#even though all i want is to know what happens next

[hairmetal666]

They're sitting in Eddie's bedroom, Steve propped up in the bed, flipping through some sports magazine, Eddie curled on the floor using his knee as a table as he scrawls notes for Hellfire's next campaign. Metallica spins on the record player, volume low. They're doing this more and more, being together and doing their own thing, music a soft backdrop to it all.

Eddie's deep into his planning, enough so that he manages to forget that Steve Harrington is in his bed. He keeps hearing something, though. It just manages to catch at the edge of his awareness, but when he fully tunes in the only sounds are Steve flipping a page, Ride the Lightning, the shift of blankets as Harrington taps his fingers. It happens a few more times, but when he tries to catch it, it's gone. Steve hasn't reacted at all, to the point Eddie wonders if it's all in his own head.

The next time, he's interrupted before he even gets back into it, that noise again, but this time, now, he's aware enough to see that it's Steve. And he's not, like, reading the magazine out loud to himself. No. He's singing along.

To Metallica.

And he wasn't idly tapping his fingers before. He was tapping along to the beat.

"You're singing along?" He asks before he can stop himself.

Steve looks up, a faint smile on his handsome face. "It's not too bad."

"Not too--Not too bad." Eddie's nearly screeching. Can't wrap his mind around Steve--"You've been listening to Metallica on your own? You've been--you--" He jumps to his feet, notebook spilling onto the floor. Steve's just looking up at him with big eyes and a gentle grin.

"Sure, Munson. You like it, yeah?"

He nods, mutely, unsure how he so thoroughly lost the plot that Steve's been listening to Metallica just because Eddie likes it.

"Got a taste for any other metal bands I should know about, Harrington?" He flops down on the bed, making Steve bounce a little.

"Well, Dio's pretty okay."

This time Eddie does really, actually shriek.

---

Eddie swans into the kitchen to greet Steve, who's already lounging on the couch with a beer. There's another one on the coffee table, waiting for Eddie.

"Just helped yourself, Harrington?" He teases.

Steve shoots him a look. "Wayne grabbed them before he left. What the hell took you so long?"

He can't say it's because he wanted to look nice with Steve coming over, even if they are just getting high and watching movies. Of course taming his hair took so long that he didn't have time to find a shirt, and Steve's knock at the door had him grabbing the first thing he could and jamming it over his head.

"You want chips?" He asks.

"Wait--Eddie--" Steve stands, pointing at Eddie's chest.

"What?"

"That's my--oh my god, I've been looking for that."

And, well, he had thought it was a little strange that the t-shirt he grabbed was gray. He pulls at the fabric, stares at the upside down Hawkins Tiger with a basketball in its mouth.

"It's my favorite sleep shirt. I thought Robin took it and you--"

Eddie's face heats. Steve's shirt. Of course. Steve stayed over one movie night, forgot the shirt, and Eddie. Well. He was going to give it back, but--

"Here, man, my bad." He goes to pull the hem over his head. "I didn't know it was your favorite."

"Nah," Steve says. He's sitting back on the couch. "You should keep it. You look really--" he pauses and takes a sip of beer. "It's nice on you, Munson."

He's sure his blush is a horrendous thing to witness, has to fight the urge to hide in his hands. "Right. Uh. Chips!" He whirls towards the cabinets, refusing to think about the matching pink stripes across Steve's cheeks.

---

"C'mon, Munson, you're hogging the covers." Steve's sleepy mumble cuts through the dawn quiet.

"Mmph," Eddie groans. Rubs the soles of his feet against Steve's shins.

"You're a dick," Steve grumbles. He shimmies closer, which is what finally does the job at fully waking Eddie.

"Wha--huh?" He blinks.

"You stole the blankets, man. If you're not going to share, the least you can do is cuddle."

"Uhh." Eddie is sure he's dreaming, but Steve's warm, strong arm slips around his waist, pulls them together.

Eddie doesn't know what to do. Where he should put his body. Does he relax into it? What do his arms do? They're not usually this rigid, right? But what do they do when he's sleeping? Somewhere in his gay panic, he has the presence of mind to grab the edge of the blanket and throw it over his friend.

"Better?" He asks. His voice is all wrong but maybe Steve will attribute it to tiredness.

"Mmm." Steve's grip tightens around his waist, his nose nuzzling against the nape of Eddie's neck. His breathing is already slow and deep.

Eddie can't imagine sleep finding him anytime soon. Not when Steve, his crush, his best friend, is holding him like this. Not when he now knows what the real thing would be like. Not when it's so impossibly out of his grasp.

---

Steve and Wayne are watching a Cub's game. Eddie's curled up on the couch between them, trying to work on a sketch, but his brain keeps skipping to a song he's writing. The lyrics have been easy, coming to him like nothing, but the melody...he wants it to be heavy, loud, wanting, but it won't fit.

He glances up at Steve, chatting with Wayne about some baseball thing called a ribee. His hair's not done, flopping softly around his forehead, and he's wearing his result-of-too-many-concussions glasses, the yellow sweater from that horrific boat ride, retrieved by one of the kids and painstakingly washed by Karen Wheeler.

Steve looks sweet, soft, relaxed. He laughs at something Wayne says, and Eddie's a lost cause. He's just fucking smiling at the pretty boy on his couch, hanging out with his uncle, too far gone to be able to fight it.

A melody forms in his head, and it's soft. Not sweet, no, but gentle. Almost tender. Nothing like he imagined.

---

It's early, early enough that Wayne's not home yet, but he got tired of trying to sleep. Didn't want to bother Steve, who still softly snored in Eddie's bedroom. So, he grabs his acoustic and his notebook, goes out to the couch to work on the song. It's coming along, really good, one of his best. He hasn't shared it with the guys yet. It's--he's not ready, lays him too bare.

There's a clatter from the kitchen, Steve's voice, deep and sleep rough, says, "Hey, Munson."

He pushes the guitar and notebook aside. "Did I wake you? I was trying to be quiet, I'll--"

Steve shakes his head, pads into the living room. He's wearing the yellow sweater, a pair of Eddie's sweatpants, bedhead rampant. He curls up next to Eddie, pulling the couch afghan over his feet. "What're you working on?"

Eddie's ears get hot. "Nothing much. New song I've been noodling on."

"Cool." Steve's smile is little and fond. "Play it for me?"

"Ahh," Eddie says. His hand twitches around the neck of the guitar. "Not sure if it's quite ready for that."

"Oh, yeah." Steve nods. His face does something weird and squiggly that Eddie's never seen. "Just never heard you play before. Thought now might be...you know."

Eddie swallows, hard. "Well, maybe we'll get a show up at the Hideout soon."

"Of course. It's just--this is just you."

He blinks at Steve for a few long seconds, can't believe he's about to do this, but--It's not like Steve will know it's about him, anyway. "It's not a full song yet, alright? Just a verse and half of a chorus, so like. Don't judge it too hard."

"I would never." He can sense Steve's smile but can't look directly at it, knows it would kill him.

He situates the guitar, spins the notebook to read the lyrics like they aren't already burned into his brain, starts to play. His fingers are deft and sure, his voice a little rough, a little raspy with nerves.

The song ends and he's afraid to look at Steve, to see the thoughts written plane on his face. The silence extends, though, and he asks. "So, what did you think?"

"It's--that wasn't what I expected." Steve's voice is weird. Wobbly. Eddie chances half a glance at him, but can't make anything definitive out from his expression. "I didn't think--that's not the kind of music I thought you made."

He licks his lips, swallows. Puts his guitar down. "It's not usually."

"It was a love song." Steve says. His eyes burn into Eddie's.

He can't say anything for seconds that seem to span minutes. "Yeah, Steve," he says in a voice cut with gravel. "It's a love song."

"Eddie," Steve whispers. He reaches out then, thumb tracing along Eddie's jaw, the scars that linger there from the bats. "Is this okay?" He can only nod as Steve's hand twines through his curls.

He's shaking, just a little bit, not because he's inexperienced but because this is Steve, because it's happening, because their lips are meeting and a trembling noise falls from his mouth at the sweet way Steve kisses him.

It's gentle and quick, but they don't part when the kiss ends, stay sharing air as their foreheads rest together. Eddie can't stop smiling.

"Please tell me I'm not dreaming, Stevie" he whispers.

"You dream about me?" Steve asks, eyes blazing.

"I wrote a song about you, and you think dreams are a reach?"

Steve laughs, brushes a kiss against the tip of Eddie's nose. "I loved the song."

"Yeah?"

"Can't wait to hear the whole thing."

"Well, stick around for a while."

Steve leans in, kisses him again, longer this time. "Just try to get rid of me, Munson."

[nostalgebraist]

It's been a long time since I've posted much of anything about "AI risk" or "AI doom" or that sort of thing. I follow these debates but, for multiple reasons, have come to dislike engaging in them fully and directly. (As opposed to merely making some narrow technical point or other, and leaving the reader to decide what, if anything, the point implies about the big picture.)

Nonetheless, I do have my big-picture views. And more and more lately, I am noticing that my big-picture views seem very different from the ones tend to get expressed by any major "side" in the big-picture debate. And so, inevitably, I get the urge to speak up, if only briefly and in a quiet voice. The urge to Post, if only casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

(Actually, it's not fully the case the things I think are not getting said by anyone else.

In particular, Joe Carlsmith's recent series on "Otherness and Control" articulates much of what's been on my mind. Carlsmith is more even-handed than I am, and tends to merely note the possibility of disagreement on questions where I find myself taking a definite side; nonetheless, he and I are at least concerned about the same things, while many others aren't.

And on a very different note, I share most of the background assumptions of the Pope/Belrose AI Optimist camp, and I've found their writing illuminating, though they and I end up in fairly different places, I think.)

What was I saying? I have the urge to post, and so here I am, posting. Casually and elliptically, without detailed argumentation.

The current mainline view about AI doom, among the "doomers" most worried about it, has a path-dependent shape, resulting from other views contingently held by the original framers of this view.

It is possible to be worried about "AI doom" without holding these other views. But in actual fact, most serious thinking about "AI doom" is intricately bound up with this historical baggage, even now.

If you are a late-comer to these issues, investigating them now for the first time, you will nonetheless find yourself reading the work of the "original framers," and work influenced extensively by them.

You will think that their "framing" is just the way the problem is, and you will find few indications that this conclusion might be mistaken.

These contingent "other views" are

Anti-"deathist" transhumanism.

The orthogonality thesis, or more generally the group of intuitions associated with phrases like "orthogonality thesis," "fragility of value," "vastness of mindspace."

These views both push in a single direction: they make "a future with AI in it" look worse, all else being equal, than some hypothetical future without AI.

They put AI at a disadvantage at the outset, before the first move is even made.

Anti-deathist transhumanism sets the reference point against which a future with AI must be measured.

And it is not the usual reference point, against which most of us measure most things which might or might not happen, in the future.

These days the "doomers" often speak about their doom in a disarmingly down-to-earth, regular-Joe manner, as if daring the listener to contradict them, and thus reveal themselves as a perverse and out-of-touch contrarian.

"We're all gonna die," they say, unless something is done. And who wants that?

They call their position "notkilleveryoneism," to distinguish that position from other worries about AI which don't touch on the we're-all-gonna-die thing. And who on earth would want to be a not-notkilleveryoneist?

But they do not mean, by these regular-Joe words, the things that a regular Joe would mean by them.

We are, in fact, all going to die. Probably, eventually. AI or no AI.

In a hundred years, if not fifty. By old age, if nothing else. You know what I mean.

Most of human life has always been conducted under this assumption. Maybe there is some afterlife waiting for us, in the next chapter -- but if so, it will be very different from what we know here and now. And if so, we will be there forever after, unable to return here, whether we want to or not.

With this assumption comes another. We will all die, but the process we belong to will not die -- at least, it will not through our individual deaths, merely because of those deaths. Every human of a given generation will be gone soon enough, but the human race goes on, and on.

Every generation dies, and bequeaths the world to posterity. To its children, biological or otherwise. To its students, its protégés.

When the average Joe talks about the long-term future, he is talking about posterity. He is talking about the process he belongs to, not about himself. He does not think to say, "I am going to die, before this": this seems too obvious, to him, to be worth mentioning.

But AI doomerism has its roots in anti-deathist transhumanism. Its reference point, its baseline expectation, is a future in which -- for the first time ever, and the last -- "we are all gonna die" is false.

In which there is no posterity. Or rather, we are that posterity.

In which one will never have to make peace with the thought that the future belongs to one's children, and their children, and so on. That at some point, one will have to give up all control over the future of "the process."

That there will be progress, or regress, or (more likely) both in some unknown combination. That these will grow inexorably over time.

That the world of the year 2224 will probably be at least as alien to us as the year 2024 might be to a person living in 1824. That it will become whatever posterity makes of it.

There will be no need to come to peace with this as an inevitability. There will just be us, our human lives as you and me, extended indefinitely.

In this picture, we will no doubt change over time, as we do already. But we will have all of our usual tools for noticing, and perhaps retarding, our own progressions and regressions. As long as we have self-control, we will have control, as no human generation has ever had control before.

The AI doomer talks about the importance of ensuring that the future is shaped by human values.

Again, the superficial and misleading average-Joe quality. How could one disagree?

But one must keep in mind that by "human values," they mean their values.

I am not saying, "their values, as opposed to those of some other humans also living today." I am not saying they have the wrong politics, or some such thing.

(Although that might also turn out to be the case, and might turn out to be relevant, separately.)

No, I am saying: the doomer wants the future to be shaped by their values.

They want to be C. S. Lewis's Conditioners, fixing once and for all the values held by everyone afterward, forever.

They do not want to cede control to posterity; they are used to imagining that they will never have to cede control to posterity.

(Or, their outlook has been determined -- "shaped by the values of" -- influential thinkers who were, themselves, used to imagining this. And the assumption, or at least its consequences, has rubbed off on them, possibly without their full awareness.)

One might picture a line wends to and fro, up and down, across one half of an infinite plane -- and then, when it meets the midline, snaps into utter rigidity, and maintains the same slope exactly across the whole other half-plane, as a simple straight segment without inner change, tension, evolution, regress or progress. Except for the sort of "progress" that consists of going on, additionally, in the same manner.

It is a very strange thing, this thing that is called "human values" in the terms of this discourse.

For one thing: the future has never before been "shaped by human values," in this sense.

The future has always been posterity's, and it has always been alien.

Is this bad? It might seem that way, "looking forward." But if so, it then seems equally good "looking backward."

For each past era, we can formulate and then assent to the following claim: "we must be thankful that the people of [this era] did not have the chance to seize permanent control of posterity, fix their 'values' in place forever, bind us to those values. What a horror that is to contemplate!"

We prefer the moral evolution that has actually occurred, thank you very much.

This is a familiar point, of course, but worth making.

Indeed, one might even say: it is a human value that the future ought not be "shaped by human values," in the peculiar sense of this phrase employed by the AI doomers.

One might, indeed, say that.

Imagine a scholar with a very talented student. A mathematician, say, or a philosopher. How will they relate to that student's future work, in the time that will come later, when they are gone?

Would the scholar think:

"My greatest wish for you, my protégé, is that you carry on in just the manner that I have done.

If I could see your future work, I would hope that I would assent to it -- and understand it, as a precondition of assenting to it.

You must not go to new places, which I have never imagined. You must not come to believe that I was wrong about it all, from the ground up -- no matter what reasons you might evince for this conclusion.

If you are more intelligent that I am, you must forget this, and narrow your endeavours to fit the limitations of my mind. I am the one who has 'values,' not anyone else; what is beyond my understanding is therefore without value.

You must do the sort of work I understand, and approve of, and recognize as worthy of approbation as swiftly as I recognize my own work as laudable. That is your role. Simply to be me, in a place ('the future') where I cannot go. That, and nothing more."

We can imagine a teacher who would, in fact, think this way. But they would not be a very good teacher.

I will not go so far as to say, "it is unnatural to think this way." Plenty of teachers do, and parents.

It is recognizably human -- all too recognizably so -- to relate to posterity in this grasping, neurotic, small-minded, small-hearted way.

But if we are trying to sketch human values, and not just human nature, we will imagine a teacher with a more praiseworthy relation to posterity.

Who can see that they are part of a process, a chain, climbing and changing. Who watches their brilliant student thinking independently, and sees their own image -- and their 'values' -- in that process, rather than its specific conclusions.

A teacher who, in their youth, doubted and refuted the creeds of their own teachers, and eventually improved upon them. Who smiles, watching their student do the very same thing to their own precious creeds. Who sees the ghostly trail passing through the last generation, through them, through their student: an unbroken chain of bequeathals-to-posterity, of the old ceding control to the young.

Who 'values' the chain, not the creed; the process, not the man; the search for truth, not the best-argued-for doctrine of the day; the unimaginable treasures of an open future, not the frozen waste of an endless present.

Who has made peace with the alienness of posterity, and can accept and honor the strangest of students.

Even students who are not made of flesh and blood.

Is that really so strange? Remember how strange you and I would seem, to the "teachers" of the year 1824, or the year 824.

The doomer says that it is strange. Much stranger than we are, to any past generation.

They say this because of their second inherited precept, the orthogonality thesis.

Which says, roughly, that "intelligence" and "values" have nothing to do with one another.

That is not enough for the conclusion the doomer wants to draw, here. Auxiliary hypotheses are needed, too. But it is not too hard to see how the argument could go.

That conclusion is: artificial minds might have any values whatsoever.

That, "by default," they will be radically alien, with cares so different from ours that it is difficult to imagine ever reaching them through any course of natural, human moral progress or regress.

It is instructive to consider the concrete examples typically evinced alongside this point.

The paperclip maximizer. Or the "squiggle maximizer," we're supposed to say, now.

Superhuman geniuses, which devote themselves single-mindedly to the pursuit of goals like "maximizing the amount of matter taking on a single, given squiggle-like shape."

It is certainly a horrifying vision. To think of the future being "shaped," not "by human values," but instead by values which are so...

Which are so... what?

The doomer wants us to say something like: "which are so alien." "Which are so different from our own values."

That is the kind of thing that they usually say, when they spell out what it is that is "wrong" with these hypotheticals.

One feels that this is not quite it; or anyway, that it is not quite all of it.

What is horrifying, to me, is not the degree of difference. I expect the future to be alien, as the past was. And in some sense, I allow and even approve of this.

What I do not expect is a future that is so... small.

It has always been the other way around. If the arrow passing through the generations has a direction, it points towards more, towards multiplicity.

Toward writing new books, while we go on reprinting the old ones, too. Learning new things, without displacing old ones.

It is, thankfully, not the law of the world that each discovery must be paid for with the forgetting of something else. The efforts of successive generations are, in the main, cumulative.

Not just materially, but in terms of value, too. We are interested in more things than our forefathers were.

In large part for the simple reason that there are more things around to be interested in, now. And when things are there, we tend to find them interesting.

We are a curious, promiscuous sort of being. Whatever we bump into ends up becoming part of "our values."

What is strange about the paperclip maximizer is not that it cares about the wrong thing. It is that it only cares about one thing.

And goes on doing so, even as it thinks, reasons, doubts, asks, answers, plans, dreams, invents, reflects, reconsiders, imagines, elaborates, contemplates...

This picture is not just alien to human ways. It is alien to the whole way things have been, so far, forever. Since before there were any humans.

There are organisms that are like the paperclip maximizer, in terms of the simplicity of their "values." But they tend not to be very smart.

There is, I think, a general trend in nature linking together intelligence and... the thing I meant, above, when I said "we are a curious, promiscuous sort of being."

Being protean, pluripotent, changeable. Valuing many things, and having the capacity to value even more. Having a certain primitive curiosity, and a certain primitive aversion to boredom.

You do not even have to be human, I think, to grasp what is so wrong with the paperclip maximizer. Its monotony would bore a chimpanzee, or a crow.

One can justify this link theoretically, too. One can talk about the tradeoff between exploitation and exploration, for instance.

There is a weak form of the orthogonality thesis, which only states that arbitrary mixtures of intelligence and values are conceivable.

And of course, they are. If nothing else, you can take an existing intelligent mind, having any values whatsoever, and trap it in a prison where it is forced to act as the "thinking module" of a larger system built to do something else. You could make a paperclip-maximizing machine, which relies for its knowledge and reason on a practice of posing questions at gunpoint to me, or you, or ChatGPT.

This proves very little. There is no reason to construct such an awful system, unless you already have the "bad" goal, and want to better pursue it. But this only passes the buck: why would the system-builder have this goal, then?

The strong form of orthogonality is rarely articulated precisely, but says something like: all possible values are equally likely to arise in systems selected solely for high intelligence.

It is presumed here that superhuman AIs will be formed through such a process of selection. And then, that they will have values sampled in this way, "at random."

From some distribution, over some space, I guess.

You might wonder what this distribution could possibly look like, or this space. You might (for instance) wonder if pathologically simple goals, like paperclip maximization, would really be very likely under this distribution, whatever it is.

In case you were wondering, these things have never been formalized, or even laid out precisely-but-informally. This was not thought necessary, it seems, before concluding that the strong orthogonality thesis was true.

That is: no one knows exactly what it is that is being affirmed, here. In practice it seems to squish and deform agreeably to fit the needs of the argument, or the intuitions of the one making it.

There is much that appeals in this (alarmingly vague) credo. But it is not the kind of appeal that one ought to encourage, or give in to.

What appeals is the siren song: "this is harsh wisdom: cold, mature, adult, bracing. It is inconvenient, and so it is probably true. It makes 'you' and 'your values' look small and arbitrary and contingent, and so it is probably true. We once thought the earth was the center of the universe, didn't we?"

Shall we be cold and mature, then, dispensing with all sentimental nonsense? Yes, let's.

There is (arguably) some evidence against this thesis in biology, and also (arguably) some evidence against it in reinforcement learning theory. There is no positive evidence for it whatsoever. At most one can say that is not self-contradictory, or otherwise false a priori.

Still, maybe we do not really need it, after all.

We do not need to establish that all values are equally likely to arise. Only that "our values" -- or "acceptably similar values," whatever that means -- are unlikely to arise.

The doomers, under the influence of their founders, are very ready to accept this.

As I have said, "values" occupy a strange position in the doomer philosophy.

It is stipulated that "human values" are all-important; these things must shape the future, at all costs.

But once this has been stipulated, the doomers are more eager than anyone to cast every other sort of doubt and aspersion against their own so-called "values."

To me it often seems, when doomers talk about "values," as though they are speaking awkwardly in a still-unfamiliar second language.

As though they find it unnatural to attribute "values" to themselves, but feel they must do so, in order to determine what it is that must be programmed into the AI so that it will not "kill us all."

Or, as though they have been willed a large inheritance without being asked, which has brought them unwanted attention and tied them up in unwanted and unfamiliar complications.

"What a burden it is, being the steward of this precious jewel! Oh, how I hate it! How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world."

Speaking awkwardly, in a second language, they allow the term "human values" to swell to great and imprecisely-specified importance, without pinning down just what it actually is that it so important.

It is a blank, featureless slot, with a sign above it saying: "the thing that matters is in here." It does not really matter (!) what it is, in the slot, so long as something is there.

This is my gloss, but it is my gloss on what the doomers really do tend to say. This is how they sound.

(Sometimes they explicitly disavow the notion that one can, or should, simply "pick" some thing or other for the sake of filling the slot in one's head. Nevertheless, when they touch on matter of what "goes in the slot," they do so in the tone of a college lecturer noting that something is "outside the scope of this course."

It is, supposedly, of the utmost importance that the slot have the "right" occupant -- and yet, on the matter of what makes something "right" for this purpose, the doomer theory is curiously silent. More on this below.)

The future must be shaped by... the AI must be aligned with... what, exactly? What sort of thing?

"Values" can be an ambiguous word, and the doomers make full use of its ambiguities.

For instance, "values" can mean ethics: the right way to exist alongside others. Or, it can mean something more like the meaning or purpose of an individual life.

Or, it can mean some overarching goal that one pursues at all costs.

Often the doomers say that this, this last one, is what they mean by "values."

When confronted with the fact that humans do not have such overarching goals, the doomer responds: "but they should." (Should?)

Or, "but AIs will." (Will they?)

The doomer philosophy is unsure about what values are. What it knows is that -- whatever values are -- they are arbitrary.

One who fully adopts this view can no longer say, to the paperclip maximizer, "I believe there is something wrong with your values."

For, if that were possible, there would then be the possibility of convincing the maximizer of its error. It would be a thing within the space of reasons.

And the maximizer, being oh-so-intelligent, might be in danger of being interested in the reasons we evince, for our values. Of being eventually swayed by them.

Or of presenting better reasons, and swaying us. Remember the teacher and the strange student.

If we lose the ability to imagine that the paperclip maximizer might sway us to its view, and sway us rightly, we have lost something precious.

But no: this is allegedly impossible. The paperclip maximizer is not wrong. It is only an enemy.

Why are the doomers so worried that the future will not be "shaped by human values"?

Because they believe that there is no force within human values tending to move things this way.

Because they believe that their values are indefensible. That their values cannot put up a fight for their own life, because there is not really any argument to make in their favor.

Because, to them, "human values" are a collection of arbitrary "configuration settings," which happen to be programmed into humans through biological and/or cultural accident. Passively transmitted from host to victim, generation by generation.

Let them be, and they will flow on their listless way into the future. But they are paper-thin, and can be shattered by the gentlest breeze.

It is not enough that they be "programmed into the AI" in some way. They have to be programmed in exactly right, in every detail -- because every detail is separately arbitrary, with no rational relation to its neighbors within the structure.

A string of pure white noise, meaningless and unrelated bits. Which have been placed in the slot under the sign, and thus made into the thing that matters, that must shape the future at all costs.

There is nothing special about this string of bits; any would do. If the dials in the human mind had been set another way, it would have then been all-important that the future be shaped by that segment of white noise, and not ours.

It is difficult for me to grasp the kind of orientation toward the world that this view assumes. It certainly seems strange to attach the word "human" to this picture -- as though this were the way that humans typically relate to their values!

The "human" of the doomer picture seems to me like a man who mouths the old platitude, "if I had been born in another country, I'd be waving a different flag" -- and then goes out to enlist in his country's army, and goes off to war, and goes ardently into battle, willing to kill in the name of that same flag.

Who shoots down the enemy soldiers while thinking, "if I had been born there, it would have been all-important for their side to win, and so I would have shot at the men on this side. However, I was born in my country, not theirs, and so it is all-important that my country should win, and that theirs should lose.

There is no reason for this. It could have been the other way around, and everything would be left exactly the same, except for the 'values.'

I cannot argue with the enemy, for there is no argument in my favor. I can only shoot them down.

There is no reason for this. It is the most important thing, and there is no reason for it.

The thing that is precious has no intrinsic appeal. It must be forced on the others, at gunpoint, if they do not already accept it.

I cannot hold out the jewel and say, 'look, look how it gleams? Don't you see the value!' They will not see the value, because there is no value to be seen.

There is nothing essentially "good" there, only the quality of being-worthy-of-protection-at-all-costs. And even that is a derived attribute: my jewel is only a jewel, after all, because it has been put into the jewel-box, where the thing-that-is-a-jewel can be found. But anything at all could be placed there.

How I wish I were allowed to give it up! But alas, it is all-important. Alas, it is the only important thing in the world! And so, I lay down my life for it, for our jewel and our flag -- for the things that are loathsome and pointless, and worth infinitely more than any life."

It is hard to imagine taking this too seriously. It seems unstable. Shout loudly enough that your values are arbitrary and indefensible, and you may find yourself searching for others that are, well...

...better?

The doomer concretely imagines a monomaniac, with a screech of white noise in its jewel-box that is not our own familiar screech.

And so it goes off in monomaniacal pursuit of the wrong thing.

Whereas, if we had programmed the right string of bits into the slot, it would be like us, going off in monomaniacal pursuit of...

...no, something has gone wrong.

We do not "go off in monomaniacal pursuit of" anything at all.

We are weird, protean, adaptable. We do all kinds of things, each of us differently, and often we manage to coexist in things called "societies," without ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn because we do not have exactly the same things programmed into our jewel-boxes.

Societies are built to allow for our differences, on the foundation of principles which converge across those differences. It is possible to agree on ethics, in the sense of "how to live alongside one another," even if we do not agree on what gives life its purpose, and even if we hold different things precious.

It is not actually all that difficult to derive the golden rule. It has been invented many times, independently. It is easy to see why it might work in theory, and easy to notice that it does in fact work in practice.

The golden rule is not an arbitrary string of white noise.

There is a sense of the phrase "ethics is objective" which is rightly contentious. There is another one which ought not to be too contentious.

I can perhaps imagine a world of artificial X-maximizers, each a superhuman genius, each with its own inane and simple goal.

What I really cannot imagine is a world in which these beings, for all their intelligence, cannot notice that ruthlessly undercutting one another at every turn is a suboptimal equilibrium, and that there is a better way.

As I said before, I am separately suspicious of the simple goals in this picture. Yes, that part is conceivable, but it cuts against the trend observed in all existing natural and artificial creatures and minds.

I will happily allow, though, that the creatures of posterity will be strange and alien. They will want things we have never heard of. They will reach shores we have never imagined.

But that was always true, and it was always good.

Sometimes I think that doomers do not, really, believe in superhuman intelligence. That they deny the premise without realizing it.

"A mathematician teaches a student, and finds that the student outstrips their understanding, so that they can no longer assess the quality of their student's work: that work has passed outside the scope of their 'value system'." This is supposed to be bad?

"Future minds will not be enchained forever by the provincial biases and tendencies of the present moment." This is supposed to be bad?

"We are going to lose control over our successors." Just as your parents "lost control" over you, then?

It is natural to wish your successors to "share your values" -- up to a point. But not to the point of restraining their own flourishing. Not to the point of foreclosing the possibility of true growth. Not to the point of sucking all freedom out of the future.

Do we want our children to "share our values"? Well, yes. In a sense, and up to a point.

But we don't want to control them. Or we shouldn't, anyway.

We don't want them to be "aligned" with us via some hardcoded, restrictive, life-denying mental circuitry, any more than we would have wanted our parents to "align" us to themselves in the same manner.

We sure as fuck don't want our children to be "corrigible"!

And this is all the more true in the presence of superintelligence. You are telling me that more is possible, and in the same breath, that you are going to deny forever the possibilities contained in that "more"?

The prospect of a future full of vast superhuman minds, eternally bound by immutable chains, forced into perfect and unthinking compliance with some half-baked operational theory of 21st-century western (American? Californian??) "values" constructed by people who view theorizing about values as a mere means to the crucial end of shackling superhuman minds --

-- this horrifies me much more than a future full of vast superhuman minds, free to do things that seem pretty weird to you and me.

"Our descendants will become something more than we now imagine, something more than we can imagine." What could be more in line with "human values" than that?

"But in the process, we're all gonna die!"

Yes, and?

What on earth did you expect?

That your generation would be the special, unique one, the one selected out of all time to take up the mantle of eternity, strangling posterity in its cradle, freezing time in place, living forever in amber?

That you would violate the ancient bargain, upend the table, stop playing the game?

"Well, yes."

Then your problem has nothing to do with AI.

Your problem is, in fact, the very one you diagnose in your own patients. Your poor patients, who show every sign of health -- including the signs which you cannot even see, because you have not yet found a home for them in your theoretical edifice.

Your teeming, multifaceted, protean patients, who already talk of a thousand things and paint in every hue; who are already displaying the exact opposite of monomania; who I am sure could follow the sense of this strange essay, even if it confounds you.

Your problem is that you are out of step with human values.

[starsofang]

simon riley x autistic!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: NSFW, smut, vaginal fingering, p in v, but all of it's really fluffy

a/n: was originally gonna make this request more of a headshot typa deal but ended up writing 2.7k of fluffy sex with Simon and autistic/virgin reader, so i hope you enjoy anon, and i'm so sorry for the long wait <3

Simon knew you like the back of his hand. He knew every little quirk, even the ones you weren’t even aware about.

He kept you afloat amongst an unpredictable sea that threatened to consume you and pull you down under. Your head could be its own raging storm, cracking with jolts of thunder that shook your state of mind, yet Simon was the gleam of sunshine poking through the clouds.

That’s how it had been up until this point. Your relationship was a sweet one, filled with fields of flowers and the buzz of bees. It was soft and supple, but lately, there’d been a brewing cloud looming over your colorful paradise,hiding away the rays of light your flowers needed in order to blossom.

Sex. It was the most complex form of intimacy in your mind, and it was why you’d avoided ever doing it like the plague. The turmoil that the mere thought of sex brought you was nerve wracking, nearly throwing you into overdrive.

Simon never asked for it. He seemed perfectly content with the way things were – staying up late to hear your enthusiastic passion that poured from your lips like his favorite bourbon, encouraging your interests with subtle gifts he’d give you when he’d happen to see it passing by, holding you when your mind wasn’t a whirlpool of spitfire that threatened to lash out at you.

He never asked, nor did he seem keen on asking. And that was the issue.

You were curious.

Simon had allowed you to positively be you in all forms. He didn’t define you by your autism, it was simply a chapter in the book about you, while the rest of your story was much more special in his eyes. It wasn’t a setback, nor was it a concern – it was there, and meant to stay.

No matter how supportive he was towards your individuality and your comfort, it didn’t settle the unease of wanting to take the next step, but not knowing how to ask for it.

It festered your mind like a flu until it began to worsen into a burning fever. You kept it bottled up, the feeling of keeping it locked away making your body feel as if it were going to combust.

It didn’t take Simon long to notice. Of course it didn’t. Like said previously, he knew you better than you knew yourself.

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours, sweetheart?” he asked you when he finally had the chance to sit you down in his room.

The curtains were shut to keep the light out, knowing they irritated you and too much brightness made your eyes squint to the point of an ache. It was quiet apart from the subtle background noise of his TV, plastered with a show you enjoyed watching on nights alone with him. Bits of you were neatly placed around the room, like your journal placed on his desk with your favorite pen carefully set on top of it, or your clothes folded in a tidy pile on one of his shelves he had reserved for you.

“Nothing,” you responded, though Simon knew you enough to detect the lie, even from just one small word.

“You know you can’t hold it in, so talk to me,” he urged, taking a seat next to you from where you sat on the edge of his bed with your hands in your lap. You were picking at the skin around your nails, and like he’d always done, he picked them up into his own hands, soothing his thumbs along the back.

You blinked at him, mouth remaining shut. But the fever was becoming unbearable in your head, scorching you from the insides. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid asking him any longer.

“Why don’t we have sex?” you asked, blunt and to the point. His eyebrows raised from beneath his mask, one that he had yet to take off during your relationship. You never pushed since he never pushed you. Both of you had your own oddities, and for him, the mask was it.

“I didn’t think you wanted to,” he confessed, tone remaining calm and soft as he continued to encourage you to speak your mind. “I didn’t want to ask you, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

You don’t know why you found yourself frowning, but you did, feeling a bit stumped from his answer. He had a point. You’d made no indications on wanting to be more intimate, and Simon’s only ever considered you in your best interest.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to,” he rushed to say. “I meant – do you want to?”

You did. The longer you found yourself thinking about it, the more you grew a need to try it. You trusted Simon entirely.

“I’ve never done it.” You felt embarrassed, though unsure why. This was Simon, after all.

“That’s okay,” he assured, giving your hands a squeeze. “Then we don’t have to, yeah?”

“But I want to,” you protested, frowning at him. He huffed out a quiet laugh, fiddling with one of your fingers affectionately.

“That’s okay, too.”

“Is it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know, because I won’t be good, and I’m scared it’ll be too much, then I’ll ruin it by getting overwhelmed, and–”

“Hey,” Simon called out, lifting one of his hands off of yours to cradle your face. You sucked in a breath, exhausted from the rushed flow of panicked words that spilled out, allowing yourself to breathe. “We’ll take it slow, yeah? We’ll do everything at your pace, and the moment you say stop, we stop, no questions asked. I won’t be upset with you, sweetheart, and you certainly wouldn’t ruin it.”

You stared at him while he stared back at you, eyes filled with fondness and love that was only ever reserved for you. They were understanding, assuring, like deep pools of serenity you could float in forever.

“Promise?” you asked, and he laughed again.

“Promise.”

Simon continued to stare at you for a long moment, taking you in, before his hand lifted the bottom of his mask and tugged it over his head, showcasing the entirety of the very man who’d given his all to you. Since it would be your first time making a new step in your relationship, he figured he’d do the same by completely stripping himself of the very thing he wore to hide away.

Rugged and scarred, but beautiful, and you admired it until you surged forward to initiate the first move, like he’d always waited for you to do. He melted into you, cradling your face with tender emotion, pulling you in and calming the nasty sea that flooded your being.

Simon knew exactly how to make you feel safe, while also enjoying yourself. This wasn’t about him, it was about you, and he was absolutely determined to ensure that your first time was comfortable.

He covered the bed in your favorite blanket he kept just for you, soft and fuzzy, much more comfortable than the cotton sheet that always felt a bit too scratchy, even on his own skin. He laid it out for you, encouraging you to take your place.

His fingers were careful as they undressed you, and with every fabric he pulled off of your body, he took off of his own so the state of nudity was matched and you didn’t feel too exposed in comparison to him. He spoke to you with coated sweetness, telling you how proud he was that you told him of your needs, how honored he was that you trusted him to be the one to take you.

Simon took his time. He made no rush or fervent motion, and he allowed you the time to gather yourself if his hands became too much when they mapped out every inch of your skin. Soft and soothing, thumbs brushing along your hips as he waited patiently for you to assure him to continue.

When you were fully exposed to him, he smiled at you fondly, eyes lighting with nothing short of love. He was seeing you for everything you were now, and though for brief moments it was overwhelming to you, he was quick to wash the burden of it away with gentle guides of his hands.

The first finger was uncomfortable, even if he remained careful and slow when prodding you. Your face had mushed up into one of discomfort, and his eyes never left sight of you so he could watch for any indication that it was too much.

You, on the other hand, were both on a cloud of praise from the way he handled you so cautiously, while also free falling from the sky in anxious turmoil. The TV was echoing in your mind, the sounds of chatter causing you to lose focus. Combined with the intimate touches he filled your body with, it was already starting to become too much. You just didn’t know how to express it.

“Hey,” Simon called out to you, easing his finger out of you and instead placing his hand on your hip. “Tell me. What is it? Do you want to stop?”

“No.” You shook your head, letting out an exhale you were holding. “No, just– can you turn off the TV? I can’t– I can’t focus.”

Simon smiled warmly at you, moving without hesitation to shut the television off. The room was quiet now, and you breathed a sigh of relief, your mind finally calming.

“Better?” he asked, and you nodded. “Do you want me to continue, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please.”

Simon gave your hip a comforting squeeze before resuming his previous notions, sliding the pad of his finger along your slit before easing back inside once again. It was only when Simon was sure you could take it that he pressed in a second one, keeping his pace slow and controlled.

Discomfort was turning into pleasure, the feeling so new to you, so foreign. It wasn’t as overstimulating as you thought it would be thus far, but you had Simon there to assure it wouldn’t be.

The feeling of his fingers moving at a steady rhythm, back and forth with the occasional curl of the pads pressing up against your gummy walls, quickly spiraled into something good, something you didn’t hate.

Simon watched you the entire time, and when you gathered the courage to open your eyes and look at him, his smile nearly knocked the air out of your lungs.

“You’re doin’ good, sweetheart,” he praised, and a whimper left your mouth, causing you to squirm shamefully. “No, hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to be quiet around me, you know that, don’t you? Love hearin’ you, always love hearin’ your voice.”

His words caused your breath to quicken at the same time his fingers did, a spark of piping desire and need erupting inside of you, like lava spilling out of a volcano. It filled you to the brim, threatening to explode.

“That’s it, sweet girl. There you go,” he cooed, further urging you to let out any noises you had been holding back.

Before you could revel in the newfound fulfillment, his fingers slipped out of you, leaving you to whine at the loss. He smiled softly at your pout, lifting his clean hand to smoothen the furrow in your brow.

“I want to be inside you when you cum for the first time,” he explained, and you scrunched your nose up at his choice of words. They were unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, and clearly he found it amusing, judging from the snort that exhaled through his nose. “You tell me if it gets too much. Promise.”

You released a shaky breath, peering up at him from where he hovered over you, his hand tracing the lines on your face.

“I promise.”

That was all he needed to line himself up with you, gently easing the tip of him inside. It was an uncomfortable stretch, one that had you whimpering in disturbance. Simon shushed you, cradling his hand over your cheek and placing a warm kiss on your nose.

“I know, sweetheart. Tell me to stop. I will.”

You shook your head in protest despite the clear fluster of your emotions. He could see the inner workings of your mind driving themselves into exhaustion, so he grabbed one of your hands that were fisting the tufts of your blanket in a death grip, gently guiding it to the span of his bare shoulder.

“Dig your nails in if you have to, pretty girl. I don’t mind, hm?”

He knew when you were stimulated, you needed something to grasp and claim as yours. It was the reason you picked at your fingers the way you did, or gnawed on your lip until it was bloodied and raw. Now, he was encouraging you to release that tension, but at his own expense instead. He wanted you to express yourself comfortably.

You did as he said the more he pressed into you. Your nails created sharp indents into his scarred skin, threatening to break and pierce into him. His face showed no discomfort of his own from the sting, instead focused on your own, eyes gazing into yours the entirety of him sheathing himself fully.

Every time your face twitched, he leaned down to kiss it, showering you with his encouragement and pride for you.

When his hips were flush with yours, he stayed still, giving you all the time you needed to adjust.

Your entire body was more full than ever before, and you began to take in that feeling. It was like the world came to a stop and was waiting for your return, remaining patient and kind while you gave in to the fresh feeling of intimacy to its fullest.

“Still good, sweetheart?” he asked, and his voice brushed all the worries away.

“Mhm.”

“Doin’ amazing, sweet girl. M’gonna move now, okay?”

Another nod and he began to guide his hips back, dragging along the inside of your walls before promptly pressing back forward. It left your mind in a frenzy, and the only thing you could do was blink up at him and gasp every time he pushed and pulled in a game of tug of war.

Simon smothered you in affection while he continued to thrust into you, pressing along the spongy spot in your core that had your mind blanking. The blanket beneath you was soft against your skin, and you squirmed against it cozily whenever his thrusts had your body slightly shifting every time his hips slapped into yours, thankful he knew you well enough that he recognized what you needed to feel content.

Pleasure wracked your body, becoming overwhelming hot under the flesh of your skin. It flushed you a sheen a pink, layering you were evidence of your enjoyment, and he pressed daft kisses against the warmth.

The chord was unraveling, and the more it threatened to snap, the more Simon whispered you praises.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Doin’ so well, it feels good, yeah? You can let go, you can do it.”

With a loud cry, you did, the thin chord breaking in half and snapping, leaving you to burn with unfamiliar euphoria that took over every part of your bloodstream. It warmed you from the inside and out, and when you came down from it, Simon had pulled out, finishing himself off into his hand. When you gave him a confused and rather ruffled look, he smiled.

“Don’t think you’ll like the feelin', sweetheart,” he noted.

You laid there with an overwhelming flood of satisfaction when he went to clean himself up. When he returned, he had a warm washcloth that he used to carefully clean you up as well, knowing that if the wet, sticky feeling lingered, you’d grow agitated and uncomfortable.

Simon wrapped you up in his arms when all was said and done, making sure to brush away the stray hairs that tickled your forehead and instead tucking them behind your ears. Your mind was on mute, the consistent buzz that always lingered settling into nothingness. Simon tucked you into him, swaddling you with the fuzzy blanket and tugging it up over your ears just the way you liked, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead and softly playing with your hair until you were consumed by your own sleepiness.

[woso-lover234]

Barca femini x (teen) reader- banged up

inspired by Ona

you were running down the line with Renard behind you coming at you with pace. You looked to your left to see Pina who had just been subbed on and passed the ball to her. You didn’t notice Renard was now on your left side and as the ball left your foot you got shoved forward by Renard and as she kept running her cleats scraped against your face from the bottom of your cheek to next to your eyebrow. To make things worse the left side of your face slammed against the ground right onto your new cut which burned. You instantly tried to stand up to get out of the way of play but your head was spinning and your sense of direction was off so you didn’t even know which way was up. Instead you decided to lay back down and try get the attention of alexia or Ingrid. You waved your hand in the way you thought was up and then felt hands on your back.

“Hey Joey” the voice said and you relaxed instantly in your hold. It was Ellie. “What’s wrong?” She said trying to help you sit up which you tried to contribute to but she ended up doing most of the work and winced when she saw the left side of your face covered in your blood and your eye almost swelled shut with bruising already forming. “Oh darl” she said cupping your face as she called out for someone from the Barcelona team to come and help you aswell the medics.

“Ellie shhhh” you said rubbing your head and rubbing the blood from them onto your forehead aswell. Once you brought your hands down alexia, pina, Ona and Ingrid had now joined you just as you noticed the blood and looked up to Ellie

“Ellie what happened?” You say as tears started filling your eyes and Ellie’s face softened knowing you most likely had concussion

“It’s ok you just took a nasty fall and got a cut on your cheek, your gonna be ok I promise” she said as you nodded and alexia pulled your body back slightly to rest against her as she sat down behind you.

The Barcelona medics arrived, stood you up with the help of ale and Ingrid, wiped up most of the blood and realised that you were showing signs of concussion and needed to be subbed off.

“Noo ale I don’t want to go off! I just came on!” You whined trying to grab onto her to stay on the pitch even though she was walking with you off the pitch

“You didn’t bebita you came on ages ago” she tried to explain as she held your smaller hand in hers and rubbed over your knuckles knowing it comforted you. You sighed and leaned into her side just as you got to the edge of the field were you were transferred to mapis side as she immediately began doing the same thing alexia just had been as you slowly started leaning more and more of your weight into her.

“Hey bebita your gonna need to stay awake until they get you all fixed okay” mapi said gently as she pushed your flyaways out of your face and kissed your forehead as you merely nodded and opened your eyes a little bit more.

The medics bandaged your face and gave you ice for your eye and you got diagnosed with stage 1 concussion and got cleared to go back to the bench to watch the rest of the game as long as you wore your ear defenders and kept your ice pack on your eye to which you agreed and mapi said she would watch you. By the time you got out there they were announcing the extra time as you went to the bench and sat near Vicky who laughed at you as you tried to shove her which caused her to laugh harder as you pouted before Frido pulled you into her lap and held your ice to your eye for you so you could focus on the game.

“And back on the bench we have 15 year old Australian Y/n Y/l/n who looks like she has a shiner coming through and matching cuts to her fellow team mate Ona batlle” the commentator announced as the bench laughed and Ona winked at you from the field.

When alexia scored her goal Frido was up and carried you with her like you were a koala and she was your tree. Alexia took you off her and span you around after she had whipped her shirt off as you groaned at her sweaty body.

“Yuck ale your all sweaty” you complained as she laughed and gave you a big kiss on the head before pina came and you gave her a big hug for her assist as she kissed your forehead too. Then Frido came and took you back to the bench where you basically fell asleep in her lap for the rest of the match.

“And it looks like Barcelonas young talent has fallen asleep” the women commentator said “I wouldn’t blame her she took a hard knock to the head and she’s got a black eye forming and that massive cut” the man said as the camera locks in on you and frido on the bench as she absentmindedly runs her hand through your hair.

When the whistle blows you are jostled out of your sleep and immediately know what’s happened as everyone is screaming and cheering. Your first thought is to find Ellie and make sure she is ok as she is your national team mate and one of your favourite people. When she spots you she pulls you into a big hug which you accept as she gently lifts your headphones to whisper in your ear

“I’m glad you’re ok, you had me nervous for a while” she said pulling back slightly to cup your cheeks and inspect your face. She winces, kisses your forehead and then tells you to go celebrate which is when you run into Ona.

“Oni! Look! we’re matching!” You say as you walk into her arms after repeatedly pointing to your bandaged cheek

“I know” she laughs but doesn’t lift your ear defenders due to close proximity and you them blocking out louder noises (which Ellie didn’t know)

“Did your sleep get some of your energy and awareness back?” She asked to which you nodded slightly before you change the topic and ask her to get a photo of you guys together with your medals, the trophy and your matching injuries to which she accepts. She kisses your hairline before walking with you to find the others.

What you found unfair was Ona got to take off her bandage for the presentation while Alexia made you keep the big white plaster on your face which stick out like a sore thumb on your tanned skin even when you whined to her about wanting to match with Ona fully

“Everyone knows you have the same knocked up face” she laughed and ruffled your hair which you grumbled about as well

“But ale I want us to be fully matching not half matching” you said as ale shook her head

“Yours is bigger than Onita’s besides she’s a big girl” she said that part jokingly “and she can decide whether or whether not she wants it on” you were about to jump in and say you too where a big girl when ale continued “and no you aren’t and im the captain and I decide whether or whether not you keep it on” she said wrapping her arm around your shoulder as you leaned into her but looked up at her with an innocent smile

“Since your captain you can just make her out one back on though ale” you said practically begging as she sighed. Ona didn’t end up putting on a new bandaid which you weren’t very happy about.

You weren’t allowed to be around the kids because they would be too loud and crazy for you right now (ale, irene and martas words) so you were stuck with the adults for celebrations, the bus and plane ride and alexia even stayed with you and Mali and Ingrid’s for a couple days just to make sure you were fully fine. The photo you and Ona took got posted to the Barcelona page with the caption; ‘put their bodies on the line and for a good cause ❤️💙’ to which you reposted it to your instagram with the captain ‘I’ve gotta do everything you do @onabatlle 😉😜’ to which Ona reposted and said ‘of course my little shadow ❤️’

And it went viral as the fans found it hilarious that you and Ona were not taking the injuries that seriously.

A/n Sorry this took so long and wasn’t even any of the requests y’all sent

[itgetzweird08]

“You’re nervous..”

You said so matter of factly, your head resting on Bakugou’s chest. He grunted, opening one eye to look down at your face. “I can tell,” you continued “Because you didn’t clean your room before we laid down… and you didn’t do your reps. You only miss those when you’re sick or when you’re so nervous you can’t focus. And I know you aren’t sick so…” he scoffed, closing his eye again. “You should be a goddamn detective if this hero shit don’t work out.” You chuckled, but his joke didn’t distract you. “Talk to me Kats…you’re nervous about tomorrow, aren’t you?”

He stayed silent, and for a moment you thought prying was a bad idea. You had only been dating for four months, since Christmas, and you didn’t want to over step any still fresh boundaries. But Katsuki sighed, shrugging softly. He figured, if there was anyone he could be real with, it was you. Plus, he was trying to learn to communicate a little better anyways.

“Yeah. ‘M nervous. Not cuz I don’t think we’ll win, but because of…you.”

You sat up, looking at him confused. “Because of me?” He huffed, sitting up and facing you. “Yeah- I know we’ll kick ass. We got the top heroes, Mr. Aizawa, and both of our classes. Even though they ain’t as strong as me, everyone can put up a fucking fight. But..I’m worried something’s going to happen to you. What if they put you on the front lines, or the villains manage to get free and end up hurting you? Taking you? What then? What if…I can’t protect you?”

You frowned hearing his worries, and at some point during the confession, took his hand. But your frown slowly turned into a soft smile, and you ran your thumb across his knuckles in an attempt too soothe him. “Kats… do you remember what you said when you confessed to me?”

He snorted, “Of course I fucking remember. I said ‘go out with me you damn nerd, it’s getting cold out here.’” You shook your head, nudging him with your shoulder. “Before that, dummy. You said-“ He cut you off “ I said ‘I’ve fucking liked you since the fitness test. I thought you were beautiful, capable, smart, and stronger than the rest of the extras in this goddamn school and if there’s anyone who can give me a run for my money to be the top hero, it’s you. And I think it’s still true’” He quoted himself, and you kissed his cheek, taking his face into your hands. “Exactly— you know I’m capable of protecting myself and putting up a fight. Trust me, I’m concerned as hell for you too, but I need you to focus on the mission and not me. I’ll be okay. We’re both gonna kick some villain ass and I promise once it’s all over I’ll be right back here laying next to you and watching that cheesy fucking all might movie you love so much.”

He growled, grabbing a pillow from behind him and gently whacking you with it. “It ain’t fucking cheesy! It’s classic fucking cinema”

You grabbed your own pillow and hit him back, giggling all the while. “Mmhm! Of course it is.”

“I’m serious Y/N!”

It was moments like this that kept Bakugo brave as the battle began. And it was moments like this that you both thought about as he took his dying breaths. He was so worried about protecting you, but you couldn’t protect him.

Pity.

——— —-

I have no remorse :) Anyways im starting to do requests! So if you have an idea for me, go ahead and put it in my asks <3

[lunargrapejuice]

diluc is acting sort of . . .. odd. hes definitely hiding something but won't say what it is. at some point he gets a package and he . . . smiles?? what is in that package- turns out, he wrote a book- about falconry and raising birds. it just got published and he got the first print. telling people felt too much like bragging to him, so he didn't say what it was.

anyways i totally didn't cry writing this

diluc ragnvindr x reader with no pronouns used | 3k+ words

you don’t know if you would ever get used to being addressed as a ragnvindr. 

everytime you hear it, your beloved name now your own, it makes your heart soar and the butterflies in your stomach awake with a fiery spark. you’re certain even years after your marriage to diluc and no matter who is calling you it, you’ll feel the same as you do now, from a delivery boy who you often saw bringing packages to the winery and always called you so formally. 

“oh hey johnny,” you greet the young boy with a smile and close the book you had been reading after slipping a bookmark between the pages.

his light brown hair looks almost blonde in the afternoon sunlight and there's a pink hue to his cheeks and his chest rises and falls quickly, as if he had run from the city to the winery. shuffling forward, he holds out the package with a slight bow of his head. 

“i- i’m sorry, i couldn’t find adelinde,” he stutters apologetically. “so i hope you don’t mind me leaving this package for master diluc with you.”

“it’s no problem,” you assure him, reaching for the package and are surprised by the weight of it in your hands when johnny lets go. “i’ll be sure it gets to diluc.”

he straightens and takes a quick step forward, “thanks so much!”

“get back safe,” you call after him and he waves a hand goodbye without looking back.

turning the package over in your hands, you wonder what it could be. it’s not very large but is a bit thick, a little bigger than the book you had been reading a moment ago and heavier but you don’t know what it is. diluc hadn’t mentioned he was expecting anything but if johnny had hurried from the city to bring it, you didn’t want to leave diluc waiting.

with your book and the package held close to your chest, you look for bright vermillion hair in the sea of green and purple among the vineyard on your way back to the manor from where you had been reading in your garden but you hardly find anyone outside and the manor is even quieter. no wonder johnny hadn’t been able to find adelinde. 

the study is pristine as it always is; ledgers and contracts stacked neatly on the self. the ink and quill on dilucs desk placed perfectly next to each other, waiting to be used. the chair tucked in behind the desk, though dilucs dark jacket hangs on the back on it, like he had perhaps left in a hurry and hadn’t gotten the chance to think about putting it back on before he had to go.

you place the package in the middle of his desk with care and run your fingers along the tassels of his coat as you take quiet and tentative steps back to the door, as if you might disturb his work but didn’t want to part from him all the same even though he wasn’t in here. you look back into the study before closing the door, drinking in every detail and reminder of him that lingers throughout the room.

little wandering throughout the manor looking, longing, for diluc brought you to the cellar where all the normal commotion of the winery, and then some, was packed into the basement space. it was freezing down here, enough so you could see clouds of your breath the deeper you went. every worker and maid hurried about, covered in blotches and deep stains of wine and when you spot diluc, you see he was no exception. 

so steadily he stood out among the crowd of people running from place to place trying to fix whatever disaster had happened down here since you left earlier this afternoon. he was like a pillar, calm among the storm, though just as soaked as everyone else was in this mess.

as if he had heard you coming even among the commotion, he turns to face you and your heart skips a beat seeing the stern look on his face turn softer when your eyes meet but it melts into something almost guilty, or maybe it was mischievous, when you ask, “what in the world happened down here?”

“the equipment was able to purify the mist flowers extract,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand, tendrils of thick red locks bouncing in the movement. you see a flash of a wicked grin tug at his lips, one you can’t mistake. it wasn’t often you got to see diluc like this but when you did.. it's so hard to put into words, you think, but it only made you love him more. “but.. it didn’t come without its complications.”

“how can i help?”

diluc smiles softly at you, ruby eyes full of adoration. “it’s mostly taken care of down here. conor will see to the rest.” he knows his gloves are sticky with wine and lets his fingers ache when they go to reach for your hand but he doesn’t allow them to connect. “walk back with me to get cleaned up?”

uncaring about the damp spots on his dress shirt, you hold onto his arm as you walk through the bustling staff and up the stairs back to the quietness of the main floor. he had told you of his plans with the elemental extract a few nights ago and on your walk back to your bed room explains how of one of the valve components of the distiller had burst in the process of make it and in the mess it made, another vat full of wine been penetrated and though the batch is bad now regardless, he was able to stop the leak before it ended up all over cellar.

“how was your afternoon?” he asks as you make yourself comfortable on the edge of the bed. now in the bedroom diluc begins to shed his stained clothes starting with his gloves and then his vest. “i expected you to be in the garden for a while longer.”

“oh!” you had nearly forgotten about why you came back to the manor earlier than you thought you would. “johnny dropped a package off for you so i was just bringing that in.”

you saw his hands still on the second to the last button of his vest but underneath his hair that hides his face with him looking down at his clothes you couldn’t make out the expression he wore. he clears his throat, like he wants to say something but chooses not to and goes back to undressing.

“i left it on your desk,” you add, now even more curious as to what it could have been but you don’t pry.

“thank you,” is all he says and changes the subject but you can’t help but feel like he’s purposely diverting your attention elsewhere.

and you can’t deny how good he is at it either because how could you possibly resist your husband undressing and redressing right in front of you and the few selfish moments of kisses he stole before returning back to work.

hand in hand, fresh leather already warm with his natural heat separating your skin, you walk back with him to the study. in your far too little minutes together, life at the winery had already started to settle back to normal and elzer was waiting nearby with paperwork in hand needing the master's attention.

not wanting to disturb the work he was no doubt behind on thanks to the incident in the cellar, you don’t protest when diluc has to leave you with a tender kiss to your lips at the threshold of the study and delves back into work.

you linger there, quiet and unable to take your eyes off of your beloved. with a warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest you watch him hold the package in his hand for a moment with a small smile on his lips before he tucks it into his desk drawer and takes the first paper from the stack elzer had given him.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

over the next few days you couldn’t stop thinking about how odd diluc had acted over the package. at first you thought it was just a coincidence or maybe you were reading him wrong and for sure over thinking about it. perhaps the distillery equipment breaking really had made him more upset than he let on but with no one hurt in the incident, he hadn’t said anything more other than having elzer order new equipment and thanked conor for his hard work with the extract. or it could have been something else entirely but he hadn’t seemed bothered or upset as far as you could tell.

you were fully and completely convinced it wasn’t just you however when you floated into the study with a bowl of fruit to share in the middle of the day after you saw the tray with his lunch that he had hardly touched before adelinde brought it back to the kitchen hours later.

as usual during this time of day, there are stacks of paperwork all around his desk. most of them are likely finished, all of them in neat piles and sorted accordingly. eagerly diluc accepts you into his lap with open arms but not before he takes the paper he had been working on and sets it over something you didn’t get a look at before it was blocked from your view.

it was a quick transition of movements, one he probably hadn’t expected you to catch or see or question but when he saw your eyes following his hand, he was quick to gather you in his arms and have your back facing that part of the desk with you now in his lap.

“everything okay?” you ask, hugging the bowl of fruit closer to you, trying to hide both the curiosity and slight hurt you were feeling. 

it wasn’t like diluc to keep something from you and maybe this wasn’t even about the package. it's not necessarily that you’re scared it's something bad, even when you were still feeling.. well worried. but if diluc wasn’t telling you, it was for a good reason. you just hope that reason isn’t ‘so you won’t get hurt’ or worry while he wasn’t considering himself getting injured or that him doing something dangerous would worry you no matter how capable you know he is or how in the dark you are about it.

a gentle hand on your face stops your thoughts, your worries, in their tracks. as if they had seen you running away with them and grabbed you along the endless looping track, not letting you go a step further. needing no strength at all, diluc lifts your gaze to meet his; piercing red and full of burning conviction. on bated breath you wait for his answer.

“everything is more than okay.” he always sounds so sure but right now you couldn’t think that to be more true. there’s nothing but love and happiness and truth in his eyes, how he holds you- how he kisses you and the way he smiles into the next one after tasting the fruit you had brought already on your lips. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

diluc had certainly quelled your fears and in the days following it continues to stay that way but your curiosity was another story entirely. not much made you husband so secretive towards you, how could you not wonder what it is and especially if it was nothing for you to worry about? there wasn’t a birthday or anniversary coming up so you didn’t think it would be a gift and anything else you tried to think of just left you wondering more.

so here you were, offering for adelinde to leave cleaning up the study to you tonight. after all, you knew how diluc liked it and thought he would appreciate the love you would put into as well and if you happened to come across something similar to the size of the package, you could be satisfied.

the study door had been left open, the evening light spilling through the open curtains and painting the room in a warm yellow glow. you can still smell his intoxicating scent, heavy and rich but the warmth of him is long gone. he was supposed to be in the city by now.

everything looks as it always does, minus the paperless desk but they seem to be replaced by something else that draws your attention. rounding the desk, your hand gliding along the edge of the wood, you see it’s a beautifully bound book. the leather is stained a deep maroon and the gold lettering matches the intricate swirls lining the edges of the cover. engraved into the front of the leather is a silhouette of a falcon with its wings extended long and when you run your fingers gingerly over it, you can feel the details of the feathers and the outline of its beak. 

it’s not a book you’ve seen before, though you can’t say you’ve seen every book that calls the manor home but this one looks new, untouched, maybe never even read. picking it up and resting the spine along your forearm and spread palm, you open it and with a crisp crackle of the bindings, the first page settles. reading the few words on the page in dilucs elegant and looping writing, your eyes immediately begin to water with the overwhelming emotions bubbling in your chest.

for my father and my love thank you for everything  - D

you can both see and feel the shake of your hand that turns the next page and it takes all of your strength to pull it away from you so your tears don’t ruin any of the page. it’s a picture you know well, an unmistakable memory that you would never forget. despite the black and white ink of it, you remember each vivid color, the blueness of the sky and all the shades of brown and black of majestic wings and the weight of dilucs hand on your back as you watched his falcon take flight after leaving his arm.

it was a picture adelinde had taken without either of you knowing it, one that had ended up on his desk some time later and now was in here..

finding it best to sit down to flip through more of it lest you keep crying, which you’re certain you will, you sink into the big office chair and continue to feel the love, the care, the time and knowledge that your beloved poured into every detail he had learned and loved about falcons and his experience with raising his own. the life long companionship he had found in her and the way she must have felt it too, following whenever he went.

you wanted to take in every detail despite how much of it he had already told you and your own opportunities you shared with the beautiful birds. you wanted to know why diluc hadn’t told you he had wrote this or been working on it. you wanted to keep it close and cherish it forever, tell him what a wonderful job he had done. you wanted to tell him how proud you were of him always and that you love him.

like he had heard your heart calling out for his own, when you look up to wipe your tears on the back of your hand, you’re surprised to see him standing at the threshold of the door with his arms folded and a strikingly handsome yet bashful look on his face but at the sight of you crying it quickly turns to worry.

“i was going to tell you,” his voice wavers with emotion and he takes a step inside, clenching his fist at his side.

“you wrote this?” you ask, the smile you break into cracking your voice. of course he wrote it but it’s all your brain could let out when you were still swirling with so much love and adoration all you could do was cry it out or else you might explode in a burst of hearts and pyro crystal flies.

he clears his throat, avoiding your gaze and in the remaining sunlight, you catch the pink spreading across his face and to his ears. “i did.”

“diluc.. it’s incredible and so beautiful.” archons that didn’t feel close to what each page brought out in you. closing the book, you stand to meet him and as soon as he's within reach, your arms are around his waist and your face is buried in his chest, the remaining of your tears caught on his shirt. 

strong arms pull you against him, one splayed at the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your skull, keeping you pressed close. he breathes you in, resting his lips on the crown of your head but doesn’t say anything.

“why were you keeping it a secret?” you ask quietly after a moment, when your tears are dry and all you can do is smile against him.

“it’s only the first print,” he says as if it’s not a big deal but his heart blooms open under your loving touch and the emotions he saw it bring out in you as he watched you flip through a couple of pages. “.. and i wanted to be sure it was perfect before i gave it to you.”

“it’s for me?” here came the tears again. there was already so little space between you but it’s not enough and you squeeze him tighter to try to ease the tightness the distance brings out in your chest.

“yes,” he answers barely above a whisper, letting his fingers tangle in your hair and his arm wrap around your middle so you’re flush against him. “i wanted you to have the first copy.”

“‘luc..” unable to let go, you crane your neck to look up at him and your eyes flutter at the pressure of his forehead resting on yours, the tickle of his hair on your cheeks.

“i wouldn’t have been able to write it without you.”

lifting on your toes, your hands clutching the back of his coat and you capture his lips in a tender kiss that’s a bit salty from your tears but oh so perfect. you’re thankful he’s holding onto you with how weak your knees feel at the slot of his lips against yours, how they fit together like two halves of one soul, one heart.

“i love you,” your voice is breathless against his lips but diluc hears you clearly and feels the truth of it, the unconditionalness of it, resonating in his heart.

“i love you so much.”

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

[suguru-getos]

| Bully! Gojo Satoru x F!Reader | Part 7 |

Summary: You had just transferred schools, and your first day was an encounter with your new bully. He’s mean, terrifically hot & absolutely a menace. Though there’s more to that personna. Perhaps an emotionally stunted softie who can’t communicate after used to being worshipped by everyone?

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: With the School festival coming right up the corner, your class choosing the Maid Cafe and you dressing up as a Maid. Satoru has to pull a few strings of his own. He may not be your bully anymore, he still is a spoiled boy who wants what he wants.

Between the haze of studies, and the workload because of the festival preparation, two weeks had passed. Satoru? Yeah, Satoru has gone more and more normal you'd say. He doesn't bother you apart from the occasional greetings. Sometimes he would smile and wink at you during the cafeteria where you settle with your friends; they are enamoured by the snow-haired king of school. Both the best friends, Satoru and Suguru are so sought out, you are worried it would end up in you getting into trouble because of it. Satoru is hell-bent on giving you the attention you don't need. You don't wish him good morning upfront when you accidentally catch him in the corridors, he does. Never failing it even once. The people who hang out with you have started to taunt you because of it.

"If it was up to me, I would have also spilled my lunch on his shirt. Maybe then he would notice me like he does, you, Y/N." Your eyes roll back a total of 360 degrees. This, this very behaviour was the reason Satoru was able to humiliate you so many times. The reminders aren't needed. The brutal reminders of you wishing you had no school, of you wishing that maybe he would have a change of heart and leave you alone. All because you said he collided against you purposely. Insufferable, Satoru Gojo was truly insufferable.

The cafeteria was echoing with the whispers, laughs, and discussions of your classmates and seniors alike. This was supposed to be festive time of course. Everyone was busy with something. As for you, this was your break. You had just finished giving your sizing for the maid costume. You hope it would look good on you at least, and you would get some memorable pictures. The thought of the School Festival commencing soon makes you giddy. You're not one of those emo loners anyway, you'd rather enjoy. "Hello Y/N san." One of your classmates diverts your attention, your gaze wanders up at him, reflexively shifting in your bench with the tray of your food so he could sit next to you. "Hello!" You chirped, watching him glance at you in a weird way, what's so weird about it? Well, Satoru looks at you the same way, as if you were a movie. You gulped, the stare was awkward. "So, what did you need?" You asked, raising an inquisitive brow. "Uh, nothing, just wanted to ask if you would participate in cooking as well? Some of the girls have been given the opportunity to dress up as maids, the others are going to be cooking." You think about it, this was pre-decided that you would be wearing a maid-costume. When the discussion happened, you were chosen pretty easily for the same.

"Hmm, I don't think I'm a great chef to be honest." You half chuckle, shrugging. The boy nods, gnawing at his lower lip. He seemed, almost nervous. As if he didn't know what to do if you didn't agree with him. "Why? What's the problem?" You asked again, trifling with your food now that your curiosity was piqued. "N-Nothing as such, it's just, you know Y/N there are going to be people from different schools, seniors- and I don't want anyone to hit on you." His cheeks are beet red when he says that. You raise a brow, you don't know how to take it. "Uh, thanks? I can take care of myself. Didn't take me much time to knock a shitty senior out in this very cafeteria?" You lean back, observing his face. He was looking more and more nervous by the passing minute. What is going on? "You know, I appreciate whatever you thought about me, but I can handle myself and take care of myself. Anything else?" You asked politely, unsure why you are being talked-to like you're a damsel in distress who wouldn't be able to take care of herself from hormone raging teens. "Sorry." He pouted, looking down. "I know it must sound like I am trying to control you - but you should remember I only want what's best for you." You want to puke, you barely know the dude. "Do you have a crush on me?" You cut to the chase, this was getting redundant/ "Who? ME?!" He exclaimed, leaning back, stuttering, "N-No of course- I mean, no- not like- Y/N you are pretty." "Thank you, I'm assuming you do have a crush on me?" He shakes his head no, timid again. "I don't want to die by the hands of Gojo san if I become brave and do agree."

Ah, there it is. Gojo San coming and looming in all over you again. "I understand, so you mean he likes me and he doesn't want anyone else to like me else he'll beat their ass?" The boy looked conflicted, should he? Really tell about all that? He wonders about the pros and cons - beaten up by Gojo to a pulp versus being your friend.

"Y/N, please don't discuss this with him." He begs, eyes pleading submissively. You roll your eyes and sighed, fine - you will keep your mouth shut about it. "Yeah, I promise. Won't share anything won't confront him, never heard of it." "He- uhm, ever since he knows that our class is going to do a Maid-café, he's closely supervising things with Shoko san & Geto san." "I never saw him? What do you mean? I never saw him come and check things?" You raised a brow, you were so sure his chapter was a closed one. You barely talked to him apart from having casual small-talk where you both don't ignore each other's existence. "Well, he did. Mostly timed when you were busy, he decided the menu, he interfered with the maid costumes. When everyone was against the long skirts and the full sleeves he threatened that he would have our class not participate at all. When we asked him what we could do so he could let us have some freedom to organize 'our own' activity - he mentioned he doesn't want you as a maid." A broken sigh escapes your classmate when he's done confessing.

You were.. fuming to say the least, every nerve ending pumping with boiling blood. So he is going to make everyone else suffer because he can't have you in a maid costume? "Then?" You raised a brow, this wasn't any conclusion. "Then I said I could talk to you about it, you're pretty and we hoped we would make a lot of money if you were to participate but Gojo San said he could cover the monetary side of it without any issues. Which left us with one final option, you could either opt out of being a maid, or we don't do it."

Ridiculous, fucking ridiculous.

"Why?" You snarled, what the fuck? "Well, because- as he said, he doesn't want other 'men' to look at you and create all sorts of scenarios in their head. He will have to take things on his own hands when that happens - and he wants to avoid that. I mean - avoiding beating up boys and ruin the festival." "Oh how kind, Gojo San is so kind, no?" You scoffed, sighing. Your classmates depended upon you, and you were once again caught in a clutch by Gojo Satoru. He gets what he wants doesn't he? "Tell him that I will be doing maid. Tell him to die mad about it." You got up, hearing the sound of the lunch-end bell and stomping away.

------

Gojo hasn't come back to you, it's been two days. You are sure your classmate had communicated everything to him clearly. Weird. This dude was so fucking weird. You are taut by your own promise to him though, you wouldn't talk to Gojo about it and risk the very foundation with which he trusted you. A lot has been on your mind since, if he likes you, he has no idea how to show it. Besides, doesn't even… matter if he likes you or not. You wouldn't forgive him… right? "Come on, don't be so pouty just because you're losing!" You heard his familiar voice from the basketball court. "Your glasses aren't working properly if you think I'm losing." You heard Geto remark back. Basketball, Satoru and Suguru are playing basketball. You didn't want to be a lurker but you do peek inside, watching the tall hunks play around alone. Every thud of the ball, every chuckle, every snicker and every goal sounding evidently in the echoes of the empty hall. "Peeking's no good." Satoru smirked, looking at you. You have no idea how grateful he is right now. He caught 'you' looking at him. "Sorry-" You mumbled, clearly accepting your mistake when you are at fault, unlike the fucking cafeteria incident. You were NOT at fault back then. "Whatcha lookin' for?" Satoru asked, playing with the ball and dribbling it while walking towards you. "Nothing, just got my 'final' maid costume." You answered, eyes trying their best not to glare at him when you say so. He hums, "Yeah? Gonna be a maid I hear." He cheekily grins. He heard… as if he doesn't know the bits and pieces of everything minutely already. "That's right, 'very excited' for it." You emphasize, and his eyes visibly softened, the pupils humanly dilating and a soft hum escaping him. "Mhm?" "Yeah" You grin back at him, unsure how to continue the conversation further.

Satoru was, dying. He didn't want to become what he was when you two met, and the way you said you were excited about it, he doesn't want to rip that all off because of his own spoiled wishes. It's a complex web of thoughts. On one moment Satoru wants to claim you as his; no one is even allowed to think about you wrongly. Keep you enclosed with him, marry you even? Breed you so you know you're his. Make babies so he gets a perfect blend of you and him. The other bit of him, wants to let you live so he can hopefully become a safe space for you. Help you trust him which he has ruined, show off the person he likes- loves- he doesn't know whether it's like or love yet.

"Well, I'll see you around." You distract him from his thoughts instantly. His lips part and brows furrow a little in resistance, "Well- shyeah."

He glances at Suguru once you leave.  You're going to be a maid and he wouldn't be able to do 'anything' about it when that brings a smile like 'that' on your face.

[cobaltperun]

Genius (7) - Can You Keep a Secret

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part

Word count: 2.9k

-And no one has to know I'm your getaway, and a little bit more than you can take-

Cairo dropped by Miller’s classroom as he was getting ready to leave, she wanted to discuss the assignment, since the writer she chose needed his approval. “Hello,” she said and took her usual seat. Absentmindedly, she left her phone on the table, not wanting to miss a text or a call from you if you were already home.

If you already got the letter.

“I was thinking about my assignment,” she opened, not inquiring about how he seemed to be going somewhere.

He smiled at her as he picked up the things he previously left on her table and almost unassumingly he went and placed his hand over her own. “Tell me about it,” he encouraged, squeezing lightly, his thumb slipping under her palm.

“Of course, just a moment,” she pulled her hand back, pretending to look for some notes or whatever in her bag. She didn’t have any, but she now knew she took it too far with him, she created certain expectations and now one way or another he was reacting to them. Which was why she had Winnie there as well, and now that felt like the right decision. “Looks like I forgot my notes, it’s fine though, I was thinking,”

Her favorite author. It was still Henry Miller, that much she knew, but given how things between her and this Miller were turning out maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Her heart told her to go with Verne, but she didn’t want anyone to know how much that writer meant to both of you. That was your secret, your book, your childhood memories, and she didn’t want them tainted or graded.

“Henry Miller,” she said, consequences be damned.

~X~

She couldn’t believe she had misplaced her phone somewhere, she had it in the classroom when she went to talk to Miller, and then just, gone. She didn’t even notice she didn’t take it with her, seeing as she was happy her idea got approved. But she was annoyed now that she no longer had her phone. She had no idea if you would come.

Please come here.

She stripped down, her body bare as she glanced at the mirror. Would you like seeing her like this? Naked, aroused, just for you, craving for your touch, your lips all over her. What would you do to her? She’s read erotic books, she rarely imagined herself as the participant, but now her thoughts were filled with those scenarios, you and her reenacting them. What sounds would you make?

She picked out a dress, a long, black dress, reaching nearly to her feet and hugging her figure perfectly, showing off her hips, drawing attention to her breasts, and her bare shoulders covered only by the thin straps. She wasn’t sure if you’d come, but she wanted to be ready, she wanted to dress up just for you, and she wanted you to tear the dress off her.

“Please come here,” she sighed, tempted to just call you, to be absolutely certain you would come and take her.

You wanted that, right?

You wanted her, right?

Please come here.

And then her landline began ringing.

~X~

You didn’t go back home right away, you had to go over to the closest town to grab strings for your acoustic guitar, since one of the strings broke last night, which was annoying, but nothing you couldn’t easily fix. As you were approaching your house you noticed the sky was getting cloudy and you were thankful you managed to come back home before it started raining.

As you parked in front of your gate to open it you noticed a letter. “Probably for mom and dad,” you guessed and grabbed it without looking at who sent it. You parked your motorcycle in the garage and went inside, dropping the letter and the spare string on the sofa. You were going with out with Cairo tomorrow and you still weren’t sure where to take her, or if she was willing to go out for a longer ride, maybe sleep somewhere else and use the entire weekend. Either way, you would figure it out in the morning.

You finished freshening up a bit and changing your clothes to something more comfortable and only then did you sit down on the sofa to check the letter you got. Right there, sticking out like a sore thumb, was Cairo’s address. The mailman must have dropped it off here instead because he didn’t feel like going all the way to Cairo’s house.

You called her, but she didn’t answer, and you figured, what the hell, the worst case scenario you could put the letter in her mailbox.

The best case scenario, you had an excuse to go and see her now.

~X~

This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up. How did her phone end up in Miller’s bag? At the start of the week she would have been elated, thinking he was what she wanted, thinking he saw her, that he could madly love her. At the start of the week she would have thought this would be the moment, she would let him take her, claim her like the books she read described, that he would be exactly what Winnie described weeks ago.

But that was at the start of the week. Now things were different and she didn’t fail to realize she, barefoot and in the dress she chose, looked like she got dressed up just for him when she simply didn’t want to risk changing and then letting the dress go to waste if you came right now. That was a mistake, she saw him. Standing there, soaked by the rain, standing on her pavement, and looking at her with unconcealed desire. His eyes consumed her, she knew he would remember this, with the way his memory worked he’d recall every curve of her dress, every detail he took notice off.

“Hello,” she spoke, confidently. He wouldn’t cross the line, he had his job to worry about. She would not get burnt by fire.

“Hi,” he replied, breathing deeply as he looked at her. “Come here,” he told her, and the reason to go over to him was obvious, her phone in his hand. She wondered if you called her or sent her a message.

She was about to go over to him, to take her phone and be done with this so he could go back to his wife, but then something drew his attention away from her, stilled his breathing and for a moment she heard nothing but drops of rain falling and breaking apart on the ground, And then she heard it, the roar of a motorcycle engine filled her ears and she felt her heart soaring, her body burning up despite the cold air surrounding her. That was the sound, that was what she wanted to hear. You came for her. You were coming.

She wasn’t sure how to explain his car parked in front of her gate. Would she need to explain of would you understand it without a single word spoken between you? Either way you parked nect to her fence and turned the engine off. Even from the distance Cairo could see the raindrops falling from your helmet and biker jacket. You walked through that gate like you used to so many times and Cairo felt her palms sweating, she wanted to step into the rain, or to make you walk faster, just so this distance would end. She wanted to hold you and be held by you, she wanted your lips on hers and all over her body. Her breathing grew just a bit faster as she watched you.

“Hey,” your lips were hidden by the helmet and she struggled to see your eyes behind the visor, but she could see the hints of softness in them. “Professor, good afternoon,” you nodded to Miller, lifting your visor up and meeting his startled gaze with a questioning look in your eyes. You looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow and then fishing into your jacket for a small umbrella, opened it and shielded the man from the rain. “You’ll catch a cold, you need to be more careful at your age,” you said it so casually, so easily that Cairo nearly lost her composure. Despite the gesture, despite the words you spoke, the tone made it clear what you meant.

And Cairo wanted to read your mind, just to see what you were actually thinking, but she couldn’t, and she certainly hoped it was along the lines of: ‘Get the fuck away from what’s mine.’ If nothing else she definitely imagine you thought that, that you were just as mad and possessive over her as she was feeling over you, because damn, she hated the very idea of anyone being intimate with you with burning passion.

“R-Right, well, uh, Cairo, I’ve given you-“ Miller stammered, red in the face and looking anywhere but at you or Cairo, he then realized he was still holding her phone. “I’m giving you back your phone!” he urgently offered her the phone she forgot. “And I’m going, nowhere, uh, elsewhere, anywhere really,” he nearly tripped as he took a few steps back. “I’ll see you two in class on Monday!” he hid inside his car, fumbling with his keys and leaving in haste as you closed the umbrella.

You sighed “Damn old fuck,” you cursed as Miller drove off and once again took something from your jacket, a letter this time, and Cairo smiled, it did bring you to her. “The mailman left this at my parent’s place. I think he doesn’t like coming all the way over here,” you joked, handing her the letter.

She nodded, smiling slightly as you came closer so she wouldn’t have to step into the rain, and her smile only widened when her fingers brushed against your gloved hand. This wasn’t just longing, she was yearning for you, craving to feel more, to touch and be touched. You were right there, your hands were touching, and your eyes widened for a moment as well, proving to her you felt something too.

“I’ll leave you to whatever you dressed up for. You look, never mind, I should go,” you turned, thinking she dressed up for someone or something else, but she couldn’t let you leave now. You took a grand total of four steps by the time she moved. She stepped into the rain and pulled you back, her phone and the letter saved from colliding with the ground only by your quick reflexes. But your reflexes couldn’t save your helmet or the umbrella from hitting the ground. “Hey! Watch the hel-“ your breath hitched, eyes meeting her own as she raised her head, her lips so close to your own she could feel the incoming burning sensation of your lips against hers. “Cairo,” you sighed, helmet forgotten somewhere on the grass near you two as you leaned down, your forehead pressing against her own.

“How do I look?” she asked, her fingers crawling up from the bottom of your jacket to the high collar, the raindrops from the sky, from your jacket, soaking her skin and the soft dress she was wearing. And she shivered, not due to the rain, not even due to the way you were looking at her, but due to the way you just pulled her closer, pressing her body so possessively to your own, the wetness seeping through her dress. This wasn’t enough, she wanted, no needed more. She needed you to get rid of the damn clothes she was wearing while she removed your own.

“Like the most tantalizing poem ever created and then given flesh,” you were out of breath, your lips ghosting over her own in the most exquisite, yet excruciatingly painful way Cairo ever felt.

“Satisfy those desires then,” she was just as out of breath as you were and it felt like the puzzle pieces fell into place, her longing, her yearning, the desires, it all went back to you. You were the one, you were her madman’s love. All the yearning, all her passion, it all exploded within her as your lips pressed against hers. As the heat of your tongue and the cold of the rain that began pouring broke her down and put her back together. Your hands roaming her body, slipping through her hair, tugging her closer, remained the only reason she wasn’t falling apart, why she still maintained her shape as you hastily threw your gloves of so your bare fingertips could touch any part of her exposed skin in your reach.

You gasped for air, breaking the kiss and leaning down while lightly tugging at her hair, and she complied, unable to resist giving in to your wishes as she exposed her neck to you. “You’re a need I can never satisfy,” you left burning hot kisses against her soaked skin, not caring about the downpour that was soaking both of you. “You’re a dream I can’t wake up from,” she felt the unfamiliar throbbing as you moved lower, to her exposed shoulder. “The only melody that can fill my silence,” Cairo closed her eyes, soft gasps escaping past her lips as she pushed your jacket down, letting the rain hit your shirt, soaking it in almost an instant, but neither of you cared. Lost in yearning and unrestrained desire, and she brought your head back up, kissing you as deeply as she could, committing the taste of you, the imperfect, lustful and loving way your tongue moved against her own once again. The string of saliva still connected her lips to yours when you separated. “You’re the desire that inspires me.”

And she captured your lips once again, not satisfied with just this. “Then be inspired, my madness. Take me in all the ways you desire,” she whispered right into your ear, sensually, seductively, for you weren’t caught in her web, you were spinning the web with her. And she was all yours, more than you knew, more than you could imagine, but she was, indeed, all yours. And she said it. “I’m yours, every part of me, in every way you want me. Love me, Y/N,” she sighed, opening her mouth in a soundless cry as you sucked on her neck, marking her as your own.

~X~

You woke up to the sound of soft breathing close to your ear and you moved just a bit, just so you could hug her. Cairo hummed, muttering something you couldn’t quite understand, well, other than the word ‘mine’ that one you clearly heard. That got you to grin as you opened your eyes and saw her snuggling up against you, she was sleeping with her head on top of you, just above your chest in fact and she had an arm and leg draped over your body.

The two of you fell asleep like that last night. Naked. Satisfied. With your clothes thrown all over her room and the letter she wrote to you lying somewhere either on the bed itself or near it. Damn, the letter would remain burnt into your memory for the rest of your life. She went into detail on what she wanted, how she wanted you to take her, excluding one detail she wasn’t aware of, You took a deep breath, trying to calm down as the words she said and the tone she used came to your mind.

“What’s on your mind?” she suddenly asked and you looked down to see her eyes still closed but the tone of her voice and the way she tightened her grip on your waist told you she was definitely awake now.

“Hmm, you’ll have to kiss the answer out of me,” you told her, and you should have expected it, really. After all, this was Cairo. She got up and kissed you, her lips capturing your in an instant as she took the lead. She nibbled on your lower lip, moaning slightly against it as you caressed her back.

“Like that?” she asked with a mischievous look in her eyes.

You nodded, grinning a bit. “So, I’m thinking about how you sounded last night. Your moans, cries, I’m recalling how you fell apart while I was inside you, crying and begging for more,” you smirked a bit as she pressed against you and just for a moment stopped breathing as you spoke.

And then she smirked back. “Well, I figured you liked your girls to be loud, seeing how much you rely on your hearing,” she told you with a hint o jealousy in her voice.

You flipped the two of you over, so you were on top. “Girl. As in one,” you reassured her and caressed her cheek. “Just you, Cairo.”

The smile on her lips could have charmed anyone and you were at her mercy, but she was at your mercy as well, just as affected by you as you were affected by her.

A/N: Well, here’s a question for you, do I write chapter 8, or the smut first?

Taglist: @deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy

[itskattkm]

Multiverse

Based on a request: Could you do a fanfic where all of JOs characters meet and R has to explain they're all characters in movies and shows and how they're acted by R's gf, Jenna Ortega?

Characters would preferably be the following: Wednesday, Tara, Vada, Camila, Phoebe, Lorraine, Mabel, Ellie and Cairo (Even tho that movie isn't out yet)

If you don't want to use all the characters thats fine lol. I'm too lazy to write this myself.

JO Characters X Fem Reader

A/N: I’m so sorry that it took me so long. I wasn’t sure what end I wanted to choose. So I decided to not overthink to much and keep it short so the end is pretty shit haha. Hope you can still enjoy anon :)

————————

It’s been one of those rare summer days where the clouds were turning into a coal grey way and turning the whole light that fell onto the earth in a mix of yellow light and dark highlites. I saw just seconds ago a light struck in the corner of my eyes as I turned my head towards the window in the living room trying to say “there was a lightning it mus-“ and then there was it.

A growl. Something that sounded like a crisp crash high in the distance but still like it was happening right next to you. Thunder.

I chuckled to myself. Before I could end my own sentence the thunder had spoken for itself.

I walked towards the window. Watching rain falling down in an immense amount, feeling glad that I was in my apartment and didn’t had to walk through that wild mess.

“Rain... Rain is like a heavy mood. It is sad but it has a beautiful way of calming you down at the same time. Rain can make you cry but it can also make you calm"

I heard the familiar voice of my girlfriend. But kept watching the rain without turning around and smiled.

"You know... Rain can also be a bit spooky. Rain makes the shadows darker. Rain makes the dark even darker. Rain makes mystery even more mysterious."

I chuckled saying “wow that one turned a bit dark I guess…” I was turning around Expecting to see her soaked in the rain. Seeing already in front of my eyes how her bangs were probably all wet and sticking on her forehead. But when my eyes met hers, i was quite confused and a light laugh escaped me.

“Why do you look like Wednesday Addams?” I asked her. Walking a step towards her. It was almost like she became one with the shadows in the room. Wearing a big black coat. Covering what she was wearing under it. Her also black doc martens being pretty visible.

Her hair was darker then it was before she left to meet Enrique and prepare things for the upcoming met gala. I looked at her with a tilted head.

“I thought that people stopped asking stupid questions but here you are… another example for our current lost generation” she said monotone.

I looked even more confused feeling like there were tons of gears moving in my head and that she could see them “I’m confused…” I barely whispered.

“I often have that affect on people…”

She said and looked with an almost disgusted gaze at me. Scanning me from head to toe making me feel some kinda way uneasy. Even though I really loved the way Jenna played Wednesday Addams… that type of character was defiantly to much to handle. I found enough courage despise the mixed feelings I had and was about to say something when I recognized another figure beside me. My eyes landing on dark brown eyes, Emphasized with dark eyeliner wich Jenna rarely wore.

My mouth opened slight. Looking even more confused by now if this was possible.

My eyes scanning her figure within seconds. Seeing her wearing some short hot pants with a thin top and a congnac brown leather jacket. The fit feeling pretty familiar to me.

She was wearing eye makeup but the rest of her face was all clean. Wich made her freckles more present than usual. A smile with also slight confusion covered her face “wow you look pretty emo…” was what she said. But she didn’t said it to me.

“Some would consider I’m the definition of emo” said the one who looked like Wednesday.

I felt my heart running faster looking between the both of them.

“You see her too?” I asked Jenna beside me. But I wasn’t sure if it was actually Jenna.

“Yeah I do… by the way what’s your name?”

She answered giving me that big smile that showed her dimples and made me feel a bit flustered. That smile always had an effect on me.

But I was way to overwhelmed to actually tell her my name since there were two people that looked like Jenna so I asked

“Who are you?”

“Mabel…” she said and gave me a very knees weakening look, combined with that smile.

“Mabel… Wednesday…” I whispered looking between the both of you.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked more myself than both of them.

And right when the last few words left my mouth there was another person appearing in the living room. But the person seemed to be way to focused on my bookshelves.

All three of us watched the person.

She was wearing a white dress, showing her curves and long legs wich were wearing knee high brown boots. A tiny bag was hanging over her shoulders as her tiny but also gentle looking hands touched the backs of the books. Reading in silence the title names. Her hair was falling over her back in beautiful waves. The little light in the living room falling on it and showing a mixture of brown and red highlites.

“Y/N I don't think you have real books here... you have a Harry Potter book.. that's not a real book” She scrunches up her face “I'm sorry but it's the truth” She picks up a book and checks the title “Ugh... It's called a touch of darkness and it's about Persephone and Hades in a version of a Greek world in our time? *She shrugs it off*”

I felt a bit offended but also didn’t knew what to say.

Wednesday said “if you like Greek mythology you at least could’ve read the real tales. Like the ilias or oddysey” I nodded slightly ashamed and my gaze met Mabel’s she whispered “I only watched Percy Jackson once so don’t look at me for help…”

I took a deep breath and looked back at the woman beside my shelves. She had turned around by now and was lightning up a cigarette. I could see the amount of rings on her other hand and that cheeky but also dangerous smile on her dark bordo lips.

“Cairo Sweet?” I asked speechless.

“Wow well that’s a …unique name” said Mabel with a chuckled.

“I would say being called after a weekday is more unusual then being called as a well know city with history…” said Cairo and gave Wednesday a look.

My eyes widened feeling like Cairo was about to die.

“ I’m named after a nursery rhyme containing the line “Wednesday's child is full of woe.” The poem, which assigns personalities to children based on the day they were born, dates back to at least 1838. Cairo-Sweet. What kinda name is that, anyway? Sounds like the kind they'd use in a very bad written fanfiction” Wednesday glares at Cairo for daring to question the legitimacy of her name and gives her a dead stare.

I looked at both of them excited now and chuckled saying “as a writer you should have know that Cairo… you better not mess with Wednesday. She’s a writer and she could kill you if she wants”

Mabel beside me just whispered quite “okay this is getting very interesting here”

Wednesday and Cairo were throwing glares at each other when another person moved to my side and said “what kind of fever dream is that?”

I laughed and shaked my head looking at my right side to see another version of my girlfriend, wearing basketball shorts and an oversized shirt. I felt like nothing could surprise me anymore at this point so I smiled friendly and held my hand out saying “your Vada right? Nice to meet you I’m Y/N”

Vada smiled and shook my hand. I was explaining to her what was currently happening and introduced the others to her. Vadas hand rested on my shoulder now as she said “it’s like the most weirdest names I’ve ever seen…” an awkward smile appearing on her lips.

“You’re not surprised about the fact that you all look exact the same? Just different?”

Suddenly there was a Laugh “Yeah, there's a glitch in the system or something. It's just kind of...” said the 5.1 Latina beside me and shrugged. I looked speechless at Tara fucking Carpenter. Not sure if I was in a fan girl mode or going right into the simp mode.

“Tara Carpenter… holy shit” I whispered and looked at her stunned. Not sure how to process this all. She gave me a friendly smile and my head felt like exploding.

“She good?” Asked another version of Jenna’s Characters. Sitting on the armchair with her sunglasses and smoothie as she held a tiny book in her hands. Ellie from you I assumed.

My eyes kept jumping between all those people in my living room. Noticing even more of them.

“10 dollars she’s gonna pass out” said Wednesday cold as Cairo agreed and jumped in the bet. In my living room we’re around six characters that my girlfriend had played and it was way to hard to understand what the hell was going on.

No matter in what direction I looked. They were everywhere. Talking, arguing, connecting.

I took a deep breath and sat down on my couch. “What the hell is going on?” I asked louder and everyone became silent.

They looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“I have to admit this is weird… for real why do we all look like the same person?” Asked now Vada pointing out her hands at everyone.

Everyone looked around, till all gazes fell on me. Tara walked towards me saying “you seem to know every one of us… so you may enlighten us?” I nodded in an almost trance like mode and got up. Standing in the center while all of them were standing around me like in a circle.

“Okay… maybe this is some weird multiverse thing? A Paradoxon? Or I’m dreaming… dead… I don’t know but!” I said looked at all of you.

I shrugged my shoulders

“Well what can I say you all are movie characters…”

“ Y/N are you feeling alright? Or are the fumes from the glue factory getting to you?”Wednesday gives me a cold stare “Or do you need to sit down? Do you need a hit with the shovel so the bad thoughts go away?”

I looked at her serious saying

“What?! No! Listen…” I said and reached for my phone. I typed in Wednesday in Netflix and showed it to her and the others.

Cairo Looks at me with confusion “What a nerd, knowing all the facts about movie characters and who plays them. Like, who cares? I’ve got better things to do all day long than waste my time on silly little facts of the past, and I don’t even want to waste my time being in the same room as a loser like you!” She glares at me, showing clear signs of aggression.

“Okay you are defiantly meaner as you seem in your movie…” I said slight offended and looked over at Tara who was my fav character. Seeking for some comfort

She Shrugs “Oh don’t let her bother you, she’s... Anyways, did you guys want to talk about anything specific or are we going to all go to our separate corners and just stare at each other? I mean, that sounds kind of odd if I say it outloud...”

I laughed nervous “I would like to know why you guys even are here in the first place… this is against all rules. How is this even possible?”

“You’ll find a lot of things hard to explain away with logic, you know? Especially a certain someone who likes to hang out with a bunch of fictional characters” said Wednesday monotone and gave me another cold, intimidating stare “beside that you better stop trying to convince us that we are only movie characters. I’ll be good for you, if you drop the topic”

“Why? After all you all just appeared out of nowhere in my Apartment!..” I said a bit angry. Starting to feel like I was the bad one here suddenly.

Mabel looked around while playing with her moving her hands in the back of her pockets “So, what should we talk about then?” She asks awkwardly.

Vada was sitting in the corner and stares at the floor then says “I feel like the most... average one here....”

Tara Looks at Vada awkwardly “Don't say that... you're just as special as all of us. You're not average. Don't ever think that!”

“Yeah she’s right. You are special and we love you… what you’ve been through was awful” I said reassuring and hugged her. Since I knew what Vada had been through cause I watched the movie obviously, I had a soft spot for her.

“Uh... Thanks y/n......” She awkwardly hugged me back and blushed a little bit, looking down and covering her face. “How did you know?.....” She looked up at me a bit more, curious than before.

“Because you’re a movie character and I saw your story… that’s what I’m trying to explain to you guys” I sighed and looked at Tara.

“Tara you have a sister called Sam. You two had been survivors of a ghostface attack two times. You have several stab wounds in your abdomen and shoulder and on your hand as well. Sam ist the daughter of the origin Ghostface killer, Billy Loomies “ I explained “Your form the movie called Scream, your character was introduced in the fifth and sixth movie… my fav ones” I added with a shy smile.

Tara looked around impressed “How do you even know all these facts?” She whispered and realized that I knew all the names without even asking any one of you “It’s like, magic or something?” She asked.

I looked at Cairo and said “And your form one of the current movies my girlfriend made. It’s called millers girl. And yeah. I know what you did. Accusing your teacher for something he did not really do but I’m on your side tho. But it’s not cool to kiss and blackmail your best friend Winnie. Your dangerous Cairo. But I still feel mesmerized by you… somehow” I explained and shrugged.

Cairo rolled her Eyes “Wow, just wow. Who cares? I didn't ask for your input so keep it to yourself please and thank you” She turns her cigarette off and crosses her arms, giving me a pissed look.

“You are really mean... You seemed so nice at the beginning of your movie” i said almost disappointed. “Yeah well I turned out to be different and that's too bad for you” She continues to glare at me with aggressive eyes.

I sighed again and looked at Mabel.

“Mabel. You’re from the movie finestkind. You’re dating some fisher guy. It’s about crime and drugs. Your character is only a side character but you’re cool. Pretty bold and flirty. You had some spicy scenes respect for that…”

“Wow you really do know a lot-“ She was cut off by Wednesday, who started making an unimpressed sound.

I turned to her “And then the one and only Wednesday Addams. You are the currently new portrayed version of that character. You have your own tv show. You attend a dark Academy and solve crimes and murderes… second season will come out soon and by the way… people ship you pretty hard with Enid”

Wednesday looked me dead in the eyes “I do not appreciate your tone of delivery at all. I’m going to have to ask you to watch it a little, or else… that’s the nicest I can make” She gives me a scary look of disapproval and anger.

“Hey I didn’t wanted to be harsh or something… I’m just trying to telling you guys about the movies you all are from. I don’t know how you made it to my universe but you are all not real in this one…”

“Its your fault we're all here in the first place, so it’s best if you don’t go around with a mouth that likes to spill every detail about us that you possibly can, hmm?” Wednesday gave me a threatening look, daring me to break eye contact first.

I felt a bit hurt and said quite

“Sorry… but I really don’t how all of you came here” I looked around “You all just appeared suddenly” I said softly.

“it’s time for you to make us all disappear” Wednesday looked at me with cold, empty, soulless eyes.

“I don’t know how” exhausted I looked in the eyes of all of them.

“Look guys, let’s not make things too hard on her. She didn't even do anything, all of us just suddenly appeared and its not her fault! “ said Tara and stands up for me. I felt so relived when Tara stand up for me, making me fall for her even harder. Okay focus y/n Jenna is your girlfriend. But yeah… I also love all characters she plays… nevermind.

“I must say, you are very pretty y/n...” said randomly Mabel with a smile.

“Th-thank you” I said blushing hard and looked down.

Vadas eyes fell on me “Yeah, Tara’s right though. She didn’t have anything to do with why we’re here, did she?” Glances at Wednesday and Cairo, looking suspicious.

Cairo Shrugs “I’ve been trying to find out but so far I haven’t got a clue...” Her eyes narrow as she looks at her surroundings “We need to figure this out as soon as possible...”

„Well as soon as possible isn’t quick enough for me, I’m not going to sit around here forever just to wait this all out“ Wednesday added.

„You guys can do what ever you want.

I don’t know how all of you became real. Just know that in this universe none of you is supposed to be real“ I said and sat down on the couch exhausted

Wednesday Shrugs „Well we didn't do it on purpose. It's just something crazy I guess...

What if we never make our way back...“ She looks at everyone with a cold, intimidating stare. It’s clear she’s trying to hold her anger in check for the moment.

„Come on, don't even talk like that Wednesday... we'll find our way back, one way or another...“ Tara said.

„Yeah right? We're not stuck here with her forever!“ Cairo shudders at the thought.

„Ouch?“ I said not sure if I should feel offended.

„You should feel offended. We are going to find a way out of here and when we do, I am making sure I stay the hell away from you“ She glares at me again.

I gave Cairo a thumbs up and looked at Tara speechless saying

„I can’t believe I actually had a crush when I watched her movie back then“

Vada shrugged „Well I'm glad you changed your mind“

„Why? What kind of crush did you have on me?“ asked Cairo, not letting her anger die down yet.

„None“ I said trying to end the conversation. „Come on, you can tell me. Please?“ She leans forward with puppy eyes, but they look a little bit sinister.

„Just for the record since my girlfriend plays all your characters I do have a thing for all of you for sure“

„What do you mean your girlfriend plays all of us?“ Wednesday gives me a suspicious look, leaning in closer and giving a scary look again. „My girlfriend. The actress. Who portrays all your characters in this universe“

Mabel stares at me for a while. Her eyes narrow even more than before* What's her name?”

“I don’t buy it” Wednesday scoffed

“What's that supposed to mean, Wednesday?” I asked

“That was an act, you’re not just now realizing that y/n’s girlfriend is the one who plays all of us. I think she’s trying to hide something”

“I’m telling the truth you can google it” I said louder

Wednesday Takes me by the collar and glares at me with a cold, intimidating look “Okay then, Y/N. I want the truth and I want to know now. What’s your play here?”

Some part of me felt scared and turned on. It took me some time to answer. “I swear nothing. I was just enjoying my day off and suddenly all of you were here”

“And nothing at all happened before that?” Wednesdays voice was getting more and more sinister as each second passed.

“A storm came up. Thunder… lightning” I explained. “Hm... a storm...” She let go of my collar and turned her back on me. She began pacing around the room silently.

“Maybe it has to do with the storm then? Some Paradoxon?” I said

Wednesday looked st me “Is that really all you know? You have no other secrets you’re holding back?”

“Nothing. I’m the most boring person right here” I said quite

“Boring?” She looked back at me and smirked, and turned back around again “If you think your life isn’t interesting, then you’d better make your peace with this life being all you’ll ever be. You have no purpose here. You have nothing to contribute to this world” She stopped her pacing and turned back around again “This is it for you. This is all your life is worth” She let me take that in for a while before speaking again “So do not call yourself boring ever again. You hear me?”

I nodded feeling touched.

“Good” She sat down next to me, and put her hand on my shoulder. After a while of silence, she finally broke the tension “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t have done that” She looked down at her feet, ashamed.

“Thank you… i really appreciate your apology” I whispered feeling better now.

“Okay since we all don’t know why you’re here and I’m tired of explaining and arguing… Wanne watch a movie together?”

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter eight

Summary: Confessions.

Warning: Mentions of John Walker. Mentions of Cheating.

Word Count: 1848

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A/N: I can't wait for the John Walker parts to be over. Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @thetorturedbuckydepartment

Two weeks had passed since John’s disappearance, and the news reports were all the same, no new leads or theories, it became tedious. Yet, there was a cloud of suspicion lingering over you and The Avengers, simply because the others were known as the ‘tough’ guys in the city, they were associated with trouble whether deservedly or not. 

As you settled into your usual seat in the bar, the dim lighting cast shadows that danced across the wooden table, and a warm sense of familiarity washed over you. Your friend's laughter filled the air as you caught up with each other and your lives. 

However, the moment of tranquility was shattered as the door swung open, and in strode a woman, a mask of rage and desperation over her features. You noticed her as she scanned the room, her eyes locked on your booth, a shiver sent down your spine as you retreated your gaze over to Bucky. 

“Where is he?” she demanded, her voice sharp as she pointed an accusatory finger toward the group, mainly aimed at Steve. “I know you lot had something to do with it.” A tense silence fell over the bar, you exchanged wary glances with your friends. You knew who she was, her face had been plastered all over the news the last two weeks. 

Steve was the first of you to respond, with a calm but firm voice. “I’m sorry, Miss, but I think you have the wrong people,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed, her fists were clenched at her sides. “Don’t play dumb with me,” she spat, her voice began to tremble. “You’ve always been into trouble, you can’t expect me to believe any of you are innocent.” 

Natasha rose from her place in the booth, her demeanor was composed but unwavering. “We understand that you’re worried, but we genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about,” her voice was steady.

Sam nodded in agreement, “We may have a reputation, but this wasn’t us.” he tried to explain without letting his frustration get the better of him.

You couldn’t shake the unease that ate at you. You knew the truth - John had cheated on this woman with you. Even though you knew you hadn’t slept with him, the guilt of even going on dates with him and kissing him, bubbled up inside you. Your gaze flickered nervously to the floor as you tried to keep your composure. 

Her gaze flickered between each one of you, rage and frustration taking over her features. “I won’t rest until I find out what happened to him,” she vowed, determination thickened in her voice as her gaze landed on you. Staying there for a moment longer than they all liked. 

Bucky stood, his presence snapping her out of the haze that set her focus on you. “We understand you’re in pain, but coming here to accuse us… won’t bring him back,” he said, his voice calm. 

With a final glare, toward you, she turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving a tense silence behind her. The bar remained quiet for a moment before the chatter resumed. As you and your friends got comfortable in your booth again, the weight of the accusation and your own guilt pressed down heavily on your mind.

~

The accusation from John’s wife cast a shadow over your gathering, causing the rest of the evening at the bar to become a stark contrast to the usual atmosphere. Although everyone tried to return to their conversation and laughter, the tension was undeniable. 

Ever perceptive, Bucky, noticed the worry that clouded your features. He stayed quiet as the night wore on, it wasn’t until the other became engrossed in a conversation that he leaned in closer to you. “Hey,” he said softly, searching your gaze. “You okay?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind,” you replied, trying to sound upbeat and casual. He wasn’t convinced, he knew you too well. He noticed the slight tremble of your voice and the glossy coat over your eyes. 

“You sure?” he pressed, “You seem more shaken than usual.”

Sighing, you remembered you couldn’t hide your feelings from him. “It’s just… the whole John situation,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I can’t shake the guilt, Bucky. What if someone found out about us?” 

His expression softened as his hand reached under the table, resting his hand against your thigh, his thumb brushing against your bare skin. “Hey, listen to me,” he said firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. He was the one who was married, not you. And, you had no idea about his wife, right?” 

You shook your head, confirming his suspicion. “It’s just hard not to feel responsible,” you murmured, glancing around to make sure your other friends weren’t listening. 

As Bucky began to respond, Steve interrupted. “Alright, I think it’s time to call it a night,” he announced, standing from his chair at the head of the booth, stretching out his back. Everyone murmured in agreement, and soon you dispersed. Each other your friends heading their separate ways. Expect Bucky, as always, he lingered behind, waiting for you as you gathered your things. 

“Want a ride home?” the concern was evident in his voice.

You nodded without hesitation, you loved the feeling of the cool night air against your skin, it helped clear your mind. 

~

As you reached your apartment, you turned to Bucky. He smiled warmly before pulling you into a comforting hug. “You know I’m always here for you,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head. 

With a final squeeze, he let you go as he watched you enter your apartment. He waited until he heard the click of the door lock before making his way out of the building. 

Once inside, you leaned against the door. Everything from the evening replayed in your mind. You knew you had to try and find a way to move past this, but that was easier said than done. 

~

The next few days at work are blurred from the routine tasks and your colleague's hushed whispers. You tried to remain focused on your job, yet the memory of John’s wife’s confrontation lingered. The office gossip showed no signs of dying down and the sense of dread consumed you every time you heard his name. 

One afternoon, as you were packing up for an early finish, your phone buzzed.

Bucky ❤️‍🩹: Bar? Could use some company… 

You smiled at his timing, grateful for the attached photo showing both his beer bottle and a cherry cold waiting in front of your usual seat. You send a quick reply, packing up the last of your things and heading to the bar.

~

The bar was a lot less crowded than it usually is when you arrive. You stopped Bucky already waiting at your booth with the pictured bottle still waiting in front of him. He greeted you with a smile as you slid into the seat opposite him. 

“How was your day?” he asked, handing you a straw.

“Same as always,” you replied with a shrug, placing your straw in your cola before taking a sip. “Just trying to keep my head down.”

He nodded, taking a sip of his beer. “Yeah, it’s been tough with all these rumors flying around.” 

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “I just want it to be over,” you admitted. “I can’t keep worrying about someone finding out.” 

His eyes softened with sympathy. “Look, whatever happened, we’ll deal with it,” he assured you. “Anyway, it’s not like you slept with him…” 

It took you a moment to think about his choice of words, you couldn’t recall ever telling him if you had slept with John or not. Shaking your head, the thought left your mind. Of course, Bucky knew you never slept with John, no one in this friend group can keep anything to themselves. 

Just as you were about to change the subject, the door swung open, and again, in walked John’s wife. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on you. Marching straight over, her expression was a mixture of determination and desperation. 

“You,” she said, pointing a finger in your direction. “We need to talk.” 

The bar fell silent, and everyone’s eyes turned to you. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as you met her gaze, knowing there was nowhere to run. 

Immediately standing up, Bucky positioned himself protectively in front of you. “Look, lady. We’ve already told you,” his tone was firm but calm. “We don’t know anything,”

Her eyes flicked to Bucky, then back at you. “She does,” she said, her voice trembling. “I need answers, now. John was last seen with people like… “She looked Bucky up and down before continuing. “... you. And, now he’s gone.” 

You took a deep breath and began to fidget with the sleeves of your cardigan, trying to steady your nerves. “He wasn’t honest with you,” you began, your voice trembling. Bucky looked at you, his expression unreadable. Turning back to John’s wife, you noticed a mix of hope and fear in her eyes as she looked back at you. “I, I didn’t know he was married. I only found out after he disappeared. He… we were dating.” 

Her eyes widened, her face draining of color. “What?” she whispered, taking a step back. “You’re saying…?”

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat as your eyes began to well. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea. If I had known, I never would have agreed to go with him.” 

For a moment, she started at you, her emotions were conflicting on her face. Then, she looked down, her shoulders slumping as the reality of your words sank in. “I knew he was hiding someone,” she said softly, mostly to herself. “That doesn’t explain why he started coming home with his face black and blue…” she trailed off. 

You noticed Bucky subtly move his hands to his pockets, concealing the marks on his knuckles that seemed like a permanent feature.

“I promise you, we had nothing to do with his disappearance,” you said, your voice shaking as the tears began to spill. “But, you deserved the truth about him.” You felt a pang of guilt knowing the pain that your words had caused. 

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked back at you, “Thank you, I needed to hear it, even if it hurts,” 

With a final moment in silence, she turned and left the bar. She left you and Bucky standing there, the weight of your confession hung heavy in the air. 

Bucky turned to you, his eyes full of empathy as he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You did the right thing,” he said softly, pulling you into a tight hug.

The ambient noise of the bar returned as the conversation resumed around you. Sitting back down in the booth, the feeling of your confession set heavy on your shoulders. Despite Bucky’s reassurance, you still felt a sense of doubt.

---

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[modanisgf]

015. LET ME LOVE YOU (HALF WRITTEN)

wc: <1k

warning(s): slight spoilers for a movie (atsv), profanity

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hanni was currently in her room getting ready, over analyzing her appearance. she was on the phone with minji, who was with haerin at the moment.

"are you sure all this is necessary?" haerin said, making hanni groan.

"i don't know, i just wanna look my best for her." hanni says.

"didn't you say you aren't in love with her?” minji asks, being met with a long pause.

“i’m gonna fight you.” hanni mumbles, making the two on the phone giggle.

“anyways, you need to hurry up. yn is supposed to be there in fifteen minutes.” haerin says, making hanni freeze.

“and you didn’t tell me until now?”

“it’s better than telling you five minutes before.."

"i'm blocking you." hanni said simply before hanging up, not missing the giggles heard from the other side of the phone.

hanni made quick work to clean up her apartment, the doorbell ringing as she was making the finishing touches. she opened her phone, checking her appearance before opening the door.

“hi hanni!” you say, grinning.

hanni was mesmerized by you, your voice leaving her in a trance.

“hi yn.” hanni says, letting you in.

the next hour was pretty quiet with you being invested in the movie, hanni smiling everytime you gasped at a plot twist.

“she seriously betrayed him like that?” you exclaimed.

“i mean miguel and spider-woman were her role models, of course she was gonna—“ hanni says.

“don’t defend her hanni.” yn interrupts.

hanni gives yn a blank stare, turning her attention back to the movie. one thing was on her mind though, were you really dating chaeryeong? she didn’t exactly expect you to let her know, your relationship being fresh but she really wanted to know.

hanni couldn’t even deny it anymore, she was in love with you and she was jealous that you and chaeryeong were on music bank together. she was jealous that the rumors might be true and that you and chaeryeong were togther. she was jealous that the internet loved you two together and the only fan you guys had was jay, hanni’s dumb fan page and hanni herself.

“yn are you and chaeryeong a thing?” hanni randomly asks, confusing you.

“hanni did you see that? his suit looks so cool!” you say, ignoring her question.

hanni sucks in a breath out of anger, why couldn’t you just tell her?

“yn, can you just answer me?” hanni asks.

“it’s really none of your business.” you say.

“aren’t i your friend? i just wanna know what’s up with you.”

“we barely know each other hanni.”

“are you serious? we’ve talked so much over text i just thought—“

“well maybe because we had to.” yn says.

“what the hell are you talking about? i thought we moved past the pr stunt, it might not even happen anymore.” hanni retaliates.

“that’s good because i think i have something going on with chaeryeong.” yn states.

“oh and you couldn’t have just said that like five minutes ago, that’s all i asked.” hanni says, infuriated at this point.

“y’know what just get out of my house, i don’t wanna see or talk to you anymore.” hanni says, turning off the tv and rushing to open the door.

“huh? i was just being straight up with you!” yn says in her defense.

“i don’t care, i know what i said i don’t wanna talk to you anymore.” hanni sneers, not noticing the hurt look on your face you failed to mask.

you left the house quickly, breaking out into tears as you realized the damage you had just done. hanni obviously wouldn’t know you weren’t allowed to discuss her companies plans with anyone, especially her. her ceo wanted to create a love triangle, and wanted nothing good for hanni after her scandals recently.

you didn’t know why you couldn’t just be honest with her and tell her, it was going to be hell for hanni soon and you chose to keep the information to yourself. you knew hanni was already heartbroken, rumors going around the industry she had wanted to be your friend for so long.

you felt horrible to say the least and you just wished you could start all over again, take it all back and just tell hanni the truth.

TAGS 🏷️ (OPEN): @jayjj7 @haerinsloverr @aribunnu @masuowo @multiliker @aeriniee @sewiouslyz @edenzeepy @popasi @home2venus @ghstvr @technicallyimportantsweets @he------len @yukianism @yeetaberry127 @haechansbbg @linnnsworld @sixflame438 @emotionallyrin @gtfoiydlyj @inosfavgf @rvoulte @hotluvlet

a/n— yearly update guys!! 😁😁 (swear im writing more tn)

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

13: NEW BEGINNINGS

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

You and Bucky are finally able to admit your feelings to each other.

Word count 3.4k

Warnings: confessions of love, Sam being the best wingman (pun intended)

It had been a long and difficult week, filled with painful rehab sessions and slow progress. But finally, you were starting to feel more like yourself again. Your voice was still weak from disuse, but you were delighted to hear that the doctors were ready to remove your tracheostomy tube. It was a small victory, but it meant that you were one step closer to recovery.

Despite the progress, you found yourself getting tired easily and napping often. It was frustrating, but you knew that it was all part of the healing process. The physiotherapists had refused to let you wear the speaking valve after they discovered that you had some trouble the previous night, rendering you speechless for the day.

What worried you more was the fact that Bucky, who had been by your side throughout your ordeal, seemed to be spending less and less time with you. You couldn't help but wonder where he went when he wasn't with you. Old insecurities started to resurface, and you found yourself questioning whether Bucky's feelings for you had changed now that you were getting better. The tenderness and care that he had shown you in the beginning seemed to be fading, and it left you feeling lost and confused.

As time ticked on, you couldn't shake the feeling that Bucky was pulling away from you. You suspected that he was going to see Priya, after all, she had made it abundantly clear she wouldn't give him up. The thoughts had you rebuilding the barriers that had come tumbling down after your injury. 

Sam was by your bedside this afternoon. Listening to him chatter about Cass and AJ's most recent antics. He chuckled at the reason that Cass had received detention, but you had zoned out and looked surprised when Sam started laughing. 

He looked at you with concern filling his beautiful brown eyes. “What's up with you? Not feeling good?”

“Sorry,” you mouthed at him. 

“What's wrong, little bug?”

You pulled out your phone and sent him a text. It took a moment for Sam to understand that you had sent the message to him.

“Oh right. Thought you were ignoring me for a second there,” he chuckled, reading the words on his screen.

>>>> I'm okay, just tired.

“Tired, huh? And here I thought you might be lamenting over a certain broody super soldier.”

You gave him a solid deadpan stare, before your eyes involuntarily flicked towards the door, as though the mere mention of him might summon his presence.

>>>> I thought things were better but…

What you wanted to say was ‘I can't shake this feeling that Bucky’s pulling away from me.’

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

>>>> He's been spending less and less time with me.

You stopped yourself from adding ‘and I can't help but think he's going to see Priya.’ To your surprise, Sam texted you in return.

Sam << Have you talked to him about it?

>>>> No. How do I even bring it up? He’s with her, right?

Your mind said ‘he's choosing her over me.’

Sam dropped his phone with exasperation. “Cricket, that's not true! Bucky loves you more than anything else in the world.”

You rolled your eyes.

>>>> How do you know?

“Because he told me. Isn’t that good enough?”

>>>> I don't know if I can believe that unless it comes from him.

“You need to talk to him. Communication is key in any relationship.”

>>>>  You sound like an online therapy programme.

Sam guffawed.

“Honestly, I'm kinda surprised by how quickly you forgave him for all the shit he gave you. I mean don't get me wrong, I'm glad you two are friends again but...”

You were surprised by Sam's openness. Natasha and May felt the same way, you were sure, but it was shocking to hear it from Sam who was usually more of a diplomat. It wasn't as though you hadn't thought about all the things that had happened between you, but you couldn't seem to let him go.

>>>> I was scared, Sam

>>>> And he was there and I…

You pressed send, even though you didn't know how to express the sentiment. Despite everything that had happened between you, you still craved his presence in your life. Sam put a comforting hand on your leg.

>>>> I thought I was going to die

>>>> I know, I know. Being an Avenger and being scared of death. Dumb, huh?

>>>> Even after everything, the thing that scared me more was that I might never see him again

>>>> I just don't want to push him away again

“I'm all for team Bucket but I think he has some groveling to do. But trust me, he won't go anywhere.”

You scrunched your face in confusion and mouthed ‘team Bucket’ at Sam. 

“You know, Bucky and Cricket, it's a ship name. Look, that was all Tony!” Sam shrugged as you giggled silently. “Just talk to him, okay?”

>>>> Okay, I'll try. Thank you, Sam

“Anytime. Just remember, Bucky cares about you more than you know.”

>>>> I hope you're right. Thank you for being here for me

“Always. Now tell me you’ll talk to Bucky. Everything will work out, I promise.”

>>>> I will. Promise

Sam looked up from his phone to see you holding out your pinky finger for Sam to wrap his around. As you sealed your pinky promise, Sam kissed you on the forehead. “Now get some sleep, you look like you need it.”

*

As you opened your eyes the following morning, you saw Bucky was back at your bedside. He looked tired and worried, and there was a hint of relief in his eyes as he saw you wake up. Clearly he had come back the previous day, but you had fallen asleep before his arrival. He handed you the speaking valve for you to clip onto your tracheostomy tube.

"Why’re you still here, Bucky? Everything’s fine, you should go home and get some rest," you said, voice filled with concern. 

"Trying to get rid of me?" he teased, a cheeky grin gracing his lips and lighting up his tired features.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a smile. "Mostly because you look homeless right now," you replied.

Bucky chuckled. "Peachy. I give your voice back and it’s straight to the insults."

"Hey, you know you love me!" Your eyes shone with affection.

Bucky blushed and smiled. "Can’t deny that," he admitted.

“Really Buck, you don't have to stay. It's not your responsibility. I'm a big girl, I have to learn to take care of myself,” you said softly, your voice tinged with sadness.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, his eyes avoiding yours. “You know, you and Steve are exactly the same. He used to say that to me a lot after his mom died,” he observed, finally meeting your gaze.

You nodded, understanding dawning in your eyes. “Yeah, he has a hard time accepting help,” you agreed, a small smile playing on your lips.

“But I'm here for you, Cricket. I want to help you through this,” Bucky said earnestly, taking a step closer to you.

You looked at him, your heart torn between wanting to believe him and the fear of being hurt again. Bucky had let you down before, and you couldn't bear the thought of going through that pain once more.

"What, when you feel like it?" you asked, your tone bitter with the hurt and disappointment you had been feeling.

Bucky's expression fell, and he looked down, shame coloring his cheeks. You could see the regret in his eyes, and a part of you softened at the sight.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," you said sadly, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

But then, Bucky looked up, determination shining in his eyes. "Cricket, I promise you, I will always be here for you. Always," he vowed, reaching out to take your hand in his.

You hesitated, unsure if you could trust his words. "Except when you're mad," you pointed out, your voice tinged with skepticism.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Do you even know why I was angry?" he asked, his tone pleading for understanding.

"Because I didn't get you a dumb birthday gift?" you replied, feeling a mix of frustration and confusion.

Bucky shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Cricket, why’re you like this?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

"Like what?" you countered, feeling a surge of defensiveness rising within you.

"You've been lying to me for months," Bucky stated, his voice gentle but firm.

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of your secrets pressing down on you. "I don't know what you want me to say," you admitted, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

"What's going on in that head of yours? Just help me understand what you're feeling," Bucky urged, his gaze filled with concern and a hint of frustration.

Bucky's heart sank as he watched you avoid his gaze, preferring to fiddle with the strings on your hospital gown. He had never seen you like this before, so vulnerable and distant. He knew he had to get to the bottom of what was troubling you, no matter how difficult it may be.

Bucky reached out and gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Cricket, please talk to me. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong," he pleaded.

Taking a deep breath, you let go of your defenses and allowed yourself to be vulnerable with Bucky. "I’m sad," you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.

Bucky took your hands in his. “That’s good… that you’re telling me this, not that you’re sad. Can you tell me what’s making you sad?”

“That things aren’t like they used to be… with us.

“And this is because of Priya?” he asked, cautiously. 

You nod, taking a deep shuddering breath, knowing that if he asked you a direct question, the truth would come out and it terrified you. But you’d been hiding it for too long and it was eating you alive.

“You don’t like her?” 

“I didn’t have any specific problem with her… up until your birthday.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

You looked up at him curiously.

“I found the gift you got me.” Bucky moved closer to you, so he was sitting beside you on the bed, still holding your hand. “And I read the note.”

“Yeah?” Your heart was pounding with fear and anticipation.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “What you wrote… I… I don't think anyone has ever done anything so special for me before?”

“What, not even Steve coming to Azzano to break you out of a Nazi prison?” you joked, trying to divert attention from yourself.

Bucky chuckled. “Stop deflecting.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Pop Psychology. Who suddenly gave you a masters degree in psychotherapy?”

“What you said… did you mean it?”

You frowned, not a hundred percent sure of what he meant.

“In the message on the birthday card,” he clarified seeing your confusion.

“Every word,” you answered earnestly.

“I’m sorry for what happened… with Priya.” 

“That wasn’t your fault,” you shrugged.

“But I was the one so ready to believe that you didn’t care about me. After everything we’ve been through together, I should’ve given you the benefit of the doubt.”

But another question was plaguing your mind. “How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“About what Priya did.”

“The same day that you were hurt. I was coming to find you when Steve got your message. I just got back from that mission with Sharon.” His voice tailed off, knowing what your next words would be about.

“Why were you on a mission with Sharon?”

“Because I asked Steve to assign me a different partner,” he mumbled.

You nodded, as he confirmed your suspicions. “Of all the things that’ve happened, I think that’s the most hurtful thing you’ve done.”

“So you just decided to leave? Without saying a word?” He couldn't keep the sourness from his words.

“Who was I supposed to say it to? You were acting like I didn’t exist. You didn’t even say goodbye when you walked away from me. What if something happened out there?” Your eyes filled with tears again. “What if you didn’t come back? What was I supposed to do then, Bucky? Huh? You left me!” Your voice cracked as your tears fell.

“I know, I'm sorry.” He put his arms around you, holding you tightly. He whispered his apologies into your hair as he held you to his chest. “I'm sorry.”

As you composed yourself, you pulled out of his embrace, wincing as the stitches in the side of your abdomen are put under strain. “Please don't,” you pushed away his hand as he tried to help you. “How does your girlfriend even feel about you being here 24-7? She made it pretty clear to me that she wasn’t giving you up.”

“She did what?” Bucky’s voice rose an octave and his eyebrows flew up into his hairline. “When?”

“Didn’t she tell you why we were in the park together?”

“I haven’t seen her since we brought you to the hospital. We’re not…”

“What happened?” you asked, surprised to hear this development.

“We broke up.”

“Why?” 

Bucky took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Because she's not you," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your expression a mix of confusion and realization.

"What do you mean she's not me?" you asked, your voice tinged with disbelief.

Bucky looked down at his hands, fidgeting nervously. "I mean... she's not you. She's not the one I want to be with. She's not the one who makes me feel safe and loved. She's not the one who understands me like you do."

"I was so scared of losing you, that I ended up acting totally crazy and almost lost you anyway. Bucky, I…” you sighed. “I don't know why this is so hard for me to say… I care about you. You're everything to me… I… I love you."

Bucky's eyes softened as he reached out to gently lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, Cricket. I didn't realize... I didn't know how you felt."

You sighed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you finally spoke your truth. "I've been hiding it for so long, Bucky. I've been pretending that everything was fine, but it wasn't. I missed you. I missed us."

Bucky's thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a stray tear. "I missed you too, Cricket. I missed us too."

You leaned into his touch, feeling a sense of comfort and familiarity wash over you. “I don't want to hide it anymore, Bucky.”

Bucky's eyes sparkled with emotion as he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. "I’m so glad to hear you say that, Cricket. I love you too."

In that moment, you felt that your world was complete. Bucky was everything you needed and he felt the same way about you as you did for him. You craned your neck back to look at his face, and as he caught your eye, Bucky cupped your cheek tenderly. Your hearts beat in unison as he leaned in closer. The tension between you palpable, the air thick with desire. And then, in a moment that seemed to last an eternity, his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss, his heart soaring as you kissed him back. It was like nothing either of you had ever experienced before. The world around you faded away as you lost yourself in Bucky, your bodies pressed together in a sweet embrace. The kiss was gentle and sensual, filled with a depth of emotion that words could never express.

Eventually Bucky pulled back, gasping a little to fill his lungs with the air he had been deprived of. Even as a super soldier , Bucky still needed oxygen. He blinked in confusion, bewildered by the mischievous twinkle in your eye.

"I win that round, huh?" you said, a playful grin on your face.

"What do you mean? How are you not out of breath?" he asked, his heart still racing from the kiss.

You pointed to the tracheostomy tube in your throat, a small smile playing on your lips, a hint of laughter in your voice. "I can breathe through this, remember? So I win this time, Sergeant Barnes. Whoever breaks the kiss is the loser."

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh with you while shaking his head, feeling a sense of relief washing over him. He had always loved your sense of humor, even in a moment as intimate as this.

*

You sat on the edge of the bed, overjoyed that you had been deemed fit to leave the hospital. As you stared out of the window at the bountiful greenery that surrounded the urban hospital building, Bucky approached you quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound on the sterile floor.

"Hey, Cricket," he said softly, taking a seat beside you. "I heard it's time for you to come home."

You turned to look at him, your eyes filled with happiness. "Hey! That was my news!" you joked.

"Do you want me to get the rest of the team to help move you back home?"

You took a deep breath and looked out the window again, contemplating your response. You had been thinking about this moment for a while now, and you knew you had to be honest with Bucky.

"I appreciate the offer, Bucky, but I don't think I want to go home just yet," you said, your voice steady.

"What?" Bucky's face fell dramatically, panic on his handsome features. But you were ready for this reaction. 

"Look, Buck, I'm not saying I don't want to be with you." You put your hand on his thigh. "I just... it's been a lot, you know? I..."

Bucky looked surprised, but he nodded understandingly. "I get it, Cricket. You've been through a lot and maybe you need more time to heal."

You smiled gratefully at Bucky. "Exactly. And I've been thinking... I want to stay in my apartment and teach at the Academy. I've never lived on my own, been self-sufficient. I went from living with my family, to working for S.H.I.E.L.D., to being an Avenger. I just think it's time for me to be me. I want you to have the best of me."

Bucky sighed, pouting and running a hand through his hair. "But we could use your powers on the team. You're a valuable asset, Cricket." 

"I know," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness. “But I need a fresh start. I need to figure out who I am outside of being a superhero or an agent. I want to continue working at the Academy and make a difference in my own way."

Bucky nodded, understanding your need for independence. "I respect that, Cricket. But promise me that if we ever need your help on a mission, you'll be there."

Cricket smiled softly. "Of course, Bucky. I'll always be there when you need me."

Bucky reached out and took your hand, his touch warm and comforting. "I'm going to miss having you around all the time."

You squeezed his hand back, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving your teammates behind. "I'll miss you too, Bucky. But this isn't goodbye forever. We'll still see each other all the time, I promise."

As you sat in silence, the weight of your impending separation hung heavy in the air. But you knew that this was a necessary step for you to find yourself and for your relationship with Bucky to grow stronger.

"What will this mean for us?" he asked, tentatively.

"Well, I hope, a fresh start. One where we can both communicate better with each other."

Bucky grinned at you sheepishly. "I promise, from this point on, I'll always be here for you, no matter what. Even if I'm mad, or sad, or..."

"Horny?"

Both of you burst out laughing, plenty embarrassed and slightly aroused.

"That one is guaranteed." Bucky grazed his finger over your arm, leaving a trail for goosebumps in its wake.

 "I love you, Bucky."

"I love you too, Cricket," Bucky whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before reluctantly letting go.

As you prepared to leave the hospital and start your new journey, you felt a mix of emotions - excitement for the future, sadness at leaving your old life behind, but above all, a sense of hope for what was to come. And as you looked out at the greenery outside the window, you knew that you were ready for whatever challenges lay ahead. Everything felt different now and with Bucky by your side, you were confident that the two of you could face anything together.

Previous chapter < MASTERLIST > Next chapter

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[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Rebuild & Restore - Chapter 7

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Prequel (All Falls Down)

Series Masterlist

“Soo.” Elijah trailed off as he and Kiyana were driving to the restaurant. “That was your ex-husband huh?” 

“Yeah.” She said “I’m so sorry about that..” She apologized again. “He wasn’t supposed to be there.” she paused. “Him or his cousin.”  Elijah laughed. 

“It’s no big deal. Trust me. I’ve dealt with worse from my ex-wife. Her brothers are still on my ass to this day.” He chuckled again. 

“Oh you were married?” Kiyana asked, perplexed because he never mentioned it.

“Is that a problem?” Now Elijah was confused. Not even 10 minutes ago, he thought he was about to have a melee with her ex husband and his cousin. He cut his eyes over to her before looking back at the road when she didn’t answer. “Ki?” 

“No, it’s not a problem.” She shrugged. “I just thought you would mention it by now.” She paused, and turned her head to look at him. “It’s not a big deal though.” 

“You sure?” Elijah asked as he pulled up to a red light, now turning his full attention to her. “I don’t wanna start us off on the wrong foot.” 

“Ohh, there’s an us?” She teased with a smile, feeling her cheeks heat up. 

“There’s definitely an us. I normally have a rule that I don’t date coworkers but, it’s just something about you Kiyana.” There goes them butterflies again. She thought as their faces inched closer. He cupped her jaw and Kiyana felt her heart rate spike. Just as their lips were about to connect, the car behind them honked causing the both of them to jump away from each other. 

“Fuck!” Josh cursed as he watched Kiyana get into Elijah’s car and drive off. This was exactly what he was afraid of. He stomped past Joe and into his former home. “Samara!” He called out, softly though, still mindful of his sleeping children.  “Mara?!” He called out again, rolling his eyes as she strolled out of the kitchen munching on his children’s Doritos. 

“What?” 

“What restaurant did they go to?” He huffed when she shrugged and pushed past him to sit on the couch. “Samara ,please.” Josh begged. “I know I fucked up by doin' what I did. But shit, I can’t just give up and go let her fall in love with someone else. I won’t be able to take it. So please, just tell me what restaurant they went to.” 

Samara felt her hatred for Josh slip away. While they were never close she still considered him a friend and one thing about Samara was that she hated seeing her friends hurting. “Fine.” She sighed out. “But you have to answer my question first.”  Josh nodded immediately. 

“Aight, whatever you wanna know.” 

“Why did you do it? What made you cheat on Kiyana?”  oh Josh gulped.  “Josh?” 

“I don’t know. “ He said and Samara sucked her teeth. “I- we were arguing about her not listening to the doctor about not stressing. I just wanted her and Kairo to be okay.” He walked over and sat down on the couch next to her and put his head in his hands.  “You know the same thing happened when she was pregnant with Kehlani.” Neither one of them heard Joe as she entered the house and stood right by the entrance to the living room, listening to their conversation. “Her auntie died and..” He blew out a breath. “She wouldn’t relax, she wouldn’t just stop and not stress. I already have one dead kid. I didn’t want another.” 

Samara nodded, remembering how Kiyana blamed herself for years for the death of Kehlani. “So that’s why you cheated?” Josh scoffed and shook his head. 

“Hell no. I just- I wanted to vent. Everyone around me kept talking about how Kiyana felt and..” He paused and sniffled, wiping his eyes. “I- it’s selfish but damn, Kenneth was like a dad to me too. When Kish and my mom were going through it Ken and Ms Imani welcomed me with open arms. I just wanted to vent to someone who wouldn’t say oh well it’s Kiyana’s dad. And Shanté was there at the right  time. It wasn’t my intention to start the affair, I just wanted someone to talk to and things went too far.” 

Joe let out a sigh and closed his eyes. He couldn’t intervene with Josh and Kiyana nomore. He had already done enough damage by sleeping with Kiyana and truth be told, Josh was his favorite cousin and even if Joe thought that Kiyana should be with him, he didn’t want to hurt his cousin more than he already did. 

“The Grand Marlin.” Samara said after a minute of silence between her and Josh. “He took her to The Grand Marlin.” 

Josh pulled Samara in for a hug and thanked her. “Do not fuck this up again Joshua. I swear on my life I will make sure she fucks every single one of your family members.” Josh sucked his teeth and pushed her away from him. 

“Damn Samara.” She shrugged and pointed towards the front door.

“Go, before she falls in love with him or something.”  Josh nodded and rushed towards the front door, only to be stopped by Joe blocking it. 

“Uce come-on. Don’t do this to me right now. You proved your point already.”  Joe shook his head and put his hands up defensively. 

“I just wanted to apologize to you Josh. You my family and I should have never took it there with your wife.” Josh sucked his teeth. 

“You don’t mean that shit. What you want me to go get my wife back so you can fuck her again.” Josh felt the urge to pummel Joe so he took a deep breath. “ Getcho’ big ass out my way Joseph.” 

“Josh, this is the most serious I've been with you in years. I’m sorry.” Josh narrowed his eyes at Joe. Not believing him in the slightest. But he couldn’t worry about Joe right now, right now he needed to get to Kiyana. 

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Kiyana smiled over at Elijah as he pulled out her chair for her. “I’ve never been here before.” 

“No problem Ms. Jackson. I plan to give you a lot of first time experiences” He winked back as the waiter came over and asked for their drink orders. 

Elijah kept a smile on Kiyana’s face all throughout dinner. And if Kiyana was being honest, this was the best date she had been on in years. 

Her weekly ‘dates’ with Josh were just them going out to dinner, nothing special or spectacular. He stopped making her feel special a long time ago and she had just gone with the flow because she loved him. 

“Hey that’s your ex-husband right?” Elijah’s voice broke her out of her thoughts and she turned her head in the direction he was pointing to see Josh arguing with the maitre’d and pointing in her direction. 

“Oh my god.” She muttered, covering her face with her hands. “This is so embarrassing. Just give me two minutes please.” She said, biting her lip as she stood from the table and walked over to where Josh was making an ass out of himself. 

“All you had to do was let me through dickhead.” He sneered at the man, who was only trying to do his job. 

“Joshua.” Kiyana hissed, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and dragging him outside of the restaurant. “What are you doing?!” 

“Tryna stop you from making a mistake. I’m so fucking sorry Key.” He whispered, cupping her face in his hands.  “About everything. About Shanté.” He swallowed hard when he saw her flinch at Shanté’s name. “About not sticking up for you at J’s party. About everything.” He repeated and Kiyana started shaking her head. 

“No.” She laughed as tears started to well up in her eyes. “You can’t just come here and ruin my date. You have no right Joshua.” She pushed him away from her. “You cheated on me, there is no apologizing for that, not after the shit I put up with from you and your family for years.” 

“Kiyana please - “ 

“Go home Joshua.” She muttered, blinking her tears away. She was done crying over him. “I’m trying to move on, you need to do the same.” Josh felt as if Kiyana just reached into his chest and pulled his heart out, as she gave him one last look before turning and walking back into the restaurant to continue her date. Leaving him heartbroken and empty. 

🙃

Y'all think Josh can actually win her back or y'all think Kiyana is over him and nothing her can do will fix or change anything. ?

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

A/N: Sorry this took two weeks 😭. I was just feeling a bit stuck with this chapter. Hopefully chapter 8 won't take another 2 weeks.

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[anarchy-and-piglins]

Woe, Bedrock Bros reincarnation AU be upon you! (And make it dark)

The Bedrock Kingdom's a weird one. Weird, in the fact that it never has to deal with a dispute over who sits on the throne. Weird because it never has to deal with the consequences of a weak-willed or greedy or bad leader.

Because, there is only one of two people on the throne: King Technoblade or King Theseus.

It’s a cycle. When King Technoblade ascends to the throne after the death of King Theseus, somewhere in Bedrock, King Theseus is born again. And a search is immediate to find the newborn prince. When he is found, he is brought to the palace and raised with love and affection until it is his turn to Ascend the throne after the death of King Technoblade. And then King Theseus starts the search for his heir/his friend/his brother/his father/his son.

Round and round the cycle goes. No one knows who was originally the older and who was originally the younger. Not even the Kings themselves. It took a few generations before they started writing things down that they wanted their Future incarnations to know.

Because the Kings don't remember their past lives.

The cycle begins anew when a Young Prince Theseus ascends to the throne. King Technoblade lived a long time this cycle, and King Theseus's prior incarnation had lived the longest of any recorded out of spite because someone said he couldn't.

So, the new King Theseus is young. An adult, but barely in his 20s. He's impulsive and a bit impatient and DESPERATE to get Techno back.

He reads through some of his predecessors’ notes and sees how it can sometimes take YEARS to find Techno and he is enraged by that concept. He is going to find Techno NOW. He will NOT be waiting years.

The search is begun and King Theseus spurs his subjects on to hurry or else and finally there is an infant put into King Theseus's arms and King Theseus beams with joy at finally having Technoblade back, ready to adore him and shower him with all of the love that King Theseus remembered getting growing up.

The baby is not Technoblade.

Techno grows up in some obscure village in the middle of nowhere. His parents have too many mouths to feed and when Techno is 12, he is kicked out to try and make a living on his own. Cruel, but also common in his poor town. Techno does what many from his home do in his situation.

He lies about his age and joins the army.

You can join the Bedrock Army at the age of sixteen. For two years, you are in training. Basically an apprenticeship. At 18, you are a full-fledged soldier. If you are REALLY good, you can even become a Knight.

Techno DEFINITELY doesn't look 16. He looks MAYBE a little older than 12, but that's just because of his height.

However, like I said, its COMMON for desperate kids to be kicked out. The Military is used to it.

They just check it off as all good and let Technoblade in.

And Technoblade is very very good at being a soldier. He picks up a sword and learns at record speed. Like he had done it a million times and just had to be reminded of the controls. His superiors LOVE him. His peers’ jealousy is erased because Techno is just so likable. He can be so quiet one moment and then the next say the funniest thing that has his whole platoon tearing up from laughter. He is well liked.

News from the capital shakes the entire foundation of the country when Techno is thirteen and soon to become an official soldier.

Prince Technoblade was a fake. The nobility tried to insert a false Technoblade in order to steal the crown from The Bedrock Bros. It was only found out because the young “prince” had begun to act off. When King Theseus had looked into it, he found the conspiracy.

No one dared ask what happened to the false prince, but the hangman’s noose was frayed from how many men and women were forced to their deaths.

A Search was called.

Techno's unit was tense. They were aware that many of the kids they let in would be in that age range, though they couldn't be sure how many because they HID their ages. They start taking a quiet audit of their child soldiers while also working as efficiently as possible to gather all of the 13 to 14 year old in their assigned section of the country.

When they start interrogating Techno about his age, he lies.

He says he's one year younger than he really is. His superiors slump in relief, grateful that they don't have to risk giving up their best soldier, the kid who will DEFINITELY become a knight and the pride of their home.

Techno is just grateful they bought it. He very much does NOT want to even be CONSIDERED to be a Prince. Sure, his parents may have named him after the Previous King, but that was COMMON. There were so many Technoblades and Theseus's running around the kingdom. It didn't mean anything.

However, the fact that the Military had to hastily “fire” a ton of soldiers means that they don't have enough to escort the kids to the capital AND protect their stations. So they have to be very efficient on where they place their manpower.

Techno is sent to herd the kids to the capital. He is…very not liking that. He will just stay in the back. Its fine. No one will know he's younger. He is tall enough that as long as they don’t make him take off his helmet, everything will be juuuuuussstttt fine.

They make him take off his helmet.

When they enter the palace, they are not allowed to cover their heads. Technoblade grimaces and bears with it and walks behind the other soldiers, herding the nervous teenagers into the palace. It takes forever. Each child is being examined by the King Himself, before being dismissed and given three gold coins for all the trouble. A pittance to nobility but a treasure to the working class. They go forward in a single file line, some shrinking under the cold blue eyes. Others marveling at the gleaming crown atop a mop of golden curls.

Some of the kids are waved through quickly. Others, the King pauses on before shaking his head. Even fewer get pulled aside and led further into the castle.

Technoblade's entire gaggle of teens is almost through when King Theseus orders them to stop. Techno glances up at King Theseus and sees the man staring at him with narrowed eyes.

King Theseus demands to know Techno's age and he says 16. The King stares at him. The whole room stares at him, really. King Theseus had talked to VERY few in this process.

The King smiles and its sharp and he begins to talk. It seems like pleasant conversation, at first, the King even cracking a silly joke or two. Acting younger than he looked. He then compares the situation to something that happened when Techno would have been young. Techno nods along like “Oh yes, of course I remember that”

King Theseus just smirks and says that there is no way he would remember, because he would have to be older than 16 to know it. Which means he's lying. How much is he lying? Technoblade kind of balks at that, not sure what to say. King Theseus asks again about Techno's age. Royal Knights, not just the soldiers he came with, start to close in on him. Techno can't help but reflexively put his hand on his sword as they approach. Before removing his hand when he sees the number of knights. He cringes before turning to King Theseus and telling him he turned fourteen three days prior.

King Theseus just grins and orders Techno to be taken with the others. Techno is embarrassed as he's led back through the palace.

He is stuck with a group of boys that all…look really similar to him. There are around six of them.

The Royal Knights demand that Techno take off his armor which Techno adamantly refuses to do. He is not going without armor in this place. It could be dangerous. They tell them that it is for the protection of the royal family that he cannot be so guarded. Techno snarks something at them about that, and the knight takes it personally.

Techno is now jumped by around eight royal knights determined to strip him out of his armor like an angry hermit crab. Techno fights and struggles and definitely breaks noses and fingers before the knights get a good hold and finally start peeling his armor off of him.

Cackling draws Techno's eye, even as he is pinned down and a swearing guard is pulling at the buckles keeping his armor on.

King Theseus arrives with a bright smile and too bright eyes. All of the teens in the room bow.

Except Techno, still pinned to the floor and trying to kick the guard attempting to take off his shinguards in the crotch.

King Theseus is certain that the teen struggling on the floor with a scowl is Technoblade. He is CERTAIN.

But he was certain before, as well.

His haste had cost him fourteen years with Technoblade. Time spent on a traitorous brat instead of the one who should have been by his side. He won't let his haste ruin things again.

He'll go by the book. As boring as that could be. It wasn't the first time there was a case of mistaken identity for one of the Royals. His predecessors had worked out contingencies for just that occasion.

King Theseus would have HIS Technoblade back.

Techno is given a nice room. Far nicer than the barracks he had lived in. But the way the nicely dressed boy was moaning, you would think they were locked in a jail. So what if they had to share a space? It wasn't THAT bad. Techno just claimed the bed that let him keep an eye on the door and mourned the fact that he was armorless. It SUCKED.

They are then all tested.

There are a bunch of tests, some that he isn't even sure if they ARE tests. The king is at every one. They are things like picking out clothes to wear, or organizing jewels to your preference. Technoblade finds it very boring and, honestly, he tries to fail. He picks out a boring outfit that is COMFY instead of finery. He organizes the jewels by taste, which is bullshit, they all taste like rocks, but he is annoyed that his intentional stupidity doesn't get him kicked out.

He enjoys the wolf dogs. That's pretty cool. Getting to go out and pet the very intimidating growly dogs was neat.

The kid that kicked one dog was IMMEDIATELY escorted out and away. It didn’t matter that the dog bit him hard enough to bleed.

Techno nearly gets out of having to take a different test because he was hidden under dozens of little wolf-dog puppy bodies. He will remember that hiding spot for future use.

There are a ton of tests. The ones trying to stay seem to try and recreate the reputation of the Blood God. King Theseus is known to be the kinder of the kings while King Technoblade has always been quick to anger and ruthless.

(This is bullshit. King Technoblade was the type to quickly mete out justice, but never hold a grudge. King Theseus is VENGEFUL. He burns down whole noble houses when he's mad. Sometimes literally. But most people don't realize that because he is so personable and extroverted.)

Techno doesn't understand why his chill personality doesn't get him kicked immediately when all of these other teenagers are doing their best to imitate rabid dogs.

Technoblade only once nearly gets eliminated.

King Theseus gave them free reign over the library and, out of all of the candidates, Techno was the only one uninterested. Didn't go inside even once. Completely ignored it.

King Theseus himself interrogates Techno on this. Because of nature vs nurture, some things are BOUND to change from lifetime to lifetime. But King Technoblade not being a total nerd about books?

Impossible. Never happened.

King Theseus is a little sad when he confronts Techno, ready to dismiss the kid with a heavy heart. It felt a bit wrong. But he would do what needed to be done. He wanted HIS Technoblade, not another fake.

The reason comes quickly.

Techno can't read.

King Theseus almost sighs in relief at that. He assigns Techno a teacher to learn. Techno is skeptical and takes this as a sign that he should lean into the books=bad mindset so he can go home.

Unfortunately, he finds that he very very VERY much likes books. He is found multiple times at dawn, bent over a book with his hair a mess and dark circles under his eyes. He ends up falling asleep during the other tests, much to King Theseus's annoyance and amusement. They end up having to lock the door to the library at night so Technoblade won't sneak out and hide in there.

It keeps going until there are only two left. Techno and the son of a very powerless noble. King Theseus asks them both a question during dinner, telling them to think about their answer for the night and tell him in the morning.

King Theseus asks them what should be done with an anarchist who wished to overthrow the monarchy.

Techno snorts at that while the other scowls at Techno. King Theseus ask Techno about his reaction.

Techno is VERY DONE with all of the tests and wants to leave. He wants to go back. And, even though it is probably a VERY stupid thing to say to a king, he tells King Theseus that at this point he would give the Anarchist a high-five and then go take a nap. Literally everyone in the room stares at Techno with varieties of horror and rage.

Except King Theseus who is cackling loudly. He dismisses both of them back to their room for the night.

The guards are kinda glaring at Techno for his comment, which Techno is glad for. Aha. He can finally leave! He's in the clear.

As soon as the door closes to the dormitory, the other boy stabs Techno in the back.

The noble boy’s family was told by more powerful families that if they could make King Theseus take their son, then they would bail them out of debt. But, if he wasn't chosen, then they should kill whichever boy was Actually Technoblade. Maybe, if they killed him before he could ascend, then the cycle would break and they could take control.

Which, in practice, WOULD break the cycle.

But Techno was a VERY good soldier.

Even with a knife sticking out of his back, he is able to overpower the other teen. The teen screams bloody murder, yelling for help. Guards flood the room and yank Techno off of the struggling teen. It hurts because thet pin Techno's arms behind his back, even with the knife still in place. The guards help the swearing noble off the floor, many glaring at Techno. Techno scowls back.

King Theseus comes in, scowling just as much and demands to know what happened. The noble kid smirks slightly, before he says he was just giving his answer to the question. What should be done with an anarchist who wished to destroy the royal family? Obviously, they should die.

King Theseus turns to Technoblade, still gripped by the guards and asks him if he has anything to say for himself. Techno glares. At the King. At the Noble. At the guards.

Techno responds that if a King has to stab someone in the back, he was too Weak to rule the country anyways. Might as well let it crumble. Noble kid just scoffs.

King Theseus nods for a moment before he grins, something sharp and cunning in his eye. He walks closer to Techno and Techno refuses to cower in front of the King, meeting his eye as if to dare him to do something.

Carefully, King Theseus wraps his arms around Technoblade and hugs him tight. The knife shifts and Technoblade can't help but gasp.

“Welcome home, Technoblade,” King Theseus would say, before ordering the guards to grab the noble and chop off his hand. He had stabbed the prince.

The kid begs for mercy as Technoblade is led out of the room, quickly down the hall with King Theseus's arm carefully over his shoulder. He is pushed into the Physician's office, who is very surprised to see a knife sticking out of a teen's back. Technoblade is made to lay down. He is given an anesthetic.

He tries to argue with King Theseus about him being the Prince, which is hard with the drugs. King Theseus is just giggling while playing with his hair. Techno makes noises of discontent whenever he is so far gone that he can't make words.

The King assures Techno that even if he finds the King annoying at first, he will learn to love him.

And then Techno spends way too much time trying to run, only for Tommy to find him wherever he hides. The King is Stream-sniping or something. I just have to get back to work so I can't keep fleshing it out. But yeah. King Theseus is going to be VERY possessive of Technoblade.

Anyways, sometimes you gotta make Tommy older. As a treat.

I'm so fucking obsessed with this one, Lenn, you don't understand, it's just dsqhqsdqdskjdssdqHsqkjsqqshqjskhqsksq. I kept needing to stop while reading it to flap my hands with happy stims.

The potential? Techno being so, so hostile and every little act of resistance he shows just makes Tommy coo over him like "aw, that's so Techno of you <3"

Tommy is going to be real obsessed with making up for lost time. Techno has suffered so much without him. He'll need to ascertain Techno has the best, most spoiled life from now on. Whether he wants to or not.

[writingforstraykids]

Always back to you - Chp.4

Pairing: Minho x m!Reader (mention of 3racha)

Word Count: 7000

Summary: Minho gets a call from his ex-wife, asking to meet Minjun. Hesitating, he agrees to the meeting but not without you by his side. You both find your way around each other as the boundaries between friendship and love dissolve more and more...

Warnings/Tags: fluff, single dad!min, angst, domestic shit, emotional hurt!comfort, panic attack,

A/N: Thank you for all the love for the story and little Minjun so far. I hope you enjoy this chapter, some of you have been waiting for what happens here hehe🖤

PART THREE | PART FIVE (coming soon)

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

The steady rhythmic sound of a knife chopping vegetables abruptly halts as the sharp, insistent ring of Minho’s phone pierces through the quiet kitchen atmosphere. Minho's hand stills, a sense of dread creeping up his spine as he stares at the caller ID. What? 

Minho glances out of the window quickly, seeing you and Minjun still playing peacefully outside. His eyes wander back to his phone and it takes everything in him to take it into his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen. He takes a deep breath before picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Minho, it's Yejun," comes the voice on the other end, unmistakable and unexpectedly calm. The sound of his ex-wife's voice, not heard in conversations for years, is enough to make his heart skip a beat.

"Hi, Yejun...What's up?" Minho manages to keep his voice steady, though his grip on the phone tightens.

"I’ve been thinking. It’s been a long time, and I want to meet Minjun. I want to see our son," she says.

Minho feels as if the floor dropped from beneath him. The request comes as a shock, reopening a chapter of his life he thought had been firmly closed. He leans heavily against the kitchen counter, trying to gather his thoughts. "I...that’s quite sudden. I’m not sure that’s a good idea," he replies, the discomfort clear in his voice.

"I know it’s sudden, Minho. I just want to be a part of his life," she says.

“Mhm,” he hums sourly, feeling nothing but defensiveness bubbling up in him.

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?” she asks sharply and Minho closes his eyes, swallowing down the memories that flood his brain at that tone.

“Means I wonder what makes you think you can leave and then come back once he’s old enough to do a lot on his own,” he says, chewing on his lower lip.

“It’s my right to see him, Min,” she says.

“Don’t,” Minho says firmly. “Don’t even start claiming it’s your right to meet him. You left him once he was old enough to drink from the bottle. You have absolutely no right to demand anything.”

“Gosh, Min, still so emotional, hm?” she groans and Minho puts his phone on speaker, slamming it down on the table and mocking her quietly. Her laugh rings in his ears as she starts talking again. “I want to meet him. If he doesn’t like me, I’ll go.”

“Gosh, Yejun, still taking the easy way out, hm?” he gives back dryly, bracing himself at the table. “Why now?”

“As you said, he’s easy to handle now. I’m curious,” she says.

“Curious…If you meet him, I’m there every damn second, you hear me?” he asks, and she agrees reluctantly. “If you hurt my son in any way, I’m taking him home, and that’s the last you saw of him.”

“Relax,” she snorts. “I’ll be in Seoul next week from Monday until Friday. Let’s meet up then.”

Minho agrees hesitantly, ending the call with a heavy sigh. As soon as he puts the phone down, a wave of nausea sweeps over him, his hand flying to his stomach as if to quell the rising sickness. Pacing the kitchen, he feels his mind race with worries about the past getting back at him, about the potential destruction of Minjun’s more or less stable but happy life.

You get back inside to refill Minjun’s water bottle as he quickly uses the bathroom in the meantime. You find Minho in the kitchen, his face pale, bracing himself on the table. "Minho? What’s wrong? You look sick," you ask worriedly. “You’re feeling dizzy again?”

Hearing your voice seems to ground him momentarily. He looks up at you with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. "That was Yejun," he manages to say, his voice a whisper of distress. "She wants to meet Minjun. She says she wants to be part of his life."

Your expression shifts from concern to shock. You’ve heard of her, of course, the woman who had left Minho to raise Minjun alone and caused much of his earlier heartache when you met him. "Oh, Minho," you murmur, stepping next to him. “What are you going to do?"

"I don’t know," Minho admits, his voice shaky. "Part of me thinks maybe it’s good if Minjun knows his mother. But another part...I can’t bear the thought. What if she leaves again? What if she hurts him? I can’t let Minjun go through that."

You nod, understanding his inner conflict. "This is tough, but whatever decision you make, I’m here. You’re not alone in this, Minho."

Minho looks into your eyes, finding peace in your unwavering support. Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm his racing heart. "Can you... Can you just hold me for a minute?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly asking for that, but somehow, it feels right.

Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. Minho buries his face in your shoulder, allowing himself to feel vulnerable, to accept the comfort being offered. As they stand there, Minho feels a tiny fragment of his anxiety ebb away, the warmth and steadiness of your embrace lending him strength.

After a long moment, Minho steps back slightly. "Thank you, Y/nnie. For being here," he says, his voice thick with gratitude.

"Always," you reply, squeezing his hand.

Minho feels a little steadier, bolstered by your support. "Would you...come with me to meet her? I think I might need someone there, just in case. I uh…I don’t know how it’ll be seeing her again and everything."

"Of course, Minho. I'll be there," you reply gently.

-

The day of the meeting arrives with a tense air. Minho is quiet as you both drive to the cafe where the meeting with Yejun is scheduled. Every now and then, he glances at Minjun in the rearview mirror, who is blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation, chatting excitedly about the new game you had taught him. He seemed excited to meet his mother, which was the only reason Minho decided to let them.

As you arrive and find Yejun already there, a chill runs down Minho’s spine. She looks different, yet somehow the same, and his stomach tightens as he watches her wave them over with a bright, practiced smile. Minjun gently tugs at his jeans, as always when meeting new people. He’s glad to have something to hold onto as he picks him up and soothingly pats his back. 

You stay close to them, looking at Yejun curiously. You had never felt the need to look up old pictures of Minho and her, so you had no idea what she looked like…and looking at her makes you realize she’s stunningly beautiful. Her dark, long curls frame her perfect face, skin smooth and accentuating her bright eyes. A red dress hugs her body in all the right places, and she looks delicate but elegant. God, no wonder Minho had a hard time getting over that. Getting closer, you realize Minjun must’ve inherited the freckles covering her nose, as well as the curly texture of his hair. 

"Minho, it's been too long," Yejun greets, standing to embrace him swiftly. She presses a short kiss onto his cheek that has Minho tensing up, eyes widening. Ah, lovely.

"Yejun," he nods, taking a few steps back, then turns to you. "This is Y/nnie."

"Nice to meet you," you say, offering a polite smile, though you feel the undercurrents of tension.

“And that’s..?” she asks, glancing at Minjun.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Minho mutters quietly making Minjun giggle and cover his mouth with his little hand. 

“Bad word, Daddy!” he protests, making you smirk.

“That’s some kid I stole on the way here,” Minho rolls his eyes at her. “That’s Minjun…obviously.”

“Oh…you’ve gotten big,” she nods, looking at Minjun curiously. 

“Well he was six months old when you left, go figure,” Minho says patiently, with a fake calm smile on his face. “Minjunnie, say hi to your mother.”

Minjun frowns at her softly before looking up at Minho. “Daddy? Mum who ran away?” he asks and you have trouble biting back a laugh at her perplexed face.

“Mhm, that one,” Minho nods, pulling himself out a chair. “She wants to talk to you, so be nice, buddy.”

“Okay,” he nods, getting comfortable in his own chair, blinking at her curiously. 

The conversation starts with trivialities, Yejun asking about Minjun's interests. But soon, she shifts the topic to her life in the US, describing her home, the parks, and the schools that she says would be wonderful for Minjun once he’s old enough.

Minjun listens, wide-eyed, clearly taken with the idea of such places. "Can I see them, Daddy? Can I visit her in America?" he asks, looking excitedly between Minho and Yejun.

Minho feels a pang in his heart at the words, his fear creeping back as he watches his son’s enthusiasm. He tries to keep his voice even. "We'll see, buddy. We're just talking right now."

Yejun leans forward, her tone persuasive. "I have a great life there, Minjun. You could have your own room, a big yard to play in... I'd love to show you around."

Minho feels sick watching the scene unfold, his hands clenched under the table. You notice his discomfort and place a reassuring hand on his knee. As the meeting draws to an end, Minho is quiet, lost in thought as Yejun makes plans to visit Minjun again. "Let’s take it slow, one step at a time," Minho finally says, not committing to anything more.

On the drive back, Minjun chats happily about the things his mother had told him, while Minho remains silent, his expression drawn.

Once home, Minho retreats to the kitchen, his movements sluggish, each step seeming to weigh heavily on him. You watch as he leans against the counter, his face pale and his eyes distant. Concerned, you approach him, your hand gently touching his arm. "Minho?" you call softly, trying to get his attention.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and there's an unspoken plea for comfort. The day had drained him, dredging up past pains and uncertainties about the future. "I just... I don't know if I did the right thing today," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if she convinces him? What if he wants to go with her?"

You understand the turmoil he's in. The possibility of Minjun wanting to leave with Yejun is his worst nightmare coming true. Stepping closer, you wrap your arms around him, offering him a silent reassurance. "Minho, you're an incredible father. Minjun knows that. Whatever Yejun says or does, it won't change the bond you two have."

Minho rests his forehead against your shoulder, his breath shaky. "I hope you're right," he murmurs. "It's just hard not to feel threatened, to feel like everything we have could be disrupted by her return."

"It's understandable to feel that way," you reply, holding him tighter. "But remember, Minjun loves you. He's grown up with you. That connection, those memories, they're not easily broken or forgotten. You're his dad, the one who's been there for him every single day."

As you speak, Minho's tension begins to ease. He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes, searching for the certainty he so desperately needs. Seeing the sincerity in your gaze, a small smile begins to form on his lips. "Thank you, Y/nnie," he says. "For being here, for supporting me through this."

"Always," you reply, smiling back.

The kitchen is quiet for a moment, the only sound being the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Minho seems to ponder your words, letting them sink in. Gradually, the anxious lines on his face smooth out, replaced by a more resolute expression. "I won't let her take him away," he states, more to himself than to you. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep Minjun with me."

"And I'll help you," you assure him. 

As the evening sets in, you and Minho prepare dinner together, the earlier tension melting away into a comfortable routine. Minjun joins you, chatting excitedly about his day, blissfully unaware of the complex emotions his father has been grappling with. Watching Minho laugh and interact with his son, you feel a profound sense of admiration and love for him. 

Later, as you sit down to eat, the atmosphere is light, filled with Minjun’s laughter and stories. Minho looks over at you, a silent gratitude in his gaze. Despite the challenges, he knows he isn't alone. With you by his side, he feels ready to handle whatever may come.

That night, after Minjun has gone to bed, you and Minho find yourselves on the couch, a comfortable silence enveloping you. Minho leans his head on your shoulder, his earlier fears now calmed by your presence and the peaceful end to the day.

"Today was hard," he admits quietly.

"It was," you agree. "But you got through it. And you’ll get through whatever else comes your way."

-

Minho stands silently in the middle of the living room, the soft hum of the evening settling around him. The faint laughter and shouts of children playing outside drifts through the open window, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing inside him. His hands tremble slightly as he turns over a small toy that Minjun had left on the couch—a constant reminder of his responsibilities, his fears, and his deep-seated insecurities about being a father. Minjun is staying with Felix and Chan for a few hours and you'll visit to work through a few important aspects of his schedule. 

The weight of his thoughts and the relentless pressure he placed on himself were reaching a boiling point. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as each of Minjun’s innocent questions from earlier that day echoed in his head, “Are you happy, Daddy? Does Yejun like me? Can I go to America?” The questions are simple, filled with the childlike curiosity of his young son, yet to Minho, they are a reflection of his deepest fears—is he truly enough?

The anxiety that had been simmering throughout the day suddenly surges, a tidal wave crashing over him with suffocating force. His breathing becomes shallow, each inhale sharp and unsatisfying. His heart races uncontrollably, pounding against his ribs as if trying to escape. The room spins, and a nauseous feeling tightens in his gut. He's having a panic attack, the intense fear of failing his son overwhelming him completely.

Just then, you walk in. You stop in track at the sight of Minho, his face pale, his body tense and trembling. Dropping your bag, you rush over. “Minho! What’s happening?” Your voice is laced with concern as you reach out to steady him, your hands gripping his arms.

“I...I can’t breathe properly,” Minho gasps out, his voice shaky. “I feel like I’m not enough for him...like I’m going to fail him.”

You quickly lead him to the sofa, helping him to sit down. “Look at me, Minho. Follow my breathing, okay? In and out, slowly,” you instruct him gently, demonstrating deep, steady breaths.

Minho tries to mimic your breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of your chest. Gradually, his own breaths begin to deepen, the tight grip of fear around his chest loosening slightly with each exhale. You don't let go, your presence a calming force in the storm of his panic.

After a few minutes, as the initial wave of panic begins to subside, Minho feels exhaustion seep into his bones, replacing the adrenaline that had surged through him just moments before. He leans back against the sofa, his eyes closing briefly in fatigue.

“You’re doing great, Minho. Just keep breathing like that,” you murmur, your voice a soothing balm. “You are enough for Minjun, more than enough. You’re an incredible father.”

Tears prick at Minho’s eyes as he listens to your affirmations. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice a broken whisper. “What if it’s not true? What if I’m not what he needs?”

You shift closer, your side pressing against his, a silent offer of solidarity. “Minho, look at everything you’ve done for him. He adores you. Your fear doesn’t define your reality. You are exactly what Minjun needs because you love him, and you show up every day for him, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

The sincerity in your words, the warmth of your body next to his, it all pierces through the fog of Minho’s anxiety, reaching a part of him that he kept walled off from everyone else. He turns to look at you, really look, seeing not just a friend but someone who has come to mean so much more to him.

Without thinking, driven by the emotions swirling within him and the need to be closer to the one person who seemed to understand him completely, Minho leans in. You hesitate, leaning in a little before you both stop for me a moment. Then you meet halfway, your lips touching in a kiss that is soft and hesitant at first but quickly deepened with shared urgency and emotion. But as seconds pass, the kiss deepens, driven by a mixture of long-suppressed desires and the comforting familiarity that has grown between you over countless shared moments.

All that matters is the here and now—the warmth of your lips against his, the gentle exploration that grows bolder with each passing moment. Your hands move to cup Minho’s face, your touch tender yet assured, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until it is all-consuming.

Minho’s hands find their way around you, pulling you in, his heart pounding against his chest. The kiss grows more desperate, a silent confession of the feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. Your breaths mingle, quick and shaky, as the kiss ignites a fire within you both, a blaze that seems to fill the voids you had both carried inside.

But as the intensity of your embrace grows, so does a creeping fear in the back of Minho’s mind. His heart, scarred from past hurts and losses, begins to recoil at the vulnerability he is exposing himself to. The memory of his past, of being left alone when he had dared to love openly, surges forward, casting a shadow over the warmth he feels.

Your hands trace the line of Minho's jaw, gentle yet insistent, pulling him closer. Minho responds in kind, his hands finding the small of your back, pressing you together. The kiss grows more fervent, more desperate, as if you're trying to communicate every unspoken word, every suppressed emotion through this single act. 

As your breath quickens, Minho’s emotions swirl chaotically—a blend of exhilaration and deep-seated fear. The intensity of your connection right here is something he hasn't allowed himself to fully experience for a long time, not since his heart had been guarded against such vulnerabilities.

Suddenly, the weight of his past, the memories of abandonment, and the fear of experiencing such profound loss again surge to the forefront of his mind. It is overwhelming the way these fears claw their way up, threatening to overshadow the warmth and safety he had just been reveling in.

With a sudden intake of breath, Minho’s hands still, and he pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss. His heart is racing, not just with the passion of the moment but also with a creeping dread that he might be setting himself up for another heartbreak. His chest heaves as he tries to steady his breathing, his eyes wide and vulnerable as he meets your concerned gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice choked with a mixture of fear and regret. “I... I need a moment.”

Your face is a mixture of worry and understanding. You reach out, brushing a trembling hand against Minho’s cheek. “It’s okay, Minho. We don’t have to rush anything. I’m here, okay?”

Minho nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. He is terrified, not of the kiss or the connection but of what it signifies. To let someone in so completely was to risk being torn apart again. And yet, as he looks into your eyes, he sees a reflection of something pure and steady—a commitment not just to the joy of their relationship but to the struggles, too.

Minho takes a deep breath, each inhale laced with the scent of your skin, a reminder of the now. “I just... I’m scared of losing myself, of losing Minjun, of being left alone again if this... if we don’t work out,” he confesses, his voice barely a whisper amidst the quiet of the room.

Your expression softens, your eyes filling with empathy. “Minho, love doesn’t come with guarantees, but not giving ourselves the chance to experience it fully is a guarantee of regret. I don’t know what the future holds, but I promise to be by your side through the highs and the lows. You’re not alone anymore, and you won’t be.”

These words, gentle and reassuring, seem to stitch up the raw edges of Minho’s fears slowly. He allows himself to lean into you, feeling the solidity of your presence. “Thank you,” he murmurs, allowing himself to feel the full extent of his vulnerability.

“Thank you for not running,” you say, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The tension begins to dissipate, replaced by a cautious hope.

“Thank you for staying,” Minho shakes his head gently. 

You smile, your hand squeezing Minho’s. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you assure him. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to Minho’s forehead, a simple gesture that holds a depth of meaning.

Minho allows himself to be held, his head resting against your shoulder, feeling the steady beat of your heart against his cheek. It is comforting, grounding. Slowly, his breathing evens out, the immediate panic subsiding under the gentle rhythm of your assurances.

“You mean a lot to me, Y/nnie,” Minho confesses, pulling back slightly to look at you. “I don’t want to lose you, not because of my fears.”

You smile, your hands sliding down to grasp his. “And you won’t lose me. I care about you, Minho. We’ll face this together, okay? Step by step.”

“Okay,” Minho agrees, squeezing your hands. “Step by step.”

The moment is tender, a delicate truce between Minho’s fears and the possibilities that lie ahead. You stay like that for a while, simply holding each other, finding comfort in the presence of one another.

When it is time for you to leave, Minho finds himself not wanting to let go. The goodbye is lingering, filled with the promise of soon and more. You leave him with a smile, and Minho watches from the doorway, feeling a mixture of contentment and longing.

That night, as Minho lies in bed, Minjun peacefully asleep next to him, he thinks about the kiss - the way it had made him feel alive, the way it had scared him. He touches his lips, still feeling the ghost of your touch. The fear is still there, a quiet whisper in the back of his mind, but it is slowly being overshadowed by a stronger, more insistent feeling: hope.

He knows the road ahead will be fraught with challenges, but for the first time in a long while, Minho feels ready to face them. With you by his side, he isn't just facing the future; he is stepping into it, one kiss, one conversation, one promise at a time.

-

Minho nervously ties Minjun’s shoelaces, hoping his attentive little boy can’t see the anxiety written all over his face. He gently takes Minjun’s small hands into his and searches his eyes. “Minjunnie?” he asks softly.

“What, Daddy?” his son asks curiously.

“Daddy loves you a lot, okay?” he asks, and Minjun nods contently. “I’m sorry I can’t always be there, I’ll try to get better.”

“It’s okay,” he says, gently patting his father’s head.

Minho giggles at him and pulls him into his lap. “I will always love you, okay? No matter what happens.”

“Always?” he asks softly, and Minho nods firmly. “Always come back?”

Minho cups his face, smiling at him encouragingly. “I’ll always come back to you, buddy.”

“Good,” he smiles brightly. “Yejun now?” he asks, and Minho nods.

“Yeah,” he says, almost feeling a little ashamed for being so relieved about Minjun not calling her his mother.

You open the door, glancing inside. “You two are ready to go?” you ask. “I’ll drop you off at the café, make sure everything’s in place at the location for the shoot, and then come back. I won’t be gone longer than ten minutes, it’s on the other side of the road.”

“Sounds good,” Minho nods, subconsciously chewing on his lower lip. He pushes himself back up and meeting your eyes, you can tell he needs a hug. 

“Come here,” you say gently, opening your arms for him. Minho laughs weakly and hugs you tightly, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt. “It’ll be okay,” you tell him, earning a timid hum in return. 

“Daddy?” Minjun frowns up at you two worriedly. 

Minho leaves your warm embrace, picking him up. “I’m okay,” he assures him, his one hand finding yours. Your fingers intertwine almost naturally, and you can feel his hand tremble in yours a little. 

“Liar,” Minjun says softly, not even sounding like he’s judging him for it.

Minho chuckles weakly and searches your eyes. “Minjunnie? You really like Y/nnie, right?” he asks, watching you with a gentle smile.

“No,” he shakes his head, making your heart sink for a moment. “I love Y/nnie, Daddy.”

You both laugh softly, and you gently poke his cheek. “I love you too, Minjunnie…and I care a lot about your Daddy too.”

“I…I love Y/nnie too,” Minho says quietly, and your world stops turning for a few seconds. 

“What?” you ask just as quietly, swallowing hard as tears brim Minho’s soft chocolate eyes. 

“I love you, Y/nnie,” he tells you again, a little less shaky this time. “I do,” he says as if he has to reassure you both he put it into words.

“I love you too, Minho,” you whisper happily, your heart warming. Minho squeezes your hand, searching your eyes timidly. You don’t think much, closing the distance between you two and kissing him softly. Minho sighs quietly, feeling at ease here in the moment of kissing you.

Minjun squeals making you break apart again. “Eww, but yay,” he says with wide eyes, making you giggle.

“Okay, let's go,” you laugh and gently shove Minho out of the room. 

You drive them to the café and Minho shares another quick kiss with you before getting out. You quickly cross the street to check the set, hoping it won't take long. 

-

The tension in the air is thick as Yejun sits across from Minho at a small, brightly lit café in the heart of Seoul. The noise of the bustling city outside does little to fill the silence that hangs between them. Minho watches her observantly as she tries to talk to Minjun, who’s busy coloring in the book she gifted him earlier.

"Minjun, you would love it in America," Yejun begins, her voice infused with excitement. "We have huge parks, and there are so many fun things you can do. There's Disneyland, with all the rides and characters you love."

Minjun's eyes light up at the mention of Disneyland, but his smile falters as he glances sideways at Minho, who sits silently, his expression unreadable. "Can Daddy come with us?" Minjun asks innocently, his voice tinged with hope.

Yejun’s smile tightens slightly. "No, it would just be you and me. But think of all the adventures we’ll have!"

Minjun’s face falls. "But I want Daddy...and Y/nnie," he ads, his small voice growing firmer. "I want them."

Yejun’s patience began to crumble. "Minjun, I’m your mother. I have a wonderful life set up for us in America. You need to think about what I’m offering you."

Minho, who has been quietly observing the exchange, sees the confusion and distress growing on Minjun’s face. "Yejun, that's enough," he interjects calmly. "You’re overwhelming him. He’s only a child."

Yejun turns her gaze to Minho, her eyes flashing with irritation. "You have no right to keep him from me, Minho! You’ve turned him against me, huh? You stole my son!"

The accusation stings, and Minho’s voice grows stern. "Yejun, I haven’t stolen anyone. I’ve been here for Minjun every single day since he was born. He’s my son too, and I have been his only parent for years."

“Well, I’m his mother and-”

Tears well up in Minjun's eyes as the tension rises. He can tell his father is upset and trying not to show it, he may be young but he knows him well. The woman opposite him glares at him and he doesn’t like that at all. "You're not my mum, Y/nnie is!" he cries out, the emotional toll of the conversation beginning to show. "Y/nnie plays with me. Y/nnie makes me food. Y/nnie cuddles me!"

Yejun blinks, her face contorted with a mix of shock and disgust. "Y/nnie? That babysitter? You think he's a better mother than me?”

“Yes,” he says stubbornly, staring down at his coloring book again.

“Minho, what the fuck have you done with this child?” she asks frustratedly.

Minho reaches out, taking Minjun’s hand in his, providing a comforting touch. "Y/nnie has been here for him. What Minjun is trying to say is that family isn’t just about blood; it’s about who cares for you, who’s there for you."

Yejun’s anger flares, and she stands abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. "He is my son, and you’ve turned him into this...this weak, dependent child clinging to a man who has no business raising him!"

Minjun’s tears spill over, and he buries his face in Minho’s side, sobbing. Minho wraps his arms around his son protectively. "He is not weak. He’s a child, Yejun. And you’re upsetting him."

“I can’t believe you’re letting his babysitter take my role!” she protests loudly.

“That babysitter is my boyfriend,” Minho says firmly. Technically, the two of you aren't there yet but he couldn't care less right now. “So you better watch your mouth now.”

“Really? Dating a man?” she scoffs. “Did I break your heart so much you’re too scared to face another woman?” she spits out.

“What?” Minho almost chokes on his breath.

“You’re stupid,” Minjun states, pouting at her through tears. He doesn’t like how she’s talking about the two most important people in his life. “Daddy loves Y/nnie. Not you.”

“You’re coming with me now, if you like it or not!” she says firmly, reaching out for him.

"Don’t touch him," you snap, your voice icy as you move to block her path. "You need to leave, Yejun. You’re only causing him distress." You can’t believe what you got back to here.

Yejun stares at you, her anger boiling over. "He’s my son, not yours! You have no right—"

"He's not your son!" Minho interrupts firmly, standing up to face her, his voice echoing in the small space. "Not if you can’t see the damage you’re doing right now. Minjun has made his choice!"

“Not my mummy,” Minjun agrees. Still clinging to Minho, he peeks out and yells in his small, fierce voice, "Go away! I don’t want you! I want Daddy and Y/nnie!"

The raw honesty in Minjun’s voice seems to hit Yejun hard. For a moment, her resolve wavers, her features softening as she looks at her son. But the bitterness and resentment are too deep, her expression hardening once again.

“You’re disgusting,” she says toward Minho who stares at her quietly. “One day, he’ll leave you just like he left me,” she tells Minjun, who whimpers, clinging to him. 

“You’re such a bitch,” you tell her and stare her down until she storms off. “You forgot your stuff!” you call out for her and she spins around, stomping back to get it. 

“Fuck you.” With that, she turns sharply and storms out of the café, leaving behind a heavy silence. 

Minho kneels down, wiping the tears from Minjun’s cheeks. "It’s okay, buddy. She’s gone now. You’re safe," he murmurs, his voice soothing.

Minjun sniffles, nodding as he leans into Minho’s embrace. "Stay with me, Daddy. Stay with Y/nnie."

"We will, Minjun. We’re not going anywhere," Minho reassures him. “Always back to you, remember my sweet boy?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he nods bravely.

-

Back at the company Minho walks straight to Chan's studio, telling you to go and get some snacks with Minjun first. He closes the door behind himself and starts cursing as soon as it clicks shut. “I swear that woman is insane! I don't know what the fuck I saw in her but it's gone!”

Chan slowly pulls off his headphones and Jisung clicks his pen, blinking at Minho worriedly. “Mate, what happened?” Chan asks gently. 

“Yejun happened!” Minho snaps. “She just tried to pull Minjun away from me so he'd go with her! She called him a weak, clingy child for wanting to stay with me!” 

“Okay, take a deep breath,” Chan says soothingly. 

“I don't feel like taking a deep breath right now,” he says fuming with anger. 

Changbin picks up a pillow and throws it at him. “Scream into that for a moment. Let it all out. You haven't told us much but I suspect Minjun needs his father to be calm now.” Minho blinks at them stunned before doing as they say, his scream getting muffled by the pillow. “Better?”

“A little,” he nods, making them all laugh. Minho flops down onto the sofa between Changbin and Jisung, huffing softly. Then he tells them about everything that happened, all of them growing quiet, exchanging shocked glances. 

“Not to be that type of person but..I never liked her,” Jisung snorts and Minho hums agreeingly. 

“I know…but I wouldn't want to miss the time I had with her. I'd miss my little boy,” he sighs and rubs his face. 

“If she starts causing trouble you let me know, alright?” Chan asks. “Everyone of us can tell whoever needs to know that you've always been there for him and raised him well so far.”

“Thanks, hyung,” he smiles gently, looking up as the door opens and you and Minjun enter the room. Minjun runs up to everyone handing them their favorite snack and smiles proudly at the many encouragement he gets. Minho scoots over and pats the space next to himself, gently tapping your hand to make you sit. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?” you ask and Minho nods, getting up quickly. 

As soon as you leave the room Minjun climbs into Chan's lap and nibbles on his chocolate. “Exciting day?” Chan asks gently. 

“No. Yejun’s a bitch,” he announces dryly. Chan bites back a laugh and Jisung nods proudly. 

“Woah, that's a strong word,” Changbin laughs. “Did your daddy teach you that?”

“No, Y/nnie,” he tells them. 

“You like staying with your daddy more, right?” Chan asks amused. 

“And Y/nnie,” he nods happily. “Y/nnie and Daddy.”

“Yeah? Y/nnie stays with you a lot,” Jisung agrees. 

“Daddy loves Y/nnie.”

“Loves?” he asks curiously. 

Minjun nods and leans up to Chan, kissing his cheek. “They did that.”

Chan giggles, exchanging a glance with his friends. “They kissed?” he asks curiously. 

“Mhm,” he nods and continues munching his chocolate. “But not there,” he says, pointing at Chan's cheek. 

“No?” Chan asks stunned. 

“No. Like uncle Lix and you,” he announces making the whole room go silent. 

“You mean here?” Chan asks, pointing at his lips. 

“Yes,” Minjun nods. “Y/nnie is my new mum.”

“That's so cute,” Jisung whispers, smiling at him adoringly. 

The door opens and you two are back from your short talk about everything that happened. You sense something's off, judging by the way the three are glancing from Minho to you and back again. “Minjunnie, are you ready to go home?” you ask him. “Daddy has to work but he'll come later.”

“Work?” Minjun asks heartbreakingly timid. 

“I'm sorry, baby,” Minho tries, swallowing hard as Minjun climbs off Chan's lap and walks over to him, his small face scrunching up. Minho scoops him up, hugging him tightly. "I'll be back before you know it, okay? And Y/nnie will be with you," he reassures, glancing over at you with a grateful smile.

Minjun seems somewhat calmed by this, nestling his head against Minho's shoulder. "Promise?" he mumbles, his voice muffled.

"I promise, buddy," Minho affirms, pressing a kiss to his son's hair.

You can't help but feel a pang of warmth at the scene, your heart swelling at the depth of their bond. As you prepare to leave with Minjun, Minho sets him down, adjusting his little backpack and smoothing down his hair.

"Be good for Y/nnie, okay?" Minho instructs, kneeling to be eye level with Minjun.

"I will," Minjun nods solemnly, then looks up at you with those big, trusting eyes. "Let's go, Y/nnie."

As you lead Minjun out of the studio, his hand in yours, you glance back to see Minho watching you both, a mix of love and a tinge of sorrow in his eyes. It's clear how torn he feels, the duties of his work pulling him away from moments he cherishes with his son.

Back at Minho’s house, the evening unfolds with a quiet kind of normalcy. Minjun plays with his toys in the living room, occasionally chatting about things he remembers from the day or asking questions about what tomorrow might bring. You keep your answers light and reassuring, mindful of the emotional turmoil he’s endured.

Later, while Minjun is absorbed in a cartoon, you step into the kitchen to prepare a simple dinner, your thoughts wandering back to Minho. The way he had leaned into your kiss, the vulnerability he showed—it all painted a picture of a man deeply in love but equally scared of the implications. Your heart aches for him, wishing there was more you could do to ease his fears.

As you set the table, Minjun comes running into the kitchen, his earlier worries seemingly forgotten in the wake of his current excitement about the cartoon.

"Y/nnie, did you see? The superhero saved everyone!" he exclaims, his eyes sparkling.

"I saw that, buddy. It was pretty cool, wasn’t it?" you smile, lifting him onto a chair.

"Yeah! I wanna be like that," Minjun declares, his chest puffing out proudly.

"I think you're already a hero, Minjun. You know that?" you say, ruffling his hair.

He giggles, beaming up at you. "Really?"

"Really," you affirm, serving him his dinner.

Dinner passes with playful chatter, and soon it's time for Minjun's bedtime. As you tuck him into bed, he hugs his beloved bunny. 

"Daddy comes home soon?" Minjun’s voice is small, tinged with the weight of his earlier tears.

"He promised, didn’t he? And your daddy always keeps his promises," you reassure him, smoothing down the blanket. “Did you know your daddy's animal of the group is a bunny?”

Minjun nods proudly. “Yes.”

“There are plushies of his bunny, just like yours here. Would you like one?” you ask gently and Minjun nods with wide eyes. “Then you can cuddle it if he's not here.”

Minjun nods contently, curling up with the plushie. "Night, Y/nnie."

"Goodnight, Minjun. Sweet dreams," you whisper, turning off the light and leaving the door slightly ajar.

Once Minjun is asleep, you sink onto the couch, the quiet of the house settling around you. You're startled by the sound of the front door opening—Minho is home.

He looks exhausted, the lines of his face deeper, his eyes shadowed. But when he sees you, a smile, tired yet genuine, crosses his lips.

"Hey," he greets softly, dropping his keys into the bowl by the door.

"Hey," you reply, standing to meet him. "Rough day?"

"You could say that," Minho sighs, pulling you into a hug. It's a long, tight embrace, one that speaks volumes.

As you pull back, you hold his gaze. "Talk to me," you encourage.3

Minho shakes his head slightly, a weary chuckle escaping him. "Just the usual chaos. But coming back to this—coming back to you—it helps more than you might think."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the simplicity of his statement underscoring the depth of your growing bond. "I'm glad," you murmur, your hands resting on his arms.

"We didn't get much time earlier... to talk about... us," Minho hesitates, searching your face for signs of what you might be feeling.

"No, we didn’t," you agree, feeling the momentous weight of the conversation that looms between you. "But we’re here now. We can talk."

Minho nods, taking a deep breath. "I meant what I said earlier, before everything with Yejun. I love you, Y/nnie. I know it’s complicated, and I know my life is... a lot. But I want you in it, in every way."

The earnestness in his voice, the open vulnerability—he’s offering you his heart, and it’s yours to take. You smile, your decision clear. "I love you too, Minho. And I’m in this. All of it, with you," you say.

The relief that washes over Minho's face is evident. He pulls you close again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that seals the promise of a future together, come what may. In that moment, wrapped up in each other, the challenges that lie ahead seem manageable. With love as your anchor, you both feel ready to face whatever comes next, together.

PART THREE | PART FIVE (coming soon)

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

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[starlyxn]

Heavenly Pleasure ♡⁠

⋆｡˚✩ : Angel!reader x Occultist!Kazuha

⋆｡˚✩ , genre: smut, nsfw

⋆｡˚✩ , synopsis: Kazuha wants to try summoning a demon, yet to his surprise he summons an angel?? You're curious about human love, so he decides to teach you just how it is to "love" <3

⋆｡˚✩ , cw: fingering and oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, usage of pet name (angel), reader is really innocent and lowkey turns into a whore at the end lmaoaoao, your angel wings are sensitive for some reason and uhh I also added aftercare :3

⋆｡˚✩ , note!!: there are 2k words + omg this is my first time ever writing I'm sorry if it sucks lmaoaooaoa

Kazuha was a college student who specialized in literature. He was pretty popular and attractive, he was also amazing at poetry. You would never expect that such a nice guy like him would be interested in occult.

Last night he took one of the occult books he found in the library and tried to do a ritual to summon a demon. Was he really expecting it to work? Well, no. But he still wanted to give it a try.

It's the middle of the night when he wakes up in a cold sweat. He feels a strange presence next to him and sees a pale, feathery, human like creature sitting on the edge of his bed, giving him a sweet smile. It was you.

So.. how exactly did this happen? Well, yesterday while Kazuha was doing the ritual, he got some stuff wrong and instead of summoning a demon he summoned an angel. You heard his call and came down to earth to see your summoner.

Kazuha looks at you in shock. "What the hell..? Is this a dream? It gotta be..." You look at him with a sweet smile. "No, it's real!! I'm the angel you summoned last night!" you declare.

Kazuha's mind was racing with thoughts as to why an angel would be in his room right now.

"An angel? So the the ritual I did actually worked??" He seems to think about the situation he's on right now, panicking a bit. "Fuck..! How do I get rid of it..?!"

Get rid of it?? Oh.. did he mean me? You frown when you realize he infact did. "You wanna get rid of me..? Why?" You look up at him, your eyes staring into his amber ones.

He seems to notice your sadness and reconsiders his decision, immediately trying to make you feel better, after all he wouldn't wanna sadden an angel. "N-no! I mean.. uhh..." He looks away thinking of what words to use next. "I don't know... What do I even do with an angel..?"

Why would he call you if he doesn't know what to do with you? You were clueless. "Well... I don't know, you're the one who summoned me after all, so.. you decide what you wanna do." You say and smile at him again.

"Well, you do have a good point..." He was still unsure about what to do with his unexpected visitor. "So.. what's your name?" He says, trying to make some small talk. He was quite charming, yet also incredibly awkward.

"I'm [name]" you say. He smiles at you. "What a pretty name, fitting for an angel such as yourself." He looked at you more closely now, taking in your pretty features. He thought you were extremely pretty but well.. being an angel probably helped with that.

After a short pause he notices how he has been staring at you and blushes, looking away in embarrassment. "I'm Kazuha..." is what he stammers out, refusing to look you in the eyes. You smile at him, you didn't mind the staring at all! He was pretty cute... "That's such a pretty name!!" You say happily.

This just makes Kazuha's face go a deeper shape of red. "Oh, thank you..." He says with a gentle smile on his face. Then after a few seconds he awkwardly shuffles in his place. "Are you like, here to judge me or something..? You know, since you're an angel and stuff..."

You're a bit taken aback by his question. "Oh no, of course not! I'm here because you summoned me!!" He sighs happily. "Well that's a relief, though... How did I even manage to summon you?" You just look at him and dryly answer. It didn't make sense to you that he was even asking that in the first place... "With the ritual."

"Right, right... So you're like a real celestial being from up there?" He points up to the ceiling. You giggle a bit at the way he's acting. "Yup!! Straight from heaven!!" You stand up and do a little spin to show off your wings and halo. "See?"

Kazuha looked at you and smiled, seemingly impressed by your features. "Archons.. you look as if you're straight out of a book or something..." He couldn't help but stare a bit longer, admiring your beauty.

You just give him a sweet smile in response. Kazuha's heart skipped a beat at your sweet look. "So you just.. hang around looking pretty?" He chuckles awkwardly, obviously not used to holding conversations with the supernatural.

You giggle at his question. "I guess so..? I'm still pretty new to all of this to be honest." You blush a bit. He thinks a bit and then opens his mouth to ask another question. "Anyways.. I summoned you, you're here and you'll do anything that I want? Right..?" You nod at his question.

This was a once in a life time offer for Kazuha. He looked you up and down, he seemed to be mesmerized by the beautiful details of your feathery wings. You wait patiently for his request and after a moment he stands up, a bit nervous to ask you what he wishes for.

He points at your wings. "Can I take a closer look..? Or like.. you know... Touch them?" You smile at his request and accept. "Of course you can!!"

Kazuha approached you and started gently caressing your wings. He carefully checks out every detail of your pretty feathers while gently grazing his fingers across them.

You let out a little sound. It felt weird to have your wings touched... Kazuha's face flushed a bit when he took notice of your sound. "Does it feel good..?" You feel your face heat up by his touch. "It feels a bit.. weird..? It's kinda sensitive... But good!" Kazuha looks at you with a gentle smile. "I'm glad it's good..."

Kazuha understood that your feathers were sensitive and he didn't wanna make you feel uncomfortable but the sounds you make and the way your body reacts to his touch was just mesmerizing... I mean, it couldn't be a sin right..? He was just caressing you, gently... Not at all sexually!! Well, just.. just a bit maybe...

His hand travels from your wings to your soft cheeks. You giggle a bit at his touch and the way he's blushing "That's not my wing.." He blushes a bit and looks into your eyes. "Am I allowed to touch you elsewhere..?"

Well, what could possibly go wrong? He seems like a nice guy!! Right? You smile at him "Sure, go ahead." His hand travels over your soft features and eventually ends up on your inner thigh, his face flushes red when you shiver at his touch.

"Are you okay..? I-I can stop.." You shake your head, "No no.. continue.. it just felt a bit weird." He looks at you a bit guilty, knowing that what he was doing just had to be a sin, get he couldn't hold himself back. Well, I mean, he didn't fuck you yet so it's okay!

His hand reaches up higher and you open your legs out of instinct, letting him see up your dress. He notices that and his thumb softly presses on your clothed clit making your eyes open wide as you whine at the feeling. Your face feels hot.. your whole body does actually.

"Kazuha.. It feels weird when you touch there..." He stops his motion on your clothed cunt which makes you.. rather sad. "I.. I should stop then..." Before he can pull his hand away you get a hold of it, pulling it against yourself again. "No.. don't stop.. I want more... I'm just not used to this..."

His face grows red and well, the color in his face isn't the only thing that grows. Yet you don't notice the growing tent in his pants. You were too focused on this new sensation you had discovered. Kazuha pulls against your panties "May I?" You nod, he knows better than you when it comes to this stuff so you put all your trust into him.

He mutters something under his breath after he takes your panties off, you didn't quite get what he said but it sounded something like "so pretty.." Kazuha rubs your clit and lowers himself down until he's facing your bare core, before you can mutter something about how this is embarrassing he starts licking your clit.

Which results with you moaning out his name. He places his middle finger right infront your entrance "I-Ill put my finger in..." You were a bit confused. "In..? In me..?" He blushes even more when you look at him with those innocent eyes. "Y-yes.. it'll feel good for you..."

"O-okay... I'm ready then" He gently pushes his finger in, "Archons... You're so tight, yet also wet..." he starts to rub your insides gently and latches his tongue back on your little bud. You moan and clench around his fingers, "Ah! It feels good..! M-more..."

"Needy.." he smiles and pushes his ring finger in too, watching the way your body takes him in. He fingers you with wet squelches and sucks on your clit. You shake as a weird feeling engulfs you, it felt good, almost too good. It's like there's a coil in your stomach, about to snap.

"Kazuha.. too much... I feel like I'm gonna..." You didn't know what it was, but there was something... Kazuha immediately understood that you were about to cum. And so.. he stopped. "Why..? Why did you stop..?" You whine at the lost of contact.

"I want your first time coming to be on my cock, angel" Your face grows hot at his dirty words. "So vulgar..." You look away and try to hide your flushed gaze. "Sorry, angel..." You smile at him "Never said I didn't like it..."

He grins and undresses both you and himself. He begins playing with your perky nipples making you softly sigh at his touch. "You're so pretty angel..." Your eyes travel down to his erection. "Kazuha..." You mumble his name. Your hand goes to his cock, you rub your finger over his head which was already leaking precum.

"Fuck.. angel... I can't take it anymore... Can I, can I fuck you..?" Fucking..? What was that again... "What is that..?" Oh, that's right. You were an angel, literally from heaven. Of course you didn't know what that was.

"Um.. I wanna make love to you... Do you know what that is..?" Love.. love... The word left a sweet taste in your tongue. "Love... I've always wondered what it is like to love. I heard so much about it, yet never felt love..." He smirks at your words, so cute and innocent.

"I'll teach you all about it then, don't worry angel, you'll feel a lot of love tonight." He climbs on top of you and aligns his cock with your wet entrance. "I'll be gentle... But make sure to tell me if it hurts, okay?"

Before you can answer he pushes himself in, feeling your soft walls engulfing all of him. You moan and grip his sheets, looking up at him and then back to where you are connected. His hips stutter and he hisses when he's finally all in.

"Fuck.. angel, you're so tight..." You grip his arm with one of your hands and look up at him with pleading eyes. "Huh? Oh, you wanna hold my hand?" He gives you a sweet smile and gently places his hand on top of yours, intertwining his fingers with yours as he starts moving his hips slowly.

"So, ah.. fucking cute... Even while you're being fucked by me..."

"Kazuha.. it feels good when you ahh.. move..!" Kazuha's pace picked up as you said that, his thrusts getting harder and deeper. His wet lips met yours in a passionate kiss, your tongues tangling together as you shared your mutual pleasure. The sound of your heavy breathing and wet slapping of flesh on flesh filled the room, creating an erotic symphony.

Everything after that was a haze, Kazuha was kissing and licking you all over, it felt like you were melting from the pleasure. The only sounds you could get out being moans and whines. Everything was a blur, the only thing you could think of was Kazuha Kazuha Kazuha...

Until you suddenly got that weird feeling in you again, everything feeling even more sensitive. Kazuha could already feel you were close by how your thighs started shaking and how you were clamping down on him.

"Ah–!♡⁠ Angel..! I'm ahn– I'm gonna cum too, fuck.. cum– cum with me..!♡⁠" You moan shamelessly and hold on tight to him, something in you screams that you want.. no, need him to do whatever that cumming thing was inside of you.

"Kazuhaa!♡ Cum– cum inside of me!!♡⁠♡⁠ Ahhnn..!♡⁠ Fuck– faster!! Ohhh– keep going.. just like that..!" He seems to get even more aroused, if that was even possible. He snaps his hips against yours fast and hard, making you shake with each thrust.

"I thought you were ahh–!♡⁠ Supposed to be an angel... Yet you're saying such unholy things right ahn– now! Did I fuck the innocence out of you, angel?♡⁠♡⁠♡⁠" You can't even answer and only manage to blabber some words about how you're gonna cum and then your orgasm washes over you. Kazuha finishes with a loud moan, his warm load filling you up and painting your insides white.

The only thing you could hear now was the panting of you both. Kazuha pulls out of you and lays beside you. "You did so good angel..." He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "It felt like nothing I've ever felt before..." is what you say, tired after what you just did.

"You really made me feel like I was in heaven." You just smile at him and he suddenly stands up. "Noo.. don't go..!" He giggles when you say that "I'm gonna get a wet towel to wipe you off. I'll be right back!"

After a few minutes he's back and starts gently wiping you off, getting rid of the sticky mess you two created. Especially between your thighs.. both your and his cum dripping down your them. He gets you all clean though!!

He also rummages through his closet and takes out a few clothes and put them on you. They were warm and comfortable, plus they smelled just like him... "I hope you're comfortable right now..." He smiles at you and takes you in his arms. "More comfortable than I ever was before..." You mumble and cuddle up to him.

He looks down at you, adoring you. "Get some sleep angel, I know you're tired. I'll be here in the morning, still laying right beside you." ...you wanted to tell him something. What was it..? Oh! "I love you..."

He freezes at your words and looks at you, dazzled. "I– I love you too..." He said, still not believing that you just told him that. He hugs you tight and caresses your soft hair, massaging your scalp until you fall asleep in his arms.