#look inside my brain for more ideas and you will find nothing more than gum a paperclip and a dead fly

[cchipollo]

mirror universe q and picard phone doodles (they are bad and sketchy as but its ok)

[teenwolffanclub-me]

How Drunk Are You? (Stiles Stilinski x Reader)

Summary: You and your best friend, Stiles, can’t decide who’s more drunk after a night out with the pack. It doesn’t take long for your little competition to get out of hand.

Word count: 4,752

Warnings: drunk (but consensual) sexy times

Notes: I got this idea while drunk and may have gotten a little carried away but this one really just spoke to me so here ya go 😅

———————————————————————

You tumble out of the Uber, nearly falling flat on your face before a firm hand juts out of the car to steady you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Stiles chuckles from behind you as he steps out onto the sidewalk. “You’re way more fucked up than I thought.”

You twirl around to face him, nearly losing your balance for the second time. You furrow your brows and poke a finger into his chest harshly.

“You, sir, are wrong. I’m completely sober.” You wobble a bit in your heels, and he just rolls his eyes before slamming the car door shut and waving off your driver.

He takes only one step forward before his knees buckle, almost sending him crumpling to the ground beside you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady himself, breaking into a fit of giggles at his own intoxicated state. He’s trying to be the responsible one but honestly, he may be more gone than you.

You can’t help but laugh along with him as you help each other to your front door. Once there, you try turning the knob before realizing with a huff that you have to unlock it first. You let go of Stiles, who nearly loses his balance again, to rummage through your purse for the keys.

The bag suddenly seems endless as you shove receipts, sticks of gum, lip gloss, and other random shit out of the way to find your keychain. Finally, after what feels like several minutes to your drunk brain, you find them.

“Ah ha!” You call triumphantly and hold them up against your dim porch light.

“Hey. I’ll prove I’m more sober.” Stiles perks up with an idea, his caramel eyes dancing with amusement. “I bet I can unlock the door without looking.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest at the image of him doing that, and you instantly hand him the keys. You don’t think he’s actually coherent enough to succeed, but you know it’ll be entertaining to watch him try.

He waggles his eyebrows at you as he takes the keys and turns so that his back is to the door. He fumbles around blindly, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. Your breathing slows as your eyes track the movement. You swallow thickly, feeling the familiar attraction you have for your best friend—that you usually keep tightly packed away—rise to the surface.

Admittedly, you’re a horny drunk. You can’t help but flirt with everyone and anyone you encounter while out partying, including your best friends that you’d never consider sleeping with, not even while intoxicated. But Stiles was a different story.

You’d been attracted to the spaz since you met him freshman year, although it was clear nothing was going to happen due to his obsession with a certain raven haired beauty. That was a couple years ago at this point, and he’d moved on, but the two of you were much too close to act on any lingering feelings now.

You laugh again as he continually fails to unlock the door, and decide to help him out. You lean forward, your chest only an inch away from his, and wrap your fingers around his hand. He stiffens against you, but you don’t notice through your drunk haze.

You peer over his shoulder and guide the key to where it needs to be, easily unlocking the door within seconds.

“You lose.” You quip, standing up straight to smirk at him before popping the door open and skipping inside.

What you don’t see is the way Stiles stands there for several moments collecting himself. You hadn’t even done anything, he thought. You’d barely touched him and here he was, clutching his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart. He was so screwed, being alone with you right now, but he was also way too drunk to do anything about it.

He clears his throat and finally walks inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Even while completely plastered, he knows a random supernatural creature could attack at any moment. Not that a wooden door would do much to keep them out, but the action was just muscle memory at this point.

He finds you lounging on the couch, your legs dangling over the armrest. He scratches at the side of his head as his eyes trail over you, trying his best not to make his simmering lust obvious. You were easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and that was when you were wearing sweats.

Right now, with you laying there, your skirt riding up and your breasts peaking out from the low neckline of your crop top, he was finding it hard to control his attraction.

“It’s my turn.” You push yourself up onto your elbows and let your eyes sweep around your living room and kitchen. “I bet I can make the fries I have in my freezer without burning the whole place down.”

Stiles groans excitedly at the idea. Anything greasy sounds like the absolute best thing he could put into his stomach right now. He nods encouragingly and you sway to your feet, giggling as you almost fall once again. You take a detour and slide your heels off at the front door, sighing with content as your feet finally relax.

He follows close behind you as you prance your way into the kitchen, telling himself it’s to keep you safe but knowing it’s actually because it gives him an amazing view of your ass. You preheat the oven and pop the freezer open before crouching down to rummage through your cabinets for a pan.

Stiles wants to avert his eyes. He wants to be a respectable young man and not openly gawk at his best friend, but he can see the edge of your red lacy panties with you bending over like that. He chews on his bottom lip and watches as you search for whatever it is you’re looking for. He can’t even remember what you’re supposed to be doing with your body on display like that.

You finally find the right pan for the job and pull it out with a triumphant smile before standing upright, much to Stiles’ dismay. You place the baking sheet on the stovetop and pour out a heaping pile of fries before resealing the bag and putting them away.

You turn on your heel to face your best friend, who was still somewhat in a daze, giving him jazz hands with a big grin.

“Ta-da!” You bounce your way over to the large island in the middle of your kitchen, proud of yourself for completing the first step of your bet.

Stiles’ hooded eyes follow you, his heart racing in his chest. He honestly can’t believe how lucky he is to call you his best friend. The two of you—along with the pack of course—had gone through so much the last few years. It was a miracle any of you were still alive, although not all of you were.

It was with the realization, that life is short and that he loves the shit out of you, that he decides to throw caution to the wind. You jump up onto the island, blissfully unaware of the breakthrough he just made. He gulps, the sight of you level with him now, your mini skirt all hiked up around your thighs and your tight crop top giving him a peak of midriff almost too much to handle.

He isn’t sure if he’ll regret this in the morning, but he’s also too drunk to care. Right now, he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything. He walks toward you slowly, his eyes trailing up and down your form as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

Your brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor, the darkness swirling in his caramel eyes too hard to decipher from this distance. You watch closely as he moves forward until he’s only a foot away. He leans down, still taller than you even while you’re sitting on the counter, each of his hands bracing against the marble beside your hips.

“Stiles...?” Your voice trials off in question as you search his face.

“I bet,” He swallows down the last bit of hesitation bubbling in his throat and lets his eyes flutter down to your lips. “You won’t kiss me right now.”

Your breath catches at his words. Your eyes widen and you aren’t even sure you heard him correctly. Your mind instantly starts racing with questions. Is he just saying this because he’s drunk? Or could he possibly return the feelings you’ve been harboring for years?

To be completely honest, you don’t really care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and he looks ridiculously enticing in his red flannel and black bomber jacket. It was the alcohol that made you do it, sure, but it was more so the fact that you’ve wanted to kiss this man since you met him.

You cup the sides of his face and jerk him down to you, closing those last few inches. Your lips wrestle with his and he stiffens against you as if surprised, despite being the one to initiate this. The kiss isn’t pretty. It’s messy and heated. A battle of tongues and teeth as both of you fight for dominance.

One of his hands moves to your exposed knee, the other gripping your waist firmly. He lets out a broken moan against you, his head tilting to give him more room to devour you. Your hands tangle in his hair and you arch into him as his long fingers tentatively slide beneath the edge of your crop top.

Internally, he’s freaking the fuck out. He didn’t think you’d actually do it. He fully expected you to laugh the bet off and move on, but here you are. Kissing the shit out of him. He knows that he will never be able to come back from this moment. No matter what happens after this, he has to have you.

You pull away first, breathless, not from the kiss itself but because it’s him. It’s Stiles. Your best friend. You’re honestly a little surprised that he’s such a good kisser. Sure, he’s had girlfriends over the years, but damn.

The two of you sit painfully still for several moments. Stiles is afraid that if he moves even an inch, he’ll break whatever spell had come over you. He leans forward minutely, desperately wanting to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest and practically shove him away.

His eyes widen as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor, panic tightening in his chest. Did he fuck up? You regret it already? Is everything ruined forever?

You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. His hair is all wild, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are plump and glistening. He’s sex on legs, and you’ve barely even gotten a taste. That one kiss is all it took to ignite the lust that’d been simmering within you all night.

You pull in a shaky breath, knowing that if you’re ever going to make a move, it has to be right now.

“I bet,” You say slowly, your voice low and sultry as you watch his eyes flicker over your face. “I can make you hard without even touching you.”

Stiles sputters silently, brain short circuiting at your words. He’s frozen in place. He wants to pump a fist into the air because this is actually happening but his muscles won’t move. He just nods, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

You giggle at his dumbstruck expression as you jump down from the island, the food on the stove completely forgotten. The edge of your lips twitch up into a smirk when you take a small step toward him and he stiffens. A surge of confidence moves through you at the sight of unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You hold his gaze as you grip the edge of your top and peel it over your head slowly. You’re suddenly very grateful that past you chose to wear your favorite matching red lacy set. Stiles’ eyes instantly trail down your exposed torso, although they keep flickering back to your breasts as if unable to look away.

You run your hands slowly along your shoulders, over your chest, and down your stomach. Stiles watches every one of your movements like they’re supplying the air he needs to breathe. You push your thumbs into the waistband of your mini skirt and pull it down a fraction of an inch before letting it go with a snap against your skin.

Stiles jumps at the sound, his glazed eyes locked onto the place your hands had just been. You take a few steps toward him, swaying slightly, and can’t help but giggle. This situation really is pretty ridiculous. You’re in your kitchen, preforming a strip tease for your best friend. It’s not something you ever thought you’d do.

You don’t stop until you’re only inches away from his heaving chest. You bat your eyelashes up at him and turn around so your back is just a hairs length from him. You bend over slowly, flicking your hair over your shoulder to look up at him as you wiggle your hips sensually.

You hear his shaky intake of breath and can’t help but smirk. If you’d known the effect you had on him, you would’ve done this years ago. He’s absolutely itching to touch you. His fingers are twitching at his sides in anticipation, but he doesn’t want to overstep your boundaries.

He wants to take you. To claim you as his. Pull you back against him and ravish you like the goddess you are. But he holds himself back. The ball is in your court, and he’s going to let you have your fun until he’s sure you’re ready for him.

You stand up straight and turn to face him, eyes skimming down to the obvious bulge at the front of his jeans. A slow smile pulls at your lips.

“You lose again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You’re afraid that if you speak any louder, it’ll break this tension, this electricity between you.

It’s at this moment that he snaps, his earlier thoughts instantly forgotten. He just can’t take it anymore. He’s been restraining himself for years and right now, after the show you just gave him, he can’t wait even a second longer to have you.

At once, you’re in his arms. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, sliding his palms down the backs of your legs before hiking them up around his waist. You squeal against him and tighten your thighs to hold yourself up.

His hands are on your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he blindly walks both of you toward the stairs. He doesn’t need to look. He has the entire layout of your house memorized after being here almost daily for years. He clambers up to the second floor, staggering and pausing a few times to deepen your kisses.

You feel feverish. His skin on yours is causing some sort of reaction. You’re burning up, hot crackling desire twisting in your stomach. You don’t even realize that he shoves his way through your bedroom door until he tosses you onto your bed. You bounce a few times, bracing your hands on the soft mattress to keep yourself upright.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you with this heat, this need. It makes you want to give him anything he asks for. You’re his, whether he knows it yet or not. You’re completely gone for your spaz of a best friend.

He suddenly takes a step forward and grips your ankles in each of his hands. He jerks you toward him until your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. He pulls them apart and stands between them before dropping to his knees. Your eyes widen knowingly, a spark of excitement igniting in your chest.

“I bet I can make you cum in less than five minutes.” He smirks at the awestruck expression overtaking your face.

You nod your head enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than for him to ease the throbbing need between your legs. He runs his fingers up your shins, torturously slow, before stopping to squeeze your thighs gently. His eyes never leave yours as he moves higher and higher, dangerously close to exactly where you want him.

Stiles leans up and connects your lips again, this time a languid kiss as he lightly guides you down to the bed. You prop yourself up onto your elbows as he peppers gentle kisses down the column of your throat. A shudder moves through you at the feeling of his hair brushing against your heated skin as he moves across your collarbone.

He traces a path down your chest, stopping at your breasts to lap at your hardened nipples. You moan loudly, the feeling of his warm breath against you, along with the course material of your lacy bra enough to make you cum on its own.

He moves lower and lower until his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your skirt. His lips never leave you as he tugs it down over your hips before discarding it somewhere on the floor behind him. Your panties quickly join the pile as you shiver on your bed, dripping core now exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.

Stiles’ darkened eyes flicker up toward yours as he parts your thighs and dives between them. You cry out when his tongue expertly brushes your clit, throwing your head back against the mattress. One of his hands glides up to squeeze your hip, while the other teases your entrance.

A pitiful whimper escapes you when he inserts a finger. It’s so long and thick and wow you’re really doing this with your best friend. He groans against you, sending delicious vibrations through your body. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling harshly when he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud again.

You steal a glance down toward him and feel your heart swell at the look he’s giving you. His eyes are shining with adoration as he laps at your core like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your eyes roll back when he pushes another finger inside you and starts pumping them quickly. You feel your stomach tightening already as his free hand snakes up to pinch your nipples delicately.

“Stiles...” You murmur breathlessly, back arching as another wave of pleasure crashes down onto you.

He nearly explodes in his jeans at the sound of his name on your lips like that. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to reel in his own desire so he can fully focus on you. He groans against you at the feeling of your core clenching around his fingers. He pulls them almost completely free before slamming them back inside, smirking at the way it makes you whine.

All it takes is one more lick against your clit, and you’re coming. You cry out, your body trembling from head to toe as intense waves of pleasure move through you. Stiles can’t help but moan at the sound as his free hand slides across your stomach to push you down against the bed.

He doesn’t stop until you sag against the mattress, completely spent. He finally pulls away, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand as a big grin overtakes his face. He’s been wanting to do that for way too long, and honestly can’t believe it just happened for real. He’s imagined it enough times to know it would be amazing, but that had exceeded his expectations.

You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. All sweaty, flushed chest heaving, pupils blown wide from pleasure that he gave you. A sense of pride swells in his chest at the fact that he was able to make you feel so good.

Once you snap out of your blissful haze, you sit upright and jerk him toward you. You hungrily devour his lips, not feeling the least bit satiated by that mind blowing orgasm. You want—no, need—him. Right now.

He clambers up onto the bed, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head as he climbs on top of you. You slide your hands along his shoulders beneath his flannel and practically rip it from his body. Next comes his undershirt, followed by the belt around his waist.

Your shaky hands fumble with the button of his jeans for a few seconds before he bats them away to undo it himself. Within seconds they’re gone too, joining the pile of clothes on your carpeted floor. You drag your fingers down his broad chest, pausing over the small patch of hair between his pecks.

He shudders against you, lips leaving yours to suck and lick his way down your neck. You palm him through his boxers and he grunts lowly, stiffening at the feeling. A trembling sigh falls past your lips as you explore his hard length through the thin fabric.

Suddenly impatient, you use both hands to pull the barrier down, eyes widening as his cock springs free. It’s so much bigger than you imagined. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about your best friend’s dick, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the real thing.

You wrap your fingers around him and he freezes against you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder as you pump him slowly. A moan rumbles through your chest at the feeling of him so exposed, so primal on top of you.

All he can do is huff out a few quick gasps as just your fingers set his body ablaze. He honestly feels like he might combust with the way his heart is sputtering in his chest. It takes every ounce of his willpower to peel your fingers away from him. He knows he won’t last long and he desperately wants to be inside you.

“Can I...is it okay if...” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He’s so tightly wound, so high off your presence that he can barely string his thoughts together.

“I have condoms.” You breathe, trying to convey with your eyes how much you want this. How much you want him.

He swallows thickly, hesitating for only a moment before sliding onto the floor to rummage through the bedside table you’d gestured toward. He pulls out a single foil packet and moves to sit next to you on the bed. He glances between his shaky hand and your eyes, suddenly needing reassurance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He breathes, heart clenching in his chest at the possibility of you saying no.

Even if you do, he has to give you this moment to decide. He’s painfully aware that both of you are very intoxicated and may regret this in the morning. But he also knows that he’s wanted you for years and it might just kill him to stop now.

You trail your fingers along the side of his face, eyes rounding at the respect he has for you. You really love the idiot sitting in front of you, a realization that makes you lean forward and close the distance between you.

“Stiles,” You mumble against his lips. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

His eyes widen in shock at your urgency and he chuckles, tearing the small package open and rolling the condom on quickly. He reconnects your lips and pushes you down onto the bed gently. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of his skull.

Your head tilts back, a long moan escaping you as he enters you in one swift motion. His eyes pinch shut tightly as he braces a hand against your headboard to steady himself. All he can do is grunt and gasp for air as your heat clenches around him. After only a few trusts, he knows he’s going to explode any minute.

He slides an arm under your arched back and turns you both so that he’s now laying on the mattress. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs and his brows furrow as he grips your hips tightly.

“Please...” Stiles groans, not even sure what he’s asking for. You’re everywhere. Around him, on top of him, your delicious smell is enveloping his every sense with his head on your pillow. It’s all too much.

You press your palms onto his chest and swirl your hips, pulling a broken moan from him. You lift yourself up before gliding back down slowly, wanting to see how long you can tease him before he’ll snap. The memory of the way he’d lost control earlier has your core clenching around him. You want to see that again.

“Y/N, I c-can’t...”

You lean down to steal a quick kiss, almost instantly reading his mind. He flips you over again, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip as he starts pounding into you, hard. Your head knocks into the headboard with each of his jerky movements, but you don’t care.

Your stomach tightens and you whimper, not expecting to cum again so quickly. None of your other partners had ever gotten you off more than once in a session. Stiles brings a hand down blindly to rub quick circles over your clit and you cry out against his lips.

Within seconds, you’re both tumbling over the edge, a chorus of moans and shaky breathing the only sound in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He collapses onto the bed beside you, chest heaving as he tries to make sense of what the fuck just happened. The lustful haze is clearing from his mind as his orgasm fades away. He’s left laying there, his best friend—who he just fucked—only inches away.

He lets his eyes trail over to you slowly, honestly terrified of what he’ll find. He needs to know what you’re thinking. His eyes search yours, but they’re guarded. Unreadable. He instantly starts panicking, heart sputtering in his chest as he bolts upright and quickly discards the condom in your trash can.

Your brows furrow from your position beside him, surprised by his sudden movement. A wave of exhaustion comes over you. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the mind blowing sex you just had, and all you want to do is sleep it off.

You reach forward to clasp a hand around Stiles’ wrist, stopping him just before he stands from the bed. “Where are you going?”

Your heart falls into your stomach at the thought of him trying to run away from what you’d just done. There wasn’t a single part of you that regretted it. You wanted to do that since you met the idiot, so there was no way you’d be going back on it now.

You honestly didn’t even care if the two of you ever slept together again. You just needed him in your life. You weren’t going to let him disappear on you just because you gave into a night of passion.

“Oh. I-I didn’t know if you...you know, would want...” He stammers, eyes widening at the frown on your face. Maybe he misread the situation.

“Of course I want you to stay, you big dork.” You chuckle, tugging on his arm again.

His lips twitch into a grin, relief washing over him. He crawls back into the bed, peeling your comforter away so that you can join him beneath the warmth. You instantly curl into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar gesture. You’d cuddled many times before, but never like this. Never naked.

Stiles tries thinking of anything else to fight off his growing erection. Now was not the time for round two. You were basically asleep against him, your breath slowing to an even rhythm. He pulls you in tighter and lets his eyes flutter closed, knowing there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The last thought that flickers through his mind before he drifts off is that he could definitely get used to this new aspect of your relationship. He only hoped, come morning, that you’d feel the same.

[illumilu]

“there’s only one bed” - hisoka morow x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? i roll with cringe. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. i feel like i may have made this a bit too long, but who cares?? i have time, you have time and an incandescent loneliness to fill, so let’s get into it!

summary: you arrive at the hotel with hisoka, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. this is part one of a three-part series, with the adultrio. illumi and chrollo will be coming soon!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! i’m afraid there’s no nsfw here... keep in mind it’s hisoka - i kept it as pg as possible... may be ooc i’m sorry :)

hisoka morow:

- you arrived at your hotel room, tired from the trip there, not quite sure what to expect. you stared at the single bed placed in the middle of the room, aghast. there must have been some kind of mistake. except there wasn’t. the room had been booked out of simplicity, with no specification on the number of beds, or anything else for that matter.

- and, of course, the man you had booked this room with was none other than hisoka morow.

- otherwise known as the most flirtatious man on earth.

- a little bit of backstory; as your strictly professional colleague, hisoka was always taunting you with his charming little phrases, treating you like his little toy whom he could mess around with.

- “oh, y/n! whatever will we do~?” 

- you sighed in frustration. out of all the people you could have been stuck with on this trip, it had to be hisoka.

- hisoka sighed and pouted - not from worry or anguish - but, rather, to mock you. you shot him a dirty look.

- “my my, y/n... why so serious? it’s not like i’ll do anything~”

- the playful lilt in his voice suggested otherwise.

- while hisoka went off to take a shower, you busied yourself with your latest objective; making sure he couldn’t pull anything. being inventive as you were, you gathered all the pillows from the bed (which, for some reason, there were many of), and built a wall separating the two sides of the mattress.

- you got changed promptly, and lay on the left side of the bed, waiting for hisoka to come back. however, his shower ran for longer than expected, and soon enough you felt yourself becoming drowsy.

- just as you were about to fall asleep, you heard hisoka’s voice come from the other side of the room.

- he chuckled. “y/n, what do we have here? your latest invention~?” he teased, ridiculing you.

- “i don’t trust you.” you stated plainly, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t see him from across the strangely high pillow wall you had made, but you could feel him smirking. 

- “...and for good reason, y/n..” 

- he extended his arm and lazily ejected his bungee gum to attach to the pillows, knocking them over in an instant. damn. you thought you had made a pretty good structure. 

- you rolled over lethargically to see him standing there; what a sight.

- honestly, you didn’t mind hisoka. it was just... he often became... annoying. as much as he irritated you, you had to admit he was quite pretty. striking amber eyes, streaky plum hair that fell across his face, soft lips and an overall impressive facial structure. not to mention his unique fashion sense that somehow accentuated his toned body. porcelain skin, with his childish paint, which was so often called on by you - “hisoka, do you put that on every goddamn morning?” - he was a fine man. 

- but, when that bastard opened his mouth.

- what a contrary tale.

- he waltzed closer to the bed and eventually sat down with his legs crossed, like a child in a classroom - except, he was staring down at you, who was scowling at him.

- “hisoka. don’t pull anything. i’m going to sleep.” you ordered, rolling to your other side so you were now facing away from him.

- “oh y/n... but how could i resist you~?” he joked, lying down on his back, unnecessarily close to you. you tensed up. 

- “hisoka.” you warned. except you didn’t really sound like you were warning anyone. some undertones in your voice urged you to let things happen - for an uncertain millisecond, thoughts of letting hisoka do what he wanted plagued your mind.

- the millisecond passed soon enough.

- the jester turned to his side, so you were both facing the same direction and began whispering in your ear with a smile. why was his voice so... smooth? so succinct and mellow? that was not the type of person he was. so why did you want to melt into him? he giggled childishly. 

- “so... y/n... you wouldn’t mind if i did-”

- “-this!”

- all of a sudden, hisoka was embracing you, cuddling you and shoving his idiotic face into the crook of your neck.

- “HISOKA, YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO GET OFF ME.”

- “oh, but if you wanted me off, couldn’t you simply give me a little kick~?”

- bright idea, madman. bright idea.

- you kicked him in the stomach, which invoked no painful reaction, but prompted him to roll to the other side of the bed, letting you escape from his clutches. 

- “ah. y/n, that hurt~” he exhaled tiredly, feigning offence; it was more of a hum, which escaped his mouth like golden honey pouring from a dipper.

- “good. don’t come near me again.” 

- “if that’s what you want, darling~”

- “don’t call me that, morow.” you glowered.

- “how scary... good night, y/n.”

- despite trying to hide it underneath his complacent ego, hisoka was beginning to worry. the man was attracted to essentially everyone, but something pulled him closer to you especially. you had a certain magnetism about you that he found increasingly attractive. why did he find teasing you so... enjoyable? why did he long for you to reciprocate? thoughts such as these had been swarming his subconscious since the beginning of the trip. he had pushed away such speculation, for it didn’t suit him.

- a man like him, a man who killed so depravedly, a man whom nothing was known about, an enigma of sorts; surely a man like that didn’t deserve to truly love. 

- meanwhile, your brain was a motor engine; what had just happened, and why did you let it go on for so long? you had the reflexes of an expert nen user; so why did you let him stay there, nuzzling into you, before socking him in the gut?

- what a conundrum, for the both of you. looks like this cliche is reaching its peak, hm?

- you fell asleep soon enough; after all, the trip had been long and you were tired. not only physically, but also emotionally. hisoka wasn’t helping your case.

- hisoka himself often had trouble sleeping, which many people didn’t know. most nights, he just lay there solemnly, thinking of new card tricks or enticements for new victims.

- lately, however, he had been thinking of you.

- which he didn’t like at all.

- time passed as his mind whirred while he contemplated who you were, and why you made him so impressionable. suddenly, he heard something.

- he had his back turned to you but heard a shuffling of bedsheets. what time was it? 1am? 2am? he couldn’t tell, but he came to the conclusion that you moved around when you slept and left it at that.

- that was, until, he felt someone cling around his back and reach across his chest firmly, wrapping around his waist with their leg.

- that someone was you.

- if only you knew what you were doing, you would be appalled... maybe a little grateful... but for the most part, appalled.

- your soft breath brushed hisoka’s back delicately, making his nerves transform into an quivery yet arrogant smirk. your arm was wrapped around his chest and your leg was draped across his side. you were obviously deeply sleeping. he couldn’t see you from the way you were embracing his back, but he could have easily woken you up at any given moment.

- so, why didn’t he wake you up?

- maybe it was because he could tease you about it in the morning. yeah. that seemed reasonable. that seemed alike to what hisoka would usually do.

- or maybe it was something else, something he didn’t want to come to terms with, something panging within his heart, something festering inside of him, something that was a victim to his ignorance of emotion. 

- much like he had done to you earlier, you burrowed into his shoulder, sighing contentedly, blissfully unaware of what was going on.

- blissfully unaware of the way you were ruling over hisoka, the way you were confusing him and making his emotions a tumultuous mess.

- surprisingly, you clinging to him helped him sleep, and within 15 minutes, hisoka was out like a light. though neither of you were conscious enough to experience it, those few hours you spent embracing each other felt tranquil. it almost felt normal, or like something that should have happened long ago, but never did.

- as peaceful as those hours were, the moment you woke up, everything crumbled into chaos. complete and utter mayhem - at least, on your part.

- you woke up calmly enough, as one usually does, without realising where you were or what you were doing. but, as soon as you registered that you weren’t hugging a pillow, but in fact a person, your reflexes triggered and you abruptly let go, jolting backwards and upright.

- oh my god. 

- not just a person.

- hisoka morow.

- you stared at him dozing away, like the little jerk he was.

- what had he done to you? had he put you under some spell? no, that wouldn’t make sense. he was a transmuter, not a manipulator. the bastard probably didn’t even know how to manipulate. then, what was it? was it his dumb bungee gum? your mind was racing 100 miles per hour, so you sat on the left side of the bed, sullen and confused.

- your side of the bed. the left side. the side you had so protectively proclaimed as “your side”. yet there you had been, on his side of the bed, cuddling him? what type of sorcery had he used to make you embrace him so passionately? 

- facing the wall, you rationalised yourself. hisoka wouldn’t have done anything, right? but neither would you. right? right?

- “awake, are we?” 

- hisoka interrupted your disarray of thoughts. you stood up and turned to look at him. he was propped up on the header of the bed, staring at you composedly. with those amber eyes. what was he on? why was he doing this to you?

- “you...” you began accusing him but couldn’t finish. looking at hisoka, he seemed... well-rested for once. did he even know what had happened? was he waiting for you to admit something?

- “i...? i what, y/n? use your words~” he cooed mischievously.

- oh, the jackass. he definitely knew.

- you glared at him, unable to compile your thoughts into words. you watched as he stood up and walked toward you, until he was standing opposite you, gazing into your eyes. he smiled knowingly at you, causing an surge of emotions to rush up your throat, inciting you to say something, to do something, anything. 

- “did you...”

- “no, y/n. it was you.” he simpered.

- oh.

- he raised his hand and pat you on the head, a sly and righteous smirk ceasing to wipe off his lips. he left to the bathroom, leaving you standing there, mouth agape, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. or perhaps, better said, in confusion. when did you start clinging to people like that? 

- why... did you feel so at home? when you first woke up, something had been different. some sort of warmth had enveloped you, in your heart. it had felt nice to have someone to lie close to. 

- in the meantime, hisoka was also seriously mulling over his emotions for you. so many questions invaded his mind, each popping up quicker than the last had been answered. 

- sometimes, he felt as if it would be better to keep everything about you tucked away. underneath his charming, intelligent mask was years of emotion and love and hatred and all things deemed merely human, but too human for him to ever “deserve”.

- as the jester stared at his dazed reflection in the cheap hotel mirror, he came to this conclusion; it wasn’t a matter of what he deserved, or his entitlement. he had to confront the obvious truth that had been bugging him for so long.

- he would tell you he loved you, but not for himself. he would do it for you.

- let’s just say this was the start of something new.

hey so i thought it’d also be good to mention that this is my first time writing a fic on here... to be honest, it’s more the format of a drabble, but i hope you enjoyed! the word count was 2084 words, so i’m super sorry for rambling on too much - i feel like i got a little too deep into hisoka’s character at the end there. illumi’s and chrollo’s version will be coming when i have the time!

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :) 

[btsydtrash]

Life Goes On [1]

single father!ceo namjoon x au pair yn; babysitter au

Namjoon has been married for years. He has twins, a happy life, a beautiful wife, a wonderful home. But, why, after nearly a decade of building, is his seemingly perfect life crumbling around him?

Masterlist  /  i don’t have a tag list  /  find me on twitter  /  word count: 3.7k

(AN: I read a wonderful story about Jungkook being a single-father and a CEO of a company meeting a nanny!YN and this seed of an idea was born from there. (the fic is called ‘to build a home’ by soft4gguk)

( fluff / angst / yandere / gore / smut )

twt: adultery, mental illness, medication, loneliness, discussions of inadequate parenting

Chapter 1 - Impact

“How about orange slices? You love oranges, Mimi,” Namjoon reasons, brows raising in a silent plead. The chubby-cheeked three-year old shakes her head, insolently, giving her father a serious look.

“You promised chockie-chips,” Minseo fusses. “Minjae got chockie-chips at grandpa’s house. Mommy got chockie-chips last time. I want chockie-chips too, Daddy.”

“Minjae doesn’t have two cavities,” he reminds her, lightly. “The dentist said no candy until your teeth get better.”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she promises. “Look!”

The toddler opens her mouth and points to the back of her mouth, and although her gums don’t look achy and red like they had the couple of days  before the dentist’s appointment, Namjoon wasn’t taking any chances.

“Still, it’s orange slices or nothing for tonight, pudding,” he tells her, giving her a placating smile. It doesn’t ease her frustration, but she doesn’t cry. She was always the more mature of the two toddlers, despite being the younger one.

She huffs, but grumbles, “Orange slices, please.”

“There’s my girl,” he remarks, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Shall we share some?”

She nods, and puts her hands up, making grabby-hands in his direction.

“Up we go,” he says as he hoists her up, resting her on his hip and she wraps her hands around his neck.

“Daddy?” She says, some moments later, playing loosely with his necklace - a picture of his beautiful wife and lovely, cheeky twins locked away inside.

Namjoon is shuffling through the cupboard, searching for the tins of orange slices that he knows Ms. Lim had stocked up the last time she went grocery shopping for the family because she knew Minseo ate orange slices more than she ate anything else when he hums in response. “Yes, baby?”

The little girl takes her time, twisting her fingers around his necklace and she waits until he finds the orange slices and cracks open the tin, and pours it out into a nicely designed bowl. Areum’s parents had given it to them as a housewarming gift two years ago when they moved to their forever home.

He carries both the bowl and the little girl back into the living room and sits her down in their fort of pillows in front of the large TV. She mutters, quietly, sitting in his lap and facing him. “You said that we shouldn’t keep secrets, right?”

That gives him pause, and he turns to look down at the three-year-old. “Yes, pudding. Secrets aren’t always good, so Mommy and I told you both that keeping secrets isn’t good for your heart or tummy. Do you have a tummyache?”

She nods.

“Do you have a secret?”

She nods, again, brow furrowing and playing more concentratedly with his necklace.

Namjoon feels the bottom of his stomach open up in dread and his brain runs through the millions of terrible things that could’ve happened to his little princess. He tries like hell to keep his expression soft and loving when inside, he felt sick to his core.

He asks, tenderly, “Do you want to tell Daddy about it?”

She nods. “I don’t really know the words.”

“That’s okay, pudding,” he tells her, patiently. “Did this secret happen to you?”

She shakes her head.

“How about Minjae? Is it Minjae’s secret?”

She shakes her head, more vehemently. “He doesn’t know. He’s not a girl so he doesn’t know.”

Namjoon pauses once more. “How about Mommy? Is it Mommy’s secret?”

She nods, lips twisting, unhappily.

“I don’t like Mommy’s new friend,” she tells him, cautiously, quietly, as if she were afraid to be overheard.

“Why don’t you like her new friend, pudding?”

“He looks at her funny,” she replies, brow furrowing. “He got me a cupcake but I don’t like cheesecake. Mommy’s knows I don’t, but she said I had to eat it. She said it was ‘polite’. Daddy… What’s ‘polite’?”

Something distantly in Namjoon’s head fills him with a different kind of dread. He feels sick for a whole other reason and his brain can’t consolidate what his daughter is telling him with what he knows to be an unshakeable fact - he is happily married and his wife loves him.

He jolts out of his reverie when Minseo puts her hand to his cheek and asks, “You okay, Daddy?”

He releases the breath he was holding and gives her a shaky smile. “Yes, of course, princess. Daddy’s perfect. I’m sorry you had to eat cheesecake. I’ll talk to Mommy about her friend. You won’t have to eat anything you don’t want to ever again, okay?”

She nods, excitedly and wraps her arm around his neck, standing in his lap and resting against him. “Are we watching ‘The Little Mermaid’ again, Daddy?”

He nods, swallowing bile and forcing a pathetic smile on his face that he prays hides his nausea. “Sure, princess. We’ll watch whatever you want.”

He turns on the familiar movie and presses a few buttons on the remote, instantly bathing the room in comfortable darkness. He huddles up with his daughter, sniffing her hair and letting her hold his much-larger index finger with her chubby hand. He can’t focus on the movie - not that he wants to anyway.

Musicals aren’t his thing, not really, but both his son and daughter love them. The familiar music drones on in the background, but it’s distant to his ears - as if his head is submerged underwater and he’s struggling to breathe. He can’t do it all at the same time - keep breathing at a regular pace, so as to not upset his excited daughter, and keep his thoughts from running rampant.

Mimi said ‘he’, so a male friend. Namjoon’s wife didn’t have male friends. She didn’t have many friends at all if he’s being truthful. She had business partners, investors, and a huge network of associates who were at her beck and call whenever she wanted. She had been an established model before she became a mother and easily transitioned into a talented fashion designer with an eye for international trends, successful in her own business and able to stand proudly next to him as a music mogul and CEO of one of Korea’s most successful entertainment companies.

Still, she was a child, and children make things up. They don’t understand things all the time, and despite her being mature, she’s still only three. It might have been a friend that Namjoon doesn’t know, a new friend she made in the industry, a new model that she was trying to scout - there are a million different reasons why she was with a man that Namjoon doesn’t know.

He exhales, shaking off his dread, labeling his overactive imagination as silly and training his eyes to the TV screen once more.

He has to trust her more - he can’t do this again. This insecurity almost cost him his relationship some years ago, and it turned out to be nothing then, and it’s nothing now. He is literally holding the result of their love in his arms, Areum wouldn’t jeopardize that.

He knows that - he trusts in her, he has to.

He presses a kiss to her forehead when she starts to sing along with Sebastian, supervising a mute Ariel and the Prince in the boat, coasting peacefully along the lake.

“Daddy,” she whispers, softly, so as to not disturb the movie. He hums lightly. “Do you only kiss people that you love?”

Her eyes are wide when she asks it, a bit shy even.

“Yes,” he says. “I kiss you and Minjae, all the time because I love you. I kiss Mommy because I love her.”

“I guess Mommy loves her friend too,” she mutters.

And just like that, his whole world is swallowed by white noise.

Minjae had wanted to stay with his grandma until tomorrow morning, but Minseo wanted to spend more time with her Daddy. She always was a Daddy’s girl, despite him having to be away a lot for work.

But, part of him wishes, for the first time in their lives, that she would’ve stayed with her twin and never came back home with him.

And he feels so unbearably disappointed in himself for even thinking it.

///

He puts Minseo to bed, leaving her with her favorite elephant toy with silky material sewn into its ears and a furry patch on its tummy that she plays with as she sucks her thumb and self-soothes. She asks for a story but he can’t stomach keeping the smile on his face when he knows it’ll disappear into a despicable, scornful twist of his lips the moment her eyes aren’t on him.

So, he leaves his baby to put herself to bed. And then he waits.

He showers and waits. He washes the dishes and waits. He organizes his clothes and waits. He counts the number of fucking buttons on the three remotes he has in his bedroom and waits. But she doesn’t come home.

He wonders when this became normal - his wife not coming home, and him not being home to even notice.

Namjoon scrolls his phone to peruse their text thread and he realizes the last conversation they had about themselves, and not just about the kids’ well-being while he was away in the US, was three weeks ago.

He feels nauseous.

Still, he wants to hear it from her before he makes any rash decisions. It could’ve been a foreign kiss, on the cheek or the back of the hand - not on the lips like he presumes. Minseo might not know the difference between the kinds of kisses and what they mean. He knows he’s grasping onto straws but he truly has nothing left.

He finds himself pacing around the room, hobbling from one side of the room to the other, taking in the pristine white bedroom decor. He had had no say in it, having come home from an impromptu business trip and seen it already decorated and finished to fit his wife’s ideas. Still, it was pretty and the bed was comfortable and he had enough space for his clothes and accessories and shoes so he didn’t think it was right to complain. His favorite aspect of the room was the blown-up picture of himself and his wife on their wedding day, dressed up to the nines and so in love, it showed clearly on their faces.

He traces the side of her face, seeing the crinkles at the sides of her perfectly shaped eyes and he feels his throat clog up with something. It felt like he wanted to throw up and peel his skin off at the same time.

How could this all crumble to nothing? How could she do this to him? To their babies? To their family? To their future?

He remembers meeting her for the first time, at a cafe on campus and seeing her with those terribly ugly ballet flats and the short bob cut that showed off her slender neck and the beauty marks that he loved to trace with his tongue. They latched onto each other, being two of a very small community of Koreans on campus, and over time, they fell in love.

They really fell in love, or at least he did. And then, they built a life together and it felt like his entire world was coming apart at the seams and he was drowning in something murky and dark and it felt like his chest was being crushed by something so heavy, he almost wished it would kill him.

He scrambles away from the painting, needing some kind of solace and he disappears into the walk-in closet, the closed walls making him feel.. somehow safe. He drops to his knees and scrounges around for his briefcase which stored his phone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he repeats over and over again, stomach rolling with nausea.

He finds it, hidden in a corner where he had haphazardly thrown it in an attempt to get back to an impatient Minseo who wanted to play dress-up and barbie dolls. He lets out a noise of victory when he opens it up and shifts through a bunch of papers that an hour ago, he probably would have said were the most important thing to him. Now, he couldn’t care less about the number of zeros on the bottom of the page or how many signatures he was supposed to get through before the end of the night.

He stares at his phone, the sleek mobile that stored nearly all of his personal and private information. He tilts it slightly and the back screen lights up, a picture of his family staring back at him, almost mockingly.

He could call Areum and confront her. He could get the confirmation he knew she would give him - that she didn’t cheat on him, that she loved him dearly, and that Minseo was mistaken.

But, why, when his finger finds her name, does he hesitate?

Seeing the words - my love - with a pathetic heart next to it makes his stomach roll even more and this time, he has to swallow his own vomit.

Instead, he makes a call to someone who would know what to do. Someone who has to know what to do in this situation, because truly, he has no idea what he’s going to do if he’s left alone for another moment.

The phone only rings for a second before it cuts in and a familiar voice comes over the receiver.

“Joonie,” Jin’s melodic and jovial voice is a welcome reprieve from the waves of misery that keep crashing over his head. Just the sound alone brings him a sense of peace that only his oldest friend could give him. Still, he feels miserable - so fucking miserable. “How can I help you, my boy?”

Namjoon simply lets out a broken whimper and ducks his head further into his knees. The nickname makes him feel worse, smaller, despite being taller and physically stronger than the other man. He feels pathetic, like less of a man. Less of a husband. Less of a father.

“Hyung…”

A beat of silence echoes through the call.

Jin’s voice changes slightly, more firm and serious. He asks, “What’s happened, Joonie? Is it the kids? Are they okay?”

He whines, moving to cover his ears and hide further into the curtain of his clothes. “’s okay.”

A breath of relief.

“They’re okay? You did a good job, Joonie,” he tells him, and he hears the genuine praise in his voice. “Where are you? At home?”

He hums in response, suddenly finding himself unable to speak more than a whisper like his mouth is unbearably dry and filled with sand.

“I’m in the closet, like a freak,” he mutters, frustration gathering in his shoulders.

“I’ll come over. Just wait for me, okay? Hyung’ll fix it,” he says, gently. “Don’t put the phone down, alright?”

He hums against, pressing his face harder against his knees until he gives himself a headache.

“I don’t know why she’d do this,” he hears himself whimper.

Jin soothes him, gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll talk about this when I come to you, Joonie. Relax. Just focus on breathing. On the sound of my voice.”

And so he does. He listens to the sounds of his Hyung through the receiver. The doors are opening and closing. Him saying goodbye to his wife, kissing her on the forehead. He hates it, but the casual intimacy of it all makes him sick. The opening of the car door, the hard click when he shuts it behind him. The shifting of the gear stick. The roar of the engine. He’s being gentle, his voice soft and dulcet tones, meant to soothe and relax - and it’s working.

And Namjoon hates it.

Part of him wants to remain angry and lost and overwhelmed because the alternative isn’t peaceful and warm. It’s numbness.

Jin’s voice draws him out of his thoughts as he asks, easily, “Joonie, did you take your medication today?”

“Mhm,” he replies, tracing shapes in their carpet. It’s only after a few minutes that he realizes he’s writing her name, repeatedly - Areum. Angrily, he obliterates the drawing and he feels his eyes prickle with tears. Even now, in the face of all of this pain, his subconscious still misses his wife. He spits out, viciously, “I gotta take it if I wanna be normal.”

“You are normal, Joonie,” he hears his friend tell him. “You’re doing so good. Just keep breathing. I’m almost there, okay?”

“Mhm…”

True to form, it doesn’t take Jin ten minutes before he arrives. He hears him, at the door (he’s the only one who has a key, for emergencies, because he was as close to family as Namjoon had left - outside of his wife and his kids, and he isn’t even sure he had that anymore), and he braces himself for the onslaught.

The door is opened softly and a stream of light falls into the closet, bathing Namjoon’s pathetic figure in warmth. He looks up to see his friend’s familiar face, and the expression on his face is one he hasn’t seen in years.

“Hey, Joonie,” he says, sweetly. “Can I come in?”

He nods, eyes falling to the floor with a heavy sigh.

Jin comes in, sock-clad feet padding towards him and he sits down, shoulders touching. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, just ruminates in the comfortable silence between the two childhood friends.

“Tell me what happened, Joonie,” he says, finally, putting an arm over his buff shoulders.

He sniffles, for the first time, and mumbles, “I think she’s cheating on me, hyung.”

And, when Namjoon looks up, Jin feels like his heart breaks right then and there. His partner, his brother, his best friend looks so unbearably sad, like the weight of the world is resting directly on his shoulders, and he can’t breathe on his own.

He has know Areum for years. Hell, he was one of the first people Joon told about her when they first met all those years back in college. He cared for her, and he was the twins’ godfather. His own wife and Areum were close, too.

He doesn’t understand where this could have come from. How things could have changed so drastically in such a short amount of time.

“Why do you think that?”

“She did it in front of Minseo,” he whispers, and at the mention of his daughter’s name, his innocent little girl, he bursts into tears. “She introduced my daughter to this man.”

Jin wraps Namjoon up in his arms, a protective and loving shield from the overbearing knowledge that his family truly was crumbling around him. Jin knows better than anybody what his family means to him - how lost he would be without his son or daughter, how solid his family unit made him as a boss, as a man, as a human being. How growing up without parents made Joon determined beyond measure to create his own safe bubble that he could call his own.

He doesn’t know why Areum did what she did, or even if this is truly what happened, but he does know one thing - this was easily the worst thing she could have done to his best friend and for that, she would never be forgiven in his eyes.

“Joon, you have to stop crying,” he tells the other man gently, rubbing up and down his back in soothing circles. “You’ll wake up Mimi.”

Slapping a hand over his mouth, the silver-haired man curls in on himself in an attempt to suffocate his cries, but it only seems to make them more violent. He chokes and coughs and bites down on his bottom lip, so hard that he ends up bleeding. The tears just don’t stop falling, dripping down the sides of his face to stain the collar of his expensive shirt. The more he cries, the worse he feels.

“Why am I so pathetic, Hyung? Why does nobody want to stay for me?”

Jin sighs, then, and shifts to his knees. “Listen to me, Namjoon.” The sound of his real name forces the younger man to blink back into reality. “You’re an amazing father. You’re an amazing friend. You’re perfect and wonderful and so special. She did this - she did wrong. And that doesn’t and never will reflect on you.”

Joon sniffles and more tears flow from his already red-rimmed eyes. “I can’t do it by myself.”

Jin tilts his head to the side and his brow furrows.

“I’m a bad dad,” he tells his friend in a whisper. “I can’t take care of them alone.”

“First of all, you’re never alone,” he informs him, tenderly. “And secondly, you’re a brilliant Dad. Those kids love every part of you. They literally think the sun shines out of your ass.”

“I’m never home,” he laments. “I’m crazy.”

“You’re bi-polar,” he corrects him. “Not crazy… Did she tell you that?”

Namjoon sniffs a bit, eyes dropping. “Not explicitly.”

Jin’s blood turns cold and he fights to not let his rage show obviously on his face. He demands tone clipped, “What do you mean?”

Namjoon swipes a hand over his face and murmurs, “She would just… you know, make comments? Like, I couldn’t be alone with the kids. I can’t do it by myself. Stuff like that.”

“Namjoon-”

“Don’t, Hyung,” he whispers, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders fall in on himself. “She’s right. I couldn’t even take them both tonight. Minjae doesn’t want to be around me.”

“He likes being at her parents’ place because they have a fishing spot and they have dogs,” Jin explains, easily. “Not because he loves them any more than he loves you. He’s your biggest fan, Joonie.”

“I just love them both so much,” he whines, more tears falling. “I don’t know what I did but I just want to go back to before. Maybe… Maybe Minseo saw wrong, right, hyung?”

Jin can see that he’s falling into an uncontrollable headspace. “Maybe, Joon. You won’t know until you ask her.”

This strikes him silent.

Jin keeps rubbing his back and carding fingers through his already messy hair. “Shall I take Mimi until tomorrow? So the two of you can talk, alone?”

“I-”

“I know it’s scary,” Jin concedes. “But I honestly don’t think that you’ll be able to get the answers that you need to move ahead if you don’t do this.”

Namjoon goes quiet, introspective in a way that Jin doesn’t like, before he murmurs, softly, “How do I ask my wife if she loves someone else?”

Jin exhales, gently, and replies, “I don’t know, Joonie. I really don’t.”

- end -

(1), (2), (3), (4), (5)

[cruxymox]

I gave every ant a tiny typewriter. After the clock went sometime around, one sent me the following letter:

"Dear good sir who has given me the machine that has buttons with strange markings - // Thank you very much for this. I had to find paper and pull it to my nest, and worse still I had to make my own ink, but thank you. // I am uncertain as to the reasons why. I look forward to your pleasant response, please also send stamps as I have used all of mine. I am no philatelist it seems. Ha-ha. // Your new friend, // WILLIAM"

I sat on my comfortchair and thought about this, what WILLIAM wrote me, all of the various details and hows and whatnot. A few passmoments went screaming by and there was a knock on my door. I tried to brush it off but it persisted. I opened the door, and a postwoman that had not slept in sometime around held out her hand. I shook her hand tumultously, so she said, “no, no the other hand!” I took the letter from the other hand, and she pushed the door closed on me. An echoed knock skittered about the floor and disappeared underneath the carpet.

I letteropened with curious fingers.

“writer look, yr gonna get some // more letreters // && by more i mean MORE rite? // we all done wrote something (some of us had help but i mean all of us k?) so // writer, you think you were gonna get some inspo from us for what you do but yr gonna get all-ought (get it???) more than that // yr new other friend, hm, i’ll name myself perfet // perfet // PS: careful!”

A second letter, and I was not even expecting one. And the devolution from the first to the second was astounding. And now… again! What was next? The knock crawled up my leg and bit at my inner ear. It might have gone right on in.

I scraped the door until it was open, and there she was, the postwoman, lying on the pavement. She was not moving. I looked at her for a while. Neither of us were moving. A while, a while, sometime around. I thought that blood was pooling under her head, but it was an envelope. I dreaded movement for a while. I reached out, making sure to keep at least one leg within the safety of my house. The knock snickered, I heard it well.

I retracted myself and letteropened with jittering and bloody fingers. Bloody fingers, oh. Oh. A confirmation of sorts. Sort of. I wish it were still a while.

“LG Beast with TYPEY-TYPEY appendages & knocks-in-the-brain! // [ perfet helped w/ that one ] // we decided that the LG Beast that carries papers is one // nexus // airy. // // // so we will give them to you ourselves! // all of us // all of us. // LG Beast! happy REEDY-REEDY!!!11111 // signed opeN-fluE”

I scraped myself down onto the floor. I could not believe. I would not. I only wanted a good piece of writing. I was not going to steal from the ants, just gather ideas from what they might write me. Laughable, really. Well, who is laughing now? Not me, not me. I looked out a window, and saw them coming. All black and fluttering, crawling and white. A storm of no-longer-wanted inspiration. But wait! If I could strengthgather I could protect myself. I could work so they would not be able to get in the house. They would give up after sometime around and leave. Yes. I could.

I got up and ran to the closet. Though I did not like the closet, I pulled it open and grabbed all of the rolls of duct tape. Jars of old screws and bolts rattled in protest. An angry can of nails fell over. At least the retractable ruler maintained some measure of composure.

So with my teeth I released sticky lines. I ripped, I tore. I rubbed. Every crevice I could think of between the inside and outside I covered. Every orifice of the house I could think of was subverted. Glue and mesh would be my saviours.

After sometime around I fell into my comfortchair, cardboard cylinders strewn about and sweat-covered and gummed hands.

The storm was here. The sound of insect and paper surrounded. I closed my eyes and waited it out.

But then! A quiet more dreadful than. And then. From above, the roof, a quiet even more dreadful than. Oh no, oh no. “I could think of”.

The knock resnickered. It jumped out of my ear, and climbed over and onto the mantel of my fireplace. The knock watched giddily as they poured in. The fireplace - a faucet, the ants and their letters - free-flowing water.

Pouring, flowing, gushing, rushing in, my crazed inspiration. It crawled onto me, it covered me, it papercut me severely.

I never should have. Too late. But how could I have known? That it was all ants or--

...And then nothing.

___

Some of the letters were copies of invoices. Some were rejection notices. A few were reminiscent of Emily Dickenson’s letters, which would have been nice, actually. A couple of letters were your poems. The vast majority of the ants’ letters were, as you could probably guess, quite unintelligible, which is typical of my own work. These were very helpful.

[sweetwritertanya]

Perfect Timing

Summary: Taehyung wakes up alone in bed but soon finds you roaming around in the kitchen… almost nude. And a particular remark on your part leads him to uncover a certain kink he wasn’t even aware he had.

Warnings: SMUT! With a hint of fluff, like it’s my usual, but it is 95% smut! Beware of: swearing, erotic body touching, dirty talk, fingering, oral (female receiving), handjobs, marking (just a tiny bit), size kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex (well, duh. But be safe IRL!!!), kitchen sex, doggy style, multiple orgasms (female receiving)

Word Count: 3894

Taehyung woke up slowly, barely opening the lids of his eyes before closing them again to protect from the low light coming in through the small breeches of the blinds. He felt his body hefty and tried to fall back asleep, but his mind was already too much active for that. Rolling over his body, his heavy hands searched around the bed for another figure, your fluffy warm physique that he particularly loved holding in the early mornings. But you were not there, the bed cold without you, even in the warm summer morning.

Frowning, he opens his round sharp eyes just a slit, noticing the moved empty sheets on your side of the bed. Stretching and yawning, Taehyung reaches for his phone and realizes it’s already past ten in the morning. After a few minutes checking his social media and answering a few text messages, he decides to get up.

Getting out of the bedroom, clad in only his boxers and an old red t-shirt, he moves silently down the hallway as he hears rummaging in the kitchen. Peeking his head in the doorway, he smiles and stays slightly hidden from your field of view. The unmistakable scent of freshly made pancakes filled the air and he was sure you had been preparing breakfast. Right now, you were bending down next to a tail-wagging Yeontan, filling his bawl with dry food for him to eat too.

Taehyung licks his lips and his throat grows dry as he notices you are just wearing small cotton panties and a white tank top, probably because you had the tendency to overheat at night during summer. Your fleshy thighs, with dimples of cellulite clinging in the back, and your round ample ass were on full display for him when you bent down and a burning stirring feeling shot straight to his groin.

You smile as you pat the little furry dog’s head, the feeling of being watched making you turn around to notice Taehyung leaning against the kitchen’s doorway. He still looked sleepy, dark hair messy and untamed from turning in the bed, barefoot, eyes with heavy monolids.

“Look who’s awake, Yeontannie! Your daddy is finally up. Do you think it was the food calling him?” You say in a typically high-pitched voice, the one you always used around cute animals.

You go back to the kitchen’s counter, gathering the things necessary to set the table for you both to have breakfast, smiling sweetly at Taehyung before focusing on your task. You didn’t find his silence unusual, sometimes he stayed silent for long moments in the mornings, just taking his time to get fully awake and ready for the day. This time, however, it was for a completely different reason.

You had no idea what you had just ignited in Taehyung. Never before had you referred to him as the ‘Daddy’ of his small dog, and now he had vivid images of young little versions of himself and you running around the house, playing with Yeontan, falling asleep in his arms or cuddled up in yours. Oh, the idea of your stomach rounding and protruding with his children added an uncomfortable stiffness inside his boxers that was beginning to cloud his judgement.

Two arms wrap around your already pillowy middle, long fingers brushing your hair to one side, exposing the back of your neck for hungry lips to attach to the skin there, sending goosebumps down your spine and making your body tense and shudder slightly.

“Sorry I didn’t stay in bed so we could cuddle, babe. I got hungry and didn’t want to wake you up, so I just got up” you explained, thinking Taehyung was just craving your usual morning embraces.

“That’s okay” his even deeper than usual, very coarse from the morning, voice murmurs against your left ear, under which he stamps another kiss.

Large hands start wandering around your body, one sliding up and down the almost naked curve of your hip, the other moving up until it was trapped on the underside of your soft boob, thumb tracing an invisible line at the side over the tank top. Your breathing becomes shallow now, heart flipping inside your chest and muscles paralyzing as you began to wonder if this was more than what you assumed.

“Babe?”

“Love you” that toe-curling masculine tone of his interrupts, mouth kissing down your shoulders now. If you had any doubts, the hand that moved to squeeze your breast and the semi-hard bulge that he was pressing against your ass, fingers clawing at your love handles to keep you in place, made it abundantly clear where this was going. And the fire under your skin that his administrations were gaslighting made you have nothing against it.  

“Me too” you reciprocate in a sigh, giving in to him as you allow your body to fall back into his, one hand covering up the one he still had holding your chest and the other coming up to pull at the hairs behind his neck, moving your head to the side and pulling him in for a kiss.

He takes no reservations deepening the kiss, devouring your willing lips until his mischievous warm tongue of his found its way past your teeth, delving deeper and tasting you to the fullest he wanted to, a highway of sprinting electricity running up your spine and hazing your brain as he swirled around and coaxed your own to respond.

Taking hold of your wide waist, Taehyung turns you around and resumes the heavy smooches, pulling your fluffy body close to his lean one, greedy hands unable to chose a place to settle in, constantly running up and down the expanse of your body he could reach. As the tip of his tongue flicks against yours and roams the sensitive inside of your gums, your body shudders and you moan, the uncomfortable wetness between your legs becoming insufferable.

“Taehyung...” You whisper into his mouth, pulling at his hair and grasping his form close, hinting at your needs by the sway of your hips.

“My dear Y/N…” he mumbles back, eyes still closed before he cradles the side of your head and captures your lips once again. But this time, his wandering hand pulls down the side of the panties that were biting at your flesh and delicious fingers find their way to the shameless damage he had done.

A deep groan escapes him at the same time a soulful moan leaves you when his middle finger goes past your damp folds and slides directly against your sensitive slit. Taehyung keeps his mouth occupied on your skin, leaving your lips vacant so he can hear the beautiful sounds you made. Pulling the collar of your tank top down with his available hand, he finds your breasts covered by a simple bra that he too pulls the cups of it down, exposing your tits for him to play and tease as his other hand rubs between your legs, your own hips starting to move against his digits on their own accord.

When those expert fingers find the little hardening bud at the top of your lower lips, the fingertips press hard circles around it before flicking it mercilessly, enticing your raspy wail and the buckle of your knees, making you almost fall down as you lose your strengths for a moment at the sudden abuse.

“Counter” is all he says when he catches you, pulling you by the waist up.

You just nod and take a few steps until you reach the kitchen’s counter. Taehyung kneels down and you are confused for a moment before he pulls your panties all the way off your bulky legs, starting to kiss up your thighs, hands indulging on the malleable flesh of the back of your legs and moving up to your juicy rump.

“God, Tae!...” you stutter out, letting your head fall back and hands grasping the corner of the counter with iron strength as soon as he lifts one of your legs up to his shoulder and dives in.

The use of both his tongue and fingers leave you absolutely disoriented and unsure of how avoid losing your stand again. He had his eyes closed as he laps on your pussy, lips settling around your clit and ravishing upon it, taste buds flicking the fleshy pearl and then sucking on it for long enough to drive you mad and not enough to send you over the edge. The introduction of his fingers changed that. He first slid the middle finger that had been teasing your entrance, wiggling and curling it inside before withdrawing it unkindly. Then he inserts three at once and you cry out, not from pain but from the absolute pleasure the fullness gave you. His digits drown in your fluids and start rocking back and forth, curling and massaging your inner walls every other time.

It doesn’t take long at all for this overload of stimulations having you pulsating around Taehyung’s fingers, body spasming as an orgasm rips through you suddenly, hoarse cries filling the air. The fact that you had one leg around Tae’s shoulder keeps you from giving out completely, doing your best to pull yourself up as you gripped the counter.

“So beautiful… My magnificent Y/N…” he praises as he brushes your leg off his shoulder and slowly raises back up, all the way kissing your available skin.

Taehyung pauses at your belly, hands pulling the tank top up so he can kiss the soft skin there and knead at the flesh for a moment.

“This round stomach would look so pretty fuller…” he whispers, although now in a more perceptible voice. You raise your eyebrows at that, unsure of what he meant by that.

Further up, he kisses the valley between your tits as his thumbs play with your puckered nipples, only to then lick and suck on both of them in turns, making you arch your back to him.

“These breasts… how much bigger would they get?” It’s a murmur against the sensitive skin of your left tit but you still heard it and the realization sends magnetizing shockwaves to your core.

Your hands claw at the underside of his arms as you try to pull him up, intending to talk about what he meant by all of this, but the look on his face shut you up before you could even formulate the first question in your mind. Eyes hooded and dark with desire, it was both an animalistic gaze as much as it was absolutely vulnerable.

“My cherub Y/N, bearing my seed inside for everyone to see how stunning you are.”

His words are held an inch away from your silenced lips, staring at your confused eyes with purpose, before merging mouths together with a bruising force, ferociously kissing you senseless. The truth is that Taehyung already envisioned you both together until the end of his days, growing up together, getting older together. The proof laid hidden at the bottom of one of his drawers, in a small velvet red box, waiting for the perfect timing.

“Y/N… I want… I need…” he struggles to say, biting at the sides of your neck when the words didn’t come out.

But you already knew perfectly well what he wanted. And you were a bit ashamed of how arousing the idea sounded to you, to partake in what could ultimately tie you and Taehyung together for a lifetime, to have him want to - with you. It was something that had come to you in dreams before, something you never voiced with fear of ruining it. But not now.

Hand brushing down his chest and strong abdominal area, your fingers insert themselves past the hem of his boxers and you take him fully in your hands. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how hard he already was, hot and heavy, how the tip was already staining the palm of your hand with pre-leakage. Your walls throbbed with longing.

“Do it” you determinately whispered back.

The eyes that had closed when you took him in hand shot right open again, finding yours with a cautionary hesitance.

“Are you sure?” He seriously asks, eyes searching yours.

In response, you start stroking his mouthwatering length, hand curled powerfully around his thickness but careful to not scrape the skin, thumb brushing the sensitive red tip every time it reached it. Taehyung almost chokes and his whole-body tenses up as he tries to not give in to the need to thrust his hips into your inviting hand.

“Fuck” he curses, something you tend to only hear from him in such moments.

Suddenly, he takes a strong hold of your hips and spins you around, pinning your front to the cold marble of the counter as he raises your hips up towards him, everything on full display for him. A moment for him to send his boxers to the other side of the room and he teases your hot center with his hard member, rubbing his cock between your folds and coating himself with your overflowing juices. You whimper before biting down on your lips, hands in fists so tight your knuckles turned the palest colour you had ever seen.

“Taehyung…!” you sigh on frustration, looking over your shoulder back at him.

“Want me to fill you up?” he smugly asks, even with the undertone of wistful thinking from himself too. “Flood this pretty pussy with my seed?”

A ravenous spasm goes through your body. He keeps rubbing his dick against your silky middle, the tip brushing against the engorged clitoris with maddening slow strokes.

“Y-Yes. Give me all you got. Put a baby in me, Tae” you talk back.

A growl from the depths of his throat comes up and he bends down to kiss at your shoulder blade before biting into it, surely leaving a purple bruise but you didn’t care. Your body was boiling with need and your senses overwhelmed with him, all of him, only him. You were sure he could even draw blood from your skin and you wouldn’t even feel it.

In an instant so quick that caught you by surprise, Tae stands back up and pulls his hips back from you only to subsequently impale you with his length in a swift thrust. You arch your back, raising your chest off the counter, moaning loud at the sudden but more than welcome intrusion. You never realized how much of a barrier the condom created until now, feeling him bare inside, every inch of his skin, every indentation, every vein pulsating hot against your overly sensitive walls. Taehyung was having similar thoughts, in disbelief of how good you felt around him, how wet and slick you were, how enhanced the pleasure was. He had no idea how he would ever go back.

“Shit, Y/N…! You’re so… fucking… wet.” He stressed the last words with slow but strong thrusts of his hips, the sound of skin slapping skin and the squelching of your bodies together joining your own embarrassing uncoherent pleas.

Taehyung was a big man, which was the reason he preferred to always start with warming you up with his fingers whenever sex was in the cards, usually using more than two fingers to do the job. And still there was always that stretch burn when it was time for the real thing, but always tolerable and more often than not actually welcomed. Any slight hint of pain was more than thumped over by the pleasure of him filling you up, especially when he bottomed out and the tip of his dick reached and perfectly matched the curve of your cervix.

This position in particular was perfect for that effect and he knew it was the quickest way to push you to the edge in record time. When you arched your back, Taehyung reached with his hands around your middle and squeezed your hanging tits, still spilling out of the cups of the bra he had pulled down. Tweaking and pinching your nipples, the lean hips of the man behind you set on a nice rhythm, sliding back until only the tip remained inside before pistoning back in with measured force, making your eyes roll back in your head since the action made him constantly brush the perfect spot at the depth of your tunnel.

“I want you filled with my cum to the bream. I want it to overflow from this tight pussy and see it spill on the ground. And then do it again without wasting a single drop” he said in labored breathes, fingers digging in to your protruding love handles tighter, hips rocking quicker against yours. “Wanna see your stomach swell up with our babies. Play with these tits when they get heavier with milk. Eat you out when you’re pregnant just to know if it’ll taste different.”

You squeal as the dirty talk contributes to your ever-approaching end, this unbearable tight knot in your womb constricting the muscles of your body so severely you feel a vein might pop off. You are sweating profusely, the warm weather not helping for such endeavors, eyesight getting blurred, breathing strenuous and brain shutting down.

“You are taking my cock so well, love” he claims, taking his eyes off your form to witness the way his dick disappears inside you, over and over again, glistening with your juices. Your insides squeeze him at that, making him hiss and close his eyes again. “You like that? You like knowing how good you take care of my bare cock? Do you wanna milk me dry? Want to suck my cum with your pussy, hum?”

“Ta-Taehyung!” you scream out as the first waves of orgasm crash over you, knot unfolding abruptly and a molten pleasure erupts throughout your system, scourging every inch of you, forcing you cry out in delight.

The boy slows down to an almost stop, both to prolong your pleasure but also to restrain himself from following you just yet, when he had other plans. As soon as you come back down from your high, his hips start moving again as he pulls your back flush against his chest, lips attaching to the skin up and down your neck. You are holding yourself up with the palm of your hands pressed against the cooler counter, whimpering once he starts picking up the pace, last orgasm still very much fresh. And yet you can’t help the way your hips move back to meet his, the chase of a new climax claiming your body fast, your head tilting back to rest on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“That’s it, my love. Do it once more for me, yeah?” he whispers almost sweetly into your ear, one hand still fondling your exposed breasts and the other going down to your lush belly, skin sinking to his touch as he rubbed circles there. “Let me knock you up and show off my pregnant wife for everyone to see! We’ll make the most beautiful children.” You never doubted that. With him as their father, how could they turn out anything but perfect.

The hand at your chest drops to dig the bulges of your waist, Taehyung pouncing harder now. You are already more than half-way there and the fact that you can feel the spillage from the tip of his cock when he fastens up, a tell-tale of his own approaching undoing, leaves you at the edge of the precipice.

“Fu… Cum with me, Y/N…! Let’s… let’s cum together” he pleas in your ear.

His digits dart away from your stomach to make way to your mound, where he quickly finds your cluster of nerves and presses harshly and violently against it, at the same time his thrusts hit the spot deep that he reaches so well with debauched speed. The fierce assault of your senses has you mewling in a pitchy voice as the climax spills, so intense and sharp that white noise blacks out your vision and disorienting pleasure claims your turned-to-mush brain.

Taehyung feels with relief your inner walls collapsing on him and he finally allows himself to reach his own end, drilling into you a few more times until he is buried as deep as he can go, spilling his essence into your womb, balls tightening and tingling as warm spurts filled you up, his perspiring body shuddering before stiffening with blissed out relief.

You fall on your elbows forward, barely able to hold yourself on the counter. It takes both of you a good few moments to collect yourselves. When Taehyung pulls out of you, the feeling of fluid stickiness starts to run down your legs and you hear the boy tsk.

“What a waste” he says.

You turn around at that, rearranging your almost nude state and about to question him about something when he pulls you by the waist across the room.

“Wait, Tae, what are you doing?” you wonder, looking confused up at his now fully awake face.

“Taking you to the bedroom. You should have been laid down for this” he explains, seemingly a bit angry with himself as he frowned.

“What are you talking about?”

“The probability of pregnancy is best when the female is laying horizontally. That was not the best position to get you pregnant.”

You halt your step and take him by the hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Hey, Tae, that’s okay. If this didn’t work, we’ll just do it better next time, okay?”

He does seem to perk up at that, eyes enlarging and lighting up like a kid only to revert back to a smug knowing look, accompanied with a cocky grin.  

“So… Already thinking of doing this again, are we?” His arms sneak around your waist and he rocks you both in place, leaning down to level his eyes with you.

“As if you weren’t thinking about it as soon as you pulled out” you rebut, to which he just smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “You… You are really serious about this, Taehyung? About me? Us?” You can’t help but make sure this whole thing wasn’t just a spur of the moment, a very dangerous erotic fantasy that would disappoint him if ever actually coming true in reality.

Taehyung kissed your cheek and pulls you in for one of the tightest hugs you ever got. You smile against his shoulder and hug him back, hands meeting at his back.

“I was never so sure of anything in my life as much as I’m sure of this” he guaranteed.

Later, after a much-needed shower, both fully dressed for the day, siting at the table eating the now cold pancakes for what was now more of a lunch than breakfast, something occurred to you and you tilted your head to the side as you chewed.

“Taehyung?” you call, the man in question not even raising his eyes to you as he devoured the plate in front of him.

“Humm?”

“This morning… did you call me ‘wife’ during sex?”

Taehyung choked until his cheeks turned bright red and it took him several minutes and countless glasses of milk to regain his normal breathing. Maybe there was no such thing as a perfect timing when it came to these things, he realized as he went to get the red box hidden in his drawer.

[lord-explosion-baku]

Lying Is A Formal Pleasure

Yandere!Hawks x Pro Hero!Reader

Forced into a “relationship” to better your image, you agonize through the night as you pretend to be head over you heels in love with a douchebag. 

warnings: non consensual touching, light violence

A/N: I posted this a few months ago, but after a bad mental health night, I deleted it like a day later. But now I’m screaming over my oneshot inactivity and the 80 WIPs that remain unfinished, so I figured I’d post something that’s done fhjfv. :’D

Blinking flashbulbs and whispering onlookers flood your audio and visual spaces, forcing you to pause while you take a moment to gather yourself, swaying uneasily in the too-high heels you’ve been forced into. You’re close to being overwhelmed when Hawks places a smooth hand on the small of your exposed back, ushering you closer to his side. He waves to a camera flickering with a red dot, the one that tells the two of you that you’re live on air. The warm impression of his fingers on your skin offers you an insincere sense of security. You’re not as used to being on screen as your ‘lover,’ so you let him take the lead. It’s easier this way, as resentful as you are to admit it.

A thin woman in a red dress holds a microphone up between the two of you and asks if the happy couple has high hopes in regards to their award nominations. Hawks, always quick to flash a charming grin, leans into the mic and says, “we’re both just very honored to be here.”

It’s not like him to be so humble, especially not when he has an audience, but your publicist recently advised you that although his pride is fitting for his singular image, nobody quite likes a power couple who, in her words, “thinks they’re the shit.” People want to see bashful, blossoming love. They want to see you be together, grow together, and develop together. You have to be shy—show that you’re excited to be by his side, and he has to be supportive—happy to introduce you to the sensational side of being a hero. It’s all a facade, even your relationship, but if you stay true to your new role, your popularity will see a serious incline.

Hawks runs his hand up your spine and you get a chill when you realize that the reporter asked you a question: how long have the two of you been together?

“Oh-” you start, shifting to look up at your partner. Amber eyes bare down on you and you swallow dryly, trusting that you look enchanted, rather than sick to your stomach. If you were to be honest with her, you’d say, ‘too long,’ but it’s not your job to be honest tonight. You have to be delightful and charming, cute and coy. So instead, you timidly blink up at Hawks, cover your shy grin with your elegantly gloved hand while leaning into him, and say, “nearly two months.”

The number two hero chuckles, moving his hand over to your side to squeeze it a little harder than necessary. He’s telling you one thing: wrong answer.

“Well, she says two months, while I say three.” Hawks is all confidence and little to no self-doubt. In a way, he’s everything you want to be, and every time you think about it in that light, the more you seem to detest him. You hate that you virtually need him in this respect to get you where you want to be in your career. You hate that he’s living this farce up. “It took my little angel a while to finally agree to go on a date with me. Even then, I knew that we were meant to be together.” His eyes slide back to you, and his tone takes a dark edge that nobody besides you will be able to pick up on. “From the very first moment I laid my eyes on her.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Hawks had barrated you to go out with him for about a month before your publicist told you it would be good for your public image to have a pro—the number two pro—by your side. Apparently, you and him work well because of your quirk: siren. Her reasoning is that you sing just like birds sing. Hawks is a bird. Therefore, you and him should go hand-in-hand. The public aptly named your relationship birdsong and you’ve already done a photoshoot where you had to pose behind a golden birdcage where Hawks sat inside, gripping onto the cage’s bars, staring up at you while you had your lips pursed subtly, pantamiming a song. The irony of your situation is that there is a metaphorical prison in your fake relationship, but it’s not Hawks who sits in the cage. The second irony of your situation is that hawks don’t sing at all; they prey.

“Awwww,” the reporter whines in a shrill, albeit melodramatic voice, looking adoringly from you to Hawks, “I couldn’t imagine how anybody could ever say no to you! That must’ve put a damper on your ego! Poor thing.”

Hawks shrugs like he does—another thing you despise. You can smell the smugness wafting off his chest that seems to puff up as he speaks. “I knew she was just playing hard to get.” He winks at you, sliding his hand down to sit not so obediently at your hip. You feel him drifting towards your ass cheek, and you struggle to not change your fraudulent smile into a full on sneer. “And she knew I liked the challenge.”

The reporter’s eyes aren’t even on you when she asks, “really, how could you say no to this dreamboat? I certainly wouldn’t be able to!”

If you want him, you can take him, you think tartly as you maneuver your arm around Hawks. He makes a sort of low, sort of grunting noise when you lace your fingers through his heavy feathers, and you realize that this might be the first time you’ve actually touched his wings. You’re bitter to admit that the feel of them in your hands are soft to the touch—enjoyable, almost. They might be the most redeeming thing about him.

You tighten your hand into a fist and tug, softly at first, but when you feel him tense next to you, you pull a little tighter, enjoying the brief sadism break you allow yourself.

“I must have been too darn shy at first!” Your words are syrup dribbling over glass. You wrench your hand, twisting into Hawks’ wings. He clears his throat in an attempt to cover up a groan, his hold on your side worsening infinitesimally. “Or maybe I just couldn’t believe that the number two hero was actually interested in me. Honestly? I was starstruck! I thought I was being used for some kind of joke!”

“Hah…” Hawks’ thumb rubs circles in your back when you guide your hand along the stream of his wings and grab at a different bunch of feathers. He whispers, “take it easy, chickadee…’

But you don’t want to take it easy. Hawks’ cheeks redden a bit more every time you move your fingers through his wings. He must be incredibly uncomfortable and you take pride in the fact that, for once, it’s not you who’s suffering. You lean into his shoulder, offer the reporter woman a smile so sickly sweet, you can practically feel sugar coating your gums when you say, “now every day I get to spend with him is a dream come true!!”

One of Hawks’ eyes twitches when you give the tuft of feathers in your hold a final twist. He spreads his palms wide on your back, and slowly curls his fingers inward, pulling on your skin.

After a few more questions, the reporter notices Hawks glancing down to the large hall being used as the ceremony venue, and thanks the both of you for indulging the public with information about your relationship. Sending a final wink to the camera, Hawks guides you through arched doors and nods at a few other well-known heroes attending the ceremony. You sneak away when you think Hawks is about to get lost in another conversation, but when you slip into an empty lounge reserved for award nominees, he’s right on your heels.

Ignoring his presence completely, you fix yourself a drink at an unattended minibar. You swirl the ice around in your glass and finally turn to scowl at your partner. He looks off, or not very present, still smirking, but dazed. Maybe he tied his tie too tightly, and he’s blocking the blood flow to his brain. You grin at the thought of choking him out while you sip on your beverage. Hawks grins back.

Engulfing and consuming the space around you, he takes a confident step towards you. You feel nothing short of a shadow to a tree with his wings puffed out and spread proudly like they are.

“Nervous?” He asks, placing a hand on the bar as he leans closer to you. You give him a half-hearted shrug, trying to be nonchalant. Even if Hawks knows you're uncomfortable, you aren’t willing to show him an inch of fear.

“You shouldn’t be,” he goes on, staring at your lips. He watches you suck down your drink and clears his throat. “You were great out there.”

“Believable?” You ask sarcastically, licking your bottom lip. You reach out to stroke the inside of his wings, running your hands along his feathers teasingly slow, enjoying the sight of each row of his crimson plume twitch down along with your touch.

“Believable,” he chuckles. “I had no idea that I was your dream come true.”

You scoff and place your empty glass down. “Mhm, my everlasting, waking nightmare.” You bring your arm back to your hip. “I’m truthful when I can be.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a goofy half-grin. It’s off-putting. He isn’t any less sharp than usual, but there’s something about him right now that has goosebumps raising on your arms.

“C’mere,” he coaxes, grabbing your wrist. You snap it back immediately.

“Oh, please.” You push past him, intentionally brushing into his wings, and begin strutting away.

“You’re such a goddamn tease,” he rasps, hooking you sideways. Both of his hands curl around your hips, and you’re immediately pulled back against him. “Have I ever told you how sexy your back is?”

“Get off of me,” you say without enthusiasm, because it’s not the first time he’s gotten handsy with you in closed spaces. Call yourself jaded, but it’s something that you’re semi-used to. So, when he doesn’t let up, all you can do is roll your eyes and fetch your compact mirror out of your clutch. While you fix your lips, Hawks lays his chin on your shoulder. His eyes find yours, and though they’re looking straight at you, they are, at once, incredibly ambiguous and eerily hyperfocused. He squeezes his arms around your torso, then brushes his lips across your cheek. Against your stubborn will, your stomach flips when he plants kisses on your jaw and trails down to your neck. The scruff of his beard tickles your skin, making your shift around in his embrace. That's when you feel a stiffening behind you.

“Hawks, what the hell are you doing?”

“Shame on you-“ his breath is hot on your ear- “touching me like that on camera, baby? Who knew my angel could be so naughty…”

You jerk your elbow back into his gut.

“I never touched you,” you seethe, ready to actually throw hands, when he rushes you forward, pushing you against the bar so that you’re lodged between it and him. Hot blood floods your face when you feel him pulse against your ass, and it doesn’t help when he snakes a hand through the back opening of your dress, sliding around to cup your stomach. He pulls you back so his bulge rubs between your cheeks.

“You’re seriously crossing the line right now!” You push against the bar, trying to bump him back, but he crowds you with his wings, shrouding you just like the metaphorical birdcage you’ve been stuck in for two—three months. You grasp a fistful of his feathers and yank on them hard, but he only snickers in response.

“Oh, little dove,” he groans, rocking his pelvis against your ass. It’s like he doesn’t even hear your protests. “Fuck. How’d you know I like it rough?” He kisses the hollow of your throat and hums appreciatively when you reluctantly shudder in response. “You have no idea how badly I wanna slip my cock into you right now. Finally wipe that sour look off your face as I drive myself in, inch by inch.” His fingers move down to pet your pubic bone. You want to scream in defiance when you feel a flash of liquid heat pool between your thighs. He dips in between your folds and he croons. “Bet you’d hug me nice and tight too. You don’t spread your legs for just anybody, do you babygirl?”

“Certainly not for you,” you rebuke. You grasp your abandoned glass, smash it against the bar, and spin yourself around, swiping your makeshift weapon across the number two hero’s face.

There’s a moment of shocked silence that falls between you two. A streak of red falls from the cut on Hawks’ cheeks and falls in spots on the whites in between his tuxedo coat. He dabs at the wound and examines the blood on his fingers, then his chest.

He snickers.

“Oh man, I wonder what they’ll think about this.” He shakes his head, grinning. “What do I tell ‘em: we were getting a little too frisky in the lounge, or do I lie and say it was an accident?”

“You can tell whoever, whatever you want,” you mumble. You know you should apologize for the sanctity of your status, but seeing his blood is cathartic to you, in a way. At least, until he speaks again.

With a clever fox smile, smug as the king of hell, Hawks drawls out, “the rising hero, Siren, is unstable and shouldn’t be trusted by the public.”

Your eyebrows pinch together. Hawks’ grin crawls wider, contented by your reaction to his threat.

“I was telling her not to get her hopes up about the awards ceremony. ‘There are a lot of other promising heroes gunning for The Best New Hero award,’ is what I told her, and she lost it…”

“Hawks—“

“She came at me with a glass she broke on the bar. Honestly, I’ve been worried about her drinking habits since day one, but I didn’t do enough to help her with the issue. In a way, it’s my fault this happened.”

“It is your fault!” You stomp your heel and throw an accusatory finger into his chest. “You attacked me!”

“Who do you think they’ll believe, sweetheart?” Hawks takes your hand in his, brings the back of your wrist up to his mouth, and kisses it. “The new hero with a pretty face, pretty voice, but is otherwise unknown, or me? Hero numero dos: Japan’s most trusted.”

You glare at him and he loves it. He enjoys every minute he puts you through mental turmoil.

“I could tell them it was an accident,” he sings, looping an arm around your waist to briskly pull flush up against him. You let him, but keep your head turned so you don’t meet his gaze. He continues—“but you’d have to make it up to me, little dove.”

His wings fall over you, shrouding you closer to him. He presses his lips to your temple, but doesn’t kiss you—doesn’t even speak again. He’s waiting for you to ask how.

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” you say into his shoulder.

“You don’t have to,” he hums, the vibration of his voice buzzing down your neck, “we can just end your career tonight.”

“Hawks.”

“Don’t act like you’re not soaking wet right now. I felt that cunt, babe. Turns out, I’m not the only one who likes it rough.” He turns your head to face him. “You want me-“ he sneers-“and I didn’t even have to stroke your feathers to get you there.”

You close your eyes when his lips greet yours. The kiss is quick, but it lingers like old faith. If you let him in, he’ll stay there. You know that. But he’s backed you into a corner.

“You’re my girl,” he coos, “and I wanna be civil—I do, baby. You know I only want what’s best for us. But you’re gonna have to meet me halfway in order to get us where we need to be. Do you understand?”

Us...we…He throws those words around as if they matter. Then again, they do matter. They must, to him at least, but not to you. The only thing you really care about is me. Still, you nod.

“I’m gonna need you to say it, Siren.”

You sigh. “Yes, Hawks. I understand.”

“Good!” He chirps enthusiastically, any dark tone he previously took vanished. He spins you around to face the door that leads back to the hall. At first, you think he’s going to continue where he left off, but his hand finds its place at the small of your back, and he guides you forward.

“Now, let's go win us some awards,” Hawks says, bringing his hand down to pat your ass, “then we can make sure both of our dreams come true.”

[nessaxc]

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Hands Off || Gojo Satoru

You have a boyfriend, and Gojo isn't very happy about that because you're supposed to be his.

Rating: Mature

Words: 2.6k

Tags: Swearing, Pining, Angst, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Comfort, Feels

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Gojo’s Pov

I watched them from a distance, and seeing the two of them together hurt like hell. She had told me the truth not long after they started dating, and the second she did I wanted to find that shithead and kill him.

He was making her laugh and smile more than I ever could, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. Whatever that little shit just said to her, I was willing to bet it wasn't even funny, not in the slightest.

Her eyes lit up with every word that he said and somewhere in the distance I could hear a heart fluttering. She was happy. I loved it when she was but because it wasn't with me, I started to loathe seeing her like that.

They were at a diner, on a date. Her boyfriend reached across the table and kissed her. That's when I had to leave. I adjusted my position from behind a wall, being careful so they wouldn't see me. I found myself stalking them more than I should have, but I couldn't help it. It was killing me inside and I still put myself through it every time.

I wanted this to end, my feelings for her. My brain throbbed as I kept it inside. I tried to rid of this unnecessary complication in my life. Though, it would always cower in remembrance and click a torch in the back of my skull, searching for a way out. Buried alive, it stayed in rest until the dirt became too cold, the silence too loud. It’s not as if I believe I can't find someone else, it’s that I no longer want to. She asks and I tell her no. She laughs and shakes her head, telling me that I will find someone one day. I violently disagree, I want to stomp my foot and yell at her for being so fucking stupid, for acting like it's so simple. I want to stop moving, I want her to stop moving. I told her that I can't. I just can't, no matter how much I needed to.

My lips and tongue burn with the sensation of even speaking those affectionate words to a future ‘someone’. I cannot. I will not. I won’t. It would kill me.

My mind keeps replaying the image of her head on my shoulder when I took her home one day. The scent of fruit. I wanted to kiss her head. I wanted to kiss her. She had dozed off then, it was likely she didn't know what she was doing. When her head moved away, my shoulder empty, just like the feeling in my chest. There were times when we were just talking, doing nothing in particular, and I would find myself staring at her lips, her heavily lidded eyelids, and thinking about how fucking perfect she was in every way. I just couldn't look away. I don't think she had the slightest idea of the hold she had on me and at first I thought that was the hardest part, but no, it wasn't.

The hardest part was seeing her talk about the fucker she called her boyfriend and how she wouldn't stop giggling when she mentioned his name or when she dared to ask me advice on what she should wear for him one night because she needed another guy's opinion. That lucky shithead. I couldn't bear to think about it, but it always managed to creep into my brain about what he probably did to her that night. Just the image of it made me want to kill him and only then would I be able to make peace with that thought.

I felt so sick one time that I nearly vomited when I thought about how I wished I was him, just so he could look at me in the same light. It made me want to kill him more. I knew one day that I would have to, that I would give into the urge, because he was so fucking despicable. He bore the same relevance as a piece of chewed-up gum becoming a part of the sidewalk, less even.

I remember the day that she introduced me to him, and I know I should have felt proud of myself for not killing him right then and there but I've never been more disappointed in myself than I was in that moment. I wouldn't do it right in front of her, no, I would do it the second I was alone with him, that way he knew exactly who he was dealing with before he was squirming on the floor, begging me to stop.

I had so much trouble just being her friend, so much that I couldn't do it anymore. One of her favorite subjects to talk about was that fucker and it became so hard to listen to that I nearly shouted at her to shut up. My mind was screaming, screaming with how much I needed it to end but thankfully I kept the voice at bay. I told her as gently as possible, through clenched teeth to stop because I was having a hard day, and that silenced her, making the rest of the day with her awkward and uncomfortable. Her voice was soothing and so sweet, and I could listen to it all day but not when it was about him, no I couldn't stomach it anymore.

We started to drift apart, little by little. We still spent time together, it was just different when we did. I found it difficult to look at her after a while, knowing that she wasn't mine. It wasn't fair. She thought she was happy with that shithead she called her boyfriend, but I knew that if she gave me a chance, I would treat her like a queen, make her feel like the luckiest girl alive. I wanted that chance. I needed it. It had to come someday.

Then one day, my wish came true. After months and months, my anguish finally ceased. She called me up one night sobbing, she was an utter mess, I could hardly understand her at first. She told me that she broke up with that shithead because she caught him cheating on her. I couldn't have been happier, the piece of shit did something right for once. In all his life, I bet that was the only notable thing he ever did. Everything was going to fall into place, I'd comfort her for as long as I needed, wipe those pathetic tears off her face and make her laugh, and in no time at all, she'd realize who she was supposed to be with.

I told her that I'd come over to her place so she could tell me everything and I already knew that I had to play the sympathetic friend. When she opened the door to me, her eyes were red and puffy, looking at me with tear-stained cheeks and I nearly said out loud, "Fuck it, that asshole is a goner," but I didn't. I had to wait out. I knew exactly what was going to happen when she fell asleep, there was no way I was going to let that shithead get away with this. I had never seen her so broken before, she was choking on her misery and almost all of her eye make up was trickling down her pretty face.

It was bittersweet. I loved that this asshole broke her heart so that I didn't have to worry about him in my way anymore, but at the same time, seeing her like this, made me want to kill him even more, times a million. There was no way in hell I wouldn't make him suffer for this. She sat back on her bed, her hands burying her face as she wept.

"I should have saw the signs, he would always come home really late and make these shitty excuses," she sniffed loudly as she lowered her hands away from her face, "I... I don't know what I saw in him, I feel like the stupidest person in the world."

"Hey hey, you're not stupid," I told her as I caressed the soft skin on her back through her blouse with my hand, "okay maybe a little for falling for that piece of shit," I said with a light chuckle, and it was enough to make her giggle somewhat, so that was enough. "But there's a lot dumber people than you, like that shithead for hurting you," I gazed into her swollen eyes and she looked back, her sniffing became somewhat quieter. Her eyes nearly smiled but then she quickly turned away, the look on her face disappearing as quickly as it came.

"I feel like I should be mad at him for hurting me, but I'm more anger with myself, for believing everything he said," she uttered hoarsely, trying to let herself breathe before she continued, "and we got in this huge fight, like there was so much yelling and he said that I was only bad for him, that I was holding him back."

That asshole was getting a slow and painful death, everything she told me solidified that. I was so furious, it was becoming almost impossible to control, but I didn't dare let it show. I continued to massage her back, following wherever her eyes went, to find that glimpse of hope.

"He didn't deserve you, I knew it from the second you told me about him," I said, "what he does deserve is to die, for hurting you this much," I blurted out, my mouth was moving before my brain could catch up with what I was saying.

She looked at me like I was crazy but then she quickly said, "Hey, don't say things like that," she sniffed again, "I don't ever want to see him again, but I don't wish death upon him."

Oh but I do. That was a stupid thing to say, stupid stupid stupid. I mentally cursed myself for it but then I continued, "I was only kidding," I lied, chuckling to act like it was just a joke, "I only said that because he's a fucking idiot," I added, "and I would never hurt you like that," I told her, my eyes never leaving hers, not even for a second.

"Satoru..." she whispered my name and stared back at me, her lips parted, and we were close enough that I could feel her breath on my face. In that moment, I think she realized it, and there was no going back. I couldn't go another day without her knowing.

"Not ever," I repeated, "You deserve to be treated like a queen, and I would do exactly that," the words slipped out before I even thought about it further. I averted my gaze from hers for a second, only because I didn't even know how she was going to take it, "I wanted to tell you for a while, but the timing was never right, and then he came around," I nearly hissed just from the mere mention of him out loud.

"All this time?" she asked quietly, so low that I almost didn't catch it.

"Yeah," I replied, "all this time."

She turned away so I couldn't see the expression on her face, and the wait was the most painful thing I've ever experienced. Fuck.

"You don't have to say anything, just know that," I tried to reassure her, and she still wasn't looking at me.

She turned to look at me with a weak smile on her face, and it was enough to calm the voice in my head that was shouting at me.

"Satoru, I... God, I like you, too," she finally said. "I've liked you for a really long time, I just--"

That was all I needed to hear. I reached in and cut her off with a short, soft kiss. Then we pulled away, lips still brushing together, before it shifted into something much slower. She sighed against it, and I felt my heart going a million miles an hour. I licked lightly across the seam of your lips, and she parted them willingly. My tongue bumped against hers, and when she pulled me close to taste me, a moan scraped my throat.

"Satoru," she gasped, and pulled away. "Wait, I don't want to mess this up, too."

I took her hand in mine and kissed the top of it before she could say anymore, "You won't," I reassured her, "I know we shouldn't rush into anything, I just wanted you to know because I couldn't hide it anymore."

She smiled at that, and started rubbing slow circles over my chest, leaning in to press her mouth against mine again. We kissed until we had to part for air, and the voice that was shouting at me, berating me, was now as proud as ever. I didn't regret a thing, everything fell in place just like it was supposed to. She was mine, and that was all I could ever ask for. Her lips were so soft and addictive, I could kiss them all day and never grow tired of it.

She started laughing all of a sudden, covering her mouth to stifle it, and I couldn't be happier that she was laughing because of me. It was easily my favorite sound.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Nothing's funny, I'm just embarrassed because this was well, our first kiss, when I look this awful, my makeup is all smudged and runny and I just look terrible," she croaked out in that sweet voice of hers, giggling and her cheeks lit up with a soft hue of pink.

"No, you look perfect," I corrected her, "as pretty as always."

I cupped her cheek in my hand and I pulled her into another lingering kiss, we were both chuckling during it, and it was the most perfect thing being able to swallow her laughter. Finally, she was mine, it made all that waiting and seeing her with that shithead worth it. At first I thought I was dreaming, but for once it wasn't a dream, no it was very real, realer than anything I've ever felt.

Shortly after our make out session, we decided to watch a movie. She begged me to let her pick, because she knew I would pick some kind of horror movie and she told me that she cried enough today. So she ended up picking some dramedy that I found myself not paying attention to at all, because all I could think about was her and the taste of her lips. I replayed the scene of her saying she liked me too in my head a thousand times, and I don't think I would ever stop.

She ended up falling asleep half-way through the movie snuggled up in a blanket. She looked so cute and peaceful when she slept, her chest heaving and her eyes closed in such a way that made her lashes look even more beautiful. I found myself watching her like that longer than I should have.

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[dreamescapeswriting]

Unfinished Business ~ Part Two

WORD COUNT: 2.8K (This is the shortest chapter I believe in this series)

WARNINGS: Mentions of mafia, strong language, 

PAIRING: Bang Chan X Reader

DESCRIPTION: Part Two of nine of my new Bang Chan series. 

You’re taken hostage but one of Seoul’s leading mafia families Bang Chan but he doesn’t take you because he wants to fake a marriage or make you fall for him in 365 days no…He wants to use you for his own personal gain. To take over another family but when you try to escape things take a turn for the worst and you learn Chan isn’t one to be messed with.(Please I suck at describing stuff)

THEMES: Smut will be included in a later chapter (It will state which chapter) so this is a fic for a mature audience, Chan x Fem!Reader, Self insert

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT 

Light poured in through the bars of the basement window and you groaned groggily as you woke up, you opened your eyes squinting at the sudden sunlight you had no idea where you were but it wasn't home. You stared around the room trying to get used to the low light, you were about to move your leg when you felt something tug on your ankle. It was a tingle sensation running through your ankle as you tried to move it,  whatever it was attached to your ankle hurt to move and you felt a jolt of pain tear through your anklebone,

"Shit." You hissed eyes glancing down to your legs to see that around your ankle was a rusted silver chain, not just a chain but a huge silver and rusted chain attached to a brick wall with screws.

"What the fuck?" Using your hands you struggled against the chain trying to tug it away from the wall or from your ankle when you heard a deep chuckle come from the other side of the room and it made you jump.

"Hello!?" Your voice came out more panicked than you had intended but you stood your ground - or rather sat your ground. You couldn't move from the spot you were in and you still couldn't see anything inside of the room.

"You won't get out." The lights flicked on and you looked around, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness to see another one of the men from the bar. The bar. You were starting to remember what happened after you left work, images flashing back into your brain as you remembered Jisung showing up there and being shoved into the back of a car. Panic rushed through your body as you realised who they all worked for.

"What do you want with me? I don't have any money." You kept trying to struggle out of the chain but it was slammed down on the ground and you hissed as it sent pain through your ankle which was now throbbing in pain the moment it was flung down.

"We don't want money. I'm just here until Jisung comes to watch you. Your personal guard." The man leant back in his chair and smirked at you, he was staring at you trying to size you up as you tried to get away from him as fast as you could but it wasn't working. You couldn't go anywhere.

"Please tell me what you want.." You felt pathetic for begging to him like this but you wanted to know why you were there and how long they were going to keep you if it meant trying to play the weak victim than so be it.

"I don't want anything with you, but you may want to think about lying again. Lying gets you nowhere with Chan." He got up from the chair and walked over to you, bending down so he could come face to face with you looking you in the eyes.

"Chan doesn't like liars," He patted the top of your head as if you were nothing but a dog and smirked at you, popping some chewing gum in his mouth before getting up and moving away from you once again and going towards the staircase that lead up to a steel door where he slammed it shut and locked it tightly from the outside.

"Fuck." You whimpered as you were left down in the basement once again, you pulled at the chain trying to get out of it as much as possible. Wiggling the chains to try and loosen the screws on the wall but they looked fresh and you knew it was useless to even try harder than you were, it would only hurt more. You stared around the floor for anything to use on the lock but there was nothing, then you remembered your hair. You reached up and took a pin from it jamming it into the lock around your ankle and began to use it to pick the lock. It was no big deal, you used to pick locks on the other side of town all the time, trying to find somewhere to sleep whenever you ran away from home before your parents passed away but this lock was different. A simple pin from your hair wasn't going to crack it, the door opened and you panicked trying to get the pinout but it snapped instantly. You shifted so your ankle would be hidden from whoever it was coming down the staircase, you looked up to see the youngest one that had been with Chan the night before. His hair was a dark blue colour and he looked innocent, his name was Jeongin or at least that was what Jisung had called him at the table.

"You alright?" You were taken back, were you alright? What kind of question was that? You were chained up in someone's basement, you had no idea where you were or if you were even safe.

"You tell me, I'm chained up in some creeps basement with guys coming to check on me." You snapped back and he chuckled at you, coming down onto the floor and sliding you a sandwich on a plate.

"A peace offering," You stared down at the sandwich, your stomach sounded like a bear the way it was growling at you but you weren't about to take food from someone who had kidnapped you late at night and was currently holding you in a basement for their boss without someone giving you a reason why.

"Not hungry," You lied,

"What are you doing?" He asked nodding over at your ankle, you shifted again so he couldn't see but winced as the chain pulled to hard and cause more pain to spread through your leg.

"Can you please tell me what I'm doing here?" He sat down on the sofa where Changbin had been sat and you stared at him,

"Can you at least tell me your name? What does it matter if I'm clearly not getting out of here." He sighed looking down at you, he didn't want to do this and neither did the other boys but it was something they had to do. What Chan said went since he was their boss, he didn't care about anyone.

"Look...You ruined Chan's suit, it cost more than you could make in four months so I think he's going to make you pay for it." You shook your head,

"My father has money, how much do you-"

"We know you're not from this side of town and we know you don't have any family except for your cafe manager and your grandfather in that home." You froze in place. How did he know that? He stared down at you and bit on his lip. No-one knew about your grandfather except for Mrs Lu and the nursing home that he lived in,

"If I were you, I'd start being honest the moment Chan comes to see you, he hates liars." He whispered looking over at the door and then at the sandwich that was still on your plate. You weren't going to eat it in case he was trying to poison you or put you to sleep with some kind of drug inside of it.

"Suit yourself." He got up and walked to you, taking the sandwich and biting into it himself as he walked back up the staircase and left you down there alone.

"She thinks she's smart," Jeongin laughed dropping the plate down onto the kitchen table that you thought had been poisoned on something. He looked at Felix and Jisung who were both sitting there and having their own lunch wondering what had happened in the basement.

"What did she do?" Jeongin chuckled and swallowed the sandwich he'd been eating, he had made it for you. He thought it would make it easier for you to have a friend while you were there but you weren't going to be nice to anyone any time soon.

"She tried a bobby pin in the lock, obviously it didn't work but she's smart." They all stopped laughing when they heard Chan coming into the room everything falling into silence as soon as he came into any room,

"What's funny?" Chan looked at them all and Jisung stood up looking down at his plate and going to wash it up,

"She tried to get out, used a bobby pin but it snapped inside the lock," Chan laughed and looked over to the basement door that you were being kept in.

"I like her, she's a fighter." They all knew the real reason Chan was keeping you here and it was for the plan he had in store for you as soon as he got you to confess who you really were that was. The plan was to get you to confess that you worked for Namjoon, once he got that out of you he'd move onto drawing Namjoon out with you so he could kill him.

"Did she eat anything?" He only questioned because he could see the sandwich on the plate, Jeongin shook his head and Chan went over to the cupboard grabbing bits of food from the cupboard that he thought you would like.

"I'll make her eat."

The door creaked open and you squinted over at the entrance to see Chan, he was dressed in suit pants and a white shirt which was unbuttoned at the top, his tie draped around his neck and he had a smirk on his face as he came over to you.

"I brought you some food, eat it." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order and he threw the food down by your feet. You swallowed the lump in your throat, you weren't afraid of him he just made you a little nervous to be around him since he was good looking there was no denying that. The way he held himself, as though he was better than you and that he was in control of everything around him made you on edge.

"I said eat it, you look sick." He kicked his feet up as he sat down on the sofa that was in the basement and then he rolled his sleeves up on the white shirt he was wearing exposing his veiny arms, he cleared his throat and waited for you to eat. Taking the packet of crisps you opened it up and took one of the crisps out and put it in your mouth staring at him with a condescending smile,

"Happy?" He licked his teeth and cocked his head to the side he liked that you were being cocky with him,

"Not until you finish the full packet." You stared down at the packet and pushed it away from you deciding you weren't going to do as he told you.

"Not hungry." You lied and he leant forward putting elbows on his knees and staring you down.

"Eat it before I ram them down your throat." You didn't flinch, you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could intimidate you into being scared and follow his orders he wasn't in charge of you.

"Why am I here?"

"Eat the crisps and I'll give you answers."

"Give me answers and I'll eat the crisps." He laughed sarcastically at how you were acting with him, he liked that you didn't care what he thought and what others told you about him. He knelt down in front of you still laughing until he grabbed onto your chin and forced you to look at him.

"I could fucking kill you right now, you know that?" You stared into his eyes as he stared down into yours. On the outside, he was this cold-blooded killer but on the inside, he was a scared boy and you could tell all of that by one look. He looked down at your leg and then up to your face

"Struggle all you want but you won't get out of that chain." He smirked going back to the sofa and kicking his legs back up on the table.

"What do you want with me?" You barked at him and he rolled his eyes reaching down onto the table and pulling up a red file with your name on the front of it.

"I want to know who you work for, I want to know why you're lying about your life and I want to know who the fuck you are." He threw the file down in front of you and you pulled it open, inside were photos of you in both sides of town living your double life taken by police by the looks of it. Going to both jobs and changing on the bus, changing out of your gross cafe clothes into the nice clothes you wore for the other side of town.

"I work for Mrs Lu in a cafe on the bad side of town, I also work for you and I lie because my life is a fucking shit hole. Let me out of this fucking chain." You barked at him but he grabbed your face again and aimed you to stare down at the folder but he wasn't holding onto you tightly, it was just enough to direct you where he wanted you to look.

"Then why do I think you're lying to me, huh? Who lives a double life? People who have something to hide, someone who works for the mafia, people like you." You frowned at him and shook your head,

"Mafia people?"

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you." You stared at him with a blank expression.

"I'm not playing dumb, I don't know anybody involved with the mafia but I'm assuming you do, considering I'm chained up in your basement." He smirked as you spoke back to him like this it had been so long since someone had tried to hold a real conversation with him.

"You don't work for Namjoon?" You shook your head and he hummed moving away from you and looking down at your ankle. It was starting to bruise and though he would never admit it aloud he felt bad that it was hurting you so much.

"I can loosen it if you promise not to run." You looked at him and then down at your ankle, it was in far too much pain for you to run but the moment he took it off you you were going to sprint as fast as you could.

"Please." You whispered and he moved closer to you pulling out the rest of the broken bobby pin and taking out a key from his pocket. He turned the key inside the lock and once it was off you didnt hesitate, you ran for the door but your legs were like jelly and the moment your left ankle hit the floor you screamed out and fell onto the floor.

"Silly girl. You've been chained up for 24 hours, your legs aren't going to work properly and your ankle looks pretty badly bruised as well." He sucked his teeth moving close to you and staring down at it trying to see if he'd broken it or not,

"Probably just some soft tissue damage. You'll be okay in a couple of days but until then." He bent down and picked you up and carried you over to the floor again where you had been sat. He turned you around and switched the chain over to the next foot so he wouldn't cause more damage to your foot.

"The next time you try to escape, I'll kill you." He got up from the floor and pointed at the file and then to the food.

"That's for you. I'll come down tomorrow and see if you're feeling more co-operative to work with us, I'd think long and hard though baby." He patted the top of your head just like Changbin had earlier and walked towards the staircase once again, your body seemed to yearn for him to come back. Beg for you not to let him leave you in this basement alone but the door slammed shut and the room was only lit up from the small window above your head. Flicking open the folder in front of you, you looked through all of the information they had on you. They had everything, including family history that you didn't even know, your mother and father had been scratched from the files since they were dead but your grandmother's records were there, her bills to Namjoon all displayed for you to see. You didn't even know she'd been taking money from him, no one had told you anything and it wasn't like your grandfather ever remembered anything like that.

A/n: This one was super short and boring but the next chapters are longer I promise

Tagline: @kneel-begyourpardon @snowy-meowl @moonprincessdiviniation @taestannie @km-98 @hugs4chan @calling-dips-on-j-hope @ncitythoughts​ @peachyhan​

[batgurl1989]

A Hike To Remember

Summary: You are hiking when you come across Henry and Kal

Word Count: 1700

Warning: fluff

A/N: this was a suggestion from @henrynerdfan about a hiker meeting Kal and Henry while on the trails in the Pacific Northwest. If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know

Taglist: @rmtndew @princesssterek @cynic-spirit

My breath fogged out in front of me as I walked the trails, trying to keep a brisk pace. It was a crisp fall morning, and the trails were empty for now, so I was enjoying the sound of the early rising birds as I made my way down the dirt path. The leaves were changing colours, painting a beautiful picture of nature around me. I had been on the trail for maybe an hour, and still hadn't seen another human. Animals, however, were abundant as long as I didn't make too much noise.

I was just reaching the crest of another hill when I saw a black and white blur to my side. I looked, trying to figure out what animal would be black and white in the Pacific Northwest. But the blur was gone. Maybe I was imagining things.

Or maybe I wasn't.

When I crested the hill, I could see further down the path where a man was bent over, patting a black and white dog. The dog looked at me, and I felt like I should recognize him. It wasn't until the man turned in my direction to see what had caught his dog's interest that it clicked into place.

"Kal?" I scrunched up my nose in disbelief. That meant that Henry Cavill was hiking the same trails as you. In Washington. When he was supposed to be in the UK for some down time.

Henry's laugh reached my ears, snapping me out of my thoughts. My eyes snapped to his, going wide as I realized that I had acknowledged his dog before him. I'm sure I looked like a fish as I wracked my brain for an apology that seemed suitable.

"I'm a dog person." I ended up blurting out instead, instantly turning red as I realized I had practically shouted that.

"It's okay. It happens more often than you think." Henry was still chuckling as he walked back up the path toward me. Kal followed happily beside him.

"Do you mind if I pet him? If he will let me, of course." I couldn't help my eyes drifting to the fluffy dog. He was wagging his tail and it looked like he was smiling.

"I'm sure he would love a good ear scratch." Henry nodded, a huge smile plastered on his face.

I squatted down, and waited to see if Kal would come over to me. I didn't want to encroach on his space if he didn't want me there. My heart sang when the American Akita came trotting over, wagging his tail happily. He snuffled my hand that I offered him to sniff and then threw his weight into me for snuggles.

I would have fallen over had Henry not been there to grab my hand as I flailed it out for balance. Even through his glove, I could feel how warm his hand was. I looked up at him to say thank you, but Kal chose that moment to stuff his face in mine.

"Kal, come on. You are being invasive." Henry good-naturedly chastised his dog, trying to shove Kal off of me to give me space to get my balance.

What happened instead was that Kal pushed into me again, and toppled both Henry and I over. Kal lounged across us, nuzzling Henry for treats I assumed.

If you had told me when I started out on my hike that I would end up in a pile with Henry Cavill and Kal, I would have laughed at the fantasy you were trying to feed me. I was mortified as I tried to disentangle myself from Henry. His laughter was a balm on my soul and blushing, however, making me feel a little better.

Henry finally managed to shove Kal off of us, and helped me sit up. I brushed dirt off my arms, suddenly self-conscious. I froze in place when Henry reached over to brush my hair out of my face. His hand paused as he went to tuck the hair on the other side of my face behind my ear. A light blush dusted his cheeks, and he dropped his hand.

"Sorry about that. Here I am getting after Kal for being in your space, and then I go and do it." Henry cleared his throat. Once he was standing, he offered me his hand and helped me up when I took it.

"It's okay. It's not exactly like Kal gave us a choice about being in each other's bubbles." I dusted my pants off, trying to sound casual, but inside my stomach was filled with butterflies and my heart was beating hard against my ribs.

Images of him being flocked by fans had me stepping back, respecting his and Kal's space once again. I hadn't been expecting to come across another person out here, and I certainly didn't think it would Henry. Scooping up my backpack from where it fell during the ordeal, I adjusted the straps.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your hike. I'm sure you wanted to be alone when you came out here." I tucked my hair behind my ears, catching Henry in the acting of watching my every move. "I can go down a different path."

I took another step back, but bumped into Kal. The Akita had decided it was a good idea to stand behind me, blocking my escape route. Henry stepped forward to steady me, once again coming to my rescue.

"I swear, I am not normally this clumsy." You laughed, unable to keep calm now that his hand was gripping yours again.

"Kal has a tendency to get in the way when he wants attention." Henry assured you, letting go of your hand slowly. "And Kal seems to be really taken with you, so why don't you join us for the rest of the hike?"

The request blindsided me. Never in a million years would I have expected him to suggest that. He didn't even know my name, and he wanted me to join him on his walk. Was I off base in thinking that Kal's approval meant a great deal to Henry?

I realized as these thoughts ran through my head that I still hadn't answered him. When I met his eyes, his intensely blue eyes, I found myself floundering again for what to say.

"Y/N. That's my name." I blurted out, once again mortified that I was acting so off from my normal self. Taking a deep breath in a weak attempt to calm myself, I scratched Kal's ears absentmindedly. "And if Kal really wants me to join you two, then I guess I can't say no."

"You just made his day." Henry said with a twinkle in his eye.

We walked along the path, no longer trying to keep a certain pace. Kal romped around us, bringing sticks for us to throw, or pulling on Henry's arm to get him to examine a tree that had some squirrels chattering in the branches. We talked about nothing in particular, just enjoyed each other's company. I did find out that he was in Washington on vacation. A little trip to get away is how he described it.

When we got back to the parking lot, there were lots of cars, and people milling about. Henry had clipped Kal's leash on before we reached it, and they walked me to my car. I was glad I parked under the shade of a tree. Now that the sun had risen, it was getting quite warm.

"Look, I am in town for a few more days." Henry leaned on my car, watching as I settled my bag in the trunk. He opened the drivers side door for me, ever the gentleman. He reached for my hand when I made to get in the car, getting my full attention. He had taken his gloves off, and I could feel the callouses on his warm hand as it engulfed mine. "I want to see you again."

"Are you sure you don't mean Kal wants to see me again?" I teased as Kal gave out a little whine. I patted his head, but didn't take my eyes off Henry. I couldn't decide what I was seeing, but it made my stomach do flips. "But if that's the case, I would love to see you both again."

I reached into the car for a gum wrapper and a pen. I quickly but neatly wrote out my cell number, but paused before handing it over. There was something very surreal about giving a celebrity your phone number because they wanted it. Smiling, I handed it to Henry, who looked at, a line showing up between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the digits, as though he was committing them to memory in case her lost the gum wrapper.

I squatted down, petting Kal vigorously as I said goodbye to him. The Akita lapped up the attention, shoving himself into me again. Luckily this time I was ready, and leaned against the car door.

"I guess I will be seeing you then." I stood up to face Henry again. He smiled down at me, not hesitating this time as he tucked my hair behind my ear.

"You definitely will." Henry's voice was barely more than whisper as his eyes searched you face.

There was a brief moment--an insane moment--when I thought he would kiss me. But I snapped out of that fantasy, and cleared my throat. That seemed to snap him out his thoughts too, and he straightened. We quickly said goodbyes and I got in my car.

As I was leaving the parking lot, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I hit play on the steering wheel, expecting a text from my sister or mom asking where I was. I normally didn't hike that long, and cell service on the trails was spotty. I was pleasantly surprised when the automated voice of my car started reading the text.

"I hope this is your real number. It was so nice meeting you today, Y/N. And I can't wait to see you again, and possibly take you out on a real date. -HC"

[harrysweasleys]

not so secret admirer // d.m

Summary: Can you write a Draco x reader where she's on top of the class and really sassy and fun, and Draco is lowkey kinda scared or intimidated by her? and Blaise likes to flirt with her and mess around just to make him jealous? thank u!

Warnings: none? hella soft Draco? also not totally proof-read

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: ah! this took way longer than i thought. but it’s here! enjoy! gif isn’t mine. :)

-

Draco watched with gritted teeth as Blaise approached you, a smirk on his face and his hands shoved in his pocket, confidence radiating off of him in waves.

“So, Y/N,” Blaise slid into the seat next to you, leaning back on the chair with his arms crossed across his chest. Draco glared holes into the back of his friend’s head, hating the stupid frustration he was feeling upon watching you two interact.

“Hi, Blaise,” you smiled over at the boy next to you, oblivious to the glare you two were receiving from the platinum headed boy across the class.

“Well, you changed up your hair over the Christmas break,” Blaise’s voice was smooth as he complimented you, “I like it.”

Draco wanted to snap his quill in half as he watched the blush rise to your cheeks, the shy smile you gave Blaise as you said ‘thanks, Zabini’ made him turn away and face the people sitting around him. He had also noticed you cut your hair during the break, but hardly found the moment to mention that he liked it too.

“Chill, Malfoy,” Pansy chewed loudly on a piece of gum as she twirled her hair, “Blaise doesn’t settle for just one girl, he’ll leave Y/N alone.”

It was no secret Draco harboured feelings for you. He had spoken to you a few times, and each time, you had intimidated him more than the last..

Draco Malfoy? Intimidated?

He found it hard to believe too. But your quick wit and knowledgeable sense had him double thinking his own personality. The last thing he wanted was to come off too strong or to push you away like he did with most people. You always found a way to top the class without even trying, it was admirable, really.

“I don’t care if Zabini wants to chase her,” Draco tried to play it off cool, “He’s at perfect liberty to go after whoever he wants, is he not?”

Pansy rolled her eyes at him, turning back to face the front of the class.

As Professor Snape stalked into the class, dark robes billowing behind him, Blaise rushed from his seat next to you back into the one next to Draco.

“Didn’t want to sit with your girlfriend?” Draco couldn’t help himself from making a snarky comment, despite the fact that the last thing he wanted was to show he was irritated.

Blaise grinned knowingly, “Y/N? Nah, not my girlfriend. Not my type.”

“You sure about that?” Draco spoke back through gritted teeth, “You complimented her.”

Blaise’s amused expression never faltered, “You were listening in, huh? Come on, you’ve been pining after her for like a year now. Just grow a pair and talk to her. As humans.”

“As humans?” Draco repeated, rolling his eyes in annoyance, “That’s so helpful.”

Shrugging, Blaise leaned closer so Professor Snape didn’t pick up on their private conversation, “Compliment her too. Tell her you like her brain or something. Girls like that — means you notice more than just their looks.”

Shaking his head, Draco didn’t think this was the way to go. How was he supposed to do that? Just walk up to you and say he thought you were smart? He’d look like an idiot.

“Yeah, that’s still useless, Zabini,” Draco leaned away from him, signalling the conversation had come to an end. He found it hard to pay attention to the remainder of the lesson, too busy focusing on the way your tongue would stick out in concentration, and even the way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear when trying to scribble down notes. He found you quite possibly the cutest thing he had ever seen.

“You coming, Malfoy?”

“I—Huh?” Draco’s eyes snapped over to Blaise, who was now standing, packing his books in his bag. He had been too busy thinking about you to realize class was over.

He peered back to your seat and noticed you talking to another Slytherin girl — he didn’t bother rememebring her name — but he didn’t really care at the moment.

“Yeah, coming,” he replied, tearing his eyes away from you and facing his group. He began to walk out of the class, but stopped in his steps when he heard the sound of objects clattering to the floor behind him.

He peered around, noticing you standing near your desk with a pout on your face.

“Damn it, just what I needed,” you leaned over, picking a bunch of books off the floor. Draco noticed your bag, which now had a huge rip on the bottom of it, discarded to the side. Your books, along with your ink, parchment and quill, were all over the floor.

Draco glanced around. Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were out of sight, and the girl you had just been speaking to was in a conversation with Snape. So, he plucked up his courage and walked over to you.

“Need a hand?” he asked, leaning down to meet your eye level.

Your eyes shot up, a pink tinge to your cheeks as you rushed to pick everything up, “Yeah, thanks. I’ve needed a new bag for a while, guess this is the push I’ve been waiting for.”

He picked up three large textbooks, noticing immediately how heavy they were. And they weren’t even for any of your classes, he could tell they were from the library.

“Did you get these just for casual reading?” he analyzed the front page of the first book, which was titled How The Goblin Rebellion Shaped Wizard-Goblin Relations. He remembered studying the Goblin Rebellion years back, this couldn’t be for a class you were currently taking.

“Oh — yeah,” you grinned sheepishly, finally collecting everything and clutching it all tightly in your arms, “I know it’s weird, but I read that before bed. I guess it’s better than the last book I read which was about dragon enslavement. Not so cheerful.”

“And the Goblin Rebellion was?” he smirked, standing up and holding the books in his arms.

“No, but it had good outcomes,” you replied, standing up as well, “Nothing good came from keeping dragons in cages.”

Draco nodded, admiring the way you absorbed every bit of knowledge you could find. He found it rather annoying when Hermione Granger did it, but when it was you, even he had to admit it was endearing.

“I guess you’re right about that,” he nodded, “Do you want help bringing these back to your dorm?”

He nearly missed the way your lips curved up into a smirk, “Oh, am I about to be blessed with the opportunity of having the Draco Malfoy assist me back to my room?”

Draco’s eyes widened. He didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Oh—I—,”

“I’m kidding,” you tossed your head back, laughing at his dumbfounds expression, “I could use the help, thanks for offering.” You shot a wink his way and started making your way out of the class, leaving Draco still rooted in his spot.

Of course, you found a way of leaving him speechless again.

He fought back a grin and rushed to catch up with you, nearly tripping over his own robe.

“I like the rain,” you said softly once he caught up with you, “It’s calming. Cozy.”

He turned around to face the dark skies, the heavy rain pouring down making it almost difficult for him to hear you properly. He turned to face you, struggling to find the proper words to say.

“I prefer snow.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning your head to face him as the two of you continued down the long corridors, “Snow? I took you more for a raging thunderstorms kind of guy.”

He let out a small laugh, surprised by what you thought of him, “Why’s that?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged, “But I’ve always said you could tell a lot about a person based on their favorite weather.”

Draco looked over at you, fighting back another grin at the way you spoke so openly. You seemed to not care what anyone said about you, and he adored that.

“And what does snow mean? What can you figure out about me?” he wanted to know the answer but didn’t want to seem too eager.

“Well,” you grinned at him, turning back to face forwards, “You’re closed off. You like peace, being alone. You’re not a confrontational type, but you do like to knock people down a peg when given the chance.”

He blinked at you, hating how spot on that description was. Had you really figured all that out just by him saying he liked snow? Really, he liked that you could read him. Most people had no idea what was going on inside his head, and usually he’d love that, but he wanted to be less closed off around you. When given the chance, he found himself being honest around you more than he ever had been with anyone else — his family included.

“That’s... you’re spot on, actually,” he raised his eyebrows, “Colour me impressed.”

You smiled at him, “Oh, I know.”

He smiled back down at you, resisting the urge to blurt out beautiful he thought you were. And you really, really were.

The remainder of the walk was silent. Comfortable, but silent. Draco couldn’t figure out what he wanted to say to you. He loved the sound of your voice, and how into every conversation you got, but he couldn’t find a decent topic to strike up a chat about.

Walking into the common room, Draco glanced over and noticed Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe an Goyle huddled around the fire, all of them pointing at him.

“There you are!” Pansy screeched, sitting up abruptly, “You disappeared!”

Draco fought back a flush, noticing how both of you had stopped in your tracks and your body was close enough to his that he could smell your flowery perfume. It was probably his new favorite smell.

“What — oh, sorry,” he blurted out, ignoring how Pansy’s face broke out into a wide smirk, “I was helping Y/N carry her books back.”

“Yeah, my bag broke, Draco was being a dear,” you nudged him in the side with your elbow, grinning over at the group on the couch, “Don’t let me steal him from you for too long. Once I put these away, he’s all yours.”

“Doubt that,” Pansy mumbled under her breath. Draco shot her a glare, but luckily, you hadn’t heard. You were already walking up to your dormitory, humming a tune that Draco didn’t know. He followed hot on your tail, missing the knowing look that was shared between Blaise and Pansy.

“Just drop them on the bed,” you said once he had entered your room, “I’ll organize them later.”

“Sure thing,” he dropped the books down, glancing around the room. The beds surrounding yours were rather messy, but yours was as organized as could be. Your pillow was fluffed, sheets tucked in tightly, and even your nightstand had everything placed neatly.

“You taking a mental picture of my bedroom, Malfoy?” your voice snapped him out of his trance and he looked over at you, once again, not knowing what to say. You laughed, tossing your head back and poking him in the shoulder.

“Kidding. You should see your face,” your laughter was infectious, Draco found himself chuckling with you, “Now let’s head down.”

Still chuckling, he followed after you and back into the common room. As Draco approached the couch, sitting as far away from a smirking Pansy as he could, you leaned over to talk to him.

“I’ve gotta go meet a friend but I’ll see you around.”

Draco felt he shouldn’t be disappointed after spending a bit of time alone with you, but he was, “No worries.”

You were about to exit the room when Blaise called out, “Oi, gorgeous!”

You spun around on the spot, eyebrow raised and cheeks slightly pink. Draco bit his cheek, silencing himself from saying anything to Blaise.

“Yes?” you placed your hands on your hips.

“Just wanna say you look good,” Blaise shrugged, leaning back into his chair and glancing between Draco and you. Draco knew what he was up to, but he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning, so he continued to sit silently.

“Right,” you laughed, continuing to leave the room, “You’re gorgeous too, Zabini. Catch ya later.”

As your figure disappeared, Draco whipped his head around to stare Blaise down, “Stop coming onto her, it’s pathetic.”

“No,” Blaise raised a finger, “What’s pathetic is the fact that you’re still sitting here stewing in your own love for her and she’s off with no idea.”

Draco opened his mouth to retaliate, but realized that he was right. He knew Blaise didn’t fancy you that way, but hearing him flirt so openly still got his blood boiling. He hated the fact that he was too intimated by you to make a move. You were the only person who had ever caught his eye and he was too much of a coward to do something about it.

“You’re quiet because you know I’m right, right?” Blaise wiggled his eyebrows, “Right?”

“Shut up,” Draco snapped, turning to look out to the water outside the window, his face hard. He wasn’t angry at his friends, but at himself.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but of course Blaise was right.

— —

The sun was shining down brightly through the Great Hall windows, signalling the start of the next day. Breakfast was spread across the four House tables and students chatted happily. Draco sat quietly between Goyle and Pansy, who were both too preoccupied stuffing their faces to strike up conversation. Which Draco wasn’t complaining about, he wasn’t in a chatty mood.

The afternoon’s Quidditch match between Slytherin and Hufflepuff had been on Draco’s mind for a while. He had always been slightly nervous before each match — not that he’d ever admit that to anyone, of course.

“Not gonna eat?” Blaise uttered through a mouthful of toast, motioning towards Draco’s empty plate.

Draco shook his head, “Nope.”

Though he was staring out of the large window, eyeing the pleasant weather and clear conditions, he caught sight of you from the corner of his eye.

Trying not to give away that he was staring, he quickly glanced at you before returning to where he was previously staring. Though already nervous, his heart did a little flip in his chest.

You were wearing an emerald green sweater that said ‘Slytherin Quidditch’ on the front, a sign you were bound to come to the game today. You usually did, but he wanted to be sure. Still out of the corner of his eye, he could see you take a seat further up the table with another girl, the two of you emerging into conversation right away.

Draco fought the urge to glance over again, deciding that he’d be too obvious with Blaise and Pansy gazing at him every few seconds.

“Nervous?” Pansy asked upon watching Draco’s leg bounce up and down.

“No,” he replied rather quickly, “Excited. I don’t get nevous.”

She seemed to question him, but didn’t pester him any further. Blaise, on the other hand, seemed to not want to drop the subject.

“So, should we make today’s game more interesting?” he placed his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands, wiggling his eyebrows.

Draco squinted at him, not sure what he was getting at, “Quidditch is always interesting.”

“Fair point,” Blaise shrugged, “But I have a proposition.”

“How so?”

Blaise leaned back, taking his elbows off the table and motioning his head in your direction, “Well, if we win, you ‘fess up.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly and his breath faltered. Of course, Blaise was going to force him into telling you his feelings.

“That’s stupid,” Draco scoffed, trying not to think about what would happen if he did confess to you. You could end up liking him back and the two of you could go off and be happy together. Or, you could shut him down and ruin whatever friendship you two had. The latter seemed like too much of a risk.

“No, it’s not,” Blaise’s lips curled up into a smirk, “You’re gonna have to tell her at some point. Why not do it after you’ve won?”

Draco scowled, hating the fact that Blaise did indeed have a point. He glanced over at you, your face broken out into a smile and your hair falling loosely around your face. You looked radiant, and if he didn’t confess to you, he was sure someone else would snatch you up in a heartbeat. The mere thought of you with someone else was enough to send Draco’s heart into slight turmoil.

“Fine,” he stuck his hand out, ready to shake Blaise’s, “But then if we lose, you confess to Daphne.”

Blaise’s prideful expression faltered, “Caught me there. Alright, deal.”

“Deal.”

— —

Draco nearly forgot practice was starting early today, so as tumbled around his room getting ready for the match, he scolded himself for losing track of him.

Once his Quidditch equipment was on and he picked up his broom, he bolted towards the door and down the stairs.

“Woah, slow your roll there, cowboy,” your voice caught Draco off guard and he spun around on the spot, looking at where you were pressed up against the wall to avoid him crashing into you.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his chest feeling tingly as you beamed up at him.

“You forget there was a game or what?”

He shook his head, scanning you quickly. You were still wearing your Quidditch sweater but your hair was now tied back and out of your face and you had your House scarf tied neatly around your neck.

“Well,” you poked him in the chest where his number was situated, “Good luck out there, Draco. I’ll be cheering you on. Hope you win!”

And with that, you were up the stairs and out of view.

“Yeah, me too,” he mumbled quietly, shaking his head once he realized he was even later than before, and took off out of the common room and down to the Quidditch pitch.

When the game started, the sun was gone. The sky had become darker and a cool breeze swept though the pitch. Students huddled together in the stands, wrapped up under blankets and using each other’s sweaters for warmth.

As Draco flew around on his broom, keeping a watchful eye out of the Snitch, he glanced over to where you were sitting, his insides raging in nerves. You were huddled up next to Daphne Greengrass, the two of you wearing matching sweaters and watching the game intently, cheering every time Slytherin scored.

He also noticed how you’d glance up to him every now and then, sending him a smile or a thumbs up. It didn’t really help the anxious feeling in his chest, but it did give him a boost of confidence.

Almost too distracted by the thought of asking you out, he kept having to shake his head to clear his thoughts. It was driving him mad.

And that’s when he spotted it. A tiny golden flutter next to one of the Hufflepuff goal posts. Without missing a beat, Draco took off at full speed, not even bothering to check where the Hufflepuff Seeker was. He didn’t really care.

He got closer and closer and finally, felt the cool metallic feeling of the Snitch between his fingers. His heart did a summersault.

He raised his hand in the air, causing the entire Slytherin section to burst out into loud cheers. His eyes found you, standing up on your feet and clapping loudly. A burst of pride erupted in him, and with confidence, took off on his broom towards your section.

He hadn’t really thought this through, but as he approached where you were seated, he felt as if acting on impulse was going to be better for him anyways.

He stopped his flying, hopping off his broom and into the stands. His eyes were locked on yours, who were staring right back at him with both excitement and confusion. He started walking towards you, ignoring his teammates calling out to him and the stares he was getting from the fellow Slytherins surrounding the two of you.

Once he reached you, he sent you a shy smile, which you immediately returned. Your cheeks were dusted with pink, whether from the cold air or the proximity, he didn’t know.

“Nice catch,” you said quietly, motioning to his hand which was still holding onto the Snitch.

“Thanks,” he replied lamely and breathlessly, “I need to tell you something.”

You cocked an eyebrow af him and he took it as a sign to continue. He wasn’t sure how to say it apart from just being blunt and upfront.

“I like you. A lot.”

He watched your expression change from confusion, to shock, to happy. Your face broke into a massive grin and you stepped closer to him, almost making the space between you two non-existent.

“I know.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “You know?”

You giggled slightly, “Of course. You don’t hide it well.”

Embrassed, Draco began wishing he hadn’t done this in front of such a large crowd. He had confessed his feelings to you, and all you had said back was that you knew about them all along. Did this mean you felt the same? Did it mean you didn’t say anything about them because you didn’t want anything to happen between you two?

“I can see you overthinking,” you brought him back to reality, placing your arms around his neck, shivers rushing down his spine at the contact, “I like you too, you know.”

“Y-You do?” he failed to hide his shock, nearly dropping the Snitch as his hands instinctively wrapped around your waist.

You nodded, “Yep. You’re cute and all, found myself falling for you like a year ago.”

He couldn’t fight the grin that formed on his face at your words, relief spreading through him like a wave. He couldn’t even begin to express how much joy that had brought him, worried that telling you might make you realize how crazy he was about you.

“I have never been more relieved,” he breathed out, resting his forehead against yours, loving the contact, “I was so worried you didn’t feel the same way.”

You chuckled, beginning to run your hands through his messy hair, “Well, tell the worry to go away because I do. Now, are you going to kiss me or what?”

He didn’t even hesitate, “Gladly.”

And leaning down, finally connected his lips to yours.

[satuguro]

selfless

IN WHICH: you go out on a date and sugawara koushi can only be a supportive best friend, even though he wants to be so much more.

PAIRINGS: sugawara koushi x reader, akaashi keiji x reader

INSPIRED BY: coffee breath — sofia mills, bubble gum — clairo

WARNING: cussing, some angst if you squint

“i got a date with him! could you believe it?”

you let out a loud laugh, your nerves and excitement radiating off of you in waves.

he could only force a bittersweet smile.

“no, i can’t.”

“c’mon, koushi, show a lil’ more encouragement, yeah?” you squealed, falling back in the couch as you let your hands raise above your head. you were blissed out, so high on adrenaline and giddiness and that you didn’t see the regret that filled sugawara’s golden eyes.

he needed to just stop feeling. just for one moment.

“what’s his name again?” koushi asked, making you sit up straight immediately to regain your composure.

“gimme a sec.” you typed away on your phone, well aware of sugawara’s gaze over your shoulder. his breath was right next to your ear, sending shivers up and down your spine. you pushed away the feeling almost immediately; you had a date. you had a date with someone who liked you back.

“aha!” you handed him your phone shamelessly, smile never leaving your face as you awaited his response.

you could tell that he was reading him. it was a simple picture, one of him with an endearing smile towards whoever was in front of him. he wore a simple black turtleneck and a beige coat— he had good style. his black hair was ruffled and messy, nothing like the perfection around him. he looked like he fell right out of a drama series.

of course, he fell for you. you looked like you fell from heaven itself; you were both made for each other.

“akaashi keiji,” you announced, his name falling from your lips like a wish. “so? what do you think?” you were asking him for his opinion as if akaashi was a wonderful and spontaneous idea that you wanted your dear old friend to hear about. you were looking at him expectingly, eyes glimmering with hope— hope for what? for koushi to like him? for him to say, ‘that’s wonderful y/n, you’ll be happy with him, and he’ll treat you well.’

“i,” sugawara’s words died in his throat, and he was suddenly aware of how dry his throat felt. he struggled for words, the confidence he once held when speaking to others now replaced by utter panic and embarrassment. his mind was racing, rummaging and searching in the depths of his brain in a scramble to find some words that would save the poor boy from his pain. “i don’t like him.” and just like that, the words were spat out before koushi could grab them again.

like a dying flower, the light and excitement in your eyes faded into nothing as you blinked.

once. twice. three times.

“you... you don’t?” you stuttered, disbelief within your tone as you stared at him. your face was unreadable, the happiness and giddiness from before now murky within the black of your eyes.

“i didn’t mean it like that!” panic. pure and utter panic raced through his body like an electrical shock. “i just—“

“why’re you freaking out?” similarly to how a falling leaf would gently touch the water’s surface, the faintest of smiles graced your face. your hand reached out to koushi and found its solace on his shoulder. there it perched and stayed, sending waves of warmth and comfort to his rigid body.

“what do you mean?” koushi forced past the bile he suddenly felt like vomiting, his golden eyes suddenly set on his lap as if it was the most interesting item known to man.

“kou,” you began, thumbing at the pale beige of his sweater, eyes deep in thought, “your opinion matters to me. no matter the answer, i wouldn’t mind. because it’s you.”

god, koushi wished you had said those last words under different circumstances. his heart ached as he looked at you, the warmth of your eyes so inviting that he would fall in over and over again if he could.

maybe he had fallen. maybe he had done it more than once and ran back for more. he would run back to you a thousand times if he could.

maybe that was the dangerous part of you. no matter how welcoming, how caring, or how patient you have been to everyone, you were always able to get them wrapped around your finger and hanging off your every words. but you never knew that yourself. if you did, you’d stop speaking all together; you’d never accept it.

“so stop worrying!” you chuckled, allowing your hand to fall from its place at his shoulder. your head replaced it, gentle and affectionate as you stared at the movie that was playing out on the t.v in from tof both of you.

sugawara nodded numbly. “i’ll stop,” he said, and he could only hope that he’d keep his promise.

“y/n, you might fall!”

sugawara felt like he was going to lose his head. seeing you standing on a thick branch of a tree that felt like it stretched up to the sky for miles. this was it— he’d die from worry at the ripe age of nine. right before his double digit birthday!

he could see it now: sugawara koushi, wonderful and caring son, dead at the age of nine alongside his best friend, l/n y/n, who also caused his death.

“c’mon, koushi!” you jumped on the tree branch, and as it bent, another spark of wordy coursed through him. “be brave! be strong!” you encouraged, putting on a mighty voice as you placed a hand on your hip and looked out into the horizon.

“you don’t know what’s up there! like snakes and spiders and — oh my god, ew, spiders!” sugawara babbled, propping his colorful backpack against the tree. helplessly, he looked up at you; wind blowing through your hair, expression much too serious for an 8 year old, with your hand on your hip as if you were posing.

“suga, listen!” the heroic pose you were once in broke as you stared down at your worrisome friend. all form of intimidation and determination died when you saw the amount of worry sugawara actually had; his hands were twiddling together, his eyes were aide, and his bottom lip was quivering ever so slightly. you swallowed. “the world is full of the unknown. everything is unknown until you make it known.” you paused before tilting your head as you gazed down at him. “does that make sense?”

sugawara could only nod. your words echoed in his head like a mantra, and he pulled the sleeves of his hoodie up as he readied himself.

“i’m ready— pull me up!”

you twirled once for him, allowing your white skirt to lift up along with the wind.

the pleated skirt you wore showcased your legs perfectly, and the oversized blue college sweatshirt you wore was perfectly oversized on your body. under the sweatshirt was a white button up that peaked through the crew neck of the sweater. your makeup was different — did you add a tad more blush than usual? — but you looked as beautiful as ever.

“do you think this is good? we’re just meeting somewhere but still—“

“you’re beautiful.” his words slipped out, his tone nothing but serious and sincere as he looked at you.

you smiled at him, the flash of your pearly whites like a ray of sunshine. sugawara found himself smiling back, much too focused in forcing a facade to notice the sudden waver in your grin. his smile was like a rainbow on a sunny day; beautiful enough to catch everyone’s eye and mystical enough to bring a sense of excitement into your veins for a moment.

how odd.

“shit! i need to hurry!” you checked the time before swinging your white tote bag over your shoulder and hastily packing your items inside. you pulled out a drawer from your living room table, taking out an obnoxiously long roll of condoms that you struggled to control.

“how many rounds are you planning for tonight?” sugawara couldn’t help but tease (though it made his heart wrench), making you roll your eyes and stick your tongue out. you stuffed a few of them into your purse, blind to the way he looked at you longingly.

you pulled your shoes on, trying to calm yourself. you looked at yourself once more in your nearby mirror, offering yourself a nervous smile before turning to sugawara.

his mind seemed elsewhere, his eyes still set on you and your body practically sparkling with nervousness. yet he still gave you a beaming smile and a (half hearted) thumbs up that calmed your anxiousness almost instantaneously.

“make sure to lock up when you leave!” you sent him one last grin as you opened the door. the door slammed behind you, leaving only a shadow of where you once stood.

koushi continued to stare at the white of the door.

his last days in karasuno. sugawara could barely keep himself together; he was sure that he was crying and slobbering all over his friends when he was saying his goodbyes in the gym.

well, it wasn’t his fault. he was leaving— he had all the right in the world to slobber on them.

he needed to catch his train. he gave his team one last smile as they listened to daichi scold them all for being so, so, so stupid during their last year and how he still loved them all the same (asahi, tanaka, and noya were having a hard time keeping themselves together because of their retiring captain). sugawara stood next to him, taking in the comforting sight of his team.

“koushi!”

your scream, loud and out of breath, made sugawara freeze.

you were standing behind him, pure rage and sadness brewing in your eyes like a hurricane. yachi stood next to you, practically cowering under your presence, and sugawara knew you asked the blond for his whereabouts.

he had planned on saying goodbye at your house.

sugawara wanted to say something. he wanted to tell you that he’d say good bye in privacy, without the wandering eyes of his team and the knowing eyes of daichi, who knew completely of his feelings towards you. but he said nothing, for you had taken his breath away when you swiftly ran up to him and hugged him from behind.

your arms wrapped around his torso, your face pressed to his back as you held onto him like a koala. “i’d hit you if you weren’t leaving,” you said, words muffled against his shirt.

“just do it anyway!” tsukishima commented in the background withh a snort.

the snickers of the first and second years were drowned out by sugawara’s rapidly beating heart, the feeling of you being so close bringing butterflies — hell, not even butterflies, a whole tornado — to his stomach. he carefully turned to face you, and you took a step back, your eyes glassy with wet tears.

the simple sight of it made his own vision blurry, and the both of you said nothing as you finally met in the middle. your arms wrapped around each other, years upon years of friendship now teetering and being threatened with distance. the rest of the world faded to black, and in that moment, it was only the two of you.

“visit. call. text. send me letters— do whatever the hell you need to do just please, please keep contact.” you were both teary faced messes, that much was obvious, but the idea that your life long best friend was leaving was too much to bear. you didn’t want him to go; what would you do without koushi?

koushi asked himself the same thing about you. what would he do without you?

two weeks and three days.

that was how long it had been since you had gone out on a date with akashi keiji. you hadn’t gone out with him since— not for any bad reason, though.

“you and koushi?”

“what about us?” you laughed, finger playing along the rim of your glass. but when you saw that he didn’t laugh along with you, you frowned.

you were friends before akaashi had asked you out. you knew that he was deep in his thoughts; his brows were knit together, and a frown twitched at the side of his lips. “akaashi. what about us?”

“you like him, don’t you?”

you wanted to forget about his words. you didn’t want to hear anything about your ‘feelings’ for koushi— they didn’t exist. your feelings for him were never there.

you were reminding yourself of that fact even as you got shit faced drunk with him right by your side.

shitty boxed wine was laid out everywhere while you sipped a bottle of champagne, pretending not to see koushi’s pout as you finished half the bottle. lazily, you smiled at him.

“it’s good.”

“yeah, no shit,” suga snorted, reaching his out and making his fingers make grabby hands. you pulled it away from him with a musical laugh, one that made his already flushed cheeks bloom a deeper red. again, he pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. “y/n,” he drawled, reaching out again only to have you move it out of his way.

“koushi,” you mocked, sticking your tongue out as if you were a child. he was adorable like this.

“no. i don’t want to talk about this.” you laughed in disbelief as you looked down. how could he make such an accusation? how could akaashi just blurt it out out of nowhere as if you hadn’t agreed to go out with him when he asked? he had no right.

he had no right asking when he knew the answer.

akaashi looked at you, a ghost of a pained smile on his lips. of course, he was hurt. how could he not? he had pined for you since he first saw you, and sugawara...

sugawara had you and he didn’t even know.

he wasn’t selfish. akaashi keiji was not selfish in the slightest, and maybe that was why he was doing this for your happiness. he was doing it because he knew it was right.

even if he was going to be hurt in the process.

“you look at him like he’s your morning cup of coffee,” akaashi said softly. “your eyes light up and this beautiful smile dawns over your face,” he swallowed thickly. “the sight of him makes you happy. he makes you happy.”

you peered up at him, a sorrowful smile blessing your features. yet again, akaashi cursed his heart for beating so quickly upon the sight.

akaashi keiji was not selfish in the slightest.

“i’m sorry, akaashi.”

he was a selfless person who could care less for himself.

“i am too, y/n.”

that was why he was letting you go.

“i will commit a crime to end up on national news,” sugawara threatened with the most serious face he could muster, his hand still outstretched towards you expectingly.

“sangwoo much?” you retorted with a laugh, one that made sugawara join you. in that second of vulnerability, koushi surged forward and practically tackled you, his hand ready to meet the bottle.

instead, he ended up pinning you down onto the couch with himself on top of you. the champagne was long gone and rolling and spilling all over your hardwood floor, but you couldn’t care less.

“suga, the champagne!” you whined out drunkenly, completely unaware of the lack of space between you both.

sugawara’s hand was on one side of your head, which was keeping his body from smushing you. his grey hair, which he had chosen to grow out just a bit, tickled the top of your nose as he hovered over you. his other hand, the one that was supposed to grab the champagne, found its place on the other side of your head.

your laughter soon died out when you felt his breath fanning over your face. your heart was beating hard enough to make a mark on your chest.

your hand came up to touch one side of his face, your thumb stroking his cheek softly. koushi leaned into your touch, his eyes full of adoration as he looked down at you.

you leaned up just as he leaned down, and your lips found themselves in the middle.

he tasted like shitty boxed alcohol and smelled like vanilla. you could feel his hair brush over your forehead as you leaned up to meet his lips better. koushi was intoxicating, and his scent and taste filled your senses as you kissed him.

the champagne still lingered on your tongue, and koushi could taste it as your tongues swiped over each other with each kiss. he felt himself pour all his years of unspoken love in the kiss. more than a decade of yearning for someone who was so close but so far finally paid off.

koushi pulled away from you as he took a deep breath of air. he couldn’t help the contagious smile he had on his face, one that you returned instantly.

“i love you,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his beauty mark.

dramatically, sugawara gasped. “say sike right now, no way.”

“kou,” you groaned, using your hand to playfully flick at his nose.

loudly, sugawara laughed. he felt his cheeks ache and his heart flutter as he did, the relief finally hitting him as well as the realization that holy shit, you loved him back.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” he leaned back in, making your noses poke each other as he pecked your lips one last time.

“i love you too. more than you’ll ever know.”

[roseinaugust]

Like an Old Enemy

Chapter Four: Maybe I Don’t Want You to Die

Summary: Miraculous Enemies AU. Gabriel Agreste has the Black Cat Miraculous in his possession, so when his wife, Emilie, "disappears," he sends his son, Adrien, undercover to pose as Ladybug's partner. Two years later, the once famous duo are sworn enemies. Marinette might have loved Chat Noir once, but now she would stop at nothing to defeat him. Adrien will do whatever it takes to bring his mother back. Best friends in their civilian lives, Adrien and Marinette find obstacles and complications when they can no longer deny their love for each other. But will they be able to understand and forgive the mistakes of their past? Or will they be doomed to end as bitter rivals a second time?

Rated: T

Pairings: Ladybug/Chat Noir Enemies, Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Mutual Pining

Word Count: 5,356

Read on: ao3

A/N: I am only posting part of this chapter on tumblr so please read the rest on ao3!

Something didn’t sit right with Adrien. 

Adrien had been racking his brain all week trying to figure out this mystery boy’s identity. He knew he should leave it alone. If Marinette didn’t want to tell him, that was her decision. But still, something was off. He could have worn a hole through the carpet of his bedroom from the amount of pacing he did that week. Marinette had never spoken of this boy who broke her heart before. He tried to find any moment that could be explained by this revelation. 

There wasn’t one. 

It’s not like Adrien thought she was lying—he saw her face when she told him, that was emotion you cannot fake—but he did think Marinette was better at hiding things than he thought. And with that, came a suspicion that he fiercely wanted to ignore. 

The idea furrowed into his brain, under his skin, an irritation that once recognized could not be left alone. He was going to go insane if he didn’t figure it out. All week, Adrien acted jittery around her, stared for too long, tripped over his words. She didn’t seem to notice his strange behavior, but if he was correct, she could easily be hiding her true thoughts. Others did notice, though. 

“Okay, what is going between you and Marinette?” It was not uncommon for Nino to start a phone call with this type of greeting. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Adrien denied, slumping into his computer chair. With his phone pressed to his ear, Adrien could hear the static of Nino’s silence, forcing a confession out of him. “Okay, fine.” It didn’t take long for Nino’s silence to convince him—he actually felt a guilty sense of relief to be able to ask Nino about it. “But this stays completely between us. You can’t tell Alya.” Nino had a habit of telling his girlfriend everything. If Adrien didn’t clarify that ‘tell no one’ included his friend’s girlfriend, Alya would know in a few seconds flat—which meant that Marinette would know too. 

“Got it, dude. Now what’s up?” 

Adrien sighed, unsure of how to phrase his question. Marinette had told him, but that didn’t mean that she wanted Nino to know. It was still her secret to share or withhold and Adrien wouldn’t expose her like that. “Marinette told me something, and I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. You’ve known her longer than I have. Has she…Was there anyone she dated or liked before I started school?” 

“She didn’t have a boyfriend, and as far as I know she didn’t like anyone,” Adrien sighed, he didn’t know what kind of answer he was expecting but this didn’t help. 

“Okay, tha—” 

“Except for her crush on Chat Noir.” Nino interrupted, laughing slightly. Adrien’s phone slipped from his hand. He scrambled for it, bringing it back to his ear. 

“Sorry! I dropped my phone. What did you say?” Please let this be a mistake.

“Just that Marinette had a celebrity crush on Chat Noir. She’s like his biggest fan—well, she was until he turned all evil. She was devastated after Ladybug announced he was working with Hawkmoth. But that’s probably not what you were looking for, right?” 

He was silent, there was no more denying it. His mind spiraled down the long winding path of half-baked suspicions and coincidences until he landed in the deep center—no longer able to run or hide from the fact staring back at him: Marinette was Ladybug. 

“Hello? Adrien, are you still there?” Nino’s voice brought him back to his body. 

“What? Oh yeah, sorry. My father was talking to me about a photoshoot. I gotta go, Nino.” He hung up before his friend could say anymore. 

The final puzzle piece clicked into place, allowing him to see the entire picture and it was her. It was always her. Marinette was Ladybug. She had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. A montage of memories flashed through his mind, connecting the link between them. The gum incident, her disappearance during akuma attacks, the hatred in her eyes during her date with Evillustrator—they all could be explained with the simple fact that Marinette was Ladybug. 

Because Marinette didn’t have a celebrity crush on Chat Noir. She had been in love with him. And he had obliterated her trust. Adrien reeled from the revelation that he had not only hurt Ladybug, but also Marinette. He tried to preserve his friendship with Marinette without realizing that he had already sabotaged the foundation. The cycle of destruction never rested and he had been foolish to believe Marinette was exempt. He wrecked it before their friendship had even begun. 

Why hadn’t he seen it before? In retrospect it seemed obvious. Of course the only two people he ever felt comfortable with were the same person. Of course he had fallen in love with her twice. He had been at Françoise-Dupont for a year and had no solid leads on Ladybug’s identity until now. He was beginning to think he was wrong about his assumption that Ladybug attended that school. He considered every girl there, with no evidence to suggest they were Ladybug—except Marinette. He never investigated her. Why? Maybe he always knew, subconsciously refused to look into her because he knew what he was going to find. Adrien covered his face with his hands. 

The idea repeated inside his head incessantly. Marinette was Ladybug. Marinette was Ladybug. Marinette was Ladybug. Every time it sunk a little deeper into his soul, doubt faded with every echo. He would have to fight her. It was the only way to fix his mistake. But…would this be a mistake too? To intentionally hurt the person he cared about most to correct the ruin he caused? Could more destruction ever repair the damage?

Adrien removed his hands from his face and looked up at his computer. The glowing screen portrayed a picture of Adrien and his mother sitting together, twin smiles plain on their faces. His heart ached to see her smile again—to see her again. 

He didn’t know the right answer to his dilemma, but he knew one thing: his suspicion—no matter how strongly he believed it to be true—was not enough to jeopardize his friendship with Marinette. He needed unambiguous proof, and he knew exactly how to get it. 

A/N: Reminder that this is only part of the chapter so read the rest here

[damiensdemon]

The Perfect Patient

Words: 4.8k

Summary: One-shot first-person drabble about having an unfortunate dental-fetish and a hot dentist.

"As his gloves fingers brush your jaw to keep it open properly, you find yourself wishing that you did have dentophobia. In reality, fear had almost nothing to do with the pounding of your heart. Rather, you’ve been avoiding this appointment because of your attraction to it."

Warnings: Smut, Dental Kink, Praise Kink, Horny Dentistry, Light Bondage, Light Bloodplay, Tooth Extraction, Needles, Transmasc Protag

The longer you put off something important, the harder it is to get it done. Like weeding a garden or telling a secret, sometimes the mental emphasis you put on a task can make it infinitely harder, as it gets more time to grow roots in your mind.

In your case, you haven’t been to the dentist’s office in many, many years. Currently, you’re sitting in the waiting room of a local office, waiting to be called back. The cozy clinic isn’t nearly as sterile-feeling as you remember your childhood office being, but that doesn’t do much to soothe your nerves.

The door across the room from you opens, and you jump at the sound. Luckily for you, the soft-faced young man who steps out is too engrossed in his clipboard to notice your fear. His brown eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles as he calls your name, “We’re ready for you, if you wanna head back.”

“Y-yes, thank you…” You mumble as politely as you can, quickly collecting your things and following him into the office.

His cheery grin persists as he shuts the door behind you, then leads you off down a hallway. After a couple of turns, he stops in front of a strange looking machine mounted to the wall.

“How are you feeling today?” He asks pleasantly, double-checking his clipboard as he begins messing with something behind a little divider in the room.

“Fine! A little nervous... Um… How are you?” You ask, sliding your thumbs under the straps of your backpack. Nervous tick.

“Pretty swell.” He grins, then motions to the chair under the arm of the machine. “My name is Jamie, and I’m the hygienist on duty today. Since you haven’t been seen for a while, we’re gonna take a quick x-ray. This is just gonna take a second, if you don’t mind taking a seat for me.”

“O-oh, of course.” You sit down in the chair, holding your spine stiffly. Jamie steps around you, then slides a heavy, weighted bib over your head. The weight is oddly comforting as it settles against your shoulders.

He walks you through the steps of the x-ray patiently, and while Jamie keeps up an easy chatter. Despite his best efforts, you can’t help but get more and more anxious as the appointment goes on.

After he takes the bitewing out of your mouth and lifts the weighted vest off of you, you finally ask him something that you'd wanted to since you first realized you needed an appointment. “What’s the dentist like?”

“Doctor Langford? He’s a sweetheart. Nothing to be afraid of.” He shrugs, waiting for you to put your backpack back on before motioning for you to follow him. As you walk, he adds, “All his patients seem to love him, as long as he’s sitting down.”

You give Jamie a confused look. He catches it, then explains, “Oh. He’s really tall. He’s kinda got, uh, gentle-giant vibes, y’know?”

“Ooh, I see.” You mumble, letting yourself wander along behind him toward a dental treatment room. Your friend, who’d recommended you to Dr. Langford, had expressed the same sentiment. Though, they'd described him as 'dark and handsome' in addition to 'tall'.

As you turn into a small room with dark blue walls, Jamie goes on. “His daughter thinks he’s the best. She’s so little compared to him. And, I mean, compared to his ex-wife, I can see why she chose him over her. I have no idea why he’s still single, or why he was even with that woman in the first-... um…” He caught himself, clearing his throat abruptly. “...Yeah. Anyways. Take a seat whenever.”

Jamie nodded toward the chair in the middle of the room, with a dental engine built into one of the armrests. The metal tray beside it contained a few tools that you weren’t quite familiar with, but just the sight of them made you feel…

“So, I’m gonna clean your teeth, and the doctor will be in to check you out as soon as I’m done. Do you want mint or bubblegum flavored toothpaste?”

Stiffly, you force yourself to settle back into the chair. “... Bubblegum, please.” 

“Cool.” He said, pulling his medical mask over his nose and putting on a fresh pair of gloves. You have to turn away as he gets prepped, to keep the butterflies in your stomach from crawling their way up your throat.

“... Man, you got it bad, huh?” He asks with an unmistakable glint in his eyes.

“H-- Ghk… What?” You splutter, face flushing instantly.

“You’ve got like, dentophobia right? A fear of dental-stuff?”

You nod a little too quickly. “Yeah! I totally do. I'm super freaked out by all the, uh, mouth stuff. Maybe we should just skip the cleaning."

"I mean, we could, but the dentist is still gonna need to look in your mouth. And, uh… It won't hurt or anything, I promise."

"I'm not really worried about pain." You say with a nervous laugh, pulling on the strings of your hoodie.

Jamie scoots his stool up next to your seat, then puts his hand on your arm. He squeezes gently, waiting for you to relax.

"... Okay. Let's get this over with." You sigh, twisting the strings around your fingers in a self-soothing gesture.

He pats your arm happily, then picks up the brush connected to the chair. "You're a brave man, my dude. Okay, I'll be quick and gentle, promise."

You give a little nod and open your mouth for him. Jamie shifts into a more professional façade as he turns the brush on and begins cleaning your teeth.

Unsurprisingly, the effect on you is immediate. You have to drop the strings as your hands begin to shiver. Instead, you grip the armrests tightly. As your face burns hot once more, you steal a glance at the young man next to you. Jamie is, respectfully, keeping his eyes focused on your mouth, rather than your uncomfortable expression. … You have to keep yourself from thinking about that too much.

As his gloves fingers brush your jaw to keep it open properly, you find yourself wishing that you did have dentophobia. In reality, fear had almost nothing to do with the pounding of your heart. Rather, you’ve been avoiding this appointment because of your attraction to it.

“... Alright, we’re done with the cleaning! Want some water?” Jamie chirps, setting down the electric brush and offering you a small cup. You nod gratefully, taking a sip and swishing for a moment before spitting into the little sink he’d pushed closer to you.

“Is that it, then?” You ask hesitantly.

“Not quite. I’ve gotta floss ya, and check for any left-over nasties.” He says, swapping to a fresh pair of gloves. Idly, your eyes flick to the tray beside your chair. A container of floss sits innocuously beside an array of sharp implements. Jamie laughs quietly, “Uh, don’t worry. Those won’t hurt, either. Unless… you haven’t been flossing.”

Shamefully, you shake your head.

“Gotta get on that shit. Can’t have you getting gum disease. Then you’ll have to come here more often.” He teased, scooting up closer. “Alright, sit back, let’s do this.”

Somehow, you kept your cool through the remainder of the cleaning. By the time your gums had stopped bleeding, Jamie had already cleaned you up and left to fetch the dentist.

Your anxiety barely has time to spike before an absolute mountain of a human being enters the room. He has to duck his head to avoid bumping his head on the door frame. Despite the warm smile on his face as he approaches you, his intimidation factor is massive.

“Good afternoon, sir. I’m Doctor Langford, but you can call me Gabriel.” He says, extending a hand to you.

With your heart in your throat, you reach out to shake it. God, his hand is huge compared to yours. Shakily, you introduce yourself, and can only pray that you don’t sound as terrified as you feel.

“Pleasure to meet you. Now, I wanted to talk to you about your x-ray…” He says, folding himself into the chair Jamie had left beside you. He holds up a sheet of film, and points to a place behind your molars. “Your wisdom teeth are beginning to come in. As one would expect of a young man of your age... Now, I can’t remove those today, but you can schedule an appointment for that later.”

You nod along, but can’t really focus on what he’s telling you. Gabriel speaks with a soothing, deep tone, and a slight accent that you can’t quite place. … Australian, perhaps?

"Alright, I'll just do a quick examination of your teeth, and then we can get you out of here." He says with a smile, turning around to grab a fresh pair of gloves.

You swallow hard, watching him pull his latex gloves into place with a snap. No wedding ring, your stupid-awful-monkey-brain whispers. You tell it, politely, to sit the fuck back. 

"Can you open for me?" Gabriel asks gently. Almost embarrassingly quickly, you part your lips and let him look into your mouth.

Even with a mask covering half of his face, you remain very aware of how close he is to you. You can feel his presence looming over you as he adjusts a light to see inside your oral cavity.

He watches you with sharp, attentive eyes. Softly, he hums, then picks up a small mouth mirror and slides it into your mouth.

"Ah, excuse me…" He mutters, lifting his hand and touching your molar with his--

An embarrassing squeak leaves your throat, and he immediately retracts. If he registered the true nature of that noise, he doesn't make it obvious. "Oh. Pardon me. Are you alright?"

Your heart hammers in your ears as you nod. "I-I'm fine! I just, got overwhelmed."

"Ah, I see." He replies, taking off his gloves casually. "Your teeth look quite healthy, but you do have a small cavity in one of your molars."

"... What?" You mumble numbly. Oh fuck, oh shit--

"If you have an extra hour, we can fill that today. Does that sound alright with you?” His tone borders on velvety. Is he doing that on purpose? … No, of course not. He's a dentist, this is his job.

He remains silent and attentive, waiting for you to reply. You nod quickly, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “... Oh. Yes! Of course, let’s… do that. Get it out of the way. Haha.”

“Wonderful. Jamie will get everything prepared for us, and I’ll be back shortly. Hold tight.” He says, rising to his feet and giving you an approving nod as he exits the room.

Shit. Goddamn it. He knows, he has to.

No sooner has that thought passed through your mind before Jamie pokes his head back in. The smug grin on his face tells you that he has instantly read you for filth.

“Shut up.” You bury your face in your hands, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

The hygienist has to duck back out of the room to laugh, then enters and shuts the door behind him. “So… Anything you wanna share with me, young man?”

Laughing gas, as you’ve discovered, has a strange smell. It’s vaguely sweet, like Jamie had told you, but there’s also a distinctive metallic scent, and perhaps a hint of rubber. Though, maybe that’s the mask strapped over your nose.

“Is it kicking in yet?” He asks, setting something down on the tray out of your line of sight.

“I’m not sure. Maybe?” You say, leaning your head back against the headrest. “I feel… comfortable, I guess. As comfortable as I can right now, at least.”

“That’s good. It shouldn’t take much longer.” He assures you, then glances back at the door. “Just, uh, try not to flirt with Doctor Langford too much when he comes in here, okay?”

“I’m not planning on it.” You say, rolling your eyes. “I don’t want my new dentist to ban me. I’d like to come back for checkups later.”

Jamie rubs the back of his neck, “It's not that he'd be uncomfortable, I think… But, the poor guy gets flustered real easy, and--"

Behind him, the door opens and shuts  effectively ending the conversation. You can’t turn your head much, but you can hear Jamie and Doctor Langford having a quiet conversation about your procedure. With a nod, and a "Be good!", Jamie takes a clipboard from Gabriel’s hands and walks out the door. Just like that, you’re alone with the dentist once more.

The stool beside you creaks as Gabriel gracefully lowers onto it. He addresses you gently, “As Jamie already explained, this is going to be quick and simple. After the local anesthetic kicks in, you may feel pressure, but you won’t feel any pain."

He leans forward slightly, catching your gaze. "... Jamie mentioned to me that you’ve been feeling some anxiety about your visit today, is that correct?”

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, and in an instant, a wave of something hits you. It isn’t quite the same sensation as you being high, really, this is more of an out-of-body experience.

Why were you even feeling anxious, anyway? “I was. But, I’m feeling much better now.” You reply, shrugging. 

“Oh?" He tilts his head. The picture of innocent curiosity. "May I ask what helped you relax? Beside the nitrous oxide, of course.”

You rack your brain. Well, when he came in just now, you felt more excited than scared. So, you tell him, “You, actually.”

“... Well, thank you.” He grins, laughing kindly. “I have a few patients with dentophobia, and it seems to help them to talk with me before procedures. Would you prefer that we have some extra consultation time in the future? Assuming you need it, of course.”

As he speaks, your eyes shut for just a moment. That warm, comfortable sensation floats through you… As your eyes flutter back open, that open and honest expression on his face just makes you melt. Why were you even afraid of this guy, anyways?

“I don’t have dentophobia.”

“Oh? … Then, may I ask you what specifically had been bothering you?” He asks, resting his forearm against your armrest.

“I have…” You take another breath, trying to collect yourself enough to find the right words. “... um… I have a d-... dental fetish…?”

“... A dental what?” He asks incredulously, those beautiful eyes going wide in… amusement? “D-did I mishear you there, or--”

“No, I’m serious. I have a huge kink for dental-stuff. All kinds of medical stuff, really.” You blurt. He blinks, then leans his stubbly chin against his palm. Taking that as a sign to go on, you explain, “Y’know, examinations, bondage stuff, blood-play, injections, even roleplay… Oh! And doctors are just, like, really hot to me. I like a dad who knows his way around a person’s body, y'know... And the authority, Jesus Christ…”

While you ramble, the dentist moves from being surprised to intrigued. By the end of your confession, he’s fully settled in, and smiling broadly. “Very interesting. Should I assume you mean me, then?”

“Oh, definitely. You’re super my type.” You giggle, grinning right back at him. “Handsome, sweet, intimidating… And your coat looks great on you.”

“You really think so?”

You nod, and your eyes sluggishly slide over his broad torso. He follows the movement of your eyes, and the tips of his ears flush pink.

After a moment of consideration, the dentist rises to his feet and crosses to the door. You feel your heart drop as you assume the worst, but it picks right back up as you hear the lock click.

In a beat, he’s back at your side, now looming over you with a syringe from the tray. The needle is long, glinting in the light above you. You can’t see his face clearly through the glare, but you can tell he’s pulled his medical mask up.

“Open your mouth.”

Without a thought, you do. He cups your jaw with his free hand, sliding his latex-covered thumb over your front teeth. The digit glides over your saliva-slick gums, gently pushing up your lip over your molars.

“Hold still,” He warns, leaning in close as he slides the cold steel into your gums and injects you with… something. After an uncomfortable pinch, he pulls the needle out and massages the area with his thumb again. You whine softly, tasting a hint of blood.

“That was good. You did well.” He murmurs. The praise warms your chest, making you feel more bold. As the pad of his thumb grazes the crown of your teeth, you lick the exposed back of his finger. Even through the shadows, you can see his eyebrows raise in surprise.

With a clatter, he drops the syringe back onto the tray and swings one slender leg over to the other side of your chair. His weight settles against you. He’s heavy, but not more than you can accept on your lap. As you rest your hands on his coat-covered hips, he forces your attention back to your mouth as he presses two fingers against your tongue. Reflexively, you close your mouth and begin to suck on him.

Gabriel made a noise deep in his throat, somewhere between satisfaction and amusement. “... Good boy. You're a wonderful patient.” He purrs quietly, rubbing your cheek with his free-hand.

As you work your tongue against him, you can feel him subtly grinding himself against your abdomen. Cheekily, you slide your hand down his stomach and press your palm against the growing bulge in his pants. In an instant, his hand grabs your wrist and presses it firmly against the armrest.

“Ah-ah." He scolds, a playfully cruel tone in his voice. "This is your appointment. We will be keeping our focus on you… For the moment."

“If you insist.” You mumble around his fingers. He takes them out of your mouth, and skillfully fastens a strap around each of your wrists. As you try to lift your arms, you find them both completely immobilized. Combined with the mask still pumping calming gas into your lungs, you find that your upper body is entirely at his mercy.

"You'll be a good patient for me, won't you?" He asks, his fingers caressing your jaw. You try to nod, but his hold on your jaw forces you to remain looking up at him. "Use your words."

"Y-yes, Doctor." You stammer. Your tongue feels sluggish in your mouth, slurring your speech.

"Very good." He smiles beneath his mask. Your heart stutters in your chest as he plucks a tool off of the tray. His thumb flips a switch, and a soft whir fills the room. He presses the end of the tool to your chest, and for a terrifying moment, you think he's trying to drill through your ribs. But, as a deep buzz resonates along your skin, you recognize it as the same type of brush that Jamie had used to clean your teeth. As he traces along your torso, you find the vibration to be powerful and surprisingly pleasant.

"Now, you'll need to be mindful of the other patients. If they hear someone in distress in my clinic…" He warns, slowly moving the tool lower. Over your stomach, and the waistband of your pants… "It wouldn't be good for business."

You roll your hips under him, subtly presenting yourself. "I'll be quiet. I promise."

He nods, satisfied with your response. Then, he presses the smooth back of the brush head where you'd been hoping he would.

With a sharp gasp, you strain against your restraints. With your pants acting as a buffer, the vibration borders between not quite enough and just right. You have to fight to keep still enough for him to keep the pressure where you want it.

As you swallow back the tiny noises of pleasure that keep rising from your throat, Doctor Langford's attention is completely focused on you. As a particularly strong jolt passes through your body, he carefully tucks a loose strand of hair back behind your ear. Even as you come undone before him, he's still keeping you together.

"... Even through the fabric, you're still responding that strongly?" He clicks his tongue in mock disapproving. "Perhaps you need more anesthetic."

"No, no, please--" You choke out as he withdraws the brush. His pale eyes lock onto yours, urging you to go on. With a hint of desperation, you plead, "I-I want more… Please, keep going?"

"Well… Since you asked so nicely. We will need to get on with your procedure eventually, though." He heaves an exaggerated sigh, then pushes the buzzing tool back against your sensitivity.

This time, you're braced for it. You bite back a moan, and you can see him searching your flushed face. While your hips grind back against the tool, he palms himself idly through his dress pants.

The combination of your dreamy high and the overwhelming stimulation puts your mind in a fog that you can't fathom a world outside of. That's probably why it takes you a moment to register Gabriel's voice as it filters through the haze in your head.

"... still numb?"

"Mmmsorry, what?" You mumble, shaking your head quickly.

Gabriel laughs quietly, adjusting his grip as he repeats, "Is your mouth still numb?"

You prod the injection site with your tongue, then report, "Yeah, almost… um, half of my mouth is completely…. numb… Mmh..."

"Perfect. Could you hold this for me?" He asks, pointing at the still-buzzing tool pressed into your sensitivity.

You roll your eyes at him, nodding toward your fingers drumming loudly on the armrests.

"Oh! How silly of me." He asks with a dry laugh. Then, he easily unbuttons your pants. "How about we try this, then?"

Before you can respond, he slips the tool down the front of your pants. The tight fabric holds the tool against your skin, and with just a slight tilt, it finds your--

"Pfthfucking Christ, OKAY!!" You cry, body shivering as your hips instinctively raise off the plastic-covered chair.

"Too much?" The doctor asks, watching you squirm with obvious amusement.

"Nnnnhhh~, um, no, I mean, it's-- oh fucking fuckfuckfuck, leave it!" You pant, biting your tongue to keep yourself quiet. If the sensation was bordering on perfection before, then this toed the line of too much. But, as your body adjusts to the buzzing, it quickly turns into delicious overstimulation.

Again, Gabriel grabs your jaw, forcing you to look up at him once more. You can barely keep your eyes on his. Your body wants to close your eyes and get swallowed up by the climax slowly building in your stomach, but the rush that his gaze gives you is too wonderful to give up.

For a moment, a silvery glint catches your eye, but his fingers dig into your soft skin. "Look at me." He growls, pressing a thumb to your lips once more, "And open wide."

Eagerly, you do as he commands. You expect to feel his finger run against your tongue, but instead, he yanks your jaw down lower. Your mouth is open as wide as you can hold it, and you just hope that you won't start to drool.

His other hand flits through the corner of your vision, but through the laughing-gas mask, you don't have a clue what he's holding. Something metallic… Another tool.

Cold metal brushes the warmth of your cheek, exposing the numb side of your mouth.  Then, there's pressure on one of your molars. The one with the cavity, you think.

"Keep your eyes on me, darling." Gabriel says, a slightly husky edge to his tone. He's leaning in closer now, and you can see how flushed he is under his mask. With your pulse pounding in your ears, you realize how obviously drunk he is on your mutual arousal.

Something pops. Pressure releases in your mouth. You don't feel any pain, but you taste iron.

With a grin, Gabriel pulls down his mask and holds up the molar he just pulled from your skull.

All at once, he tugs your own mask up and off over your head, then closes the distance between the two of you.  The dentist kisses you, deep and hungry. You can taste him; his mouth is clean and cool, and the rich warmth of your own blood coats both of your tongues. His gloved hands are all over you, running up your arms and over your chest, tugging at your shirt, then up your neck and into your hair.

And all the while, the buzzing between your legs pushes you closer and closer. When Gabriel finally pulls away, he's breathing harder than you are. His hands fumble clumsily with his belt, before he  shakily unzips his pants. In seconds, he's holding himself in hand and stroking with an obvious goal in mind.

Yours hands, still bound, grip the armrests so hard that you're sure the nail marks will never come out. Blood drips down your chin steadily, soaking into the front of your shirt. Doctor Langford's mouth is smeared with red, as are his gloves.

His tongue darting out to taste what's left of you on his lips. He breathes, "You look gorgeous. You're about to cum, aren't you?"

All you can do is nod frantically. You're almost there; your legs are tensed and your hips shiver with anticipation. Just a few more seconds…

With a gasp, Gabriel braces himself with one hand on your headrest. Just as you slip over the edge into a shaking, cursing orgasm, he brings himself to completion on your torso. If you had more presence of mind, you'd be upset at how many fluids have soaked into your shirt. But, as your eyes squeeze shut under the intensity of your pleasure, you don't have a care in the world.

As your own cries of ecstasy die off, you can hear Gabriel panting hard against your neck. Your whole body glows with endorphins, urging you to keep your eyes shut and ride it out.

After a few moments, the dentist's weight shifts, and buzzing between your legs slows to a stop. The pressure on your wrists releases, and the tall man climbs off of your lap.

The stool to your right squeaks as his weight settles into it. You take in a slow, deep breath, and your mental fog seems to lift. Suddenly, everything feels heavy… Distantly, you hear your name being called...

Slowly, begrudgingly, you open your eyes to see Jamie sitting beside you.

"... Wh-... Um. How long were you--?" You squeak, quickly sitting bolt upright and moving to pull the tool out of your--...

The coy grin plastered on Jamie's face doesn't fade as he asks, "Have a good nap, kid?"

There's nothing there. Well, not nothing, but there's certainly no dental tools in your pants. Confused, you touch your mouth. You're still a bit numb, but you're not missing any teeth, and there's no blood. Your clothes are as clean as when you came in, and there's no sign of Doctor Langford.

Jamie clears his throat to stifle a giggle, then goes on. "Your filling went well. You must have fallen asleep pretty early in, since you were out cold by the time I came back."

Your face is burning. Was all of that a dream? You don't remember falling asleep… And, if the wet mess in your pants is anything to go off of, you know that something happened. ...At least in your mind.

"... Um. Did I… say anything stupid?" You ask sheepishly, massaging the numb portion of your face idly.

"Not as far as I know. Doctor Langford said you were a perfect patient." Jamie snorted, turning to the counter to staple together a freshly-printed packet of aftercare information. "He did want me to ask, did you feel any discomfort while you were asleep?"

"N-... no?"

"Oh. M'kay. He mentioned that you got kinda… squirmy… Y'know, when he turned on the drill." Jamie says with an audible smirk. "... He said he hopes that your dentophobia hasn't given you a poor impression of him."

You can't even think of a response that won't damn you to a deeper layer of hell. Either you had a wet dream in front of your dreamy new dentist, or…

"Anyways… You do need to come back for a follow-up appointment soon. Your wisdom teeth gotta be taken care of, ASAP." He says, turning back around and handing you the packet. "Wanna schedule that now?"

You hesitate, tapping the papers against the armrest. Part of you wants to flee the country and never speak the word teeth again. But… Then again… Would it really be the worst thing in the world to see him again?

With a coy grin to match Jamie's, you finally reply, "... What's the earliest you can get me in?"

[iron--spider]

there’s something wrong

Peter thought he would be happy, after he took the Goblin down. 

 It’s been a long time coming. Almost a year trying to figure out who the hell he was, then finding out and dealing with that shit, because who the hell can target Norman Osborn and get away with it? Tony helped, but Peter doesn’t like bothering him with stuff like this after everything he’s been through. He’s been through enough, and he doesn’t need Peter bringing more problems to his door. He brought him back to life, he saved the world, that—that should be enough. More than enough. Beyond enough.

 The battle was five days ago, and Norman, being who he is, threw everything he had at Peter. They were at his Hell’s Kitchen power plant, and Peter could barely breathe, there was so much smoke from the overloaded stacks, and he was sure Norman was trying to blow them both up, end it in a fiery blaze with Spider-Man’s corpse emblazoned on the front page of the Bugle. 

 But, despite the damage to the suit, despite the massive concussion and broken arm they had to reset that night at the facility, Peter finished it. His eyes were burning and his mask was destroyed and Norman knew who he was, but he finished it. 

 But Peter isn’t happy.

 The doctors said Norman might not wake up again. That set Tony’s mind at ease, knowing Peter’s identity was locked inside his decaying mind, but it made Peter’s guilt flare up like the fire did all around the two of them in the otherwise darkness of that night. He hates that he can’t help these people. He hates that they hate him. That they’ll never allow themselves to come back from what they’ve turned towards.

 He thought it was that making him sick, at first. The guilt. 

 “What’s wrong?” Ned asks, from beside him on Peter’s bedroom floor. “Do you miss your girlfriend? I can’t believe you have a girlfriend. I can’t believe it’s Michelle.”

 “Nothing’s wrong,” Peter snaps. He tries to focus on his paper, but his hand feels like it can barely support the fucking pencil. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to do this.”

 “Peter…”

 “Ned,” Peter says. He sighs, and turns over, laying on his back. He drops the pencil and covers his face with his hands. “Just stop, please.”

 “There’s something wrong with you,” Ned says. Peter feels him reach over and pat his head. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately. But you’re being snappy.”

 “I’m fine,” Peter says, voice muffled. 

 “Maybe you should ask for an extension on this paper?” Ned asks.

 “And what would my excuse be?” Peter asks. “Can’t tell him I almost just died fighting the Green Goblin, Ned.” Almost died. He’s exaggerating, but sometimes it feels that way.

 “Could tell him you’re sick,” Ned says.

 “Jeffords won’t care,” Peter says. “And anyways, I’m not.” He feels like his whole face is numb, and he sighs. He’s stressing himself out too much. “I gotta eat something. I have a bad taste in my mouth.” He twists around, pressing his hands to the carpet as he pulls himself to his feet. He hasn’t done much patrolling since the Goblin fight, only a couple nights here and there, but he feels like his muscles are crying out for him to take a big break. 

 “You just ate!” Ned yells after him, as Peter stumbles into the living room.

 “Stop judging me!” Peter yells back. His mouth tastes like blood, but he’s definitely not gonna tell Ned that. There’s probably something wrong with his gums or something. Maybe he brushed too hard...this morning. Or something.

 He sighs, and looks for chocolate, already planning on making tonight an early night.

 “Just bring me something too!” Ned says.

 ~

 MJ: Are you still feeling bad?

 PETER: I’m fine, I’m fine, I promise

 MJ: literally cannot believe you’re lying to me

MJ: you know I see through your lies we’ve dealt with me seeing through your lies

 PETER: love that you’re concerned :)

 MJ: that’s kinda part of my job description now, isn’t it?

 PETER: i’m fine totally fine completely fine

 ~

 Two days later, it’s…

 Has it only been two days?

 Jesus, Peter doesn’t know.

 He can’t think.

 Something’s wrong, but he doesn’t know what the hell it could be. He hasn’t been out anywhere, but his mind questions that, because he can’t remember. He can’t remember the last time he went out patrolling, what the hell happened when he did. He can’t remember shit. 

 His whole face feels frozen, and school is a complete and utter lost cause. He barely hears Ned when he tries to get his attention, and he doesn’t eat anything at lunch. MJ runs her hands up and down his back and it feels good but he can barely concentrate on it. 

 He shouldn’t be able to get sick anymore. He rarely does, now that he’s enhanced, and if he does it goes away within a day, at the latest.

 Peter feels like Ned is talking to him one moment and then the next, he’s in the back of Happy’s car. He’s cutting in and out.

 He leans down, bracing his elbows on his knees, and he feels like he’s shaking. He doesn’t know if he actually is. He feels like he’s deep within his body, small and broken and sad, watching as he falls apart. 

 Is this his guilt? Tearing him up? For Norman Osborn? It wasn’t this bad when Ben died. It wasn’t this bad when he almost lost Tony. Now he’s feeling guilt about his guilt and there’s a certain kind of sadness draping over him that he hasn’t seen the likes of before. It’s heavy and stifling and feels out of place, like it doesn’t belong to him.

 He blinks and rubs at his eyes.

 “Are you even hearing me?” Happy asks. “What the hell is going on? I’ve never seen you this out of it before. Well, on a normal day. And that’s assuming today is a normal day.”

 Maybe Peter has to accept that something is going on. But what the fuck would be going on? He hasn’t done anything of worth since the fight—

 —but he can’t remember.

 And is that the problem? The fact that he can’t remember? Or is the problem that he did do something? And he can’t remember it?

 His head feels like sludge. He presses his hands to his face and it feels like he doesn’t have a face anymore. Or hands. He shakes his head and his stomach turns. 

 “Okay, Peter, you need to tell me what’s happening, because if I drag you into the facility acting like this with no warnings for Tony—”

 “There’s something wrong,” Peter mutters, and just talking makes him feel like he’s gonna puke.

 Next thing he knows they’re not driving anymore, and Tony is there, peeling him out of the car. They’re at the facility but he doesn’t remember arriving, doesn’t remember half of the ride. Peter sighs, and can barely stay on his feet once he’s on solid ground, and Tony gets a good hold around his waist.

 “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Tony says, close to Peter’s ear. “Jesus, he’s pale, Hap.”

 “Something’s wrong,” Peter whispers. He tries to think back, tries to measure how this played out and where it started, but his brain pulls up blue screens, because he fucked up, because he’s been ignoring how he’s been feeling and how he’s been deteriorating each day—and what the hell did he do? What did he do, what was his mistake? Where did he make it?

 Tony groans but he bends a little and picks Peter up—he’s got the iron arm now, so it’s probably easier—and Peter squeezes his eyes shut tight, turning his face into Tony’s shoulder as he rushes him into the facility. He doesn’t even have the energy to make a joke about being carried like a baby.

 “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Tony asks, gently. “Tell me what hurts. And what happened.”

 “I don’t—know what happened,” Peter whispers, his own voice rattling in his head like metal clanging down a well. “Mouth tastes like blood. Uh. Muscles weak. Hurts to breathe. Bad mood, uh, feel sick. Sad. Nervous. Been getting worse, day by day, but I’ve been—ignoring.” He sighs, hates how it sounds. “I’m sorry.”

 “No sorry,” Tony says. “Just hold on. I’ve got an idea of what might be going on and if it’s that we gotta get on it stat.” Peter feels the terrain change under Tony’s feet, and he knows they’re getting closer to the side door. “Happy, call the Raft’s people and find out if Osborn is sick, please.”

 “Got it,” Happy says.

 Peter squeezes his eyes shut tighter and one of his arms flops down. He’s just exhausted. “Sorry I ignored it,” he whispers. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t sure what—”

 “Don’t worry,” Tony whispers. 

 But he sounds worried.

 ~

 They get Peter into the med bay and he wouldn’t exactly call what he’s doing blacking out, but more like stepping back. He retreats further into his head and everything becomes muted, because there’s so much going on and people running around everywhere and a fleet of doctors surrounding him and hooking him up to shit and his head hurts the more he pays attention. His senses are off. Loud then nothing. Everything out of whack.

 Peter keeps his eyes closed.

 “Osborn was trying to poison the both of them,” Happy’s voice says, somewhere in the ether. “There was goddamn mercury in the air, Tony—”

 “I thought so,” Tony’s voice says, closer, grave. “Okay, okay, can we—”

 “Yes, we can start—”

 “Remember, he’s enhanced so things are different, things affect him differently, Norman probably thought of that—”

 “It’s under control—”

 Peter groans and tries not to listen. He doesn’t know how much time passes but he knows he’s being poked and prodded and given things and moved around and he doesn’t want to open his eyes.

 He feels a hand on his forehead. Another on his forearm. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he turns towards the warmth. 

 “I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony whispers. “We should have checked you for something like this when we were resetting your arm and checking on the concussion. Goddamnit. We didn’t think.”

 “He poisoned us both?” Peter asks, trying to open one eye to look at him.

 “Yeah,” Tony says, brushing Peter’s hair back from his forehead. “He’s dying. He got the brunt of it, a nice fucking cocktail of bullshit, including mercury and a bunch of other toxic shit—”

 “Am I dying?” Peter whispers, voice breaking.

 “No,” Tony says, shaking his head. “No, it’s—it’s not good, but we’re dealing with it. I’ve got some treatments on the way and they’re gonna help. You being who you are helps. It’ll be okay.”

 Tears prick at Peter’s eyes, and everything still feels like it’s too big, burning, too much pressure.

 “Tell me if you need to throw up,” Tony says, rubbing Peter’s arm. 

 “Did I throw up?” Peter asks. He watches as another doctor rushes into the room behind Tony. 

 “Yeah, when you first got here,” Tony says. Peter doesn’t remember, and he sighs, wishing this was all over, wishing it wasn’t happening at all. “Just tell me if you have to, okay?” Tony asks, and Peter nods. “I’m not going anywhere. I called May. She’s coming.”

 “Okay,” Peter whispers, and his voice breaks again, horribly, a tear tracking down his cheek. 

 Tony quickly wipes it away, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “You’re gonna be fine, webs, I promise. I won’t have it any other way and I’m the savior of the universe so I get what I want.”

 Peter blows out a breath. “Good. Be stubborn about this.”

 “Oh, I’m gonna,” Tony says. Peter closes his eyes again and tries to keep his balance, even though he’s not fucking moving. “Try to sleep, okay? You’ve got a ton of people here working for you and I don’t wanna try to concoct the strong stuff to knock you out.”

 “You’re gonna flush it out?” Peter whispers. “The poison?”

 “Yes,” Tony says, gripping Peter’s wrist, fingers seemingly trying to track his pulse. “I promise.”

 ~

 Peter does sleep. He thinks. He isn’t really sure, except for the dreams, in which the Goblin traces across the sky and spews out poison gas from his mouth. Peter remembers the news reports. Norman had a son. Peter can’t remember his name, but after all that, he doesn’t like the idea of him losing his father, too. Norman is insane, and an asshole, but his son doesn’t deserve for him to die. Especially by his own hand. Peter doesn’t like the idea of him living with that.

 When he wakes up everything is a lot calmer, and darker, except for the one light beside his bed. He still feels out of it, but in a different way, and his mouth still tastes like blood. Metal.

 “Baby,” May whispers, suddenly sitting on the side of the bed.

 “May,” he says, still so tired. She’s fuzzy but it looks like there’s a halo behind her head. Maybe a light from the hallway. He sees Tony is sleeping in the chair by the bed, breathing through his mouth.

 “You’re okay, sweetheart,” May says. 

 Peter glances up and sees that he’s hooked up to about a hundred different things. He’s got a nasal cannula in and it’s definitely helping with the not breathing shit. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” he says, softly. He’s so annoyed at himself. There was gas everywhere, at the power plant. Norman was obviously doing something. But Peter was so distracted. “I should have—”

 “We should have realized something was wrong,” May says. “You were a little off, and MJ said something to me—”

 “He did it like this on purpose,” Peter says, holding onto her hand. “Osborn. So we wouldn’t know...right away.”

 May sets her jaw and then she shakes her head, leaning down and kissing him on the cheek twice in a row. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We’re here.”

 Peter nods, trying not to think about all of it. Trying not to wallow in his own stupidity and guilt.

 ~

 When he wakes up again it’s brighter, and Tony is standing over him, checking on his chart. 

 “Are they doubling the poison?” Peter asks. “Finally a way to get rid of the Spider-Man?”

 “The Spider-Man,” Tony says. “The Iron Man. The Captain America.”

 “Mine works, yours don’t,” Peter says. He glances over at the other chair and sees that May isn’t here right now.

 “She’s downstairs making sure everyone properly puts your lunch together,” Tony says, reading his mind. He hangs the chart back up and sits on Peter’s bed, gently. “How you doing?”

 “Okay,” Peter says. He still doesn’t feel...amazing, but it’s not as bad as it was before. “How long have I been asleep?”

 “Uh, going on eleven hours,” Tony says, gritting his teeth. “Which is why May is so insistent on the—lunch. Gonna be a big one, she almost wanted to start feeding you through a tube.”

 Peter blows out a breath and sinks down a little further into his pillows.

 “We’re gonna have to do a couple different treatments over the next few months for the mercury,” Tony says. “It wasn’t death-level but it was close, with all the other shit he mixed in there, and it’s not good to have it in your body. With your heightened—everything, and your healing, your system was trying to attack it but, well—what he made was strong, and it was spewing out everywhere at that plant. It’s a good thing you caught it when you did, because we were able to contact everybody who went to the scene that night before they shut everything down. You saved a lot of lives, Pete. Now they’re all gonna get treated, and it would have hit them harder than it hit you because they’re not—spider men. You were just more exposed.”

 Peter stares at him. “What about Norman?”

 Tony’s face goes stern. “Why do you care about that asshole? He did this to you.”

 “He’s got...a kid, Tony,” Peter says. “My age, I think. I’m sure, as disappointed as his kid is that his dad is a super villain, he still...doesn’t want him dead.”

 Tony looks down at his hands. “He’s still alive,” he says. “I sent some of my best guys to the prison to treat him. Because I knew you’d want me to. I didn’t do it because I wanted to or because I want him to live, I did it because I knew it’s what you would have wanted.”

 Peter feels warmer, under all that, and he reaches out and grabs Tony’s hand, the one that isn’t iron. “Thank you,” he says.

 “Uh huh,” Tony says, but he squeezes Peter’s hand. “He deserves to rot for doing this to you, Pete. You’re gonna be dealing with this shit for six months or so. Minimum.”

 “I’ll beat it before then,” Peter says, smiling at him, trying to ignore how like shit he feels.

 Tony meets his eyes. “You’re too good. You need to stop being too good.”

 Peter shrugs and keeps smiling. He doesn’t think he’s good enough, at anything, ever. But he knows that’s not the right thing to say to Tony right now. 

 Tony scoffs and squeezes his hand again. “Uh, are you okay for visitors? Because Morgan was having a complete heart attack.”

 “Always ready for a Morgan visit,” Peter says. “And can you, uh—call Ned and MJ?”

 “Yeah, they’re on their way already,” Tony says. “I gotta keep your girl from chastising you too hard.”

 “No way to avoid that,” Peter says.

 “Yeah,” Tony says, patting Peter’s hand. He clears his throat and doesn’t let go quite yet. “I’m proud of you. I know I said it before when it all first happened, and I wish I had been there to back you up—I wish anybody had been, but I just—wanted to say it again. Because you deserve to hear it, especially when you’re—dealing with something like this.” He looks at him and smiles fondly, a little sadly. “I’m proud of you.”

 It’s one of Peter’s favorite things to hear, especially from Tony and May. He knows getting through this is gonna be hard, but he’s got the kind of support system that people literally wait lifetimes for. He’s beyond lucky. 

 He holds onto Tony’s hand. “I’m proud of you too.”

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Right there

Summary: Love stories aren’t always grand, sweeping epics. Sometimes they come soft and slow, made up of a million different things, and you may not even recognize what you have until it’s right there in front of you. This is one of those stories.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Brief mission related trauma. Oreo thievery and dirty bubblegum. Mostly just buckets of fluff.

A/N: Hello Tumblr friends! I’ve been in a writing drought lately and it feels like forever since I posted anything, so here’s a short, fluffy fic while I try to Stella my groove back. My plan was to make this snappy and snarky, but it went full scale mush by the end. Guys, I just really love Bucky Barnes. ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

The murmur is low in your ear. Smoothing the folds of emerald green satin, you follow Bucky’s glance down and see the tips of your freshly painted toes, clad in sparkly sandals and peeping from beneath the evening gown. Nothing out of the ordinary, until you notice one thing.

“Gross. What the hell is that?” you whisper.

Stuck like glue to the front of your right shoe, curling over the edge and dangerously close to your bare skin, is a piece of neon blue bubblegum.

Keeping one eye trained on the crush of inebriated party goers, searching out the mission target for the evening, you try a few options.

Scrape the edge of the shoe on the marble floor. Pointless.

Give a couple stealthy stomps. Useless.

Try to wipe it on Bucky’s trouser leg. Bucky sighs heavily and sure, that’s entertaining.

But no matter what you try, this appears to be the superglue of all gum. Bucky stares straight ahead, eyes roaming the crowd, but you see him periodically glance over, gauging your progress.

There’s no real harm, you can fix it later, but every time you shift your weight, the tacky feel of it sticks to the floor and makes a small snick sound. Like a parasite, the dirty, chewed up wad creeps further up the shoe, so close to defiling your pristine toes, and the whole thing is driving you bananas.

“Pay attention to the mission,” Bucky whispers sternly, but as of immediately, there’s a new mission in town. So, when your revolutionary idea arrives in a wave of brilliance, you take immediate action.

Nestled snug against Bucky’s lower back, hidden beneath his tuxedo jacket, sits his favorite knife. Without a thought, you reach up and tug it from the sheath, turning to face the back wall, balancing on one leg and gripping his forearm for support.

And then, frozen in shock, Bucky proceeds to watch you use his favorite knife - the one he sleeps with under his pillow, the one he keeps beside his morning Cheerios, the one he painstakingly sharpens after each and every mission - to dig at the dirty blue bubblegum fused to the bottom of your shoe.

“Disgusting,” you mutter. With a twist and flourish, it pops free and you fling it away, sending it flying into one of those tacky potted ferns by the bathroom. Smothering a laugh, you shoot Bucky a challenging look - and then slide the sticky knife back in the sheath.

You slide it back in the sheath without cleaning it.

Bucky grinds his teeth so hard his jaw locks up.

There is no earthly reason you should still be alive after this sacrilegious approach to basic knife protocol, but when he subtly leans over to voice his intense displeasure, he has the sudden desire to laugh.

“Everything okay, Barnes?” you ask under your breath, resuming your scan of the crowd. An insanely devilish grin tugs at your lips, and he huffs at the playful nudge of your elbow.

“Just fuckin’ peachy,” he mumbles drily, and then he marvels at the thought that follows.

Because right there, Bucky Barnes decides that maybe that proper knife etiquette isn’t all that important.

As long as he can see you smile.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Bucky stands stoic at the open kitchen cabinet, pointing at the top shelf, his furious glare driving daggers into Sam’s heart.

“Dude, I swear I didn’t touch them.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Wilson.”

“Dude, I fucking swear. Get over yourself, damn.”

Sam stands with his arms crossed, an equally exasperated sneer on his face. Sitting on the couch, buried under a mountain of blankets, you watch with interest. Back and forth they trade barbs, a verbal tennis match full of snarky comments, childish quips, and the occasional mention of each other’s mom. Finally, Sam throws his hands up and whirls away.

“You’re fucking impossible, asshole.”

Bucky bangs the cabinet door shut and stomps over to you, plopping into an armchair to sulk. Smiling in commiseration, you stay silent, furtively trying to swallow. You’re so close to success, but then it happens.

No matter how hard you try, the crinkle of an Oreo package is too obvious.

At the sound, Bucky’s head snaps up.

“What was that?” he asks, suspicious. Eyes wide, you shrug in silent innocence. Bucky scrutinizes your pile of blankets, realization dawning. “Was that - did you steal my Oreos?”

Another silent, vehement shake of the head. You’re close, so close, just one more swallow -

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Prove it. Whistle for me.”

Damn.

When you purse your lips and blow, nothing comes out. Well, nothing except flecks of black Oreo crumbs. Swallowing the rest of the cookie, you fish out the bottle of milk hiding under the blanket and wash it all down, smacking your lips.

“Oh, sorry. Were these your Oreos?” you ask sweetly.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and tries to be mad, he genuinely tries really hard, but it doesn’t work. Launching himself from the chair, he bounces onto the couch next to you, sending your milk sloshing and you squawking in faux anger.

“You dirty little thief,” he deadpans, snatching away the package. Shoving three cookies in his mouth, he steals your bottle of milk and chugs it down. When he finishes, a white milk mustache is painted above his lip. It turns this dark man, someone with decades of gunpowder on his fingers and bloodstains on his soul, back into a young boy. Carefree and innocent, brimming with happy laughter. Swallowing hard, you reach over and carefully wipe it away with a firm brush of your thumb.

And right there, Bucky Barnes discovers the simple beauty of cookies and milk and the feel of your cool fingers on his skin.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

No. You didn’t. And that’s the problem.

Every blow of your fists unleashes something inside.

Smack, smack, smack.

Harder and faster, the punching bag absorbs all the pent of anger and lingering fury of a failed mission.

Smack, smack, smack.

It was so close. It was right there. You should have seen it. Should have remembered the bad guys never play nice, and the price of hesitation is a life. Memories trigger memories, sparking through your brain like a circuit board of bad decisions, lighting up one after another. Bucky stands on the other side of the bag, silently watching you pummel those demons trying to burrow into your skin.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, and you frantically shake your head.

Smack, smack, smack.

Tears spill over. They blur your vision, turning the punching bag and the tall soldier holding it, into shapeless blobs. Blinking them away, wiping your runny nose on tape covered hands, the salt of tears and sweat drips into the busted-up gashes across your knuckles. It stings, a vicious reminder of what was lost. The scent of blood fills your nostrils and there are those memories again, a tsunami of pain barreling through.

Smack, smack, smack.

“Go away, Bucky. Leave me alone,” you snarl, aching arms still swinging at the punching bag. He ignores the request, a stalwart statue. It infuriates you in an unexplainable way and you spit the words in his face. “God dammit, fuck you, I don’t want - I don’t need - I don’t - I mean it. I fucking mean it. Please, just” smack “fucking” smack “go.”

Smack.

Like a booming clap of thunder, your last punch is so hard, it explodes the fragile wall holding the tears at bay.

Knees buckle. Shoulders slump. Fists slam the floor. You go down hard, and the result is devastation.

Ugly, wrenching sobs claw up your throat, stuck behind your clenched teeth until you open your mouth and howl. It hurts to cry this way, to let everything loose and accept the consequences of your failure. You will never save them all, and that clarity is a special brand of destruction.

Bucky says nothing. No words can solve this pain. No one knows that better than him.

Instead, he lays down on the sweat drenched mats beside you. Without a word, he wraps you into a hug, tucking you against his chest. Even if you don’t deserve this comfort, you cling to it. Clutching his shirt, the only lifeline you have left, you cry until that bottomless well of pain and misery finally runs dry. It takes hours, but Bucky is patient, never ceasing the comforting strokes up and down your spine.

And when it’s done, when your exhaustion leaves you unable to open puffy eyes, he simply lifts you up and carries you to your room. Places you gently on your bed and pulls the blankets over you.

“Bucky. Don’t go. Please don’t leave,” you beg hoarsely, and the misery in your voice breaks him. The bed dips as he climbs in beside you, wrapping you in his arms once again and you feel his lips brush your forehead.

The night bleeds into a dreary grey dawn, and right there, Bucky Barnes sinks into the comfort of a dreamless sleep, with you cradled tight in the heat of his arms.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Eyes closed against the shining sun, you offer a sleepy hum. There’s a rustle of movement, and something soft tickles your cheek. It runs across your nose, touches your eyelids, sweeps light as a feather over your lips.

Eyes struggle open, and there you find Bucky watching, a little purple flower held in his long fingers. The look on his face is unreadable. He does that sometimes, looks at you like he wants to say something more, but he always hesitates, the words stuck in confused silence.

The petals wave faintly in the breeze and you smile.

“Pretty,” you say.

“Just a weed,” he shrugs.

“Still pretty,” you say. “Hand it over.”

Bucky places it in your outstretched palm. Gives a wry shake of the head.

“You’re the only one I know, who thinks weeds are beautiful.”

The small blossom sits thoughtfully in your hand and you hold it up, squinting to the sun.

“Just because something has a bad name, doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.”

There’s a peculiar hope in Bucky’s face as he considers the statement. He likes those words. He likes them a lot. Wants to believe they might even include him too. But nervous silver fingers pick at the threadbare edge of the picnic blanket, and you see a shadow of self-doubt flit over his handsome face.

“Sometimes a weed is still a weed. Even pretty words can’t change that fact.”

The reference is clear. You know exactly what he means, because the list of negative metaphors Bucky uses to describe himself has grown extensive and colorful over the years. Rising to your knees, you shuffle closer until you’re facing him.

“Hey,” you say gently. Careful hands cup his face, the scratchy feel of his beard on your palms softer than you expected. “You better not be calling yourself a weed, Barnes. I’d hate to kick your ass out here in public.”

The shimmer of unshed tears in those blue eyes makes you ache for him. But when Bucky sees the determination in your face, he blinks them away. And like the little weed in your hand, a tiny smile begins to bloom.

He clears his throat.

“Kick my ass, huh? I’d really love to see how that goes.”

“It’ll go my way,” you say confidently. Picking up his heavy hand, you turn it palm up and peel his fingers back. Laying the purple flower in his hand, the vivid color glows against the bright silver. “See? Beautiful. Just like you.”

He stares at the flower. Looks up.

It happens right there, in the sun-soaked summer fields of Central Park; Bucky Barnes feels his heart stop at the taste of your kiss.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Lost in thought, Bucky startles at the question.

Following the line of your arm, he sees you pointing into the infinite ocean of blue-black. Stars are speckled through the heavens, patterns of constellations and figures that you always manage see, but he can never seem to find.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere, the two of you walk along, miles from civilization. The first hint of winter settles all around, hard frost covering the tips of the grass, coating the pebbles edging the abandoned road, turning your breath to thick white clouds. It should make him anxious. Bucky hates the frost, despises the frozen blue that weaves maliciously through his worst nightmares.

But on this cold, moonlit night, with you warm by his side, he finds he doesn’t mind so much.

“What am I looking for?” he asks.

“Shooting star,” you say breathlessly. Tilting your head back, you go still, a beacon of patience awaiting a cosmic miracle. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Bucky peers up at the sky, but as the minutes click by, he knows he’ll never find what he needs up there.

He turns to look at you instead. Watches you watch the sky, his chest burning with contentment at the sight of your profile in this moonlit night.

“Sure,” he says. “So beautiful.”

Gloved fingers find yours, and you turn your gaze from the infinity of space, to this man beside you, solid and real and here on Earth. There is nothing in the world but the two of you, nothing else matters as you move impossibly close.

“Such a sap,” you murmur, your mouth a mere breath from his. The tip of his nose is icy against your cheek, and you can feel him smiling as he returns the kiss with a shiver.

The world is funny. Because this - this is your love story.

Built on blue bubblegum and stolen Oreos, blood-stained bandages and purple flowers, shooting stars and an endless night sky, this love bursts with highs and lows and a million variations in-between. Wrapped up in the delicious comfort of your kiss, Bucky wonders what in the world he ever did to earn this.

This perfectly imperfect life. Here. With you.

There’s no real answer, of course. Love is like that sometimes.

So instead, he dusts off those three words from another life, ones he’s stored away for decades, and he hands them over, because they’re the one thing he can always see, no matter how dark his world becomes.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

The words are drenched in happiness, syllables shaped with a quiet joy that glows brighter and fiercer than every constellation hanging above. And in the space of a single second -

Your heart skips.

Your breath catches.

You swear you could fly.

Because this is it, this is the moment. This is the big one.

And that right there is when you return those three words, the ones Bucky Barnes has been missing his whole life and the ones you’ve held close, since the night you found that blue bubblegum tacked onto your shoe.

The words are perfect. You kiss him again.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

*****