted, yawning after the words. “You called?”

“You didn’t show up,” Fred stated the obvious. “You slept in? Again?”

“Hey woah, is that judgement I sense in your tone?” You laughed, blowing steam from your mug before taking a hesitant sip. It scalded your tongue, but you powered through it. “I just graduated, I can sleep in whenever I please, thank you very much,” you continued.

“Alright, alright,” Fred conceded. “I was just making sure you were okay.”

“...love, are you okay?” You asked, brows furrowed as you finally picked up on the shakiness of his voice, the slight breathlessness. As though he’d just had a panic attack. You were very familiar with what he sounded like after one.

“Fine,” he responded. “Totally one hundred percent fine. Shouldn’t you be getting out of bed yet?”

“Don’t try and shift the subject,” you replied. “Fred, babe, are you okay?” You repeated. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” Fred repeated.

“Come on, Fred. Get off the phone,” a faint female voice said in the background.

“I have to go,” Fred said quickly. “I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“I love you too…” You murmured, listening to him hang up. You sighed and hung the phone back on the wall, going to properly start your day.

---

The next morning, the feeling of dread was one hundred times worse. You barely managed to drag yourself out of bed, half asleep, and feeling as though you’d been hit by a car. On top of that, you couldn’t sleep all night.

You went into the already empty kitchen and began brewing your coffee. You happened to take a peek between the blinds and out the window, which happened to be your worst mistake.

Because there you saw a police car pulling into the empty drive way, two police officers getting out and removing their hats. They were here to tell you someone had died. You already knew the drill; you’d gone through this last year when someone close to you had been found dead.

Today though, you had no idea who’d they be reporting dead to you.

That was the most depressing part.

You heard that when Chrissy's body had been found, the police went to Jason, and that's how he found out she died. You were praying that this isn't what the police visit was about. But you hadn’t heard from Fred since yesterday morning, so it wasn’t impossible. That’s what worried you most.

You forced your body to move forward when a hard knock echoed through your house. You shut the coffee maker off, crossing the kitchen and living room to unlock the front door. You pulled it open and stared at the cop. "...who's dead?" You asked quietly, fingers trembling where they held the door frame for stability. "That's why you're here. Isn't it? I know the drill.”

The cops shared a look between each other before one spoke. "Can we come in?" He asked.

You shook your head, you didn’t want to drag this out. "Please, just tell me," you requested. "Don't try to skirt around this, I'm not an idiot. So who?"

"We've been informed that you're dating one Fred Benson? Is that correct?" The cop asked. "His body was identified this morning, I'm sorry for your loss. We were asked to relay this information by a friend."

Your knees gave out beneath you and you collapsed against the doorframe, clutching it tightly in an attempt for something to ground you. "No," you choked out. "No, Fred can't have—no! No, you must be mistaken!" You exclaimed in disbelief, tears beginning to roll down your cheeks.

"I'm sorry," the cop repeated. "Truly."

"How did he die?" You managed to ask through the knot in your throat. “When?”

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that information," he replied. “You’ll be informed later on with the rest of the town.”

And somehow that answer was so much worse than any real one. Because that meant he'd likely suffered. That he was murdered. "It was by the same person who killed Chrissy. Wasn't it?" You asked. "Do you even know who did it? Who killed my boyfriend!?" You demanded, getting your feet back underneath you. 

"We have suspects," the second cop said. "But like my partner said, we can't disclose—"

"Just tell me!" You shouted. "Please…please, I need to know who was responsible." You sobbed, shaking like a leaf.

"Like I said,” he sighed, “We have several suspects in mind—"

"Eddie Munson," the first cop cut in. "He is a prime suspect. So you need to keep yourself safe, okay? If he came for your boyfriend, he might try and come for you. Make sure you lock your doors and stay inside if you can, alright?"

You stopped listening after he said Eddie's name. Because…no way. No way in hell could Eddie ever kill someone. He was a D&D nerd. And what the hell would he have against Fred!?

Fred. Whom you'd…never see again.

The realization hit you hard, and the fact that he was dead finally settled deep in your bones. You quickly got the cops out of your home and shut the door. You pressed your back to the wood and slowly sunk down, drawing your knees to your chest to hug them, as sobs bubbled their way past your lips.

You'd been with Fred for years, it felt…surreal. But he was gone. The love of your life was gone. 

---

The following day, after giving yourself time to grieve Fred, you set out to find Eddie. Lucky for you, you happened to know exactly where he would run if fleeing the police.

You arrived at Reefer Ricks house about mid afternoon. Like the previous day, getting up seemed nearly impossible, but you did it because you had a goal in mind. You were going to find out what happened to Fred. Eddie was going to fill in the blanks left by the police,

The front door of the house was already open, so you walked right in. You ran into Eddie in the kitchen. He was at the stove, eating some sort of soup straight out of the pan. But when he heard you he immediately tried to run, before fully processing who you were.

Once he did, his face lit up, before dropping into sadness, then finally ending in concern. "Y/N?" He asked carefully. "How'd you find me?"

"I'm not an idiot," you replied. "What happened?"

"With what?"

"Don't act stupid now, Eddie. It's never worked in the past and it especially won't work now. Did you…kill Fred?" You hedged. You didn’t think he did, but if he was the murderer, then you didn’t want him to run now.

"What!?" Eddie exclaimed in genuine offense. "No! No no, I did not kill Fred! Who told you that!?" He demanded. "Why would I kill Fred? I liked the little fella!"

"I know, I know," you said in an effort to stop his defensive tirade, holding your hands up. "I know. But I had to ask. The cops said you're the prime suspect."

"Of course," Eddie muttered bitterly, arms crossed. "I am sorry though."

"What happened?" You asked. "The police wouldn't tell me what happened. All they told me was he's dead. So what happened?" You prompted.

"You wouldn't believe me," Eddie dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It's insane—even to me. Besides, I don't even think I can tell you. It's not really my—"

“Are you fucking serious, Eddie?” You scoffed. “You can’t tell me, the cops can’t tell me. What the fuck happened to my boyfriend!?” Your volume rose at the increasing frustration of not getting an answer. You just wanted to know, you sought the closure that knowing would bring.

“Okay, okay, don’t yell!” Eddie shouted back. “It’s going to sound crazy though,” he warned.

“If you don’t tell me in the next five seconds, I’m bringing you to the police,” you threatened.

Eddie lifted his hands in surrender. “You’re going to want to sit down.”

And then he told you exactly what happened to Fred.

You promptly laughed in his face.

You stood up from the chair you’d pulled out to sit in, covering your face with your hands as you laughed in utter disbelief and what you’d heard. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Some undead creature from an alternate dimension had killed your boyfriend? How the hell was that a logical explanation!? “You really expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth, Y/N!” Eddie insisted. “It’s completely true and once the others get back, they’ll tell you that it’s true, I swear.” He held up a walkie talkie. “I just can’t reach them now. They’re busy investigating Vecna—the thing that killed Fred.”

You shook your head. You wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.

“Fuck!” You settled on screaming. “Fuck, Eddie! I can’t believe you! You know I’m starting to believe the police’s theory that you—”

“Don’t say that!” Eddie exclaimed. “I didn’t kill Fred and I didnt kill Chrissy! Christ, Y/N, why the hell would I do that?”

“Why would you make up some elaborate story if not to cover your own ass!” You gestured around wildly.

“Y/N, look at me. I’m not a murderer!” He insisted, grabbing your biceps and forcing you still. He shook you gently. “I swear to you, I did not kill Fred. And I swear I’m not making this up. You just have to trust me on this, okay?”

“How can I trust you, Eddie?” You seethed, trying to escape his grip. “My boyfriend is dead and the police think you’re the killer. You were there when Chrissy died, Fred died not too far from your trailer, you’re actively on the run, and you just made up a very elaborate story about a fictional D&D villain!” You ranted.

“Oh my god! I—”

The loud rumble of a car pulling up immediately shut him up. His eyes went wide as saucers as he let go of you, stepping back rapidly. “You called the cops?” He hissed, rushing to the window to see who had pulled up. “You called Jason!?” He reiterated in even more disbelief, ducking down away from the window.

“I didn’t call anyone!” You immediately defended. “Why would I call Jason fucking Carver?”

“Because you think I’m a serial killer!?” Eddie hissed. “Fuck! Fuck what am I supposed to do!?” He whirled around to face you, panic etched into his features.

You turned around in a circle, looking for something to help. You stopped when you spotted the boat. “Get in the boat and don’t stop rowing. I’ll try and turn them away, okay?” You said, already hurrying to remove the tarp and unload all the junk inside the boat.

“They could kill you!”

“They’ll kill you,” you corrected. “Hurry up! Get in the boat, Eddie. You need to leave.”

Eddie realized that, yes, they would most definitely kill him without a second thought, and quickly untied the boat, pushing it into the water and climbing inside.

You tossed the oar at him. “Don’t stop rowing til you get to the other side,” you repeated.

“Yup, got it,” Eddie said as he began to row out of the boathouse, casting a final glance back at you. You turned your back on him, going and peeking out of the window. You stared at Jason, who was on the second floor of the house. The two of you made eye contact, and you tilted your head questioningly.

Jason was down at the pool house a minute after that, aggressively shoving the door open, Patrick right behind him. “Where’s your freak friend, Y/N!?” He demanded.

“Obviously, I don’t know,” you said flatly, spreading your arms to punctuate the empty pool house. “I thought he’d be here. I was wrong.”

“Bullshit,” Jason spat, shoving Patrick forward and urging him to look around while he crowded into your space. “You’re hiding him. Aren’t you? You and the other Hellfire freaks!”

“Why would I be hiding him?” You replied, standing your ground. “I’m looking for answers, same as you. The cops think he killed Chrissy, right?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jason hissed, grabbing the front of your shirt and shaking you. “Don’t talk about her.”

You didn’t raise a hand to defend yourself. Because really, the last thing you needed was for him to shove you back into the water. “They think he killed my boyfriend,” you said. “I understand. I’m here looking for Eddie because I need to know what happened to Fred.”

Jason abruptly let go of you. “He killed someone else?” He breathed.

“Ay, Jason,” Patrick said. “This is a boathouse,” he stated.

“No shit,” Jason snapped.

“Where’s the boat?” Patrick replied, expectantly looking at his friend, then you. “You’re helping him. Aren’t you?”

“I got here right before you did,” you said quickly. “He must have heard me and ran. He’s good at that,” you spat, which was true. Eddie was good at running away. “He’s probably long gone by now. You should try searching the other end of the lake,” you suggested, anything to buy Eddie more time to get across the lake.

“No, fuck that,” Jason said viciously. “Let’s go. Swim team captain, right?”

You stared at him in disbelief. Shit. Now what were you supposed to do? You didn’t think he knew or even remembered that.

“Now! Unless you don’t want to find the person who murdered your boyfriend?” He demanded.

You swore in your head before following him and Patrick outside and around the boat house, where Jason began to shed his outer clothing. “Hey freak!” He bellowed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Eddie whipped around, and began trying to start the boat's motor, swearing as he did.

“What? Are you scared of a little water? Let’s go, Captain!” Jason shouted at you.

Patrick began to also shed his clothes. And after a moment's hesitation, you swore out loud. You pulled your sweater up and over your head, tossing it aside. You kicked your shoes off, tossing your socks somewhere to the side before jumping in after Jason. You gasped at the freezing water seeping into your bones, teeth beginning to chater. But you propelled yourself forwards anyways.

You heard a splash that was Patrick, who came to his senses faster and got a head start on you. You began to swim, and just as you surpassed Patrick, he stopped. After a moment passed without splashing that signaled he was still swimming, you turned. “Patrick?” You asked.

Jason seemed to notice the two of you stopping, since he shouted, “Patrick! Y/N! Let’s go! We almost have him! Guys!”

“Somethings wrong!” You shouted back, alreading swimming back towards Patrick.

Then he went under, and everything was silent.

“Patrick!” You shouted at the same time as Jason. You may not have liked the guy, but you couldn’t stand around as he drowned. Just as you were about to dive under, his body was yanked out of the water and he began to ascend up into the air.

You screamed, flailing your arms and propelling yourself backwards. You stared in horrific disbelief at his body, suspended in the air as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. You heard a splash behind you that must have been Eddie falling into the water, but you were unable to rip your eyes away from the gruesome sight now unfolding.

You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get the sound of bones crunching and breaking out of your head. Of the squelching of wet meat against his bones.

Patrick’s limbs bent at angles they were never meant to, his bones snapped as if they were twigs. And you realized that Eddie wasn’t lying. He’d been telling the truth the entire time about Fred and everything else; you just didn’t want to believe it.

As Patrick’s body smacked against the water, you had an even worse realization. That had been Fred. Your snarky, nerdy, adorable boyfriend had been jerked into the air just like Patrick. His limbs had been twisted, bones snapped. He had died alone. And he had died afraid.

[ladyvesuvia]

Rudely Carved

PAIRING: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: When Fred visits the old beech tree near her old middle school, he reminisces about the time when what was carved on it was true. [Based on We Rule the School by Belle and Sebastian and a bit of the movie La La Land (2016)]

WORDS: 3.1k

WARNING(S): fluff and angst, cursing, talks of settling down, tree vandalism, talks of vandalism, carving on wood, not proofread so i apologize in advance for the mistakes. || THIRD PERSON

A/N: i suddenly felt motivated to write for fred because of @fredsghost’s traitor and @holden-caulfield’s did that feel like love? fics. btw check them out, they’re so mf good <3

[NAVIGATION] [MASTERLIST]

THEN || 1996

“Hey, Fred!” [Y/N] called out to him, laughing loud enough for him to hear from the distance. “Look at what I found.”

As he approached her, he could only think of the dress and the way it looked so unbelievably good on her. It almost felt as if he wouldn’t mind if today became everyday.

“Hurry!” she called out.

When he made it to where she was standing, she pointed at something on the tree’s body. It was dark, so Fred couldn’t see what she was trying to show. “Uh, what am I s’pposed to be looking at?”

Groaning, [Y/N] pulled out her camera from her pocket and snapped a photo, the flash illuminating the particular part she was pointing at.

“Where?” he whined, squinting his eyes. “You know, if you brought that to the Burrow, dad would lose it.”

“Like how I’m losing it with how much you’re being such a big oaf right now?” You rolled your eyes as he chuckled before taking a snap again.

And finally, Fred saw it: On a beech tree rudely carved, ‘NC loved me.’

“Who’s NC?” Fred asked, leaning closer to it, his eyes fixed on the spot now that his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Naomi Campbell,” she said as she sat down, making herself comfortable when she decided that it was better to remain standing.

Fred looked at her. “Really? Why would she love whoever wrote this? Why did she do it? Was she scared or was she bored?”

“Wow, you are awfully slow.” [Y/N] stretched her arms. Fred let out a low oh. “I mean, it could mean Nicolas Cage, too.”

“Or Neville Chamberlain,” said Fred, “or Nick Carter, the one from Backstreet Boys and the one from the Ar—”

“Alright! So you know a lot of people, big deal. I just wanted to show what was written on it.”

The leaves danced, and they stood shoulder up to shoulder with their backs to the tree as they stared at the school building buzzing with slow music from the distance.

It was clearly a prom night, and she could recall the time of the Yule Ball. He had went with Angelina Johnson, and her with a student from Durmstrang. It deeply unnerved him, even ending up mocking your date’s accent the entire week after that. He did a bad job: Vould you like some shicken? Da? Da? Da!

“So you want to dance or what?”

“No thanks,” she told him, elbowing him lightly. “Oh, don’t take it too personally, it’s just that my back hurts is all.”

“Yeah, and my legs hurt because you made me walk all the way here instead of Apparating but you don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

[Y/N] made a face. “I think I just did.”

“Well. . .” He cleared his throat, seeing that he was trailing off to no direction. “Then well played.”

“Da,” she said in the mock accent Fred had done a year ago.

While Fred stood still in his place, she turned around to pay the tree a careful visit again, studying the wooden vandalism etched into its surface. She ran her hands over it.

“Can you believe that we just graduated a few days ago?” asked [Y/N], humor gone in her voice.

“That I can believe but there is one thing that I can’t,” he said before following her gaze and looking at the tree. He looked back to her.

“And what would that be?” she started, her eyes narrowing. She suspected this was heading for a joke, just like majority of everything he’d told her.

Heck, she could still remember the first time they met; it wasn’t as pretty as she wanted it to be: It was only her first day in Hogwarts, and being away from her family in a world she wasn’t familiar with didn’t make it any easier.

“Quick! Get Professor McGonagall!” Fred had told her during their first year, pointing at the cat approaching the Whomping Willow. The tree was silent and still, but [Y/N] went rigid nonetheless. “She’ll die if she goes to the tree because it hates cats!”

“Our Transfiguration teacher? That — that’s her? Why—?”

“Yes, I can’t help because I left my wand. Now go get her! Hurry!”

On the verge of crying, [Y/N] rushed to the cat, shrieking. “Professor!” she called to the cat as she crouched down lower. “Professor, the tree will kill you!”

The cat sat down, staring at her with dead eyes.

“This isn’t you, Professor! Please come back!” The cat licked its own hand before walking off. [Y/N] cursed under her breath for what she was about to do. With a wrinkled nose, she chased after the cat, grabbing it with her own hands as she tripped, hitting the bulk of the Whomping Willow. As she shrieked, the branches began to dance, and she let the cat try to claw out of her grip. “I’m so sorry, Professor!”

Guilty, Fred swept in and grabbed her by her cloak’s hood. “Leave Profe — leave the cat!”

“But it’s Professor McGo—Ow! Professor, stop cla—”

“No, it’s not,” Fred yelled over the chaos. “Leave the cat!”

He dodged a flying branch, and she also missed getting hit before Fred got her ducked just in time. “I’M NOT LEAVING THE CAT.”

“JUST DO IT!”

With a yelp, [Y/N] let go of the cat, and she watched it with a great sense of relief as it seamlessly fled the scene. The two then jumped and dodged until they made it out, probably barely alive.

She had to be taken to Madam Pomfrey for the scratches, and she swore that she’d get back at the boy. The catch was that she used to have problems telling the twins apart, so her plans often ended with a ‘never mind.’

It took some time for her to warm up to him and eventually be friends, but of course, the banter was still there wherever they went.

“Aw, do you not trust me?” Fred jokingly asked.

“When you tell someone that a stray cat is your teacher, trust issues often play a big part after, you know.”

He threw his head back in laughter. “You’re almost just as funny as the one who wrote this.”

“What, you don’t think it’s romantic?”

“They just drew on a tree,” he said as though the sentiment of it was simply dumb, “so what? It’s kinda like R plus G written inside a heart. It’s just vandalism.”

“Just — just vandalism? It’s a story, Fred. A love story.” She groaned when Fred snorted, annoyed at his opinion on these things. “Or an apocalyptic story if you prefer that.”

“How is that a story?”

“Okay, come here.” She moved closer to the tree and pointed right where it was carved. Fred complied. “What do you think when you read ‘NC loved me’?”

“I think whoever wrote it was stupid,” he said with a laugh.

“Agh, I’ll tell you what I think,” she started, dusting her hands before crossing her arms. “What I’m trying to say is you’ll never know what this meant to whoever wrote it and to whom it was written for because . . . the story behind it is theirs and theirs only. ‘NC loved me’ could mean a lot of things: Maybe John was here with NC and they broke up here, maybe they were jo—”

“Who’s John?” Fred joked.

“Just a placeholder name — stop interrupting me.”

“Right.”

“I launch into an epic monologue and that’s what you say? Some friend you are.”

Fred stood up, and this time it was his turn to stretch his arms. “Fine.”

“What do you mean ‘fine’?”

“Let’s write something, too.”

She watched him as his hair danced along to the swaying of the tree. He was beautiful, and she wished she could see him clearly. “I got to you, didn’t I?” she teased.

“That you did. Now, do you have something sharp so we could write on it?”

“Oh, we’re not gonna carve on the tree. It would harm it.”

“But you said—”

“John didn’t know better, but we do. We’ll write on a school bathroom.”

“Oh, so typical vandalism, then?”

“Mhm, come on, we’ll pretend we’re there for prom.”

They walked away from the tree side by side, and Fred took one last glance in the tree’s direction before catching up with her.

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

Getting inside wasn’t as hard as they thought it would be. They managed to slip in unnoticed, looking just like another young couple when they were anything but.

“I’m Nred Ceasley,” Fred told a younger guy in a tux as an introduction, all the while reveling in his fake name. She had to keep her head down to stifle her laugh as they made their way out of the school.

The pair swore to keep a low profile as to keep themselves from being caught, but it was truly hard to stay true to that goal when Fred spotted the photo booth being managed by a younger boy in a rented tux.

Fred put on a purple cowboy hat and threw a orange mousy wig on her, topping her head with a pirate hat. After he put on orange shades, he then yelled, “Pose!”

After four shots, the two hurried away, and she lead him away from the school before anyone else could notice.

“I thought we were gonna draw in the bathroom?”

“I changed my mind,” she shrugged.

“Again? If that’s so easy, then why can’t you change your mind about me?”

“I already have but if you keep on pestering me, I can change it back again.”

“Oh, I definitely wouldn’t want that.”

[Y/N] pulled out a Sharpie from her pen and showed it to Fred. “I nicked it from the photo booth.”

“Couldn’t we have at least stayed to dance?”

“You don’t have to make it so obvious that you’re obsessed with me,” she joked, gently nudging him as she brushed some of her hair away from her face.

“If we’re not gonna draw like you said so, where are we even going?”

“You’ll see,” she said.

“See, normally, I’m the one who gets to say that.”

She only laughed as they got farther and farther away from the school. “What makes you think today’s a normal day?”

“Fair point.”

“So what’s your plan for growing up?”

“I don’t have one,” said Fred, smiling. When they reached the sidewalk, Fred switched places with her and told her, “I happen to be a gentleman nonetheless.”

A car passed by. A moment later, [Y/N] led him to a bus stop. That car seemed to be the last active thing they’d ever see that night; the road was visibly empty save for several lit lampposts.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“If you don’t know, how would I?”

Laughing, the two sat down on the bench. “So, really, what’s your plan?”

“You remember the joke shop I told you about?”

“Vividly, yes.”

“That’s my plan.”

“That’s great!” she exclaimed, nothing but excitement for him. “Do something pretty while you can. So where do you plan on having—?”

“Oh, we already have one in Diagon Alley. It’ll be all set soon. George is setting it up as we speak.”

[Y/N] stood up by surprise. “Then what are you doing here with me?”

“Eh, well, you’re my friend,” he dramatically said.

“I’m just your friend, he’s your brother.”

“What do you say we add four more letters to that?” suggested Fred, but she only seemed confused. He then cleared his throat before counting letters off his fingers. “G-i-r-l. Girlfriend. You want in?”

“That’s a very tacky way to ask someone out,” she said, trying to pass it off in case it was a joke. She waited for him to take it back, but he didn’t. “Oh, so you’re really. . . ?”

“I am, and I’d appreciate an answer right away.”

She didn’t sit back down. “Er — Merlin, I can’t believe I’m saying this but add b-o-y to fri — Ew, it sounds tacky. Just yes, sure.”

“Kind of anticlimactic, don’t you think?” Fred said in jest.

“Well, it’s your fault for asking me in such a corny way.” Her eyes went to the wall behind him. He followed her gaze.

On a bus stop in the town was written, ‘We Rule the School,’ written for anyone to read and to see, written for anyone with eyes in their head.

“I’ve got an idea!” she squealed, bringing out the Sharpie and removing the cap. Fred watched as she leaned her knee on the bench before writing something right below the ‘R’ from the bigger vandalism. “Don’t worry, it’s a permanent marker.”

Fred leaned in to read it. Unlike the one they found on the tree, this one seemed far from rudely carved; it looked fragile, for it was written as gently as possible. It said words he never thought he’d see written on a wall, much less see: ‘FW loves me.’

“Do I, though?” he joked.

“You better. Otherwise, this would be hella embarrassing,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t worry, I do,” he said. “A lot.”

“Good, because we’re trying to beat NC and John. See? I used ‘loves’ instead of ‘loved’ because—”

Fred pressed a finger against her lips, silencing her. “Shh, it gets ruined when you try to explain everything.”

“My bad, then,” she said. The two of them were now standing, their noses almost touching. “Don’t fall asleep on the ride home, okay?”

“[Y/N], I can promise you a lot of things except for that,” Fred said with a laugh before leaning in to press his lips against hers, and all was right in the world.

NOW || 2011

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes has been a success, a huge one. Fred watched as young students about to start their first year and a couple older ones shuffling about, pointing at their packaged products. Some parents stood outside, waiting for their kids, but there were also some of them inside the shop, mixing about.

“Hey, mum!” called out a little girl. “Look at what I found!”

Fred looked up from his desk. It was as if he’d seen this before. From afar, she watched as the kid pulled out one box of Comb-a-Chameleon and run to the door, showing it to her mother.

The woman smiled encouragingly until her eyes met Fred’s, and the smile he had grown so used to seeing from a long time ago faltered. The child opened the door a bit just enough for her mother to hear her ask, “Can I get just one of these?”

And for the first time in a very long time, Fred heard her speak as she told her daughter, “Sure, sweetie.”

The little girl beamed up at her mother before running back to the counter where Fred sat. It was only then did Fred realize how much she resembled [Y/N]. Was it too much to wish that he was this child’s father? That this was like a normal day in his life, his daughter coming over to visit him in work as a surp—

“Sir?” said the child, jolting him back to reality. Fred cleared his throat before he greeted the child.

After it was paid for, the child thanked him enthusiastically before making her way towards the door. She had trouble pushing it open, and so her mother helped her out, swinging it open for her while laughing.

“You can’t open the door completely, huh?” said [Y/N], a familiar bright smile on her face. The little girl laughed as well. “Come on, let’s go get you a wand.”

As the door closed shut behind her, she risked a glance back through the small window of the door to get a look at Fred.

He was still staring, dumbfounded; but even so, he found himself smiling. To his surprise, she smiled back. And with one last downcast gaze with each other, she turned her back on him once more before going after her daughter.

Fred sunk back to his seat. His eyes went to one railing of one of the stairs, and he stood up to approach it, eyeing it with a feeling even he couldn’t tell. Written on it was her initials, with the words ‘loves me’ right beside it.

He took out one of the Muggle markers he’d bought not so long ago and began to write a letter over the ‘s.’

He ran his hand over it. ‘[Y/I] loved me,’ and he suddenly remembered the bus stop from which the first part of a so-called story began. Without thinking or even saying goodbye to anyone, he grabbed his coat and left.

He Apparated not too far from the bus stop, and he could see its back very clearly. Someone was sitting on the bench, he could tell. By the time he made it to the front of the bus stop, he found a young teenager with headphones on. She didn’t even look at him.

He paid this no mind as his eyes went to the bus stop, scared that it had been covered by an advertising tarpaulin when he took in the large piece of vandalism, saying what it had said years before: ‘We Rule the School.’

Then below the ‘R’ was written, ‘FW loves me.’

Clearly, other people thought it stupid, having written an arrow to it with another message saying, ‘Ew romantiks.’ Fred only laughed, knowing [Y/N] would have defended the sentiment of what she had written. All around the entire space was more vandalisms, some even drew inappropriate doodles, some wrote initials, and so on.

Fred’s eyes went to the young teenager again.

‘What I’m trying to say is you’ll never know what this meant to whoever wrote it and to whom it was written for because . . . the story behind it is theirs and theirs only.’

You’re right, he thought. This story is ours and nobody else’s.

That girl sitting right there wouldn’t know what happened to who had written ‘FW loves me,’ just like they never knew who had rudely carved ‘NC loved me’ on the surface of the tree, and maybe it’s better that way. It’s better to have the only thing you know of someone else’s tale is that one vandalism.

Fred smiled genuinely for the first time, thinking back to the time he’d spent with her. It’s beautiful, all of it. The only shame of it is that the past is all there’ll ever be along with this short message.

A bus finally stopped in front of them, and the teenager got in, still not paying him any attention much less a glance.

Fred could stay longer and add a ‘d’ over the ‘s’ just like what he did in his shop and just Disapparate later on, but he didn’t. Instead, Fred got on the bus and took a seat by the window, watching the bus stop disappear and with it ‘FW loves me,’ always there to be seen by everyone passing by until someone decides to cover it up.

click here to be added to my POTTERVERSE taglist.

ALL PEOPLE (will only keep using this for the next four fics just to keep my fics up, i made a new taglist to organize listed above): @gingerale2017 @maybanksslut @hey-there-angels @silverdelirium @mrzweasley @gwlvr @1-800-itsfreerealestate @marrymetheonott @gold-russh @sexysirius @turn-to-page-394-please @greenlyblue @henqtic @badass-yn @meiitanoia @gaycatlord-stuff @just2bubbly @dracomalfoyposts @crazy-beautiful @adoreyou976 @dlmmdl @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @mjoubertt-1 @dreamy-clousds

FRED WEASLEY TAGLIST: @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @badass-yn @mjoubertt-1 @dlmmdl @gingerale2017

[dilfbane]

It Gets Better(A Silky Pearl)

Summary: It’s been a long time since things have gotten this bad. Loki, returned from his latest mission, lets you know that, with help and support, you can overcome the worst of things, and makes sure you know that he’ll be there with you to get you through it, each and every day. 

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Reader in this fic struggles with eating disorders. Thoughts and feelings related to these(specifically to anorexia and bulimia), are made throughout the fic, especially those that, in my personal experience, people with these disorders experience. I cannot stress enough that this will be discussed/referenced/talked about, sometimes explicitly(Though not graphically) and sometimes implicitly, so please be aware of that and know that it’s OK to take care of yourself and skip this one if that would be triggering to you! 

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I want to preface this by saying that there are a LOT of people, both here and on AO3, who have made some amazing Loki/reader oneshots where the reader is struggling with mental health and/or physical health issues, that really provide a sense of warmth and fluff and support to people who may be going through those things themselves, and I’ve taken a lot of comfort in those fics over the course of the pandemic(I’ll be shouting out a couple of them in the tags!). I want to acknowledge that these exist, and that they’re awesome and have partly inspired my own writing, before talking about this little project I’m embarking on. 

Because, while I have gotten a lot of comfort out of many of those pieces of writing, there are definitely some things which I feel like aren’t talked about as much in pieces like these which I have gone through, and which a lot of other people have gone/are going through, and…. I figured that maybe I could take a crack at trying to provide that hit of fluff for people dealing with those things, if I can, and hopefully use my own experience with them to do it in as respecful and accurate a way as possible. 

All that being said, the first oneshot in this little project is going to be dealing with a pretty heavy subject, that being eating disorders. The reader in this fic does struggle with eating disorders - specifically anorexia and bulimia. I will not be actively describing anything too graphic about these disorders in this fic, except to highlight through implication and some sparse details that this is what’s happening here, as well as show some of the inner thought processes of the reader, but there definitely is enough in here to show that that’s what’s going on, so if anyone would be triggered by that, please take care of yourselves and give this one a pass! Also, I will further disclaim that there are many types of eating disorders, and everyone’s experience with them is different. In this oneshot, I wrote based off what I know to have been true during the time in my life when I struggled with the same conditions, and I really tried to make the fluff and support as kind and encouraging as I possibly could. If for ANY REASON there’s something that I did badly at, or something that’s disrespectful, anyone reading this may feel more than free to let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it! I don’t want this fic to be a place where anyone feels hurt or disrespected, that isn’t my intention at all, and if I make a mistake in that regard for any reason whatsoever, I would really appreciate knowing so that I can correct it!

Anyways, after that extremely lengthy A/N, just… please know, if you’re going through something like this, that you’re not alone, that help does exist and is out there, and that you are seen and heard. And take this Loki fluff, because honestly, there can never be too much of that in the world! 

You know that he worries about you. Even before his latest, three-week mission, you know that he worried about you. In the mornings, as you pour your coffee, you watch him watch you with careful nonchalance, gaze boring into the back of your head, slight furrow creasing his eyebrows, frown pulling small at his lips. He dresses early, because he wakes early; it is a battle, most mornings, for you to get out of bed. And so what, if you take your coffee with more creamer than is necessarily normal - it has to last you a long time, this coffee. You need the sugar of it, to get you to that clean pain. It is sharper, more real, than any scalpel, any knife that Loki keeps concealed by his armor; all that fine Asgardian leather, green and supple and him. It gives you back the control that you lack. Lets you be the person that you would be. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of your body, but you are ashamed by it; cannot fathom, even now with his gaze on you, that Loki could love somebody so dreadfully overweight. 

Today, though - Today, you had thought, you had hoped, that it might be different. You don’t know why you have that hope, but it brims up in you; a physical need, a visible yearning, for you to be enough for once. Someone that Loki can stand to look at. Someone that Loki can love. He is looking at you now like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you flinch from the frown that creases his piercing gaze, unable to bear how it roves up the planes of your body; silhoutted in the light coming in through the window, you can feel each ounce of fat that stretches over your sinew, cartilage. (You know that Loki hates your body - He traces it sometimes like he’s probing you, trying to find where your bones are. You wish that you could call him on it, and know that you never could). 

You stand at the counter, and turn from him; rummage in the cabinet for your coffee mug with shaking fingers; you almost feel like they’re rubber. Blue and cold, like his Jotun skin, but you know that it isn’t enough. Pins and needles prick at them - you can almost convince yourself that it’s only your guilt and shame, but you cannot hide from the pain suffusing Loki’s voice when he speaks. 

“Darling,” He says, on a shaky breath, “We need to talk about this.” 

“I know -” You tell him - you know that you can’t run from this, anymore. He knows how you look, how nothing you do is fixing it. And now, he’s going to leave you. “I know, Loki - I tried, Loki, I’m so sorry -“ 

The agony that wells up in you threatens to overwhelm your ability to speak, and you feel your knees buckle the second before you fall. Your kneecaps slam against the cupboard underneath the sink, your head hitting the edge of the counter as you slide down hard to the floor. It hurts. But every part of your body hurts, these days. It’s as constant as your worthlessness. And something else, too - 

He is there, on the floor with you, in less time than it takes place to blink, pulling you hard and desperate into his arms; you don’t understand why, and you try to wrench yourself from him, sobs bubbling up and spilling out from your tightly shut eyes. You can feel the bruises starting to form on you, a lump throbbing at your temple. 

“Love,” He is saying, “Y/N, sweetheart, come back to me. Come back to me, darling, please.” He is stroking your hair; you feel his fingers at its strands, thin and brittle. God, you think, how pathetic you are - you can’t even keep yourself pretty for him, for this god and all the sacrifices that he’s made. You cry harder, unable to stop your own wailing. When you finally do, you’re exhausted - it takes everything out of you. 

“Loki,” You say, on a wretched whine, “I’m so cold.” 

“Hush,” He says, “You’re alright. You’ll be warm soon - We’ll sort it, darling, I promise.” 

You don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t something you can sort, but somehow you know, deep in your heart, that Loki understands. Still, his voice is so sweet, and the shudders that wrack you begin to halt in the steady hold of his embrace; the tender brush of his fingers over your skin. You feel like you can look at him, now, so you do it, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth to steel yourself for the cruel things you’re certain he’ll start with. But Loki’s gaze isn’t angry at you, not full of fury or disgust. They sparkle with unshed tears and concern, emerald in the daylight. It takes you a moment too long to realize all that pain, all that worry, is for you; when you do, though, you flinch away. Feel Loki’s fingers drop from your hairline to your cheek, then your chin, tilting your head up so that you can’t run and hide. 

“I’m losing you, love,” Loki says. His voice is low, and steeped in sorrow. It is his turn to look down, with guilt and shame, and you feel a pang blossom, raw and red, in your heart. He sighs, and straightens his shoulders. He is filled with some new resolution, some new determination you can’t wince away from. 

“I need to know,” Loki tells you, “How long this has been going on. I need to - I need you to tell me why, love. I can’t bear to see you like this.” 

“I can’t,” You say, blinking back a fresh torrent of tears, “Tell you why. It’s not - I can’t - I don’t know.” 

But you know, and Loki does, too. It’s the god of lies, holding you - of course he can tell that you’re lying. It is something other, and runs deep, this bone-y reluctance. A complex game of mental gymnastics. How could you ever tell Loki about the control that it gives you, the desperation with which you used all your calorie-counting and aching restraint to regain the love that you lost? The nights bent over toilet bowls; the way that, sometimes, you empty stomach made you dig your nails hard into your palms ’til they bled, to stop yourself from crying out at the pain. And he loves you - the part of you that craves his affection, that yearns to burrow fast and fierce into Loki’s embrace and spill all your secrets to him, makes sure to remind you of that.

“Y/N,” Says Loki, soft and tender, yet infused with a note so harsh that you would wince, if you could. “You can tell me anything. You need to.” 

You notice things, now, in the face of his determination. You notice that Loki is looking at you like he’s in physical pain, and that there’s something sticky and red on the pads of the fingers that brushed up against your head. 

“I’m bleeding,” You say. It comes out soft, horrified. 

The frown that creases Loki’s face would bring you to your knees, if you weren’t there already. 

“It’s just - a thing that I do,” You tell him, too ashamed to look at his face as you reveal it. “You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“That’s not enough for me, love.” 

Loki’s lips are pursed tight, and the wound in his eyes has hardened to steel. The you part of your body - the fleeing part, the one who knows how to survive - seizes its’ chance and you duck out of his embrace, with far more strength than you had possessed in what felt like, potentially, years. Scrambles, backwards, like a cornered animal, over the tile floor, before heaving itself up to standing. It faces Loki, and its’ breath comes in stabbing-sharp. It is hard to remember that you have to call it ‘myself’. You feel older than you were, yesterday, and you cannot, quite, get air to come into your lungs. That’s not enough for me, you hear your lover say, ringing in your ears like a hyena’s howl. 

You’re not enough for me, love. Your fingers spasm, clutching the sides of the kitchen table white-knuckled. You wonder, fleetingly, what Loki would do if you died. The thought makes you cry out in pain, a whimper ripping out from a throat rubbed fingernail-raw, but Loki does not move to stand. 

“Come back to me,” He tells you, spiked with sorrow and need. And, perhaps for the first time, you admit it - to yourself, as much as to him. 

“I don’t - I don’t think I know how.” 

He smiles the smiole of someone who’s seen his own pain, faced his own lashing demons, and you pause to take him in fully, this god who says that he loves you, the man he is trying to be. You catch on hixs eyes, those bright emerald coins, his hair like the feathers of crows. His high, pale cheekbones, and his silver-tongue cut like glass. The pads of his fingertips, slender and cold, tender and fierce on your skin or the hilt of a dagger. You breathe in the smell of him, parchment and iron; peppermint tea and the smoke from a lorn, crimson fire. Wet leaves, after a rain. You feel your resolve start to waver. 

“Well,” He says, all thoughtful, all trickster, “Sitting down, I believe, would be a good place to begin.” 

The teasing lilt of his voice - an act that he is putting on, and all for you, always for you - cajoles you, coaxing you to lever your elbows and slide back down onto the floor, your weary legs feeling unimaginably grateful. Loki shoots you a new smile now, light and proud. He beckons you, with a cock of his head and a slim, fond gesture, to him - Of a sudden, the tiles beneath you seem like a desert, an ocean. You feel the weight of your emptiness. It laughs at you, its’ white teeth filed and barred. In your head, your failure is heavy; a hot and cackling creature with seven-foot claws pressing down on your chest, restricting your matchstick limbs. You are lost to the unyielding insistence of it, trapped in the maw of its cage, and Loki’s words, when they come, sound as far away as the shores of a country ancient and foreign. 

“I was hardly gone,” He is saying, but you cannot answer him. “How could it have gotten this bad?” 

It is that - that sadness, that fear in your lover - that breaks you, and you take the thing at a clumsy, terror-steeped sprint, not caring how wretched you look, so long as you can reach him - So long, you finally let yourself think, as there is something left of you for Loki to hold in his arms. Your body hurts worse than anything. You feel every scrape and bruise and chill on it; the pins and knives working at oxygen-starved nerves, and the gnawing clamp of your hunger, a brand pressing into your gut; and you know that Loki can’t save you. But maybe, just maybe, you can find some way to save yourself. And his fingers are there, going up to your hair, thumb rubbing at a hollow cheek and catching the salty dirge of an errant tear. 

“It gets better, you know,” Loki tells you. He gets you onto his lap; you feel his heartbeat under your palms where you clutch tightly at his shirt to hold yourself up. A steady, thrumming proof that he is alive. And when he says it, you get the sense that, somehow, you’ve always know it, this whispered secret he’s weaving into your soul. “If you get proper help for it. If you want it to.” 

He speaks casually, but there is a weight to his words. Miraculously - you’re not quite so sure how - you find yourself able to meet them. 

“I want it to,” You tell him. “I didn’t, before - “ And here his eyes widen, and he shakes his head like you’ve shot him - “But I do. I want to -“ 

“Alright, love,” He tells you, running a soothing hand down over your side, past the hard planes of your collarbone, “Alright. It’s okay. You’re such a strong person- It’s going to be hard, for awhile, but I know that you can get through this. I’ll be right here with you, darling. Right here, by your side.” 

“You will?” You ask him, voice cracking, hardly daring to hope that despite all this, he would stay. He chuckles, sadly, as if your thinking it hurts him, and he is deadly serious when he tells you,

“Y/N, of course I will.” 

Somehow, though he’s the god of lies, you don’t doubt his words for an instant. You nod, and the nodding takes effort. Yet you are certain he understands what you mean. 

“So,” Says Loki, “Can you - Tell me about this?” 

You have to think, for a minute. Can you tell Loki about this? You know that he’s telling the truth, that he isn’t going to leave you. Still, you’ve never been this vulnerable with him before, not even in bed, and the fear in you won’t be put to rest so easily. You shake in his hold, and realize, with a frigid shock, how you must look to him - how badly you are hurting him, and how badly you’re hurting yourself, by keeping your feelings inside yourself and leaving your body to rot. You know, now, that Loki will  help you through this - that he will be there, kind touches skirting the bad days; warm, mischevious smirks smoothing the wrinkles of your persistent self-doubts. There was a time when you needed to do this - there will, probably, still be days when you feel like you need to do this, to get a firm hold over your life, and keep the jackals at bay. There are other words to keep yourself safe, though. Loki’s breath in the dark is more home to you than anything you’ve ever had, and his open waiting, here in the daylight, makes you brave enough to speak. 

“Maybe… Over lunch?” You offer. You bite your lip and hold out the query, a silky pearl in your hand. For one moment, Loki seems to consider; after all, he is the trickster, and a man not given to acting rashly, or stripping the drama from his complicated schemes. If this is a scheme, you think that you might forgive him - Later, when his lips are on your frame, when you’re there with him, again. His lips twitch into a grin so affectionate and proud that you know- you know - that if you seek proper care and really want to get better, you’ll get through the days that feel like walking on broken glass. You’ve done so much for me, that grin tells you. Let me do this for you.

He reaches out, and takes the pearl. You hardly recognize the man who rained hell down on New York, who snorts and jabs with sarcasm at every word that comes out of Iron Man’s mouth. 

“Breakfast?” He counters, shooting a pointed glance at the microwave clock. It is a dare and a promise - a challenge, but never a trick. It tastes like honey on your tongue. 

“Fine,” You say, “But you’ll have to cook.” Some kind of joy is creeping its way into you. Your voice, you find, barely trembles. 

“Midgardians,” Lok says, with an eye-roll - a friendly, loving glint in his eyes that refuses to fade. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who burns water.” The joke prods your tender, new understanding, reassures you that he is still Loki; that he isn’t going to treat you differently, like a child, just because you’re suffering. The smile comes full onto you, and you wriggle, stretching your arms over your head and yawning, exaggerated for effect to add to the banter. 

“I never said that I couldn’t cook,” You tell Loki, “Just wanted you to do it.” 

“Mm,” He says, “And what will you be doing, then, while I cook?” 

You chew at your lip, and choose to answer before your nerves make you panic. 

“Finding the right words,” You admit, laying the truth bare to him. 

His hands are wending through your hair now, and his lips are unberarably gentle on yours. He tastes like embers and ink. That sweet, slightly metalic tang that you’ve come to associate with his magic; cinnamon, tinged with steel. He kisses you for a second or two, before pulling away,  but you could live in those seconds - Unfold it, like a blanket, and let the care of it warm your thin, freezing bones, if Loki weren’t here to show you that, with the right help, you can learn how to do it yourself. 

“Finding the right words,” Loki muses, vaulting himself up to stand in a movement that’s unfairly graceful. “I’d much prefer yours, to be honest.” 

He holds a hand out, and you take it, letting him pull you up. The floor, underneath you, feels solid. The sun is coming through the clouds, and out there in the wide world you can hear bird-song, the low, sugared sway of the breeze. There is something else there, too: 

You let it wrap its tendrils around you, and you decide that it’s hope. 

[atlabeth]

death by a thousand cuts - asami x fem!reader

i listened to this playlist while i wrote this in case you wanna feel my pain while you read this 

summary: in which you and asami fall out of love.

wc: 3.1k 

a/n: good god i am so sorry

warning(s): so much angst. breakups. falling out of love. crying. there is no happy ending 

based off of death by a thousand cuts by taylor swift | gif credit

breaking up with asami sato was the hardest thing y/n ever had to do.

she had never met anyone more.. perfect. 

her raven hair that she loved to tangle her hands in, the emerald green eyes that sparkled whenever she smiled, her infectious laughter that never failed to brighten y/n’s day. the confidence she carried herself with was extremely attractive, and it was one of the first things that caught y/n’s eye.

she never understood her long-winded rants about engineering or what was going on in the business world, but she would listen to her girlfriend read the phonebook if it meant she could hear her talk about something so passionately. the way that she put her full heart into everything she did, the way she loved so fully, it was impossible not to fall for her. 

asami was the smartest, kindest, most beautiful woman that y/n had ever met in her life, and it tore her apart to have to let her go. if someone took a knife to her heart a thousand times then ripped it out of her body, it still wouldn’t hurt as much as losing asami. 

but that was the thing about falling out of love. it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t asami’s fault. it just.. happened.

and it was terrifying.

at first it wasn’t obvious. they were both college students with full lives, so they knew things were going to be busy. y/n was doing an unpaid internship at her dream job in hopes that she would be able to work her way up the ladder, while working another part time to keep herself afloat. asami had always said if she had any money troubles she would be more than willing to help, but y/n preferred to be able to support herself. she never denied an opportunity for her girlfriend to spoil her though. asami was working with her family business and it took a lot of time up as well. combine that with their classes, it was a miracle that they had any free time at all. 

but they made time. any spare moment they had was spent together. they always made it back to the apartment at the end of the day, and they would stay up far later than they should’ve to make up for the time apart. whether it was cooking something together at 2am and making a mess of the kitchen or telling each other about their day or just laying together in bed in each other’s embrace while they fell asleep, they did it together. 

together, together, together. 

there was no better place to be. because when they were together, asami and y/n could face the world. 

people envied them. hardworking women that managed to do it all, high school sweethearts that had been madly in love for years ever since they met their junior year. they danced around the topic of marriage, never fully stepping onto it, but both knew that it was something they wanted. they both thought they were going to be together till the end, so they had plenty of time before they took the plunge. 

y/n didn’t know that asami looked at engagement rings in her spare time, trying to think of one that her girlfriend would love, something that would be able to express how badly asami wanted to spend the rest of her life with y/n. 

asami didn’t know that y/n had a folder of numbers for wedding planners, caterers, musicians, lists of people that would work at a wedding or a reception. the thought of proposing was on her mind constantly, and she wanted to be able to express how badly she wanted to spend the rest of her life with asami. 

but things started to change.

late nights got later, and they no longer ended every day at the apartment. asami had to start going on business trips — future industries was in trouble, and she had to do everything to keep it afloat. this business was her livelihood, her family’s life work, and she couldn’t let it go. y/n understood and was nothing but supportive at first — she knew who her girlfriend was, and she admired her work ethic. 

but the time apart did something to them. just like their love slipping away, it wasn’t noticeable at first. small. but it grew, and the cracks started to form in their perfect relationship. 

asami had been called away on another business trip, this time to the fire nation to try and negotiate some kind of deal between another company. it was taking much longer than expected, so calls like these had become a regular. they would usually start after y/n got home from work, and they would just.. be with each other. sometimes they talked for hours, sometimes they just sat and got their respective tasks done — it was easier when they knew that the other was there. 

y/n was in the worst mood today. she had spent the last ten minutes ranting about the horrible day she had at work, and how she didn’t earn nearly enough to pay for the classes that she took, and textbooks should not be this expensive, and unpaid internships were bullshit. asami was being the same helpful angel as always, but for some reason y/n couldn’t stand it today. 

“y/n, if you’re having money troubles, you know that i can help you. i want to help you, all you have to do is ask! you don’t have to work these insane hours and stress yourself out.”

“asami, how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t need it? how many times have i told you that i want to be able to forge my own path? i don’t- i don’t need you to baby me.” she regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. they had come out so much harsher than she meant and it was obvious by the moment of silence that it had hurt asami. they didn’t have many arguments, so when they did their jabs hit hard, even when they were the smallest of things. 

“i’m not trying to baby you, i’m trying to help my girlfriend so she doesn’t have to worry constantly about money! i mean, what’s the point of having a fortune if you can’t use it to help others? i love you, y/n, and i want to h-” 

“i don’t need your help, asami!” she didn’t mean to yell. she never liked yelling — the couple had always been able to work out their problems before with a level head and talking normally — but this just slipped out. the silence that followed after was deafening, and y/n let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “i— i’m sorry. i have to go.” 

y/n was about to hang up, but even during fights she didn’t leave without saying it. especially when her girlfriend was in another country, she couldn’t leave without saying it. “..i love you too, asami. goodnight.” 

that was the first sign that things were going downhill. they never had arguments over something as petty as this — y/n wasn’t jealous of asami in any way, she was proud, and her girlfriend succeeding made her happier than anything — but lately it felt like mishaps like this were happening more and more often. 

y/n passed it off as stress from the job — for some reason, asami offering to help just made her take even longer hours — but deep down, she knew. something was changing between her and her girlfriend, and she didn’t like it. 

the things that she used to find endearing were now annoying. she began to tune out asami’s rants about the business world, and her confidence started to come off as cockiness. she was snapping more and more often and found it scary how easily their conversations now irked her.

the same things were happening on asami’s side. she used to love y/n’s brazenness and how she said whatever came to mind, but now it just bothered her. the independence she once admired was getting to her as well — why couldn’t she just accept her help? asami had money, she was willing to help, but she was met with the same stubbornness every time. it was tiring. 

their calls that used to occur every night and last for hours became far and in between, replaced by goodnight texts and i love you’s. and even those ceased -- it wasn’t uncommon for them to go whole days without talking while asami was away. and the worst thing? it didn’t bother her. y/n used to not be able to go an hour without talking to her in some way, but now she was just.. okay with it. 

asami could feel y/n slipping through her fingers, but she couldn’t do anything about it. because she was slipping away as well. 

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

they couldn’t keep going like this.

both women were ignoring the problem. it was partially out of shock, but mostly out of fear. how could they have lost their love like that? the flame that they tended together, the wild, passionate flame that was their love, had gone out. what were they supposed to do? what could they do? 

asami was coming home today. y/n would normally pick her up and they would greet each other with the biggest hug and kiss, and then they would spend the entire ride home talking each other’s ears off. but not this time. this time, asami did it all herself. drove herself to and from the airport, taking the parking fees over y/n driving her. she was surprised at how much she enjoyed the silence on the ride home, but it gave her time to think. too much time to think about what was going on with her and her girlfriend. 

but she already knew the answer. 

asami fidgeted with the key into the apartment and pushed the door open, trailing a suitcase behind her as she walked into the empty room. “y/n?” she called, only being met with the echo of her own voice. “i’m home!”

her eyes drifted around and saw the door out to the balcony was open, y/n leaning against the railing. she looked absolutely beautiful in the moonlight, but the pang she felt in her heart was just sadness instead of happiness. and just like that, she knew she was going to have to bring it up. 

they couldn’t keep going like this. 

y/n turned around as she heard footsteps, her lips quirking upwards ever so slightly as she saw who it was. “hi,” she whispered. 

“hi.” asami returned the greeting and she came to rest on the balcony next to her. neither of them said anything for a long time, but somehow they both knew. the statement hung in the air. five simple words, five words that would end it all. five words that neither of them could say, but both of them knew had to be said. 

that was one thing about being together for this long — they knew each other better than anyone else, and they wouldn’t ever be able to forget. 

“how was your trip?” y/n asked, wanting to break the silence. anything was better than standing here waiting for the hammer to drop. anything to stop those words from being uttered. 

“it was alright,” asami murmured. “we secured the deal, so future industries is safe for now. i’ll probably be gone again on another business trip before you know it, though.” 

“i’m happy for you.” that wasn’t a lie, but the thing that scared her was how she felt nothing knowing that asami was going to be leaving again. she wasn’t sad, she wasn’t disappointed, she just felt nothing. and that was the biggest sign yet. 

both of them turned to look at each other at the same time, and y/n was almost taken aback by the pure melancholic expression asami wore. in that moment, she knew. she knew because that was the exact same expression she had when she looked in the mirror in the morning. 

y/n opened her mouth to say something, say anything, but before she knew what was happening asami’s lips were on hers. her eyes shut and she instinctively pulled asami closer, hands already tangling in her hair. it was too easy to get caught up in it all again, too easy to forget. because they both wanted to forget. 

y/n wanted nothing more than to stay like this. she knew it couldn’t stay like this, she knew that holding onto their broken love was unhealthy, but she just couldn’t let go. even though there was nothing behind the kiss, she just couldn’t let it go. it was the scent of asami’s perfume pervading her senses that caused her to pull away first. 

y/n pursed her lips, feeling the familiar sting behind her eyes. she smiled sadly and breathed out a laugh, shaking her head in an effort to avoid eye contact. it didn’t last long. “we can’t put it off any longer. this— us. it’s over, isn’t it?”

“i’m so sorry, y/n.” y/n didn’t know if she was apologizing for kissing her or for their lost love — for all she knew it could’ve been both. her green eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and as she stared into them all the memories of the last couple years came back. years of happiness, laughter, nights spent together and waking up next to each other. “i.. i don’t know how it happened. it felt like one day, everything was perfect, and the next, i just—“

“you don’t have to be sorry, asami.” y/n took asami’s hands in her own as she spoke softly, and spirits. their hands fit together so perfectly that it hurt. “i felt it too. i didn’t want to acknowledge it, but.. i knew. i’ve known since that first phone call.”

“how did this happen?” she rasped, rubbing circles on y/n’s hand with her thumb with a far off look in her eyes. “did we do something wrong? i- i thought you were the one. i know we’re young, but i can’t see myself with anyone else. in every future i‘ve imagined, you’ve been by my side.” 

spirits, that made things so much harder. that was exactly how y/n felt. asami sato had always been who she saw at the end of the tunnel, the one who she thought she would spend the rest of her life with. it was a rare feeling, the love they shared, and trying to cope with the fact that that love was gone was like trying to wake up from a walking nightmare. 

“i.. i don’t know.” it seemed like the only thing she did know was that the love of her life was gone. she didn’t know how it happened, she didn’t know why it happened, she only knew that she no longer had asami sato. y/n blinked back tears and had to let go of asami’s hands. it hurt too much, knowing that she would never get to hold her hands, hold her, in the same way they used to. it hurt too much knowing that the spark was gone. she rested her forearms on the balcony, the faint night breeze blowing all around her. 

“we’ll still be friends, right?” asami’s voice was faint as she came to stand against the balcony with y/n once more, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “we spent the last seven years together. that- it doesn’t just go away now that we’re no longer…” she didn’t want to say the words. saying it meant that it was real, it meant that all of this was really happening. it meant that she was really losing the girl she thought she would get to call her wife one day. 

“i…” she bit the inside of her cheek. “i hope so. i sincerely hope so. but i’m going to need some time before we can be.. ‘just friends’ again.” y/n pressed one of her hands into the side of her head and shook her head. “i’ll- uh, i’ll move my things out this weekend. i have a friend i can crash with tonight and until i find an apartment.” 

“yeah, of course. of course— as much time as you need.” her voice cracked on the last word and asami swallowed hard. “if you need any money, you can ask-” 

“asami.” y/n hated how her name sounded on her lips now. it used to be so full of love, happiness, a reminder of every good thing in the world. now it just reminded her of what she no longer had. it felt empty. 

she wished she felt something. y/n knew it wasn’t fair to asami, but yelling and screaming at her would’ve made her feel better than this emptiness behind her heart. anything would be better than this nagging feeling in her chest. 

she stopped talking and they faced each other, so close but worlds apart. asami’s hands itched to reach for y/n’s again, and y/n wanted nothing more than to find herself in asami’s embrace again. before they knew it, they were both leaning in. 

their lips met again in one final kiss, one final plea to all the spirits that their love would suddenly come back. that the butterflies, the electricity, the almost overwhelming happiness would re-emerge; that this was all just a cruel misunderstanding and that they could go back to being together. but as y/n pulled away, she felt nothing. and she knew asami felt the same way.

a single tear trickled down y/n’s cheek as she stared in the eyes of her former love with a sadness that words couldn’t begin to describe.

“i’ll always love you, asami sato.”

“i’ll always love you, y/n y/l/n.”

the whispered declarations were more like goodbyes, and as y/n walked back into the house, wiping away rapidly falling tears, asami was doing the same as she gazed up at the moon. their thoughts mirrored each other’s. 

“why did it have to be us?”

[ttttaehyungie]

regular | extra #1

regular | extra #1

main fic

genre | romance, fluff, smut

pairing | film major!jungkook x convenience store worker!y/n

word count | 3.1k

rating | 18+

warnings | sooooftttt smut, morning sex, nipple play, dry humping, thigh riding, multiple orgasms, kisses kisses lots of kisses n cuddles, y/n talks briefly about having low self-esteem

summary | It’s been just a couple of weeks into your night shifts at the convenience store and you’ve caught yourself looking forward to the patronage of the two regulars who come by to purchase ramyeon and the sight of a certain bunny-toothed grin. Little do you know, you’ve caught the eye of the very pair of doe eyes you so adore.

a/n | OK SO,,,, this was NOT planned. did not plan this when i first wrote regular, did not plan this in my upcoming wips schedule, and definitely did not plan for it to get this long slkdjflkj but i justttt love these two lil beans so much and i lowkey hope i didn’t just ruin them by writing this and thought about them celebrating jk’s bday and here we are um 5h and 3k words later :’)

Few things in life are as lovely as being able to sleep in. And being able to sleep in on a weekday? That’s a whole other tier.

Now. Being able to sleep in on a weekday and in your lover’s arms? Transcendental.

The room is just barely lit in the first, feeble rays of the sunrise. The only time you see the sunrise is when you’re working the early shift, the sunbeams filtering their way through the glass panels of the convenience store to reach you.

Which means that the only time you get to enjoy the still quietness of dawn from the comfort of your bed is never.

Although it looks like that count isn’t going up since you’re technically in your boyfriend’s bed and not your own.

You attempt to maneuver your way from between Jungkook’s arms to a sitting position, banking on his heavy sleeper tendencies. But no such luck.

“Huh?” comes his groggy voice, thick with sleep. In his confusion, his arms around you tighten, pulling you closer into his chest. His lips caress your forehead, soft and warm but also sluggish in his sleepy dazedness. Cute. Your heart flutters at the realization that his first instinct upon waking is this show of affection.

Running your fingers through his soft curls, you’re the one to pour out your affection this time. You whisper, “Good morning.”

“Mmhm,” he whispers back, “it’s always a good morning when I’m with you.”

You retaliate against his cheesiness with a tap on his nose. But he only returns this with a peck to your nose. And another. And another. And a whole smattering of light kisses across your cheeks, up to your forehead, down along your jawline, and by the time he lands a smooch to his final destination on your lips, you’re in a heap of giggles that bubble up from the sheer contentment spilling over from your heart.

“Why are you up so early?” he asks, the heat of his breath wafting over your left collarbone.

“I think I’m too used to getting up early for my shift. I was gonna watch the sunrise, then attempt to go back to sleep.”

Pausing in his quiet peppering of kisses along your collarbone, Jungkook looks up at you, and although his eyes are wide and innocent as they peer at you, you recognize the undercurrent of lust burning in them, quiet and low but unmistakably present.

He ducks his head back down and mumbles against your skin, “Mm but we’re both awake now. Would it be a waste if we just go back to sleep?”

A shiver runs down your spine, and it’s only due in part to the tickle of his lips on you. He doesn’t ask for it directly, but you’ve been together long enough to know what he’s asking for.

“It is,” you agree. Your fingers scrape gently along his scalp before you run your thumb over the shell of his ears, watching as his eyes flutter shut in the heady sensation of it all.

Jungkook grabs one of your hands and brings it to his lips, skimming them over the delicate skin on the back of your hand. The feel of his plush lips on your wrist and the sensation of the point of his nose running up your palm has you sighing. He plants tender kisses to each of your fingers before taking just the tip of your index finger into the warm cavern of his mouth.

His tongue flicks. You gasp. The warm appendage glides along your finger and provides ample distraction from the movements of his other hand.

He runs his thumb along the slope of your hip bone, the full warmth of his hand on you as he’s slipped it under your shirt while your attention was elsewhere. It’s when your eyes snap open in the stimulation that you realize they had even drifted shut in the first place.

He pulls your finger out of his mouth, ending it with a kiss to your knuckles.

“Do you want this?” he asks, and you nod frantically. He flashes that bunny smile- the very same grin that stole your heart all that time ago- and you’re falling in love all over again. It’s that smile that tinges his breathy words with a brightness as he whispers, “Okay.”

He turns you onto your back. Both his hands slide up under your shirt this time and you arch your back at the feeling of his big, warm hands on you. He’s not gripping hard- Jungkook’s always treated you with such gentleness- but there’s just something in the way he holds you that makes you feel so secure.

They continue their ascent and pause when his palms rest on your ribs, his thumbs stroking the soft skin of the swell of your breasts. A breathy moan escapes you. The satisfaction in this simple action is already unreal. But it triples when his hands venture further up to tweak at a nipple, already pert even though untouched up to this point.

As your pleasure builds, the shy apprehension that seems to constantly cloak your being begins to melt away. You pull your sleep shirt- loose and baggy as is most comfortable for sleeping- all the way up to bunch up at your neck, and you sigh as you take in the sight of them being rolled, pinched, flicked under Jungkook’s skillful fingers. Just the physical stimulation alone had them raised to points, but the visual of your boyfriend paying so much tender attention to your chest as you’re both bathed in the golden glow of the dawn has you biting your lip.

Just as you think that your pleasure is at its maximum, he takes a bud into his mouth. He sucks on it gently and you jolt upwards from the pleasure. Taking the chance, he slips his hands beneath your back, wrapping you in warmth from both his hands and mouth.

“Mmn, Jungkook,” you sigh out between gasps of pleasure, “it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t you be the one receiving?”

He breaks away from you, and you can’t help but whine softly from the loss of contact. But it’s quickly replaced by his thumb tracing your areola. Taking a quick once-over of your blissed out state, he smiles and answers, “Love, watching you lose it is pleasure enough for me.”

“Are you sure? I coul-”

“Shh,” he kisses you as he cuts you off mid-sentence, “I’m the birthday boy and this is what I want.”

He moves to resume his actions, but you push him off you. Surprise crosses his features, but that’s quickly rectified as you clamber into his lap, straddling him.

“We could both… at the same time,” you explain disjointedly. But Jungkook gets it. With his hands on your hips, he pulls you down to rest your weight on him, his hard-on pressing into your core. The feeling of being pressed together elicits moans of pleasure from both of you. Grabbing your shirt from where it’s collected at your hips, he tugs upwards, divesting you of your top.

He takes a look at you, clad in nothing but your panties as you sit in his lap, hands resting on his shoulders with your breasts on full show, he gasps in awe at the sight. His reaction flatters you to no end and with the boost in confidence, you initiate. Arching your back, you slide your hands through his thick locks and pull his head forward.

Getting the hint, he takes your nipple in his mouth once again, pulling a moan from you once again. This time, you can feel him throb underneath you in response to your moan. In turn, you clench in response.

You begin to rock your hips forward. Dressed in just a simple white t-shirt and boxers, Jungkook’s sleep attire leaves the barriers between you thin. With just two layers of cloth between you, every roll of your hips has you feeling his length in all its stiffness rubbing deliciously against you. Evidently not satisfied with the pace you set, Jungkook’s hands return to your hips to aid you along, broken moans spilling out of both of you.

Releasing your nipple with a pop, he tugs you down for a kiss. You respond eagerly, one hand buried in his hair to pull him closer and the other scrabbling on his shoulder through his shirt.

“Love,” he gets in between pants, “you have to be quiet. Jin-hyung might hear us.”

Not trusting yourself to remain quiet, you drop your head to his shoulder and muffle your sounds in his shirt as your hips continue their rapid movements, frantically chasing your high. Jungkook, too, busies himself with placing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, occasionally grunting into you.

Between the feel of his solid cock and the friction of your panties sending pressure on your clit, and the kisses being laved along your collarbone, your high is within reach. You grind down harder. Faster. It coils within you and builds, builds, builds. You’re almost there when-

Jungkook lifts you off of him. The pleasure, tightly wound in your core, ebbs away even as you clench your walls in a desperate but ultimately fruitless attempt to cling onto it.

“No! No, no, no, no. Why?” you whine as he shifts you, laying kisses on your cheeks as he apologizes repeatedly.

“I’m so sorry, love. But it was too good and I- I only want to cum when I’m inside you today.”

You sniff, but you nod your okay. You reach for the waistband of his boxers, but he swats your hand away lightly, earning him a puzzled look.

“Here,” he says, flexing his thigh beneath you so that it presses hard and warm into you. “I want to see you cum first.”

“But-”

“It’s my birthday,” he says, pouting petulantly, “and this is what I want.”

“Okay, okay. Birthday boy gets what he wants.” You chuckle and lean forward to kiss his pout, thumb stroking his cheek with tenderness.

You place his hands on your chest once again, and begin working yourself on his thigh. The muscle is firm, testament to the hours he spends at the gym, and the hard planes of it press into your clit, and you’re quickly addicted to the sensation that sparks from rolling your bundle of nerves over the solid muscle. Jungkook flicks at your nipples, creating delicious shocks that add to your mounting pleasure. Sooner than you’d expected, you’re back at where you were, teetering on the brink and feeling suspended from how tightly wound you are.

Your head thrown back, mouth agape in bliss, your arousal leaking out of you and seeping through your panties in a damp spot and onto your boyfriend’s bare thigh, Jungkook knows you’re close. Rubbing your nipples hard and fast, at an almost brutal pace, the stimulation is just enough to tip you over that edge and free-falling in the bliss of your orgasm.

You bury your face in his neck as you whine out your pleasure, “Jungkook, ungh, Jungkook…”

Your walls pulse and throb, and your hips continue to roll against the thigh that he presses up harder into you, bending at the knee to increase the intensity of your pleasure. Your strokes have become slow but hard, sinking your weight down into the solid flesh to elongate your high.

When you’ve descended, the last waves of your release mellowing out into little tingles, you open your eyes to find Jungkook’s on you, wide in wonder.

Grabbing you, he pulls you into a searing kiss. His lips on yours are urgent, his tongue seeking yours out, his arms clutching you tightly to his chest such that not an inch of distance exists between you.

“I want to be inside you so bad right now,” he pulls away from the kiss to admit, his eyes staring deeply into yours with blatant vulnerability. “I want you so bad.”

“You have me,” you promise. “You have me, birthday boy. Not just today, but every single day. You have me.”

You climb off him to lay down on your back, legs spread slightly and bent at the knee. Running your hand over your clothed core, you eye him where he sits and watches. Despite your recent orgasm, you can already feel the stirrings of arousal begin again.

“Jungkook, please.”

The two words are simple, but they break him out of his stupor. Crawling over to situate himself before you, his hands run warm and sensual from your ankle and up to your knee, and raising goosebumps down your inner thighs as he caresses them. Arriving at your panties, he hooks his fingers in the sides of them.

He looks at you, questioning, asking for permission, and you nod. You lift your bum to help him along and he slides your final article of clothing off of you. The morning air is cool against the slick of your arousal.

Before he can lose himself staring again, you sit up and tug at his shirt. Upon your initiation, he moves faster this time, yanking his shirt off and dumping it on the floor where his boxers quickly join the pile.

As he fiddles to get the condom on, you take your time to take in the sight of your boyfriend. Completely bare, you can see how he’s built with solid and firm muscle all over. A contrast to the way he treats you, always soft and delicate with you, treating you like a treasure to behold. In all honesty, so much of your growth in self-confidence must be accredited to him. It’s the wonderment and awe in his gaze and the matter-of-fact way that he tells you that you’re amazing that began to chip away at your insecurities. Hearing him say it like it was the plain fact, simple and true, so regularly was what had you beginning to believe in yourself.

And today on his birthday, you’re so thankful for his being. You’re so thankful that he came into your life. You’re so thankful for his love.

“I love you.” It comes spilling out of your mouth. But you don’t regret it, you don’t want to take it back. “I love you,” you repeat. “So much.”

His eyes crinkle into those endearing crescent moons you adore. “I love you too.”

He lines himself up to your entrance and carefully pushes into you. The stretch stings a little, but he goes slow and gentle, easing his way in till he’s buried fully in you.

He sighs. “You feel so good around me.”

You hum in agreement and nod, and his smile grows wider in response.

“Do I feel good?” he asks.

“Mmhm. So, so good.” With your body adjusted to him now, you clench around him, eliciting a hiss from him. “You can move, Jungkookie.”

With your go-ahead, he begins moving, gentle and shallow at first. But as the feeling overtakes him, your warmth wrapping around his cock and drawing pleasure from him, he gives in and begins going harder and faster.

“Mmn, ____,” he whispers in your ear, his breath in your ear sending tingles down your spine, “it feels so good to be joined to you.”

You only let out a happy sigh in response, but you understand completely. Everything feels so intimate. The dim lighting of the morning, the soft blankets abandoned but still surrounding your naked forms, the hushed, whispered confessions and gasped out moans, the knowledge that you are making love to the man that you love and the man that you love is making love to you.

You run your hands up and down his sides, reveling in the smoothness of his skin in your palms. With your pointer finger, you tweak his nipple, and the sound that he emits has you clenching around him, eliciting yet another one.

He snakes a hand between you and down to where you’re joined. In the same way that he was flicking at your chest just a few moments prior, he begins playing with your clit. It’s getting increasingly difficult to stay quiet, and you resort to muffling your moans with a pillow as the amount of pleasure you experience gets ramped up tenfold.

But he pulls the pillow away, his doe eyes now steeled with lust as it bores into yours.

“Don’t hide from me. I want to see you when you cum.”

With that, he increases the speed, both on your clit and in the snapping of his hips into you.

“Jungkook, ah, Jungkook. I’m close.”

“I can feel you tightening around me. You’re squeezing me so tight.”

“Mmn, so close.”

“You can let go. Cum around me.”

He circles your clit with an unrelenting intensity and you snap, hurtling off into bliss once again.

As you throb around his girth, he slows down his strokes to work you through it as you whimper his name again and again. He kisses your cheeks lightly, pulling you back to alertness with the sprinkling of his kisses.

Now having ensured that your pleasure has been achieved, he starts up again, rutting into you with no abandon now, unabashedly chasing his own orgasm. You tug at his hair lightly to pull his head back, and begin plant kisses all along his neck, aiming for the sensitive spots near his clavicle. With your other hand, you circle his nipple lightly, pleasuring him the way he did for you so expertly.

Within minutes, he crests the peak, seizing up slightly as he spills into the condom. You clench around him gently, milking him through his high. He collapses into you, his warm weight pinning you down but not uncomfortable. You stroke his hair lovingly as he pants and attempts to regain himself.

Recovered, he slides himself out of you, and takes care of the condom quickly, not wanting to be apart from you for too long.

He snuggles back into your arms that are outstretched and waiting for him as he returns to the bed, and sighs happily as he circles his arms around your waist.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you wish him, twisting a tendril of his hair around your finger.

He hums in contentment. “Being yours is the best birthday present ever.”

You both settle into the quiet of the morning, enjoying the stillness of it. Or at least you intended to until-

“Hey!” Jin’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. His knocks continue to pound on the door. “Time to get up, you lovebirds. Or are you going to spend all of ____’s specially requested off-day just lying in bed?”

Jungkook groans. “Fifteen minutes, hyung, please?”

“C’mon, Sophie’s waiting for us. We made plans for four of us to celebrate your birthday, remember?”

“She waited for you to make a move for an entire year since you joined the company. I’m pretty sure she can handle fifteen minutes,” Jungkook retorts.

“The only thing holding me back from marching in there right now to give you the ass-whooping of your life is that one, it’s your birthday, and two, I’m protecting my eyes from seeing you both nude. You’re not that quiet, y’know. Now please just put some damn clothes on and get washed up so we can go.”

[bikerjongho]

in the coop | kang yeosang

genre: humor

character: college student!yeosang ft. college student!wooyoung

description: Yeosang and Wooyoung hatch and execute a plan to steal a chicken from a county fair to save it from the butcher.

word count: 3.1k

warnings: a little bit of swearing

author’s note: happy birthday yeosang!! <3 a gift for you. eat lots of chicken today! thank you for entertaining atiny with your humor and kindness. and leif, I hope you enjoy this especially, because I wrote this with you in mind. <3

taglist: @itsapapisongo @mangomingki @irehlevant @blueprint-han

The county fair was a treat to behold once a year. Though the smells were less of a treat to witness - filled with smells of starchy food and sweaty children, Yeosang and Wooyoung had to adapt to ignore it. Wooyoung did this by buying an enormous and sugar-coated funnel cake. When he dove into it while the two of them walked around the fairgrounds, a bit of powdered sugar dusted his nose. 

Yeosang opted for a corndog. It was less messy and perhaps a bit healthier in comparison with the funnel cake. "You're going to have an awful stomachache when we leave," he said while he watched Wooyoung shove an absurdly large piece of funnel cake into his mouth.

"And?" Wooyoung said between chews, the powdered sugar on his nose that Yeosang had not bothered to mention making him look like a white Rudolph. "When else can I have funnel cake?"

Wooyoung was right, the fair was the only place Yeosang could think of that actually had funnel cake. But he wouldn't be surprised if Wooyoung birthed a food baby and a stomachache the next day. Yeosang took another bite of his corndog and decided not to push the matter.

They had been at the fair for a few hours now, going on rides that made their stomachs rearrange themselves and gave some usage to their vocal chords while they screamed. They were on break now, enjoying their dinners and pondering what to do next while their food settled.

Wooyoung had suggested they play tented games, like throwing ping pong balls onto the top of glass bottles or throwing balls to knock down clown faces in order to win a prize at the end of it. But Yeosang decided against it. "Those games are so incredibly rigged, we'd just waste our money because it's impossible to win," he said, so they both ignored the heckling game owner that tried to sell them balls so they could play his game.

"So what do we do?" Wooyoung pushed. "Stare at the farm animals?" He asked, and then gestured to the animal exhibition that was growing closer to them in the distance.

"Exactly!" Yeosang grinned. He was actually excited to see the animals, but Wooyoung groaned.

"Wouln't that be boring?" He whined.

"Not at all," Yeosang said, waving his corndog stick at him. "The animals are cute and we can compare them to our friends. I swear I saw a sheep that looked just like Seonghwa."

At the mention of making fun of their friends, Wooyoung's face broke out into an enormous and evil grin. "Then let's meet these furry friends!" He said and marched ahead of Yeosang to the cow barn.

Upon entrance to the barn, they were met with the pungent smell of animals. Yeosang and Wooyoung crinkled their noses at the same time. A cow mooed at them as greeting.

"Is that hay?" Wooyoung conversationally asked the cow, referring to the food it was eating, then directed the question at Yeosang.

"Like if I know," Yeosang shrugged. "Probably." He walked over to Wooyoung and pulled out a water bottle from Wooyoung's backpack and took a long drink. It was sweltering outside. And although the sun had descended from its peak a few hours ago, the heat still stung.

Wooyoung was closely inspecting the line of cows cheerfully eating hay and swishing their tails. "I think Hongjoong would enjoy being a cow," he said wisely. "Seems like a chill life. He always complains about stress."

"That one kind of looks like him," Yeosang laughed and pointed at one that did have some resemblance to Hongjoong.

They traversed to another area of the barn and found more animals - pigs, goats, sheep, llamas, geese, bunnies, and chickens. A goat was there to greet them with a loud and piercing bleat. "Jongho, is that you?" Wooyoung said as he smiled at the vocal goat.

"There's Seonghwa," Yeosang said and was quick to point out the sheep he had talked about earlier, resting in a pen.

"Yunho," Wooyoung said and gestured towards a particularly tall llama with a long neck.

"San," Yeosang said, and pointed to a pig pen. One of the pigs was having a blast and running around the pen excitedly. "And Mingi," he continued, gesturing to another pig peacefully sleeping in the corner.

"Yeosang," Wooyoung said, causing Yeosang to turn towards his friend, only to find out that he was being compared to a chicken.

"I'm not a chicken," he said, offended. He raised his eyebrows and pointed to a patch of honking geese near the pigs. "Wooyoung."

Wooyoung only took the geese as a compliment. He grinned like a little kid and honked himself. "Do the chicken dance for me, Yeosang," he bantered.

"Shut up," Yeosang said sweetly. But he had to admit, the chickens were extremely interesting. In his opinion, they were the best animal at the fair. It might have been because he loved to eat chicken, but the chickens he came by as he walked around their pens came in beautiful browns, reds, oranges, and blacks. Some of their eggs even came in different hues. When he walked by one, it pecked its beak towards him and made him smile. So he was in Wooyoung's line of vision, he silently did the chicken dance in front of a light orange variety.

"Amazing," Wooyoung breathed and walked closer to him. He peaked at the orange chicken that Yeosang was nearby. "Aw, this one is cute."

"But he didn't win any prizes," Yeosang said and gestured to the other chickens around them. While some chickens had beautiful multi-colored ribbons that announced they had won in some sort of category, this orange chicken had a small, simple, and drab white ribbon.

"Participation," Wooyoung said, ogling the single ribbon on the chicken's cage. "That's silly. He's a stunning bird. A true specimen of chicken." The orange chicken pecked at the cage in response to Wooyoung's compliment.

"Taken an interest in Mr. Clucks, eh?" A man said, coming from behind them. He wore worn blue jeans, sneakers, and a yellow plaid shirt. He was older, but the little twinkle in his eye that appeared when he smiled suggested he was young at heart. "I'm the owner of him and a few other animals in this exhibition," the man clarified.

"It's too bad he didn't win anything," Wooyoung said, always eager to talk to someone. "He's really quite a nice-looking chicken."

"It really is too bad," the owner nodded. "I send my non-winners to the butcher, unfortunately." He said this casually.

Yeosang and Wooyoung looked at the chicken, Mr. Clucks, and then back at the owner, who gave them a smile.

"The butcher?" Yeosang repeated. He couldn't have meant that. Perhaps it was just a joke. He knew, rationally, chickens had to be killed in order for him to enjoy fried chicken, but now he knew this chicken. He couldn't just die now.

"I know, it's unfortunate," the owner sighed, and Yeosang couldn't argue with him. He gave a smile to the owner and looked back at Mr. Clucks, adamantly pecking the ground, oblivious to his fate.

"I can't believe he'd just drop him like that," Yeosang said to Wooyoung after the owner had gone off to talk to other fair-goers. "This poor chicken will die because he wasn't good enough? Mr. Clucks doesn't deserve that." He looked back at the orange chicken with a saddened expression.

"Nothing we can do about it, though," Wooyoung shrugged while Mr. Clucks pecked at the ground some more. "Unless we were to steal him, but that's impossible. He's in that cage."

Yeosang nodded, unable to keep his eyes off of the chicken. "I really wish we..."

But Yeosang trailed off. On other cages, a small lock kept the door of the cage secure. But on Mr. Cluck's cage, the lock was both unlocked and broken. It would still prevent Mr. Clucks from getting out of the cage, but all Yeosang would need to do would be to slide the lock off of the hook that it was on. 

Wooyoung noticed what Yeosang was seeing. "Yeosang, no. Absolutely not."

"But he's going to die," Yeosang pushed, his heart beginning to race. Could they save Mr. Clucks?

"Yeah, just like a lot of chicken!" Wooyoung hissed. "The same chicken that you gouge down about four times a week. And what if we get caught? We're not exactly inconspicuous carrying around a goddamn chicken."

Yeosang pointed to Wooyoung's backpack that was coincidentally chicken-sized.

"Yeosang," Wooyoung groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. "Okay, I guess I don't want him to die either. But he's not going to be happy in my backpack. He'd get stressed being in an unknown and closed space. We'd have a clucking backpack for the rest of our time at the fair."

"Then we steal- no, rescue him when we leave," Yeosang said, nodding at Wooyoung, who looked like he wanted to pass out on the floor out of exasperation. "Come on. This is a perfectly dumb thing that we can do together. We'll laugh about it in a few years."

"Not if the chicken police catches us," Wooyoung said, but his tone was amused rather than scolding. "Fine. But after we lose our minds on a few more rides."

Yeosang's smile was brighter than the blazing sun. "Thank you." Yeosang took one last look at Mr. Clucks in his cage before the two of them exited the animal exhibition.

Wooyoung and Yeosang proceeded to let themselves go wild for the last few hours of the fair. They rode one wooden and rickety rollercoaster in the fair multiple times with the other screaming preteens. They went on it so many times that the ride attendant learned their names, thanks to Wooyoung's loud personality and penchant for never shutting up.

"Well, Wooyoung, Yeosang," said the attendant, a cap that displayed the fair's company logo on his blond hair, "have fun on the ride. Again." He seemed to linger a little too long on Yeosang, but both of the boys were too eager to go on the ride to notice his attention to him.

Wooyoung later dared Yeosang go to on a terrible yet exciting throw up-inducing ride that flipped and turned its riders in the air. Yeosang stood in line with his arms crossed while Wooyoung gleefully stood on the sidelines. But the tables turned when the attendant told Yeosang that a minimum of two people were needed for each seat on the ride, and no one else in the line was riding single. There was no greater walk of shame for Wooyoung as he climbed into the ride's seat next to Yeosang. It was Yeosang's turn to be gleeful. So, the two of them screamed their lungs out as they whipped through the air and the sun smiled down at them from above.

The sun soon disappeared from the horizon and cooled down the fair. There was less light and more people crowding the fairgrounds, giving perfect conditions for the rescue of Mr. Clucks.

Wooyoung and Yeosang darkened the entrance to the chicken exhibition around eight o'clock. Wooyoung, armed with Mr. Cluck's red ride, his backpack, had a satisfied smile. Yeosang, eager to save his friend he had only met a few hours ago, made a beeline for the chicken.

"Mr. Clucks, hello!" He whispered as he slid the broken lock off of the cage while Wooyoung partially blocked him from other's view. There was only one other family with them, a mother and her screaming toddler, so they doubted she would pay attention to their thievery. The owner was also nowhere to be found, and the two of them had assumed he was tending to his other animals. The universe, it seemed, was optimized for thieves and discord this night.

Mr. Clucks clucked with fear when he was picked up by Yeosang from his cage, but all of the other chickens were also clucking. He was inaudible as he was placed carefully into Wooyoung's backpack and then zipped up.

"Oh, he's restless," Wooyoung muttered, now carrying the weight of poultry on his back. "I can feel him pecking my back."

"He's showing his love," Yeosang said and shut Mr. Cluck's now empty cage behind him. "Tomorrow, I'll go out and buy chicken food."

Wooyoung eyed him. "Yeosang, you're keeping him?" He asked, as if there wasn't a chicken in his backpack.

"What else am I supposed to do with him?" He asked incredulously, leading Wooyoung out of the chicken exhibition. It was luckily darker than when they had entered the chicken pens, so the small ruffling of Wooyoung's backpack was hardly noticeable. There was also enough screaming, laughing, and chattering from other fair-goers to deafen Mr. Cluck's clucking.

"Just let him go on the street?" Wooyoung shrugged. "You can't possibly take care of a chicken. Where will you put him?"

"I'm sure Pet Smart will have everything," Yeosang shrugged, weaving around a few of the fair-goers. They were almost at the exit of the fair. Once they were out of the gates, their rescue of Mr. Clucks would be a success.

"How was the fair?" The security guard that stood outside the fair asked, giving a serious smile as he checked to make sure Yeosang and Wooyoung had wrist bands.

"Egg-ceptional," Yeosang said at the same time Wooyoung said "im-peck-able." They then looked at each other with murder in their eyes.

The security guard, however, was not fazed. "Have a nice night," he said, and waved Yeosang, Wooyoung, and Mr. Clucks off.

Now that they were in the parking lot, Mr. Cluck's clucking was more audible. "Mr. Clucks, stop being so clucking- no, fucking loud!" Wooyoung hissed.

"It's fine, there's no one else around us," Yeosang reassured him. He could feel the adrenaline beginning to pick up inside him. They had done it, and Yeosang was so excited to show the rest of their friends Mr. Clucks.

"My backpack is going to smell like chicken for the rest of time," Wooyoung groaned as they reached Yeosang's car. He carefully placed down the backpack as he got into the passenger seat of the car and opened up the backpack. Mr. Clucks clucked as a greeting.

Yeosang peered over to look at their new friend. "Wonderful," he said, starting up the car. "Doesn't it feel good that we saved him?"

"What I'm feeling is itchy scratches on my back from all of his pecking, but sure," Wooyoung said, not taking his eyes off of Mr. Clucks. The orange chicken, now unzipped and a bit more free, seemed happier. Yeosang drove out of the parking lot.

"Get ready for your new home, Mr. Clucks," he said, turning smoothly into the lane that would take him home, "everyone is going to love you."

"What the hell?" Seonghwa said as a greeting when he walked into Yeosang's apartment. It was the next day, and Yeosang had gone out and bought all of the basic necessities for Mr. Clucks - a cage, chicken food, a chicken harness, and assorted clean up supplies. All of it sat in the corner of his apartment, while Yeosang himself was sitting on his couch. Mr. Clucks was perched onto his thighs and pecking aimlessly into the air.

"It's Mr. Clucks," Wooyoung said, leaning on the wall next to him with his arms crossed. "We stole him." He grinned while Seonghwa looked like he wanted to pass out.

Hongjoong entered the room next. He stared at Mr. Clucks for an absurdly long amount of time before saying, "Yeosang, I think your fried chicken is a bit undercooked." Seonghwa snorted.

"They stole him," Seonghwa added.

"From the fair," Wooyoung clarified.

"Why?" Hongjoong asked.

"Why not?" Yeosang said in reply, stroking Mr. Clucks' feathers.

Yunho and San entered Yeosang's apartment at the same time. "A chicken?" San asked, while Yunho sat right down next to Yeosang, admiring Mr. Clucks. Seonghwa and Hongjoong judged Yunho as he smiled and pet Mr. Clucks with Yeosang.

Jongho walked in with Mingi trailing behind him. While Jongho went through all five stages of grief upon seeing Mr. Clucks, Mingi was unfazed by Yeosang's new pet. "A chicken?" He asked. "What's his name?"

"Mr. Clucks," Yeosang grinned, which caused a few of them to look at each other with concern. Yeosang didn't seem to notice.

"Mr. Kang Clucks," Mingi finished.

At that, Yeosang brightened and Mr. Clucks let out a particularly triumphant cluck. "Oh, I love that name!"

"Or KC," San added. The room was oddly silent as Yeosang stroked his chicken, the only noise coming from Mr. Cluck's random clucks.

"Does the landlord know about this?" Hongjoong said finally, breaking the silence.

"He won't ever know," Yeosang said, smiling. "Well, unless he sees me taking it on a walk. But I think I'll be fine."

A pin could have dropped in the room. Seonghwa didn't take his eyes off of the harness, which had a leash, in the corner of the room. "A chicken," Hongjoong said finally, the unspoken spokesperson of the group. "Alright."

"I saved him from being killed," Yeosang felt the need to say. "And," he continued, looking at Wooyoung, "maybe I will end up releasing him or sending him to a good farm. But for now, I'll take care of him." He gave a grin to everyone, and as he stroked Mr. Clucks some more, it was clear that he dearly admired him.

But their smiles turned into held back laughter as Yeosang bent down and began dressing Mr. Clucks into a leashed harness. "I'll take him on his walk now," he said, placing Mr. Clucks down onto the floor wearing his new harness.

"Have a nice walk," a few of them echoed as they watched Yeosang and his domesticated poultry exit the apartment.

"A chicken," Seonghwa echoed now that Yeosang was gone. Jongho was already pulling out his phone and setting himself by the window to record Yeosang walking the chicken like it was a dog.

"I think the chicken is kind of cute," Yunho shrugged. "And it's admirable of him to give a bit of his time and money for the little guy."

"But a chicken," Seonghwa said. "A chicken."

They all grinned at that. But Yeosang was Yeosang, and as he walked outside with his winged and clucking pet, the rest of them felt a wave of respect and love for him.

And that was the sweet part about Yeosang - despite his love for eating chicken, he had a heart of gold and cared for unseen animals. And that allowed all of them to look at him at a new angle that, until now, none of them had previously noticed.

[thebuckysoldier]

Identical Mosters - chapter 8

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: The reader is new at the compound and doesn’t talk to anyone there. She befriends Bucky over a shared trauma all while trying to find her own place in the compound.

Word count: 3.1K

Warnings: lack of food, angry Steve

A/N: Freaking finally, i finally wrote an update? Is this really happening? I guess it is. So please enjoy, to make up for the very long wait i made this chapter a bit longer then usual.

Identical Monsters - masterpage

(GIF is not mine)

The mission the next day went by quickly, the intel had been the tiniest bit wrong but everyone improvised a little and made it work. Meaning, it didn’t go by flawlessly, but it definitely could have been worse. That being said, that is also how you ended up here, on the way back on the quinjet, getting yelled at by Steve with multiple people around the table.

“Y/N what you did was reckless and dangerous” Steve’s voice sounded loud, very annoyed and also a bit angry.

“Sam could have handled himself. You had your own assignment, which, granted, you already finished it but your assignment clearly said to go back to the quinjet when done.” He continued yelling at you.

Sam was on the other side of the quinjet, Bruce was with him to take care of his wounds. It didn’t look pretty, but he’ll survive, that’s what Bruce said. At most he’d be unable to join in on missions for the next 3 months.

When you were on your way back, doing exactly as Steve had told you to do, you ran into Sam. He was being cornered but multiple guys and it didn’t look good for him. You knew what your mission was, your instructions were strict and clear, straight back to the quinjet. But, Sam needed help. So you did the latter, the two of you fought and fought, and eventually Steve found the two of you when you were about to fight of a guy at least triple your size who was about to attack Sam from behind. Steve helped out but you already knew he wasn’t happy. You just wanted to do good, you wanted to help.

“We don’t trade lives around here, Y/n.” The way he had said it caused a shiver to run down your spine. That was also the moment Bucky lost it. He had been sitting behind you, not wanting to interfere. He didn’t know if you’d want him to or not. But he couldn’t handle it anymore, not with the way Steve had been screaming at you. You didn’t deserve to be screamed at like this, you’d done well. Bucky didn’t know how much worse Sam would have been  if you hadn’t been there, probably a lot worse.

Bucky stood up as quickly as he could, slamming his fist down on the surface of the table, shocking everyone around it. Bucky then proceeded to point at Steve with the same hand he had just hit the table with. Through gritted teeth out of anger he spoke to Steve in a low voice.

“Don’t yell at her like that, Steve.”

Bucky’s voice almost sounds threatening. Steve is taken aback, it was very clear to see. Turns out Bucky hadn’t talked to him after all. You were touched by Bucky’s action, thankful as well. Steve obviously cared a lot about what Bucky thought, I guess that’s what you get for being friends since childhood. It was as if Bucky’s words had woken him up, Steve shut up immediately.



Your hand touched Bucky’s forearm, the one that wasn’t made out of vibranium, telling him that you were okay, you were all right. Your action shocked him, the soft skin of your palm felt good against his skin. Your hands were cold compared to him, but that might have been because he felt like you had just set of fire inside of him. You had touched him, willingly. He then looked at your face, trying to find any emotion and what he found was gratefulness alongside a small smile. It was nice to see you smile.

Steve was shocked by the interaction unfolding right on the other side of the table. He hadn’t seen nor suspected the two of you to interact. Steve turned around, but not before saying a last few words.

“You’re off missions. You’re not ready.”

His words hit you like a truck. It hurt. This was exactly what you were afraid of. Steve had taken an insecurity of yours and played right into it.

The first thing your mind thought was that he was right. You had disobeyed orders. You knew your tasks and choose to ignore them. Sam would never need your help, he was very capable of taking care of himself. Why would he ever need someone like you, a monster, to help him?

You gave Bucky another grateful smile, but to him you looked more devastated then anything else. You turned away from him too, only to catch the eyes of Natasha, reminding you of the mistakes you had made. Ashamed you bowed your head and took a seat in the corner. You saw Bucky glance at Nat as well before giving you one last look and then sitting down on the other side of the quinjet. He understood you needed your space right now, you wanted to be alone.

When the quinjet landed everyone went to the debriefing. You got yelled at a little more in front of everybody by Steve but this time it was Tony who stopped him.



“You made your point Steve. She knows what went wrong, and she knows the consequences.”

After that no one really said anything to you. When the debriefing was over you went to your room and didn’t come out until much later that night. You had missed dinner but you weren’t hungry anyway. But when you entered the kitchen around 10pm it was empty except for Tony and Steve sitting at the table, their voices were already hushed but when they noticed you they stopped talking all together. You quickly grabbed a banana and a cup of water and left the room again. On your way back you stopped by Sam, he was still in the medical center but he was sleeping. He looked peaceful, and not in pain, so at least that was a good thing. You made eye contact with Bruce who was still taking care of some work at the center but you quickly made yourself scarce after.

You passed Bucky’s room as well, you could see the light was still on inside and you contemplated knocking on his door to talk about today but decided against it. He probably wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway, you got him in an argument with his best friend.

Once back in your room you put the banana and the cup down on your night stand and turned off the lights. Without taking a bite or a sip you laid down in bed, but time kept passing by and sleep never came.

Around midnight Bucky left his room, he wanted to make sure you were okay after today but after he saw that the lights in your room were turned off he choose to go back to his room. He could understand, today had probably cost you a lot of energy so you went to sleep early. But oh boy, how wrong he was.

It was around 4am and you were still staring out of the window, outside it was dark but you could still distinguish the trees around the compound from the night sky.

You must have fallen asleep at some point throughout the night as you were woken up around 8am by someone knocking on the door. Climbing out the bed and opening the door you find Sam on the other side. You awkwardly tell him good morning and he returns the favor.

“Sorry for coming by this early but I wanted to thank you for yesterday, Bruce just discharged me from medical” he said, taking you by surprise.

“Bruce told me as well, but only a fool is dumb enough not to know that I would have been off a lot worse if it wasn’t for you. I know Steve yelled at you, but don’t take it at heart, he doesn’t always know what he is talking about, I’m sure many of us would agree with me. The guy is one of my best friends, and he means well but he doesn’t always show it the best way. I think you did good on yesterday’s mission, keep training and you’ll get even better. Bruce also told me you stopped by yesterday evening, so thank you for helping me and checking in on me as well.”

“It’s okay, really. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Sam gave you another smile and then told you he was going to his own bed to catch some more sleep.

You closed to the door behind him and made your way to the shower since you hadn’t taken one last night. Once done you changed into some sportswear and put a nice sweater over it, it was the one you had worn the evening you and Bucky spent your time eating ice cream in the kitchen in stead of training like you usually did. Just as you were about to leave the room, another knock on your door caught you attention.

Opening the door again, it showed Steve this time. He cleared his throat before speaking up.

“Good morning” he greeted you.

“Good morning” you replied to him.

“Bucky helped me realize that I might have been a bit harsh on you yesterday, so I came to apologize to you. I realize that you were just trying to help, but your instructions were clear so I hope you understand why I made the decisions I made, because I haven’t changed my mind about them.”

You nod your head. “Okay, thank you Steve, for apologizing and letting me know.”

He gives you a nod back.

“We’ll look again in a few weeks to see if you’re ready”

“Okay,” is the only thing you reply.

“I- uh.” Steve clears his throat again before continuing, “I saw Bucky in the training room in case you were looking for him.” You give him a tight smile with another nod before he leaves for his own room without another word.

You close the door behind him and your gaze falls on the banana you had taken to your room last night. You really should eat something, not eating for this long is unhealthy. So you take the cup and drink its contents, then take the banana and leave your room. While eating the banana you make your way to the training room, where Steve said Bucky would be.

It wasn’t like you wanted to talk to Bucky, but you were in the need to speak to someone and you knew Bucky wouldn’t mind. So entering the gym he’s the only person you find, which is weird for this time of the day. A lot of the people living here enjoyed a early morning gym session, it was a great and healthy way to start the day. 

“Good morning,” you greeted him in a soft voice.

He looks up in surprise, you could understand why. He probably hadn’t expected to see you, since you missed dinner last night as well.

“Good morning” he said with a smile. “How did you sleep?” He then asked, watching your still tired state.

“I’ve had better nights.”

Bucky remembered your lights being off pretty early in the evening so at least you went to bed on time. Maybe the nightmares were just unbearable last night. Now he wished he had knocked on your door last night, maybe he could’ve eased your mind about the mission and you would’ve slept better.

“Did you eat?”

Another question.

You hummed while making your way to the yoga mats in the corner of the room. “I ate a banana.”

Bucky was over by the weights, watching you start to stretch. He had stopped actually lifting the weights once you came in, he was distracted. You looked tired and pale, he didn’t want to interfere but you didn’t look healthy.

“I don’t think you’ve eaten enough, you don’t look too good,” he said after contemplating if he should or not.

You let out a huff as you started to do some kind of fitness exercise.

“I’m fine, it’s just the lack of good sleep and the fact that I just woke up,” you defended yourself. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were doing, it was just a work out. You’d eat more after.

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked one last time, continuing his own work out.

“Yeah” you answered him.

The two of you continued your workouts in silence. To Bucky you seemed to be lost in your own thoughts, he could only imagine what you were thinking about, probably yesterday’s mission. He made sure to keep an eye on your while doing his own work out, which turned out to be a good thing to do.

At one point while you were doing squats you just collapsed. Bucky didn’t know how fast to drop the weights still in his hands and run over to you. You didn’t respond to him when he called your name, your eyes were closed.

“FRIDAY, tell Tony and Bruce to come to the training room now. Say it’s an emergency and that it’s about Y/N” You couldn’t hear his voice but he sounded scared and desperate.

“I am letting them know right now, Mr. Barnes” FRIDAY replied to him.

His hand was on your cheek while his heart was pumping at a rapid pace. His mind went to all the wrong places, he knew it probably would just be the amount of sleep and food, or rather the lack of those but he couldn’t help but let his mind cloud up with ‘what if’s’.

You were still out when Bruce came running into the room, he was already dressed so he must have been up and at the lab already. As soon as he saw your state he took place next to you and checking your pulse, which was still there luckily.

As both Bucky and Bruce were bent over you, Tony arrived as well. Bucky noticed him first, he was still dressed in what seemed like pajamas, he was never really the one to wake up early. With Tony it was one or the other, he either didn’t sleep at all or slept in until like 2 in the afternoon.

“What the hell is going on?” Tony said walking over to you and letting Bruce know he had arrived as well.

“She just collapsed while doing a work out” Bucky replied to Tony.

“Any more information?” Tony asked.

“She looked pale and tired. Said she hadn’t slept well, and I know for a fact she hasn’t been sleeping well any other night. She also missed dinner last night and informed me the only thing she had eaten since probably before yesterday’s mission was a banana.”

Both Tony and Bruce nodded. That was also the moment you started to stir again. Groaning you opened your eyes only to find Bucky and Bruce hanging over you and Tony standing close and looking at you.

“Well, good morning kid, what the hell is going on?”

You blinked your eyes a couple of times before scooting away from them, creating some kind of distance between all of you. Resting your back against the wall behind you, you look at the three of them with big eyes, feeling a headache start to show up.

“Have you been eating enough lately, Y/N? You weren’t at dinner last night?” Bruce then asks.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I fell asleep so I missed it.” You told the lie so easily, you surprised yourself. You used to be so scared of lying, scared your uncle would find out and punish you.

“Buck said you said you also hadn’t slept well?”

“Yeah I woke up some time after dinner and I went to get a banana, I actually saw you then Tony, you were in the kitchen with Steve, and then went back to my room but I didn’t have the energy to actually eat, so I just went to bed instead. But for some reason I couldn’t fall asleep, I think I did somewhere around 5am. Then I woke up early this morning, because there were several people at my door and then I made my way to the gym and ate the banana.”

You told them a lot about your day, in details. Something inside of you said that you shouldn’t, but you had anyway.

“Do you often sleep bad?” Bruce continued to question you.

You didn’t really want to answer his question, because the answer was yes. You’ve had sleeping problems for as long as you could remember, often it were the nightmares, but other times you just seemed to be unable to fall asleep.

You touched your forehead with you hand, trying to ease the headache. You were feeling overwhelmed by the questions.

“How about you stop by at the lab after you’ve eaten some proper breakfast? Let Bucky help you if you’re up to it and then we’ll take a better look at you, is there any chance you could have gotten a more serious injure after yesterdays mission? Did anyone take a look at you?”

“No, I don’t think I have an injury. But I guess I’ll stop by. Thank you Bruce and Tony for coming, you really didn’t have to, I would’ve been fine.”

“It’s okay kid” Tony speaks up, “You still live here with all of us, we gotta make sure you’re okay. Now scary dude, help her get some proper breakfast, Bruce and I will see you after.”

Bruce and Tony leave the gym and Bucky speaks up.

“Well, you scared me there for a second,” Bucky said while leading you out of the training room and to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that would happen. I really didn’t feel that bad. I didn’t mean for that to happen, I didn’t mean to be a bother.”

Bucky really wanted to comfort you, pull you into a hug and make sure you knew you were safe and that you shouldn’t feel sorry for such a thing. The way you had scurried away from him and the others hadn’t gone unnoticed. He was sure you didn’t want to be touched right now.

As soon as you entered the kitchen Bucky ordered you to sit down, so you did as he started to make you some breakfast. He made you some oatmeal, he probably had noticed you often had it for breakfast, you liked it. He added one spoon of sugar, just like you always did. And for a nice touch he added some red fruit he found in the fridge on top. Two strawberries and a few raspberries.

“Healthy and filling, here you go” he said as he sat the bowl in front of you and giving you a spoon.

You were grateful for him, that he would do something like this for you.

“Thank you, Bucky,” You told him with a smile more genuine than it probably has ever been.

Bucky could swear his heart had made a little jump when you said his name right then.

[Chapter 9] Coming soon