#(UNGODLY CHEERING AND HOLLERING)

[koukaaa-descent]

WHAT GHI HELLO . HELLO HLELLO HELLO ??!?!!?!!?‽??!?!‽‽‽

I love Lamp (shitty WIP of @koukaaa-descent's Masked Jester OC, will finish later we NEED to sleep)

Also this is rebloggable <3

[crow97street]

─── ⋆⋅weeping under the willows⋅⋆ ───

synopsis ✦‧₊˚ chan has a bad day and then an even worse day when his mom has another drunk episode

warning/tags ✦‧₊˚ alcohol abuse, drinking, drunk people?, obsessive thoughts, arguing, crying, near panic attacks, mentions of past smoking, hurt/comfort, channie loves bin <3 AGAIN!!, channie and binnie are the cutest besties, highschool AU

notes ✦‧₊˚ hello folks🤗just another projection fic except it’s my daily life😍also yall chan’s mom is the sweetest ever like do not apply this to them at all i’m basically just using chans name

word count ✦‧₊˚ 2,489

song rec for this ;)

⋆ ̊。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ̊。⋆

“See ya hyung!” Jisungs cheerful voice echoes across the open field as Chan leaves school.

“See you Jisung-ah.” Chan hollers back as he slings his backpack onto his other shoulder. School was exhausting, as always. But today was somehow even more terrible than usual.

First, Chan was late to first period and luckily Mrs. Kim let him off with a slap on the wrist. He’s already been late and absent for way too many classes this year so God took his side today it seems.

Secondly, during lunch Chan spent his last few dollars on pineapple juice only to bump into some asshole quarterback, spilling it all over the cafeteria floor. The quarterback then proceeds to laugh at Chan, knock him in the shoulder, and run off. Chan wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, scream, or all of the above. Unfortunately Chan was forced to choose a fourth unlisted option: stay silent, clean up his emptied drink bottle and spill, then walk to his friends table like nothing happened. He’s forced to pick the unlisted fourth option a lot more than he admittedly wants to.

Finally, to top the day off with a big dollop of whip cream and sprinkles! Chan was skateboarding home, like he always fucking does every single goddamn day without issue, and he fucking crashed. Into someone’s dog. Truly today must have been some sort of fucking trial God decided to face him with. He’s just about to fail said trial if he doesn’t catch a break today, of course the dog had to be one of those small fragile little pussy dogs that scream bloody murder if you lightly graze their paw.

So that made for quite the scene when he ran his fucking skateboard into it. But he managed to escape by apologizing twelve hundred times to the dogs owner and offering to pay any vet bills that he definitely cannot afford. Thankfully the owner forgave him and he hightailed it out of there like something was chasing him, perhaps the clouding doom of debt and guilt was what made his foot push off the ground just a tad bit harder. Nonetheless Chan is home, and he is safe from the claustrophobic creatures that are other humans. Sometimes Chan wishes he were an animal, maybe a hawk? He could fly anywhere he wanted and doesn’t have to talk to anyone. Or maybe a wolf? More social with their packs and whatnot. Chan giggles to himself at the ridiuclous imagery of his friend group as a wolf pack. They unofficially-officially labeled their group the stray kids. Based off all of their similar backgrounds of dirty suburban neighborhoods and dysfunctional parents that fall into either the drunk line, or the drug line. Or maybe they throw in a plot twist and they fall into the narcissistic victim blaming parent. Anywho Chan is just happy to be fucking home.

He lets out a big sigh and allows his backpack to slide off his frame landing on the carpet with a loud ‘thunk’.

“Well fuck.” Chan just stands in the middle of his room trying to reel in his racing and screaming mind. After recollecting his humanity, he immediately begins stripping all his clothing off leaving himself in just his boxers and socks before flopping onto his bed bouncing a bit as he lands. He cannot wait to pass out, wake up at some ungodly hour of the night in a cold sweat from another very uncalled for nightmare, and stay up until he leaves for school to do it all again. Shit. His life sucks.

Chan moves his eyes from the chipped paint on his wall to his alarm clock, it reads 4:35. Huh. Enough time to visit his favorite place. Now, Chan’s favorite place is a bit.. strange, to be a favorite place. But people just don’t understand the tranquility of it all. Chan let’s out a humorous breath. Maybe the photography students would.

He counts down 10 seconds in his head before standing up in one fluid motion at 1, stumbling a little as his vision goes black from going too fast. He makes a face at the sweatpants lying on his floor before deciding fuck it and throwing them on along with a sleeveless loose top. He shakes his head and grabs his phone skipping down the stairs. As he rounds the corner silently he spots his mom pouring wine into her glass. Ah of course, well, good thing he’ll be gone most of the night and he’ll come home to her asleep in her bed and he can escape whatever shit she wants to spew to him that night.

Chan races out the front door after grabbing an apple tossing it in his hand. He shuts the door silently and slides his arm underneath the bar below his skateboard throwing it into the ground and hopping on. At least at the end of the day he’s got his skateboard. He glances down at the board fondly before pushing off again. Hyunjin painted the bottom of the board for him for his birthday many years ago and the paints only chipped and faded the smallest amount. He likes to tell everyone it’s Hyunjin’s magical being that kept the paint so pristine. He asked him to paint a weeping willow tree with blood on the ends of the leaves. Hyunjin gave him a questioning glance at the time of the request but painted it nontheless. Chan had been in love with it ever since and doesn’t go anywhere without his baby.

Chan smiles lightly as he reaches his spot and hops off the board ascending the overgrown hill. He reaches the tree and sighs. It’s a large weeping willow with its leaves touching the ground. Someone planted it years ago and anyone who comes across it has just labeled it as some sacred thing, which, yeah that makes Chan happy this tree is special. Chan continues his journey forward and swoops under the leaves and into the little cove the leaves provide. There’s an old ratty blanket and a basket of just random various items and Chan makes his way over. He put this blanket down when he was 7 years old and here it is still standing after 10 years. Even when it rained the blanket never took much damage due to the leaves acting as a shield.

Chan drops his body onto the dirty blanket letting out a loud groan. He gazes up into the heart of the tree admiring its beauty for awhile. He would never get sick of this place, when he had nobody he always had his weeping willow. Chan reached up and his hand came away wet. Oh. He’s crying. Chan never really cried, even as a child he’d just laugh off everything or put on a brave face, his body just never felt the need to expel tears. Seems today hit him harder than he thought, seeing as his vision is blurring and his chest is getting tighter. Fucking hell can he get his act together? This is stupid. Chan grunts and wipes his face with a frustrated groan - his groan was shaky and unstable but he won’t ever admit that.

“Fuuuuuuck.” Chan laughs at himself and sits up scrubbing his face and looking over into his bin of supplies. There’s a multitude of things in there ranging from an old american spirit box of cigarettes Chan smoked when he was younger - he pretty much quit, his life sucked enough there was no need to make it worse by giving himself some form of cancer - to an old wiltered flower that a small bunny delivered to him one day. He was 13 years old and his mom had one of her first drunk episodes, he didn’t know how to feel or how to handle the feelings he received from the way his mother acted that night. He felt like he was looking into the eyes of someone else, someone who wasn’t his mother. He even had bruised knees from falling onto the ground as he ran to this tree. A small white bunny appeared that evening and in it’s mouth was a tiny pink tulip, Chan smiled and accepted the flower as the bunny scampered off. Chan will never forget the tiny bunny that helped him that day.

Chan shakes his head once more to clear his thoughts, damn he was really just reliving everything tonight wasn’t he. At this point he’s posing the question is the tree weeping or is he? Chan shakes his head at his absolute corny inner monologue. He lets his mind go numb for awhile.

A leaf lands on his face and he blinks a few times before lifting his wrist. 9:57 his watch blinks at him. Oh. Oh. Chan’s eyes widen comically before he jumps onto his feet. He stumbles and races down the hill after grabbing his skateboard and taking off.

⋆ ̊。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ̊。⋆

The glow of his window shines brightly in the dim nightlife of the neighborhood. Chan glances at the front door. It’s definitely locked, his mom always locks it when she heads to bed. She never checks in on Chan anymore. He sighs and begins climbing the tree next to his window. He lands onto the short overhang roof and climbs into his window.

Chan strips down again and falls onto his bed. He feels sleep tug at his eyes until a loud crash outside his door jerks him back awake. Chan feels a cold sharpness grow and grow inside of his chest at the noise. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. His mom was supposed to be asleep. Chan feels himself begin to tremble. He stands apprehensively and walks in slow motion to his bedroom door. It feels like the entire world has stopped and surrounded Chan to watch as his trembling fingers reach out for the knob. He decides to rip the bandaid off and flings the door open in one swift motion.

He’s greeted by his mom picking up books she scattered onto the floor. She smiles at him.

“Hey sweetie.” She speaks softly. Chan knows better.

“Hey mom, what did you do?” Chan hesitantly replies. Why is this affecting him so much? He’s done this so many times why is he even trembling? Chan internally groans at his betraying body.

His mom just laughs a bit and continues to pick up the books before standing. Inching closer to Chan.

“Where were you honey?” Chan could smell the familiar scent of alcohol across the room. He felt nauseous.

“Uh, just took my skateboard out.” Chan learned the trick was to be as vague as possible in situations like this. Don’t give her too many details to use against him later.

“Why aren’t you ever home anymore?” Her mood immediately darkens at the question.

“Just been um, busy, you know. With homework and hanging out with my friends.” Chan feels the crack of his dry throat as he swallows.

Chan feels his heart begin to beat faster under her gaze. He can’t pinpoint her emotion and it’s freaking him out a little.

“Oh. I see.” She sighs out. “It’s all my fault then.” Chan’s jaw opens at the sudden switch of her tone. Accusatory to, victimized? Chan feels fury ignite like a flame in his chest. He pushes it down with a shaky exhale.

“No, not your fault, just busy.” He gives her a lame excuse knowing she won’t listen to him anyway.

“So I don’t mean anything to you? You're too busy for me now, is that it?” She raises her voice slightly but it sounds like screaming to Chan’s ears. He feels dizzy.

“No, mom, I just told you school has been hard.” School has been totally fine. He doesn’t care though, he’ll do anything to escape this.

“Christopher, I am your mother.” She fixes him with a stern gaze and Chan feels himself crumble right back into his eight year old self.

“O-Okay mom I’m sorry, I’ll make more time for you.” Chan rushes it out of his mouth in one large exhale bringing his arms up to wrap around himself. A pathetic self soothing tactic he began doing.

Her expression instantly changes and she nods with a smile.

“Goodnight Chris.” She turns and heads into her bedroom as if nothing happened at all. Chan stands there for a few seconds before racing into his room, closing the door. He trips and falls onto his carpet floor with blurry vision. His chest grows tighter and tighter until he grips onto his shirt with white knuckles gasping for air.

His vision sways and black dots line his peripheral but he blindly reaches for his phone on his bed. His fingers find the object and he immediately taps the contact bringing the phone to his ear.

Ringing.

…

Ringing.

…

Ring-

“Hyung?” Changbin’s soothing voice echoes out the speaker of his phone. Chan’s entire body slacks.

“C-Changbin can you, um, can you c-come over?” Chan internally curses himself for stuttering and trembling like an idiot. But ultimately he’s too exhausted to care.

“Yeah of course, Channie-hyung what happened?” Changbin’s voice carries ounces of worry in it and Chan can hear the jingle of keys.

“Just please come.” Chan ends the call and drops his phone, wrapping his arms around himself again. He curls into the smallest ball he can and tries to fight the panic growing.

⋆ ̊。⋆୨♡୧⋆ ̊。⋆

He doesn’t know how long he sits there breathing in and out until he hears his window slide up. He snaps his head to the source of the noise and sees Changbin climbing in carefully. Changbin’s eyes find Chan’s sorrowful ones and his whole body deflates with sadness.

“Come here hyung.” Changbin opens his arms and sits on the rough carpet. Chan scrambles and falls as he rushes into Changbin’s arms. He shoves his head into the crook of Changbin’s neck and wraps his arms around his torso with a vice grip.

“Shh it’s okay, I’m here.” Changbin keeps his voice low and soft and Chan is insanely grateful for the small gesture. He snuggles in closer and allows his tears to soak into Changbin’s soft polyester t-shirt.

“Your mom again?” Changbin sighs out reaching a hand up to brush through Chan’s unruly curls.

“Mm-h-hm.” Chan releases a terrible shaky hum and nods his head slowly against Changbin.

“Oh, channie.” He squeezes Chan tighter and rests his cheek atop his bed of curls. The nickname always eases Chan a bit, it helps him let go and receive comfort more than an honorific would. Chan sniffles and feels his eyes grow heavy.

“Sleep channie, it’s alright I’ll be here.” Chan allows his eyes to close at Changbin’s words. His pulse slows and his breathing comes easier.

He drifts off to thoughts of how much he loves his best friend and the buzz of his old fan.

[elixirnyx]

Henry was awakened by the blaring of his phone, a call. Groaning he reaches for it on the bedside table only to see that it is 1 a.m. A big fuck you to whoever is calling at this ungodly time, taking that back cause it's Bea and she won't call in the middle of the night without any reason.

"Hello," he answers.

Alex stirred beside him on the verge of waking up.

But blaring music and hollering people is what greeted him. That instantly made him sit up, heartbeat started to pick up pace. And poor Alex groggily stared at him roused from his slumber.

"Hazz, darling," Bea says over the music and giggles delightfully.

"Did I wake you up?" Heart racing and immediately revisiting old memories he exhaled shakily, Alex already sitting up hands on his back looking at him in question which he couldn't bother to answer as he was already standing up.

"Bea! Where are you." He says voice quivering.

"What?" Louder music.

"Where are you?" He asks again louder.

"Oh yeah, sorry" a pause and a barely audible question from Bea asking someone where the place was, " They said it's The Hive, dear" then a laugh.

"The Hive?" He asked as he started pacing in their room Alex also stood up and looked at him knowing something was wrong.

" The Hive?" Alex repeats with a frown

"There's a bar here in New York called that."

" Hey baby bro, can you come", he heard Bea say with more yelling in the background as another set of music started.

" What are you" but the call is already disconnected.

" Fuck", he says, facing Alex " You know where The Hive is?", I ask as he frantically put on some clothes and throws some on Alex indicating for him to put them on.

"Yes." He replies as he comically tries to put on his clothes in a hurry. Done changing he grabs the keys and almost runs down the garage Alex hot on his heels.

Alex ended up driving, pointing out that he was in no condition to drive with shaking hands and watery eyes.

Alex holds his hands to stop them from shaking, as well as a comfort and a reminder that someone is there for him.

" What if she relapsed", he said barely above whisper. " I don't, I can't watch her lose herself again like that" A tear slides down his cheeks, and Alex squeezes his hand, reassuring him. "Bea's not that weak baby. She promised you didn't she", he says gently.

" But what if she couldn't bear the stress she's been put through? You know she's been taking more tasks to relieve me" Another tear as he guiltily looked at Alex.

"Oh, babe you talked about it did you not and she reassured you she's okay with it, and you know she will have your ass for blaming yourself."

" I, I just don't want to lose her, I can't lose her Alex, I don't think I can deal with it." Breathing seemed laborious as he thought of losing his sister, his best friend.

"Breath with me babe, come on, breathe in, breathe out." He says while also doing so.

"That's it keep going, you won't be losing anyone H, not any time soon, your sister is a fighter, you should believe in her, okay?" Another squeeze as he parks the car outside the bar. A wad of cash and the bouncer let us in immediately, and we were greeted with the sight of Bea on stage singing and playing an electric guitar as the crowd was cheering and singing along with her. Relief instantly overtook me draining my strength as my knees nearly buckled, Alex grabbed me before sliding onto the ground making me lean on him as we continued to watch my sister perform. She seemed happy and looked great in her all-black leather outfit. I didn't know how I got seated with a cold drink in hand, courtesy of my loving boyfriend I'm sure.

"I didn't know your sister could sing and play an electric guitar. And she's rocking it." Alex says as he chuckles watching Bea sing her heart out like she was not a princess of godamn England.

"She does, She showed Pez and me once and Pez begged her to perform in one of his charities but Grandma told her not to as it is not befitting for the crown." I laughed bitterly as I took a swig of my drink.

Somewhere in her set, she managed to catch a glimpse of us and she flashed a grin so bright, the brightest I've seen since our father died. And it made me realize how resilient and strong she is for going to rehab and being there for me while somehow grounding herself. I smiled back and waved at her as she started to play her guitar solo making the room go wild.

" Damn, your sister is so hot", I heard Alex say as he stands up to dance and holler along with the crowd.

"That's my sister you asshole," I say laughing. So proud that she was able to share this part of herself with other people and get accepted and loved without reservation.

After the set, she was laughing and hugging the rest of the band on stage as she beelined towards us, getting stopped several times by people offering her a drink or flirting which she evaded with ease. She flung herself towards me causing me to tumble, her arms and legs squeezing me to death as she hugged me.

"Hey Bea," I heard Alex say behind me, " I think you might end up killing him if you don't ease up on the chokehold you have on him." He says laughing.

" Oh," she said releasing her death grip on my neck and kissing both my cheeks as she slid down on her feet and tackled Alex with a hug of the same intensity "Oof" Alex groaned, but hugging her back and spinning her as they both giggled.

" I'm so happy you both came," she said bouncing on her feet with mine and Alex's hands in her grip. Before we could even answer she dragged us to a secluded VIP area on the second floor of the establishment.

" You rock, Bea", Alex says.

" The perks of scouring bars all over England" she replied chuckling, finding it amusing. A choked sound escaped from me unknowingly. "Haz? Are you alright?" Bea said letting go of Alex's hand and giving me her full attention. Staring up at me, she must have seen something as her inquisitive gaze was replaced by horror, a realization. I must have been crying, " Oh my sweet boy, I am so sorry," she said gently wiping my tears with tears pooling in her eyes. " I'm so so sorry." Hugging me tightly. " Please don't do that again, I can't afford to lose you, Bea, I can't," I said hugging her back with desperation I fear I might be hurting her. " I know dear," a pained whisper, " I know." Breaking the hug she looked at me with a delicate hand, with calluses from playing the guitar, caressing my cheek gently as she said, " I promised you didn't I? I've been holding onto that promise Henry, that promise kept me going, for you, for me, for us." " And I'm still here," she said as I wiped her tears. " And besides," she said taking a step back from me with a playful glare, " you should have a stronger faith in me you know, do you think I am that weak?" hand on her hips as she tried to stare at me down with her head tilted up to look at me. I laughed with relief and pulled her into another hug " You are the strongest woman I know, and I am sorry if you feel that I don't have faith in you, but I do." I squeezed her harder into the hug. Flailing, " Let go of me, this hug will kill me damn it," she said out of breath. Freeing herself, she turned to Alex, who was watching us with a smile, " Why don't we go eat something I've been meaning to try Nora's recommendation of fries and sundaes at McDonald's."

" You did what?" I said staring incredulously at Bea from across the table.

"Don't be overdramatic, I'm safe aren't I?" while rolling her eyes at me, the audacity.

" But ditching your guards is still reckless," Alex said with concern.

"I know but it's suffocating having people around you all the time and I just needed a break," she said, chomping on a sundae dipped fries.

" And you did not even tell us that you are coming here?" I questioned.

"Oops?" This is stressing me the fuck out but I'm delighted that she is here healthy and safe. Sisters they truly give you shit, but you can't do anything but love them.

[miserable-pile-of-lies]

The Sleeping Prince of Wallachia Ch. 2 (Full)

Here's the entirety of chapter two in all of its glory, I hope you guys enjoy the small lore that I created regarding Greta!

Summary: Wallachia is in great peril at the behest of Death himself; all those who have attempted to battle the creature have swiftly been executed and made an example of. The key to defeating the beast lies in Dracula's castle, located twenty odd miles out from a small village by the name of Danesti. In this village, the headwoman Greta must act quickly to save her people from the onslaught of attacks by night creatures and other ungodly minions who have sworn their loyalty to Death. Will she alone be able to stop Death or will she require additional aid to save her people and those in Wallachia?

Roasted walnuts indecorously bestrewed the forest floor, being tossed from a perch high above that stretched into the sky. Humming a cheerful tune that foretold the story of Queen Dido, a thirteen-year-old Greta smacked her lips obnoxiously as Marius attempted to scamper away from the branch they sat upon. The young girl hurled an emptied shell of a walnut into the air, given to her by the portly baker Grigore, a Wallachian native that had recently settled in Danesti to toil his goods.

“That isn’t how the founding story of Carthage goes, Queen Dido was bewitched by Cupid’s arrow,” a twelve-year-old Marius moaned wearily at his older friend who crossed her lanky arms unimpressed by the explanation. The Roman boy dug into the pouch that sat between him and his companion, uttering a cry when he felt a pinch twist the doughy skin of his love handles. Offering his finest glare, the adolescent lobbed a walnut at the lass who only ducked backwards in response to the sneak attack with a snigger.

“That cannot be, Prince Aeneas deceptively seduced our founding mother with sweet words only to leave her high and dry in the pursuit of his journey, ultimately courting Princess Lavinia of Italy,” Greta bit out with a scowl as she described the cowardly philanderer that covertly escaped into the night when leaving Carthage at the command of Jupiter. Prince Aeneas went on to become the founding father of Rome, previously recognized as the city of Lavinium when the metropolis was founded by his followers to honor their queen.

Marius merely shrugged at the latter details relayed by Greta, knowing how the rest of the myth went. Queen Dido, in a fitful rage, committed suicide out of spite at the abandonment of Aeneas and sparked the Punic Wars that led to the annexation of Carthage. Presently, both civilizations were relics of the past and the descendants of Aeneas and Dido had long forgotten about the dissension that divided the two to begin with.

“Who cares about any of that, it’s all ancient history anyway; more importantly we should talk about Faiza,” Marius clucked out with a cheeky grin as Greta’s face promptly flushed at the mention of the girl who currently held her affections.

Nimble fingers tapped bashfully against the coarse bark of the tree as she thought of the remarkable Moroccan beauty, two years her senior with an unmatched intellect that could not be found elsewhere in the village. Clearing her throat with a thunderous cough that echoed amongst the thicket of trees, thick chestnut brows quirked up to implore Marius to continue his line of questioning.

Sighing heavily in exasperation, the young man reached across to tug at his closest playmate’s cheek, earning an appalled yelp in reply.

“You vexing little runt, what was that for,” Greta demanded with a scoff, lightly slapping the terracotta toned hand away as Marius held his rib from chuckling harshly at Greta’s indignation. Thoroughly riled by the taunts, the daughter of the headman gracefully descended from the tree, stirring up the emerald leaves that laid in the low grass below. Lips curved upward at the sound of an astonished choke, knowing that Marius would take much longer to get down than Greta.

Leaves crunched in protest, alarming the teenager, who speedily pulled out her short sword to defend both herself and Marius from a potential assailant. Pale green eyes squinted in concentration, rising from the thick branch he sat upon. Marius tactically retrieved his elm bow and arrow to target the source of the commotion hidden by the overgrown shrubbery. Palms were presented in a mock defense manner and soon both sword and bow were lowered without further inquiry; the newcomer was a fellow inhabitant of Danesti who went by the name of Felix. The scrawny queer man looked affright when he saw their weapons drawn, shaking like a white flag in the wind signaling a surrender from a defeated camp of soldiers.

“Greta and Marius, I’ve come to retrieve you both on behalf of Tobias, he says that your mother is nearing the end of labor,” Felix squawked out nervously forcing his hands to his sides while tipping the crooked point of his jaw in the air, an attempt to reinforce his position as an elder among the children who innocently snickered at the poor fellow.

Tobias was the current headman of Danesti, father of Greta and husband of Iman, patiently awaiting the arrival of his second child with the rest of the men in the village. As per custom, Iman was currently being attended by several midwives and parish priests recruited from the capital of Târgoviște; a far journey that took the travelers weeks to make it to the settlement in time for the birth.

The leader of the village had forfeited several family heirlooms to afford the care needed for Iman and adequately compensated those assisting in the birth. Childbirth was an unforgiving ordeal; one could never be too safe to preserve the life of both mother and child even with the aid of experts.

Honeyed eyes crinkled in joy; the youth absolutely thrilled that she would finally meet her younger sibling. The young girl had been praying that it would be a boy so that her father could be at peace and have a successor that would eventually inherit the role of headman. If that occurred, her father would stop stifling her fun with Marius and the other village children, forcing her to sit through tedious meetings with the village council about the daily state of affairs in their community.

Regardless of the gender of the newborn, Greta promised her mother that she would look out for her younger sibling and her mother beamed from ear to ear while affectionately carding her rich brown hands through her daughter’s silken hair. Often wrapped in colorful linens covering her form and adorned with intricately knotted scarves, her mother dressed in the traditional garb that was expected of women hailing from Somalia, a resource rich country found in East Africa. Though it was rare to see out in the open, Greta adored seeing her mother braid her kinky curly hair into the fine thin rows of braids decorated by glassy beads and golden hair cuffs imported from North African traders passing through the area to sell their finery.

The relationship between Tobias and Iman was an anomaly to all onlookers based on the traits of the two; Tobias was a brash man who had no filter and the shortest temper that could set off at a moment’s notice while Iman was quiet spoken yet assertive in her demands, effortlessly carrying herself like a member of royalty. Additionally, Tobias carried the wide frame of a brutish bull, but he was slightly below average in stature while Iman towered over her husband with long slim legs and a slender frame hidden by her garments.

“We need to hurry, I don’t want to miss the birth of my baby brother,” Greta complained impatiently while Marius climbed his way down the birch tree with cautious steps, ensuring that his footing was secured along the way.

“You keep saying that you will have a brother, but how can you be so confident,” the boy queried warily with a suspicious glance, unconvinced that intuition alone could predict such a momentous event. Landing upon the ground, the youngster hollered upon Greta roughly grabbing and shaking him by the shoulders in frustration. Hoping that Felix would lend a helping hand against the rambunctious girl, Marius silently implored the middle-aged man to intervene and separate the two.

“You sound so skeptical my dear Marius, you should know that I’m quite clever when it comes to these matters,” Greta pledged eagerly, forcibly disconnected from the lad by an already fatigued Felix. The old man wished to return to the village before the three lost daylight and encountered the mischievous spirits of the forest.

“Enough out of you two, come along now,” the farmer churned out with difficulty, feeling hoarse at the thought of the journey back to the township.

Nose scrunched with a harrumph, Greta filed behind Felix with a small pout and Marius walked beside her feeling a small pang of jealousy. His friend had spent a great deal of time boasting about the new arrival of her sibling that he could not help the thorns of envy that pierced the entirety of his being. Thick as thieves, just about everyone in the colony had known how close the two were, rarely seen without one another. With the arrival of a newborn, Greta’s responsibilities and chores would increase tremendously as her mother recovered over the span of the next two months.

What if we grow apart Marius mused gloomily, instantly prickled with guilt at the selfishness of his thoughts but was shaken out of his stupor when he felt a hand roughly the same size as his own. Jade orbs welled up with teardrops as a thumb brush against his palm and he gripped the hand back in silence.

“What are you thinking about,” Greta murmured with great care; a tone rarely used in their conversations due to the spitfire personality that defined the young maiden.

Brushing away the tears in his eyes with his available hand, Marius contemplated how much he would be able to disclose without feeling entirely embarrassed by the pettiness of his emotions. Initially shrugging his shoulders in deference, his ample cheeks burned in shame as he slowly treaded along the path hand in hand with Greta.

“Promise not to laugh,” the boy pleaded with a defeated look, not being able to make eye contact with Greta who openly stared at him with such unease. Taking a deep breath in, the young girl released her hand from Marius and grabbed her friend’s knobby shoulders with an intense hawk-like gaze.

“I swear upon our friendship that I will not laugh, nor will I reveal the contents of this discussion to any soul,” she assured with a heavy sense of conviction, unconditional love filling her freesia eyes. Lips parted in mirth from the sheer honesty of his friend, a chuckle threatening to bubble up from his throat at his own foolishness.

“Can you promise that we’ll always remain friends,” Marius entreated faintly, inspecting the approaching dusk of the sky that precariously peeked through the treetops.

Although dumbfounded at the soft plea, Greta did not dither in responding to the vulnerable request, “Even if we were friends for an eternity, it still wouldn’t be enough time together.”

A wave of warmth washed over Marius at the declaration, assuaged by Greta’s consideration of his intrusive thoughts. Playfully knocking his shoulder into her own, the childhood friends smiled at one another, before redirecting their attention to the approaching sight of their settlement.

The trio slowly came to a stop at the barricade that was currently bolted shut from potential new arrivals in the village; Felix hesitantly craned his willowy neck upwards to see who stood guard at the top of its walls. Sure enough, a stout man roughly in his late thirties beamed at the sight of the three, quickly retrieving the bast rope to lower the door of the enormous, antiquated gatehouse. Squeaking in protest, the barricade slowly opened to the three, dust settling in the air upon impact. Without further notice, Marius and Greta speedily dashed across the oak wood of the gate while Felix’s knees trembled from exertion as he slowly limped into the community.

“Didn’t think the three of you would make it in time,” Luigi snorted cheekily, teetering towards the post to relatch the gate on the headman’s orders. Shortly after, the hefty man climbed down the shifty ladder that squeaked every step of the way before reaching the ground to properly greet the triad.

“If these two hadn’t been gallivanting about in the forest, we could have been back much sooner,” Felix complained rubbing his sore shoulders. Holding his rounded stomach while unleashing a booming guffaw, Luigi playfully shook his balding head at the mention of Marius and Greta’s predictable antics. The adolescents wordlessly exchanged a sour look before politely excusing themselves from the drawn-out discussion between the two chatty adults.

Heading towards her family’s residence, Greta and Marius spotted almost every villager crowded outside of the gate of her ancestral home. The gate was carved with several strokes belonging to the Punic alphabet and astrological formations that foretold the perilous journey of her forefathers.

Standing at the forefront of the assemblage, Tobias paced back and forth worriedly awaiting the nursing aides who instructed him to stay outside until the birthing ritual was completed. The sound of a woman wailing reverberated within the family home and Tobias wished for nothing more than to be by his wife’s side. A sizeable number of villagers swaddled their leader in support, all holding celebratory gifts to offer protection against any harm that may come to Iman or the arriving infant.

Lengthy, partially braided chestnut tresses fell past sun kissed broad shoulders; the headman possessed a striking profile that was disrupted by the prestigious wide hook of a nose displaying his Carthaginian roots. The warrior’s features were that of a handsome hero residing in an epic poem, his Herculean body cladded in his finest olive tunic befitting the occasion. Despite Greta clearly resembling her mother far more, both father and daughter shared the same honeyed gaze that resembled the jewel tones of amber.

The entire village of Danesti recognized the headman and his wife as the most handsome couple in the village, both easy on the eyes and charming in their own way. However, the couple had eyes for no one else; the village leader was completely smitten and dedicated his every waking moment to Iman while Iman could not see another man loving her the way Tobias did. Tobias claimed that he fell for Iman from the moment that he had laid his eyes on her, formally the daughter of a Somali livestock peddler who regularly passed through Danesti on route to the numerous towns in Wallachia.

Whenever Greta asked about the tryst, the older villagers professed that no one had silenced Tobias in quite the same manner that Iman did upon their initial meeting, the headman completely bewitched by her stunning beauty and graceful manner. Falling to his knees shamelessly, the newly appointed leader of Danesti begged for Iman to allow him to worship her for the rest of his days and Iman accepted the shocking proposal with a shy smile. Despite the two reciprocating feelings for one another, her father Assad was completely against the courtship as he had plans to marry Iman off to a thriving merchant who lusted after his eldest daughter.

In the end, Tobias challenged Assad in a physical brawl for the hand of Iman and the rest was history. The two wasted no time in conceiving a child within the first year of their engagement, naming Greta after the precious gem that adorned the ring Tobias gave to his wife, formerly worn by his late mother who died in the aftermath of his own birth.

Bushy brows seemed to cement into a permanent pinch, clearly distressed until he heard a familiar voice.

“Father, how is mother doing,” Greta questioned tensely, pushing through the crowd while Marius was herded in by his folks despite the boy’s protests.

Exhaling with a frightful glower, Tobias channeled his anxiety into outrage at the late arrival of his daughter, “Have you had your fill of prancing off with Marius?” Ears ablaze in mortification at the scrutiny of the villagers who went silent at the confrontation, the young girl stopped a few feet shy of her father.

“I needed to go somewhere quiet to complete my gift for mother,” Greta confessed weakly, digging into the goatskin satchel slung across the finely threaded olive tunic that mirrored the one that her father donned. Carefully, her uncertain fingers produced a small carved sculpture of a woman holding an infant while shameful tears muddled her vision. The craftsmanship of the small carving was remarkable, the creation a labor of love worked on by Greta and Marius over the period of a fortnight.

Rumpled brows sheepishly slackened at the admission, knowing that if Iman had been present, she would be livid with her husband’s arbitrary treatment of their daughter. Hesitantly, the headman closed the distance between himself and Greta who stubbornly withheld her tears as he approached.

Lifting the corner of his mouth minutely, the gruff man reached out and gingerly carded his chunky fingers through the beautiful chestnut hair of his daughter, not one for sentimentality or overt displays of affection in front of others. Peeking from beneath the reach of her father’s labor-thickened hands, Greta gathered the courage to blow a raspberry in retaliation. The sound of laughter erupted amongst the crowd of villagers, thankful that the situation had not escalated any further. The tense line of Tobias’ mouth relaxed for the first time all day; a small smile coaxed from the outrageousness of his adorable daughter.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the door of the cruck home belonging to Tobias and Iman flung open. In the doorway of the home stood the principal midwife, looking to Tobias with a weighted gaze that forebode tragedy. All went quiet in shock, the exultant air of the villagers immediately vanishing in fear of what would come next.

Face crumbling in misery at what lied ahead, Tobias sucked in his plump lower lip, approaching the doorway of his home with solemn steps. Before fully making it over the threshold, the headman threw a backwards glance at his daughter whose eyes carried a sorrow that was beyond her years.

“Restrain your grief,” Tobias uttered cautiously, directing a grim expression to Greta before entering his home. Marching past the chaste kitchen of his abode, the man followed closely behind the midwife who remained quiet as a mouse before arriving at the door of the room that had been prepared for the birth. Closing his freesia eyes with a silent prayer, he opened the door and his husky body crumbled to the ground.

His beautiful wife had never been so pale, the rich brownness of her skin ashen from the exertion of labor and her mouth ajar as she wheezed harshly. Her lithe form sagged uncomfortably on the birthing stool that she sat upon. The maternity gown cloaking her frail form was drenched in excess blood from the pelvis down, the essence of life puttering silently onto the floorboards of the room. The secondary midwives turned their remorseful glances upon the speechless headman who saw the swaddled form of his stillborn son, laying in the woven basket of his crib perpetually silent, never to awaken from his eternal slumber.

“Where is our boy Tobias, they refuse to let me hold him,” Iman churned out deliriously, blearily making out her husband who still sat in the doorway. With great difficulty, the thirty-five-year-old rose to his feet, ambling towards his wife who reached out her hand in search of her beloved. Arriving at her side, he pressed his lips to the clammy forehead of his wife who shook like a leaf in his embrace. Shushing his wife with a gentleness that only she inspired, Tobias softly asked Iman to rest despite her repeated question. Eventually, she dozed off from the sheer pain of her loss and the weakness of her body while Tobias held her fragile hand to his cheek.

“There is something I must tell you,” the central midwife addressed miserably, knowing that what she was about to disclose would break the man before her beyond repair. Heartbroken from the loss of his ill-fated son, Tobias shook his head refusing to part from his spouse.

“No more, not now,” the warrior beseeched quietly, incessant tears drenching his face, looking down at his doomed wife; the village leader had spent enough time entrenched in death to know the telltale signs. Even in her sleep, Iman breathed with difficulty and her body was soaked with cold sweat from the feverish trot of impending death.

Nodding with a heavy heart, the midwife stepped out of the room with her aides, giving the couple their much-needed privacy with the promise of addressing the village in place of the grief-stricken man.

Setting foot into the dusk of the evening, the middle-aged woman was immediately met by the mob of villagers who had not breathed a word since the departure of their leader. Hands were gravely clasped in prayer with heads bowed, hoping that at least one of the poor souls had survived the traumatic birth. The daughter of the village leader looked at the midwife with lifeless eyes, slowly stepping forward with clenched fists, nails digging violently into the skin of her palms.

“Where are my parents,” the minor queried weakly; she looked nothing like the spirited girl that danced gleefully at the arrival of the midwife with her aides. Lip trembling, the adolescent brushed past the midwife with an anguished cry, marching into her household completely distraught. Marius observed his friend from afar, feeling the pit of his stomach drop into the deepest depths, wishing that he could provide an iota of comfort. Nothing he said would erase the sorrow that would forever mark this day; he could only hope that Greta would find the courage to smile again one day as tears ran down his face.

Spiraling into complete panic, Greta made her way through the simple structure of her home, wiping her tears with the sleeve of the cotton blouse her mother had just laundered a few days ago. Arriving at the door where her parents were surely behind, her face flittered between dread and hysteria. Intaking a deep breath, she pushed the door open silently and an ear-shattering scream reached the villagers who all mournfully turned to embrace their own families. The village men removed their hats out of respect while the women held their children close to their breast, some too young to understand what was going on.

Tobias abruptly removed himself from his wife who was still barely holding on at the sound of his daughter’s screech, silently standing up with his back facing Greta. Nose flaring irritably, ire scathed his irises when he looked at his daughter who was amid a panic attack. Chest heaving up and down in apprehension, the child convulsed as an ugly cry cut through the silence of the room, not knowing whether to stare at her condemned mother or brother.

Tears still lingering in his eyes, Tobias savagely stomped across the room, standing before his firstborn without penitence.

“Straighten up now daughter of mine, you need to grow up,” he shouted venomously, grabbing the girl roughly by her slightly too large tunic to ground himself. Blunt teeth bared wickedly for all to see, the chieftain burrowed his daughter against his strong chest with silent tears, words at odds with his current actions.

Nothing reached Greta who continued to wail, the strength in her knees disappearing entirely as she slid to the floor, her father silently sinking with her. Thick snot and tears ran amuck, her breathing clearly affected by her frenzied state while a hand gently rubbed her back. The edges of her vision blackened as she fainted; Greta vaguely recalled her father raving like a mad man in his native tongue, sobbing harshly as he brought his beloved child firmly into the embrace of his burly arms. It would be the first and last time the future head woman would see the resilient man brought to tears, the love of his life stealing them away permanently with her unexpected departure.

_____________________________________________________________________________

I have lost my other brother Greta thought ardently, turning the statement over and over in her head a million times, wondering when the immediate grief of Marius passing would slither away. Presently, her muddied sleeves were rolled up to her elbows as she gathered the remains of the corpses strewn about her village. Dismembered bodies were carefully laid on thick tarps customarily used to protect the produce cultivated by the farmers of Danesti. One thing was certain after last night’s invasion; the village of Danesti had fallen and it had occurred under Greta’s charge.

Invisible unrelenting fingers pointed at her in a silent accusation, calling for her execution and demanding that the head woman be replaced by a more capable hand. Loading up a wooden cart with rows of bundled corpses, amber eyes sorrowfully looked onto the Earth that bled her people dry in this latest attack. Less than forty percent of the inhabitants of Danesti and those belonging to other nearby villages survived, many children becoming orphans while the women were widowed in the aftermath of their closest victory against the night hordes.

Humiliated by the string of her latest failures, the village leader could not bring herself to thoroughly engage with anyone. If a villager approached her for further instructions regarding their task, she cowardly evaded eye contact, automatically generating an appropriate response. Despite the fatigue eating away at her strength, Greta refused to stop busying herself with the innumerous number of tasks before her. Very few members of the village council had survived, leaving her with an excessive workload to keep her out of her thoughts for a decent stretch of time.

If the previous headman could see her now, he would probably double over in shame from beyond the grave, wondering why his daughter failed the colony given all that he had taught her. In his last days, Tobias constantly reassured Greta of her position as next in line for the leadership of the village, silencing anyone who stood in opposition of her inheriting the role.

“Only you have the abilities to lead Danesti beyond its current splendor,” Tobias affirmed maniacally before he passed from a broken heart, his health steadily declining over the years, leaving a depressed and scared eighteen-year-old Greta to pick up the pieces of his ambitions.

Watching her once indestructible father devolve into a mass of sinewy muscles on his deathbed emotionally ravaged Greta. However, she could not afford to mourn for months like she did with her mother and baby brother, for the sake of the villagers now depending on her counsel. Burying her emotions deep in her breast, Greta only divested her authentic emotional state to Marius in moments of deep insecurity. The young woman feigned abundant confidence in the presence of her people, strategically dispatching a witty remark here and there at anyone who dared to challenge her position of power.

With the hammer of Tobias, Greta led a new age of prosperity in Danesti over the next four years; encouraging the expansion of the village as well as carefully managing the resources to supply the newcomers settling in the community. Branches of commerce grew as well, the wardress carefully researching the highly sought goods of Wallachians nearby to encourage her people to communicate with others from their native countries for trading purposes, utilizing the diversity of her community.

Slowly beginning to recover from her past traumas, a cruel God deemed that it was time to awaken Greta from her dreams of a brighter future, Wallachians region wide receiving a wave of brutal attacks by the night hordes. Death was an inevitable foe that she knew she would never be able to completely curb, stealing her villagers every now and then due to tragic accidents or old age. What she was facing now was entirely different; mass graves were being dug due to the surplus of carcasses that cluttered the lands, because there were not enough hands available to dig individual graves.

Snapping out of her thoughts, she looked to her bounded shoulder to find a tanned hand planted there, meeting the eyes of the Speaker who saved her life the previous night. Once again, finding heavy worriment in those cerulean-blue orbs, the young heroine found herself almost cursing the woman for rescuing her and Marius in that instance. At least if she died then, it would have been at the side of her dearest friend whom she considered to be the last member of her long-gone family.

“We need to talk,” the ginger-haired woman whispered gently, seeing the vacancy and pain that traversed the head woman. Stopping her task at the bidding of an invisible force from the ether, Greta allowed herself to be led away from her people who stared at their leader sympathetically.

What the fuck am I doing the hammer-wielding warrior questioned, chewing her lower lip aggressively while darting her eyes to the back of the Speaker’s fiery strands that bounced at the beating of the morning wind. Finally, the two ceased further movement upon arriving at a patch of undisturbed land that had not been scorched. The unknown woman turned to Greta with the irritated twitch of her nose, the stench of smoke still filling the air long after the Speakers had put out the flames.

“My name is Sypha Belnades, I’m the granddaughter of the Elder Speaker that leads this particular caravan,” Sypha extended politely, introducing herself with a small bow out of respect for the chief ruler of the village. The young mage happened upon Greta shortly after the night hordes fled from the assault on Danesti, feeling an unconscious link form between the two at the vulnerability that the young leader displayed for her people. Tears of empathy sprouted at the sight of Greta sprawled over the newly deceased Marius, knowing the importance of bonds and how easily a community could translate into the bonds of family.

Nodding in acknowledgment, Greta bowed as well with a forced smile, “I’m Greta of Danesti, daughter of the deceased Tobias and Iman,” responded punctually before allowing the sorcerer to continue her train of thought.

Clearing her throat in discomfort, Sypha attempted to regain her footing in the exchange, finding it difficult to formulate her thoughts amid the tragedy that she had witnessed firsthand.

“Our chapter of Speakers have spent the last couple of weeks traveling throughout the region of Wallachia, striving to put an end to the massacres that have swallowed up these lands,” Sypha started with an explanation, recounting the horrors that she had seen in her travels with a dire countenance, clearly bothered by the amount of death she had seen in the last two months. Unspeakable calamities had been dealt out without reasoning, leaving the group of Speakers at a loss in how they should advance and lend aid.

Unsubstantiated rumors circulated around the fabled entity known as Death personally commanding the army of night creatures; however, accounts from the commonfolk reported several different descriptors identifying the mystic general behind the current campaign of genocide. Some said that the commander of the army was a cloaked young woman with dark skin possessing unsettling hues that glowed, while others detailed an older male vampire who lacked the expected regalia of his kind.

“Currently we are at a disadvantage, my caravan alone cannot provide the support desperately needed across Wallachia,” Sypha confessed uneasily, rubbing her chilly fingers together to ward off the unforgiving chill that the morning air brought.

Pinched by the unyielding sense of compassion instilled by her late mother, Greta straightened her undignified form with a newfound purpose. No matter how lost she may have felt, the headwoman could not idly stand by while innocent people were slaughtered without just cause. Brown slim fingers extended out and clasped Sypha’s shoulder with certainty at what would come next, her amber eyes lighting up reinvigorated at the unspoken pledge of defending her remaining charges.

“What can I do to help,” the young warrior inquired with haste, not realizing that this exact moment would turn the tides in saving Wallachia and spark the ensuing chronicles that celebrated the legendary heroine and her fellow comrades made along the way.

[kayteewritessteve]

DT - Drunk Twitter 1/3

Description: One stupid drunken night leads to an uncomfortable week from hell. That only gets worse when you are forced to face the problems, that your drunken escapades caused, head on. Yeah, you are never going to drink ever again.

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 8,380 ish.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Lots of curse words, awkward moments, and a slightly frustrated reader. Little angst here and there, but lots of stupid humour.

Requested: Nah, this just randomly popped into my head and I ran with it.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

You groan loudly as your hand flails out from under your duvet cocoon, blindly searching for the hellish contraption that currently insists on screaming at you. It is far too early for such an ungodly sound, and you are far too hungover for this shit right now.

Your hand finally makes contact with the screeching little asshole that is your alarm clock, causing a loud smash to echo through the room, just from the sheer force of your flailing limb alone. And then instantly your room falls back into silence once again. Though the constant ringing in your ears, both from the alarm and your hangover, makes that last fact slightly unknown to you in this moment.

You groan, grumbling incoherently as you pull your hand back into the warmth of the little blanket bundle that has now become your life. You plan to spend the rest of your days just hiding in this dark little cove, and then eventually one day dying here. Which from the aches and pains wreaking havoc on you currently, might be sooner, rather than later.

Why the hell did you drink so much?! Who let you polish off two bottles of wine last night?! Like, where the hell was your adult?! Clearly from this day forward you’d need someone to constantly make life choices for you, so that you never ended up in this position ever again.

You vow in this exact moment, that from this day on you will never ever drink again.

But then you remember your best friend's birthday is in 2 weeks, and you groan loudly. Okay, so you kinda have to drink for that, but mark your words now, that will be the very last time that you do!

Your phone buzzes on your bed beside you, lighting up the dark little fortress you’ve created around yourself. And whelp, looks like you never plugged it in last night. You’re honestly surprised it’s even still alive. You’d have to write a tweet to Apple about how their phone actually made it 24 hours on one charge. You’re sure that’s something they’d like to know about, as that was a highly uncommon thing to actually happen.

You reach over to grab your phone, picking it up and bringing it close to your face, before hissing at the brightness and yanking it away with such force you’re surprised you didn’t fling it across the room. You squint your eyes as you fumble to turn the brightness down, and once you successfully have you bring the screen back to you. Directly in front of your face so your blurry, dry eyes can actually read it.

And instantly you gasp loudly, your eyes watching as notification after notification pops up on your lock screen. Your twitter is blowing up right now and a cold sweat promptly rips through you. Because oh God, did you do it again?! Did you seriously post something while stupidly drunk again?!

Fuck. You groan, unlocking your phone quickly to check. Because for some ungodly reason, drunk you always insisted on posting the stupidest tweets. Normally you’d wake up the next morning, hungover and a little closer to death than the day before, and you’d open your twitter to find all the ridiculous shit you’d posted about, the previous night. Usually all of which only had maybe a retweet or two, a couple likes and usually at least one comment—thanks to your lovely best friend. Her comments normally consisting of both laughing at you and calling you out for being a crazy drunk tweeter. She just knew you and your quirks far too well. It was seriously a problem.

But this time, this time was clearly entirely different. However that was just an educated guess, due mainly to the hundreds of notifications that you now had, thanks to whatever your dumb drunk ass had posted, which had obviously blown up. And now you’d be lucky if you could sweep it under the rug like you’d always done in the past.

Oh God, please don’t let it be another praising tweet to some figure head or celebrity. That seemed to be your go to favourite thing to drunk-tweet. You had this weird need to cheer random strangers up when you were drunk. This insistent desire to support and appreciate the people you idolized. Oh please God say you didn’t tag the person the tweet was about this time.

Your shaky thumb clicks the iconic blue and white, Twitter app icon. Completely ignoring the ridiculous number in the little red circle on the icons top right corner, as you do. You haven’t even read the tweet yet and already you’re freaking the fuck out.

You quickly make your way to your profile and your eyes widen at the insanely large rant, that’s continued through multiple separate tweets, and is now sitting at the top of your page. Your eyes skim over them all, in order of posting, and you cringe, truly and utterly mortified now.

‘Do you ever just hear of someone in passing, or see them in the media, and have this instantaneous deep longing emotion within you. Not a longing in the sense of wanting them, but entirely due to hoping with everything inside you that they find their true happiness one day..’

‘..‪That they wake up in a few years and smile, like truly smile, because they are exactly where they wanted to be. Where they deserved to be. That they’d ended up with every desire they had yearned for. And I’m not talking about material objects. I’m talking life goals and accomplishments..’‬

‪‘..I’m talking about the true important aspects of life. The things that actually matter in the grand scheme of it all. Well, that is how I feel whenever someone brings up Steve Rogers. Or whenever I see an article or a news story about him. I instantly have this desperate want for him..’‬

‪‘..to be happy. Truly and utterly happy. The man deserves exactly that, and yet so much more. What with everything he has done for us and this planet. If anyone in this world has earned their happily ever after, it’s that man.’ ‬

‪Oh God. You groan, as your free hand comes up to cover your face in sheer horror and embarrassment. I mean, at least the silver lining here is you didn’t make any major spelling mistakes, and you also luckily, completely forget to actually tag him in it. So those are both small victories, in and of themselves. ‬

‪But the fact parts of that rant had blown up, regardless of you actually tagging him, is a little disheartening. You’re pretty sure he’s either seen it or been informed about it by now. And even if by the off chance he hasn’t, you know it’s only a matter of time before that changes. ‬

‪You scroll through the notifications and you feel your heart stop, as all the blood leaves your body and goes—honestly who knows where it goes, but it definitely doesn’t stick around to be apart of this train wreck of a situation. You abruptly sit up, the blankets falling from your upper body and pooling around your waist now.

‪Tony Stark retweeted your post. ‬

‪5 little words that make you want to delete every social media account you currently have, plus move to ‬Lesotho or something. Never heard of Lesotho? Well, that’s exactly why you’d picked to move there. Because most people don’t really know it even exists, nor where to find it on a map. So it would be the perfect place to hide away, and start a new life under a fake name.

Yup, it’s settled. Pack your bags, we’re moving to Lesotho!

You don’t even have it in you to read Mr. Starks response back to your tweets, nor dig any further into your notifications to see who else may have retweeted this whole mess. God, what is wrong with yo—

Your phone ringing scares the complete shit out of you, damn near chucking the metal brick across your room, for the second time this morning if anyone is keeping tabs, as your heart thumps loudly in your chest. However, you manage to keep a firm grip on your phone, but just barely. Effectively saving the thing from an untimely death, thanks to being forcefully introduced to your bedrooms brick wall.

Though come to think of it, maybe smashing it would be the best option here?

You sigh deeply as you finally notice it’s your best friend calling, a groan leaving your throat as you then instantly realize that she is probably calling thanks to your stupid Drunk Twitter rant. You contemplate not answering for a second, you could pretend you’re still asleep. But you know she’ll just keep calling until you answer, or worse, she’ll just show up at your house and let herself in with her spare key. Then you won’t have the luxury of hanging up on her if her teasing gets to be too much.

So as you click the answer button and hesitantly raise the phone to your ear, you prepare yourself for your incoming humiliation. I mean, more so than your already currently experiencing. Which is both surprising and frustrating, because who knew you could ever be this mortified in real life? You certainly didn’t, but yet here you are.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Lindsey’s loud voice mixed with her unabashed laughter rings out of the phones speaker, it’s so loud that you instantly yanked the phone away from your ear. Your headache coming back tenfold as you groan loudly and message the side of your skull.

“Giiiiirl!!” She hollers now, and so lustrously that you can hear her perfectly, even with the phone still being nowhere near your ear. “What the hell were you drinking last night? And where can I get me some!”

You grumble out a, “you need to lower your voice or I’m hanging up on you.”

“Awe, is someone a little hungover today?” She coos in a motherly voice, though at a much quieter level now, at least enough to warrant putting the phone back to your ear once again. However her voice may be softer now, but the playful and teasing edge to her tone is as loud as a freaking bomb.

“More like dead,” you mumble falling back down to lay on your bed and slinging your free arm over your eyes. “Or at least I wish I was.”

Her gleeful cackle rings out of the phones speaker now. “Girl, don’t say that! I’d miss you too much, and you’re fucking famous now!”

You just groan, not even remotely interested in what she means by that.

“Oh, and why am I famous now, Lindsey?” She says in a mocking tone, clearly trying to impersonate you, but in your opinion not coming anywhere close. “It’s so wonderful you should ask Y/N! Probably because your tweets are all over the news stations, social media and the internet. Even most of the Avengers have already retweeted it, most notably Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson AND Bucky Barnes. Ya know, all of Steve Roger’s best friends. But yet, no one has commented on whether the recipient of your beautiful drunken words has actually seen it or not. Buuuuut we can all assume he probably has.”

“Can we just not do this today?” You roll onto your side, your free hand now pulling the duvet up and over your head again. “I am in far too much pain and far too humiliated to be having this conversation right now. Can we please, for the love of all things that are holy, talk about something else? Anything else, I beg you!”

“Hell no!” She exclaims, you wincing at the abrupt volume change. “My best friend is famous! And all because she drank too much wine and tweeted a ridiculously sweet rant about thee Captain America! Honestly, this. Is. Just. Too. Damn. Good.” She squeals, “you can’t even write better shit than this!”

“Lindsey,” you groan, “I am way too hungover and under caffeinated for this right now. Seriously, I’m going to hang up now and hopefully fucking die.”

“Fine, fine,” she relents but you can still hear the humour in her voice, “I promise I’ll drop it, for now. But get your sexy ass out of that bed and meet me in the kitchen STAT.”

“Uuugh,” you drag the sound out. “You’re freaking in my house right now, aren’t you?”

“I am,” she says gleefully. “But before you flip shit, don’t. I brought coffee and bagels, so be a good girl and get your ass out here or I’m going to eat all of it myself.”

You don’t even respond as you hang up the phone, she had you at ‘coffee’. You quickly flip the blankets off yourself and roll out of bed. Not even bothering to check yourself out in the mirror because honestly, Lindsey has seen you at your worst. So she is entirely used to this from you.

You trudge your way out to the kitchen, seeing your best friend pulling wrapped food from a brown bag and you groan again, but this time happily. Her eyes dart up to you and she gives you a once over, a small frown on her lips now.

“Oh boo thang, you look horrendous,” she says softly, sweetly, as you reach her, and she hands you the large to go cup of coffee. “Drink this. Then go jump in the shower, you stink like shame and poor life choices,” she scrunches up her nose playfully.

“I honestly don’t think a shower will remove those particular smells from my skin. I think that’s just my natural scent now,” you giggle as you take a deep waft of the glorious life juice’s warm aroma, a content sigh coming out on the exhale. You bring the drink to your lips and almost moan. Yes, you are this much of a coffee nut. You take a few generous gulps then stumble over to the counter stools and plop down. “But a shower does sounds like a good plan,” you nod, the cup staying close to your mouth for quick and easy access.

She hums in agreement, nodding as she hands you a wrapped up bagel. “So, should we talk about what caused you to want to get ‘Sappy Drunk Tweets’ wasted last night or?”

You sigh, “I just had a shit day at work. My boss was a raging asshole, yet again.” You shake your head, “but what’s new?”

“I can not stand that evil little man!” Your friend growls. “You seriously need to find a new job, Y/N. You can’t keep working for that piece of shit anymore. And I honestly don’t think your poor liver can take much more of these semi frequent beatings. Somethings gotta change.”

“I know, I know,” you nod, “I’ve been searching for something else, but there just isn’t many available jobs at the moment. But I’m hopeful I’ll find something soon.” You take another large gulp of the sweet, sweet liquid gold, feeling as the warmth radiates throughout your whole body, as your brain slowly begins to rejoin the land of the living.

It’s been a few days since your stupid drunken escapades on Twitter, and a few days since Lindsey visited. You both had enjoyed your coffee and bagels, talking about everything and nothing. Luckily she had kept the drunk tweet talk to a minimum, like she promised. And once you were all done that, Lindsey headed off to work and you hopped in the shower, before spending the entire day on your couch, watching movies and pointedly ignoring your phone. Or rather, the never ending string of notifications on said phone.

So now you’ve been basically hiding out since then, only leaving your house to go to work or to make a quick trip to the store down the block from your apartment. The stupid tweets are still blowing up, people are still retweeting them and talking about them.

You’d hoped this would have all blown over by now, that something else ridiculous would have come along and stolen everyone's attention. But alas, you aren’t that lucky. Because not a damn thing is going on in the world right now, obviously, as everyone is still very much hung up on your whole embarrassing sap fest.

So much so that you are being recognized now as the ‘Steve Tweet Woman’. Which is just fucking outstanding—ha! not!

News outlets, websites and talk shows have been blowing up your phone and email, asking for comments or to set up interviews. Wanting to know if anyone from Steve’s camp has reached out to you, or if you’ve been invited to the tower to meet the team. Also asking if you and the Avengers are now friends, or at the very least acquaintances. And those are just a few of the things they are asking you. Honestly, those are the least ridiculous questions—which is freaking sad.

So leaving your house has become a damn chore now, you have to wear a full disguise just in the hopes no one recognizes you. This is not what you wanted at all. Shit, you don’t even know what you wanted from making that tweet, but this for sure was not it. Not even close.

You’d avoided Twitter along with all your social media playforms since that dreadful morning, as well. You were just too overwhelmed with all the notifications and messages you’d been receiving ever since. Far too many to ever read, let alone even keep up with. Nor did you want to see what any of them actually said.

You sigh, trying to focus back on your computer monitor. You were currently at work, hiding out in your cubicle and keeping your head down.

At the moment you worked as a writer for a news and entertainment website, much like Buzzfeed but nowhere near as large or well known—And I know! Ironic right? Uuuugh! Your damn life was just such a joke.

Your cubicle neighbour, Tyler, springs up over your divider wall. His arms resting on the top as his chin sits on them, a small frown on his face. So this obviously isn’t going to be good.

“Do I even want to know?” You ask quietly before he can utter a word.

He sighs, “probably not. But sadly you kinda have to know.”

“Okay,” you spun slightly in your chair to face him fully. “I’m ready, lay it on me.”

“The boss saw your tweets,” he starts and you wince in embarrassment. “He messaged me as your email keeps sending his messages back undelivered. So you should probably check into that, but first, he wants to see you in his office.”

You groan, dropping your forehead onto your desk with a thud, “my email has been so swamped the last few days that I shut down the receiver.”

“Understandable,” he says quietly, and you can hear that the frown is still present on his face.

“Does he want to see me now?” You peek up at him.

He nods, “yeah, said it was urgent.”

“Shit,” you mumble and sit up, grabbing a notebook and pen quickly as you stand from your chair. “Well, wish me luck, hopefully he doesn’t just fire me the second I walk through the door.”

Tyler shakes his head, “he’d be an even bigger idiot than we all currently think he is, if he did that. Don’t sweat it, at worst he’ll probably just throw a tantrum and give you a slap on the wrist.”

“On second thought, I think I’ll just quit instead,” you say playfully as you walk out of your cubicle. Hearing Tyler’s deep chuckle behind you as you do.

“But then who will keep me entertained everyday?”

“You’ll find someone,” you giggle, shrugging. “My replacement, most likely. Though sadly they will never be as awesome as me!”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he agrees as he lowers back down into his chair and you continue on towards your bosses office.

A moment later you find yourself standing outside of his closed door, notepad clutched to your chest. You have no idea what this impromptu meeting will be about, but you can only assume it has something to do with your stupid drunken posts.

You take a deep breath in, raising your fist up to knock on the door. And a moment later hearing a muffled and authoritative, “enter.” God, he really was just such an entitled asshole.

You open the door and peek your head in, “you wanted to see me, Sir?”

He glances up and nods, “ah, Y/N. Yes, come in.”

You quickly open the door and make your way into his office, closing the door and then hastily moving to stand in front of him.

He interlocks his fingers together and rests his hands on his desk, just staring at you. “Why isn’t your email working?”

“Oh, uh,” you shift awkwardly in your spot. “I um, I shut it off for a bit.” You nod, “just till I could get caught up on the emails I already have.”

He raises a brow at you, “your email is being swamped with messages, I take it?”

You nod again, “ah yes, Sir.”

“Does that have anything to do with the tweets you sent out last week?”

You almost groan, almost, but manage to contain it. “It—it does, Sir.”

He nods, glancing to his monitor, “now normally, foolish shenanigans such as this would be grounds for termination. And I was going to fire you for the embarrassment you’ve brought on this company, but I had a change of heart. So you won’t be losing your position just yet.”

You nod slowly, wishing you could give this idiot a piece of your mind. But your need to pay bills and have a job forces you to bite your tongue. “Oh, um, thank you, Sir.”

“But,” he flicks his beady eyes back to you, “you will have to make this up to me.”

You almost gulp, what the hell does that even mean?! “Um, how,” you clear your throat, “how exactly would you like me to do that?”

He leans back in his chair, a smirk on his lips. One that instantly causes a chill to run down your spin, and this time you do gulp. “There is a press conference in 3 days. You are going to attend it on behalf of our website.”

You nod, following along so far, and honestly this doesn’t sound so bad. Getting to be at a conference first hand is a huge accomplishment. Being trusted enough to be the one present is a big deal in this company. Normally only seasoned writers get to attend such functions.

Yet, something about this feels...off. Like there is a shoe about to drop nearby and you can’t shake that thought. “Okay, um of course, Sir. But what is the press release for, exactly?”

His smirk grows into a full blown grin and your heart rate picks up instantly because of it. “I’m so glad you should ask,” he nods, “It's a press conference for the Avengers. They are opening their new facility and are holding a press junket to cut the rope and answer some questions.”

And instantly you choke on air, no joke, then coughing a few times to clear your airway. Because oh fuck. Fuckity fucking fuck fuck. Why you?! Why does life always do this to you?!

“Um, Sir,” you start quietly once you stop coughing. “I don’t um—this is not to say that I’m not completely honoured that you’d choose me for this job. But uh, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to send me to this. Not with everything currently going on, at least.” You swallow thickly, your hands turning clammy as your nerves pick up. “There, ah, there has to be someone more qualified to send to this event. Ya know, someone other than me.”

He shakes his head, “there isn’t. And even if there was, I can’t send anyone else. You were specifically asked for by name, we weren’t even originally supposed to attend this press release. Only larger media outlets were invited.” He opens his top drawer in his desk and pulls out an access pass on a lanyard, holding it out to you. You gingerly step forward to take it then take a few hasty steps back once it’s in your grasp. “You were the only one invited, and were given an all access pass for the whole event.”

You gaped at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as you glance between your boss and the press pass currently in your hand. “But ah,” you shake your head, “why me?”

He shrugs, “probably because of those silly posts you made. You clearly caught someone's attention. So get to work, you have a press conference to prepare for,” he dismisses you with a wave of his hand.

But you just stay firmly planted in your spot, “Sir, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Oh but it is.” His eyes shoot to you and narrow, “so you either attend that conference or I’ll fire you. We are making the most out of your blunder here, don’t mess this up. You only have one shot at this, and I expect the article from this to not only be outstanding, but also on my desk Monday morning. This is the break our website needs, but if you aren’t willing to pull your weight and fix your mistakes, then we don’t have a place here for you anymore. So it’s your choice, Miss Y/L/N.”

You sigh defeatedly, and nod, “okay, I’ll do it.”

“I figured you would,” he nods once then turns back to his computer screen. “Close the door behind you.”

You nod, spinning on your heels and exit the room. Shutting the door softly behind you like he’d asked and then heading back to your desk to start preparing for this press conference.

But all you can think about is how truly mortifying this whole week has already been. And it’s clearly only going to get worse from here on out. How do you get yourself into these things? Now someone from the Avengers team has specifically requested that you be there. Great.

Were they planning to embarrass you further? Were they going to make a mockery of you because of a stupid drunken mistake? Were you going to regret accepting this article instead of just quitting?

You glance down at the press pass in your hand and sigh, there is no way to know currently just how this will all play out. But sadly, you’ll be finding out the answers to your questions soon enough. And in a little less than 3 days, at that.

You stand in front of your full length mirror—wearing the seventeenth outfit you’ve tried on so far this morning—and trying desperately to find faults with it. In all honesty, all the outfits you’ve tried on had looked perfectly fine and would have worked. But you were determined to stall, to waste as much time on pointless outfit changes as you could, so that you didn’t have to face your reality.

That reality being that today was the day, today was the Avengers press conference at the new facility. And oh God, how you really did not want to have to do this today.

I mean, the moon wasn’t in the right placement. Nor was Jupiter currently aligned. And your horoscope had warned you about ‘life changing events should you venture out of your box.’ And you could only assume said life changing events weren’t going to be good ones, and this was very much venturing outside of your box. Plus like, you just had this strange gut feeling, something deep inside you telling you that something was going to happen today—And one should always trust their gut in true times of crisis.

So really, that was all to say that this was a horrible idea, and you should probably just stay home. Yeah, it’s settled then, you’ll stay home. That was a much smarter plan for sure.

Your hired car pulls up to the large, intimidating steel and glass structure and you instantly feel like you’re going to puke. And if the hired car didn’t charge you your first born for doing just that, you’d gladly probably have puked in this exact moment. It comes to a stop and you thank the driver before collecting up your belongings and climbing out.

Glancing around you notice a bunch of people hanging about, some with large camera’s around their necks, others with microphones. But all are wearing various passes, some look similar to yours, however none match it entirely. Your hand grabs on to the pass around your neck and pulls it away from your body to examine it more closely.

Yeah, yours is the only one like it, that you can currently see. Which yeah, that’s extremely odd, for sure. You release the pass, letting it fall back to your chest and head towards the check in booth, just wanting to get this all over with so you can promptly go home and die of humiliation in your bed. Alone and away from the world.

You give one of the ladies at the table your full name and instantly notice a wicked smirk appear upon her lips as she hears it. Which honestly can’t be a good sign for what’s to come. No, this is a sign you should probably just leave now. The universe is clearly trying to warn you, but your dumb, job needing ass can’t leave. No matter how much you desperately want to.

She hands you a map, pointing to the location where you will be standing for the conference. Then she points behind herself, in the direction you are to head and you mumble a quick thank you before heading the way she showed you.

As you make your way to the location, you continuously glance between the map in your hands and the area around you. The last thing you need right now is to get lost on this insanely large property, and end up missing the press release all together. Oh God, your boss would pitch a fit if that happened.

Your heels click on the cement ground, thankful you aren’t trudging it through grass at the moment. Heels and grass do not mix, and with your luck you’d probably end up twisting an ankle or snapping a heel. And the last thing you want right now is to draw unwanted attention to yourself. Ya know, more so than you already have.

You glance down at the outfit you’d finally begrudgingly decided on, choosing to stick to basic shades to help you blend in a little better. No fancy or colourful prints or shades today. No, blacks and whites was what you went with. Hoping that most of the other press members would be dressed similarly. And with one glance around you, that hope actually came true.

You’d decided to go with a black pleather pencil skirt, that was form fitting but also flattering to all your softer areas. With a long sleeve white shirt tucked into it, and simple black pumps. It was a pretty basic look, but that’s exactly what you were going for. You wanted to blend in, praying none of the Avengers or press would even noticed you, let alone figured out you were the drunken Twitter tweeter.

God, doesn’t that just sound so stupid? The ‘Twitter tweeter’. Just ridiculous. And to think, this is your life now! This is who you are now. Seriously, the next time you drink, you are going to leave your phone at work. As you clearly can’t be trusted with it when you’re intoxicated.

As you make your way closer to the spot the nice lady had shown you, you realize that you are the only one in this location. All the other press are further down, in front of the stage, whereas your place is off to the side. It has a perfect view of the stage, but there is nothing and no one to hide behind.

You halt your steps, and even though it’s a beautiful sunny day, you feel a cold sweat come on. Are they segregating you? Are they going to make an example out of you? Or treat you like some circus clown?

You know these thoughts are ridiculous, these are world heroes we’re talking about here. Good people who put their lives on the line everyday for everyone else. But maybe they are going to force you into speaking to the press, maybe they are going to use you for good PR. Your stupid tweets are the hot topic at the moment, everyone is wanting the inside scoop on you, your life and your possible new affiliation with the mighty team.

But being in the spotlight isn’t your thing, you like to be unknown, anonymous. Just another face in the crowd. And if this is an ambush, then take you the fuck off that sign up list. You are not interested in this being spun around on you. Fuck that.

You turn on your heel and head back to the main press area, you’d just hide out there amongst all the other reporters and journalists. At least you could hang in the back and keep your head down while you take notes.

You might be overthinking this. Or be acting a little too irrational at the moment. But cut yourself some slack, this week has been hellish and overwhelming, to say the least. And your poor frazzled mind is in overdrive mode, overthinking the smallest things and making you a bit of a basket case. Clearly you don’t handle stressors like this very well. That’s obviously a flaw of yours, but one you very much do not plan on addressing today. Or ever, maybe. But definitely not here and now.

You reach the main press area and tuck yourself into a back row chair, lowering your large black purse onto the ground and digging through it to grab your notebook, recorder, pens and your phone. You’d record the whole press release, taking notes and photos here and there. Then when it was all over you planned to hightail it out of here, long before anyone noticed you. Hopefully. That was the plan anyways.

You glance around, noticing a few nearby press members staring intently at you. God, you hope none of them cause a scene and point you out. You quickly glance up at the stage, seeing that it is still empty and none of the team is up there yet. So you drop your eyes down and decide to just doodle in your notebook till the junket begins.

Time seems to be ticking along at an alarmingly slow pace. Probably just because you are so desperate for this to all be over, therefore it’s doing the opposite now. The minutes currently feeling like hours to you.

Finally, after weeks of waiting—at least you swear it’s been that long. You hear commotion up on the stage, and notice as everyone around you is seated now, taking photos. You grab your phone and flick your eyes up to the stage, seeing the mighty group of heroes slowly ascending the stairs and fanning out on the platform.

You snap a few shots and then prepare your recorder, hitting the button to start it once Tony Stark makes his way to the microphone. You balance the recorder on your left leg, your notebook open on your light and pen at the ready. Your phone sitting in between both legs, fully charged, set to silent and camera app open.

The conference starts with Tony doing a speech, thanking everyone for being here and just general PR stuff. You are sort of paying attention, but also not. You know that you can always listen to the recording later if you miss any part of this conference, so there isn’t a huge weight on you to be fully listening currently.

So instead, you get lost in your own mind, continuing to berate and chide yourself for your horrible life choices. Ya know, all the ones that led up to this very moment. You keep your eyes down for most of the event, only glancing up periodically to snap a few more photos here and there. But then they flick back down to continue doodling in your notebook.

On the plus side, the grassy, flowery meadow you have been drawing this whole time is looking wonderful. Even if it’s only in all blue and black pen ink. But focusing on this is better than possibly locking eyes with the poor victim of your latest drunk tweets. You know he is up there, because they all are. And the last thing you want is to look at him currently. Your immense guilt and humiliation preventing you from even entertaining the idea of ogling the handsome man right now. Not even a little bit, no matter how badly you want to. No matter how much you want to see just how attractive he is in person. You can’t allow yourself to.

You don’t even really deserve to be here right now, the only reason you are, is because drunk you is a sappy asshole. Had you not posted those stupid tweets, you wouldn’t have been invited here today. God, how you wish you had a time machine right now.

You’d made a bunch of mistakes throughout your life, I mean, who hasn’t? But this one was by far the worst, you were definitely paying for this one. Tenfold. Maybe this is the wake up call drunk-you needs though. Hopefully she will have learned her lesson from all of this. Buuuuuut knowing her, probably not.

You sigh, picking up your phone to take a few more photos as the time nears to the official opening of the facility. To the rope cutting, which is the true reason you are all here today. You keep your eyes on your phones screen, but movement off to the side of the stage catches your eyes and they snap from the screen to it.

They lock with a greyish blue set, and you see the owner of said eyes glance over your face momentarily, before a smirk breaks out on his lips. Bucky Barnes aka The Winter Soldier aka Steve Roger’s lifelong best friend. You are currently having a stare off with an ex hydra assassin, and an insanely good one at that.

You are just about to break the eye contact when you notice him elbow the blonde super soldier to his right. Leaning in once he has the other man's attention and whispering something in his ear, before his head nods in your direction. Oh God, this also can’t be fucking good.

The blonde furrows his brows for a moment, his eyes scanning the crowd before they land on you. And the second your eyes meet, you are fucking trapped. Because, Jesus! This man is basically a human bear trap, and your ass just willing stepped right on to it.

Greeeeeat. Now you’re having a stare off with thee Steve Rogers. Just exceptional. Note the extreme sarcasm.

And then you notice as he frowns, most likely now realizing you are the crazy lady who tweeted about him. He snaps his eyes away from you, turning to glare at his best friend. Who only grins wider in return and then shrugs his shoulders before nodding his head to the billionaire at the podium. Mr. Roger’s heated gaze then flicks to the side of Mr. Stark’s head, narrowing a little more and honestly, if looks could kill, everyone here today would be witnesses to a murder. To the death of Iron Man, at the eyes of Captain America.

And oh fuck, this is not going well. So much for going unnoticed. You can’t do this, you can’t be here any longer. This is all just too much and you want to go home.

You quickly pack up your belongings, throwing them haphazardly into your large purse. As the tears of humiliation begin prickling in your eyes. What did you do to deserve any of this? Clearly you fucked up in a past life and now you were paying for it in this one.

Your eyes involuntarily glance back up to the stage, tears threatening to fall but you try to force them to hold off until you are away from this place. Away from all the prying eyes. The last thing you need is photos of you crying like a baby, at the Avengers new facility opening, to start circulating the internet and only adding fuel to the fire.

They’d probably play it up like you were this insanely huge fan, and just being here made your crazy come out to play. Bawling your eyes out for just being here, in the presence of the hero you so clearly had lady wood for. But yet, that wasn’t it at all. You know most of these people were probably too focused on Mr. Stark to even notice the moment between the super soldiers. You’re pretty sure you were the only one who actually did see it.

Your eyes lock once again on the intense pair of blue ones, finding yourself momentarily trapped all over again. Then his eyebrows furrowing snaps you out of it, thankfully, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek. You quickly wipe it away as you turn and hastily make for the press area exit.

You don’t look back, you can’t bare to see the relief probably on Mr. Rogers face now. He is probably thankful you are leaving early. He probably never wanted to actually see you in the flesh. He probably thinks you are just some ridiculous, crazed fan who went out of her way to either try to get noticed by him, or boost her career via the exposure.

God, how far from the truth that actually was. But not like you’d ever get the chance to prove that to anyone now. You vow in this exact moment to delete your twitter the second you get into the Uber. Like completely deactivate your whole account. Then you’d have no way to embarrass yourself ever again. At least not publicly, not in front of the entire world.

As you reach the spot where the hired car had dropped you off, you pull out your phone and open your Uber app. You had a hired car set up to pick you up later on, for when the press release was supposed to be over. But as it was still early and now only over for just you, you needed a ride and fast.

You begin filling out the order, hastily walking down the laneway towards the main road. Like hell were you going to stay standing on the facilities grounds any longer. Risking being seen or stopped by random press members. You’d just meet the car down the road a bit. That was the best plan here.

But as you are making your hasty get away, you hear fast footfalls coming up behind you. And you cringe slightly, too nervous to turn around and see who is coming towards you currently. You pray it’s just someone running to meet their car. Maybe one of the press people has an emergency and needs to leave early because of it?

“Hey, hold up,” a deep voice calls from behind you, effectively killing that last thought dead in its tracks. Much like you wish would happen to you right now. If you could just drop dead in this moment, you totally would. You didn’t have suicidal thoughts, ever, but in this exact moment, you’d take any out you could get. The sheer humiliation of this week finally crashing down on you.

You sigh, quickly wiping your cheeks of the few tears that refused to stay put in your eyes, and slowly turn around as the footsteps near you and come to a deafening halt. You know whoever it is, is now only a few feet away from you and there is no avoiding this awkward situation any longer.

You instantly realize the person now standing mere feet from you, is the very last person you want to be anywhere near right now. Even with keeping your eyes down, focused entirely on the ground so that whoever the person ended up being wouldn’t see the tears, now in your eyes. You still instantly know that it’s Steve Rogers, the newest and current victim of your drunken praise, and it now takes everything in you to not start rambling out a ridiculous apology, while also bawling your eyes out.

A heavy silence looms over you, starting to feel as if you are being crushed by it. You take a deep breath, keeping your eyes honed in on the cement ground. “I um, I’m really, really sorry,” you start, the words coming out raspy from your unused and tear tingled voice. The volume barely above a whisper so you quickly clear your throat, “I shouldn’t have come here today. I ah, I didn’t want to ever make you feel uncomfortable in any way. And I guess I just need to apologize to you for my ridiculous antics last week. And ah, and for stupidly agreeing to come to this junket. I’ll just um,” you glance over your shoulder momentarily. “I’ll just be going now,” you finally glanced up at him, as you gesture with your thumb over your shoulder and take a step back. “Sorry again, for um, for everything.”

But holy fuck, he is so much better looking than you could have ever imagined. Up close and personal he is a freaking dream boat—Argh! You have no right to ogle this man! Give your damn head a shake. You are the very last person on this planet who is allowed to fangirl over him right now.

You quickly turn and continue to hastily make your way towards the road, not even giving him a moment to respond to your words. You don’t need him to say anything back though, he doesn’t owe you a damn thing. You are the dick that brought this all on to not only in yourself, but this poor man as well.

You got the chance to apologize to him, which is more than you could have ever asked for. Now you just want this all to be over. You just want to go home and pretend like this entire week never happened. He can go back to his normal life, and you to yours.

God, you could really use a stiff drink right now, but that’s what got you into this whole mess in the first place. So that’s probably not the smartest idea at the moment. So instead you’ll settle for a giant tub of ice cream and a lengthy, tear filled, phone call with your bestie.

“Wait,” he says softly, probably so he doesn’t startle you any further, as you feel a large warm hand grasp your elbow, urging you to turn back around.

You clench your eyes shut, why can’t this just all be over already?! Why you?! You take a deep stuttering breath in then open your eyes and turn to face him again. He releases your elbow as you do and then you awkwardly lock eyes with him once again.

One of his large hands comes up to rub the back of his neck, the action almost looking sheepish. Clearly he also has a few words for you, and whatever they are you’ll totally deserve them. Even if they are chastising you for your stupid posts. So you quickly steel yourself for what’s about to come.

“I ah, I wasn’t—“ he pauses then quickly corrects himself, “I’m not uncomfortable about you being here,” he shakes his head, “not at all. I just—firstly, I just wanted to apologize to you, actually. I know they probably forced you to be here today, I don’t really know how, but judging by your reaction to all of this, I’m guessing you really had no say in being here.“ He sighs deeply, “I had no idea that they’d actually invited you, so I can only assume that Tony played a huge hand in all of this. He really likes to insert himself into other people's lives, so I apologize that you got dragged into this. He doesn’t really know when to butt out.”

You nod slowly as you glance down to the ground again, “it’s okay. You really don’t owe me anything, I honestly brought this all on myself. I um, I don’t blame anyone else for any of this, but thank you for saying all of that.” You look back up at him, “it really helps to hear. This week has just been—“ you cut yourself off with a deep sigh, as you wave a dismissive hand around, “sorry, that’s really not important. Um, just basically thank you, ya know, for easing my mind with all of this.”

He frowns a little, but quickly corrects it. And you still just honestly want this all to be done with. But he looks like he still has more to say, so looks like your hopes will go unanswered this time. And just as you suspected he speaks up again.

He shakes his head, “don’t mention it, but I should really be the one thanking you.”

Awe, isn’t that just so dang sweet of him—wait, what?! I’m sorry, come again?! Your eyes widen as your mouth falls open slightly. You imagine it’s a super attractive look—note the sarcasm again—but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care about that at the moment. Because what did he just say?

Your eyebrows furrow after far too long of a moment with you just gaping up at him. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but um, why exactly would you owe me a thank you?”

He smiles down at you, then quickly glances over his shoulder before looking back to you. “I’ll explain all that, but first, can I show you something?”

You find yourself nodding before you’ve even realized it. “Um, yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“Okay, great. Just uh, just follow me then,” he says through a hesitant smile as he leads you off and away from the gathering. You aren’t sure where exactly he is taking you, but for the first time all week, you aren’t worried at all. Probably because this is Steve Rogers, the man out of time, and a true gentleman, in every sense of the word.

And maybe, just maybe, your hellish week that all began thanks to one stupid drunk moment, might just end on a way better note. Maybe your Drunk Twitter escapades weren’t all bad. Maybe they weren’t entirely horrible.

But honestly who really knows, you’d just have to wait and find out.

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Part 2 of this, from Steve POV, will be coming sometime this week! So stay tuned for that!

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[writethelifeyouwant]

You Got Iced - Chapter One

Pairing: Jared x Reader x Jensen

Rating: M, for language (future chapters will be explicit)

Summary: Inspired in part by the challenge prompt and in part by this convention https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAHS_RJ5Gac (which is fucking hilarious, go enjoy yourselves there). The reader is attending a Supernatural convention during a heat wave and gets her money’s worth out of her ticket that’s for sure. 

Word Count: 3556

Warnings: None for this chapter

A/N: Written for @babypieandwhiskey ‘s Hot as Hell challenge. This is only chapter one of an undetermined number. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the rest of the chapters shoot me an ask! I’ll be posting them over the next couple weeks as I finish them. I’m in the process of moving to a different country so it’s taking me a little longer to write than I’d hoped :) (Also I’ve only been to cons in my dreams so sorry if things aren’t totally realistic in that respect).

The convention hall, also known as the shabby ballroom of the Hilton on Main, was clouded in an ungodly, sticky heat that had descended, seemingly from nowhere, the previous night. Even the oppressive heat hadn’t dampened the palpable excitement of the hundreds of people that were crowding into each other’s personal space, waiting for the boys. A dance, so identical it was practically choreographed, spread throughout the audience as the minutes slipped by. People’s heads nodded up and down as they checked the clocks on their phones and then checked the stage again, finding it still empty. 

Then a shocking scream erupted from a corner of the room where a ripple of the curtain had announced the imminent arrival of Rob and his band of merry men. Shouts rang out as the band populated the stage and without introduction, cranked out discordant rock chords. 

“How you all doing today?” Rob shouted into the microphone and answering hollers echoed back. “No one melted yet?” 

An answering “No!” came back from the crowd. 

“Alright well let’s get this show on the road before that happens!” 

Cheers erupted as the music started, Rob introducing himself, Michael, Billy and Stephen, and Rich who had popped up from behind the curtain in the meantime. 

“So hey,” Rich had grabbed his own microphone, “I saw a couple guys lurking backstage, I think you guys might know them, those two really tall motherfuckers that are on TV all the time?” The shrieks that flew out of the crowd must have made the band glad they had earplugs in. “I’m gonna assume that means you guys want them up here too?” Rich prodded with a smirk. More screams. “Yeah I thought so, everyone give it up for Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles!” 

The boys, somehow dressed in flannels despite the god awful heat, jogged out on stage, waving and smiling and lapping up the outcry from the nearly hysterical audience members. Picking up the microphones that were waiting for them on the chairs in the centre of the stage, they settled themselves in, Jared flipping his chair around and earning some extra swooning screams because he somehow managed to make that simple movement incredibly seductive. 

To be honest, you were glad you had a railing to lean against as you watched them. Terrified excitement gripped your chest as you stared up at them enjoying the turmoil they had engendered, and you felt sweat pooling at the base of your spine that had nothing to do with the sweltering humidity you’d been standing in all morning. You were in one of the two lines of incredibly lucky humans stood near the front of the room, with your question scribbled on a piece of paper in case you totally lost your mind when it was your turn to talk to them. 

Just as the noise finally began to die down Jensen grinned into the mic and said, “Hi guys,” pulling a whole new wave of cheers from everyone. 

“How are you guys doing?” Jared asked, nodding along to the answers of “great, amazing, good, boiling” that were making their way back to him. They both laughed. “Yeah, it is pretty hot in here isn’t it?”

“Sorry guys, that’s my fault,” Jensen smirked, and Jared shot him a teasing look and fanned himself wildly. 

“Seriously, is this normal for here, did we just totally miss a memo?” Jared asked. The crowd shouted that this was completely not normal, it was some sort of sign of the apocalypse, curse from God, that sort of thing. “Oh good, so we’re not total morons,” he nodded, shaking the front of his shirt to encourage some airflow. 

“You know what might help, man?” Jensen asked. 

“What?” Jared’s face told the crowd that he genuinely didn’t know where Jensen was going with that question. 

“If you took the fucking beanie off.” 

Laughter rang out followed by hollers of encouragement as Jared shook his head but pulled off the wool knit cap, shaking out his hair and pushing it back out of his eyes. 

“Yeah okay, the hat was a stupid move today,” Jared admitted, tossing it casually straight into Jensen’s face. “Do you guys like not know what air conditioning is or…” laughs rippled through the audience and a garbled shout you couldn’t make out made its way towards the stage. 

“What was that?” Jensen asked, leaning forward as if that was gonna make it easier to hear. You heard the words repeated but you still couldn’t understand them. 

“Bring back strip question?” Jared clarified. The boys chuckled as answering shrieks reached a heightened level of hysteria. 

“Honestly, I don’t think we’re gonna need the prompting this time, the layers are just gonna start melting off eventually,” Jensen laughed. 

“No but, on a slightly more serious note,” Jared interrupted, “Thank y’all so much for being here. We love you guys and we really appreciate it but it is hot in here so, take care of yourselves, drink water if you have some. If you have to get up and go cool off or get a drink, please, please do, don’t feel bad. We don’t want anyone collapsing out there.” 

Jared’s thoughtfulness really touched something in you. He was so unendingly sweet it just showed how much he really felt everyone there was his family. You felt like you mattered and that spread warmth through your limbs that was altogether separate from the heat of the room. Lost in your thoughts briefly after Jared’s PSA you noticed that they had started to take questions from the line, and you shook yourself out in time to hear a small girl’s trembling voice ask, “What was the hardest thing you ever had to do for the show? A stunt or something emotionally difficult or scary to film?”

The panel trickled by, and you tried to absorb every second of it. The minute expressions that Jared and Jensen shared, the laughs they broke from each other, the looks of adoration on every fan’s face, the feeling of gratefulness that swelled in your chest at being anywhere near these two and surrounded by such an incredible amount of happiness. The heat was the constant companion of everyone in the room, and Jared and Jensen were frequently leaving their chairs to make trips to the jugs of iced water that had been set up by the band. 

As you neared the front of the question line, Jensen got up for another water break while Jared finished answering a question about the mechanics of one of his favourite shots from last season when he was suddenly interrupted by a growl from Jensen. 

“Son of a bitch!” Even without the microphone he was incredibly audible, especially since you were very close to them at this point. 

Jared turned around, confused and amused, trying to figure out what the hell Jensen was doing. It quickly became apparent as Jensen pulled from a jug of ice a slim white bottle, shaking the condensation off of it. Jared burst out laughing, clapping his hands together and pointing in mocking. 

Walking back to his mic, Jensen twisted the cap off the bottle. “Did you do this, man?” Jensen accused Jared. 

“No, I swear,” Jared choked out still laughing. Jensen rounded on the band and Rob and Rich just shrugged, with unapologetic smirks on their faces. “Hey man, at least it’s cold,” Jared offered. 

“Ugh I hate these things,” Jensen complained, but he sank to one knee to raucous applause and tipped the Smirnoff Ice back, downing it in an impressively short time. Rob and Rich grinned at each other and shared a surreptitious low-five behind Rob’s back. You were right next to their side of the stage now and they heard you laugh at them. Turning they gave you a thumbs up and Rich looked around, leaned in to whisper something to Rob, then pulled back with a pretty evil smile. 

On the other side of the stage, Jared and Jensen had returned to answering questions and you tried to pay attention to the anecdote they were sharing but you kept getting distracted and glancing back at the band, because you could feel Rob’s eyes on you. Looking around you realised that Rich had ducked behind the curtain and now he was rounding the corner of the stage on the audience level, sneaking along bent over so his head wouldn’t be seen over the side of the stage. He was coming right at you. 

He stopped to check something with the volunteer that stood at your side of the stage, then continued to creep back towards you. You stood there in stunned silence as he approached with a wide, conniving smile and whispered an introduction. 

“Hi there, I’m Rich.” 

“H-hi,” you gulped, completely stunned that you were standing so close to an actual Supernatural actor. 

“So, you’re gonna have the last question,” Rich cut straight to the point, keeping his voice down so he didn’t disturb the proceedings around him. You nearly choked on your breath. 

“That, that means,” you struggled to compute for a second. “I go up there?” You pointed up to the stage where Jared and Jensen were sitting, laughing, looking like giant gods. 

“Yup,” Rich popped the ‘p’ on the end of the word. “That okay with you?” You could only manage to nod. “Okay, so, we play the little jingle, the volunteer will walk you up, we’ll have a chair there with a mic, all good?” Again, you only nodded, clutching your question in your hand, eternally grateful that you had thought to write it down, and hoping the sweat pooling in your hands didn’t smudge the writing. 

“One more thing,” Rich ducked his body behind yours and brought his face close enough to full-on whisper. “That dress have pockets?” Completely confused by his question you squeak out an answer. 

“Yeah, why?” You felt something cold at your elbow and you looked down. Rich was sneaking you another Smirnoff Ice, indicating with his head that you should put it in your pocket. 

“Think you can give that to Jared for us?” 

“Oh,” you breathed out, understanding now. “Yeah, sure,” you giggled. 

“Thanks kiddo,” Rich clapped his hands on your shoulders and squeezed before darting forward and launching himself back onto the stage so he could situate himself with the band. 

After an exchange of looks from Jared and Jensen and back to Rob the music kicked in and you were ushered forwards by the volunteer Rich had spoken to a moment ago. 

There were no real words to describe what it was like to stand right in front of Jared and Jensen. You felt like your heart had stopped and like it was beating a million times a minute at the same time. Up on the stage with lights beaming down it was even hotter than it had been in the audience, and when Jared and Jensen each placed a hand on your upper arms and guided you towards your chair and mic, it felt like their hands were burning into your skin. You almost hoped you had scars a la Dean’s from Castiel. 

As you sat down, the faint buzzing that had stuffed your ears started to dissipate and you realised that Jared was talking to you. 

“I’m sorry, can you say that again?” You were so embarrassed that they were affecting you like this but Jared just smiled gently, practically radiating a safe, warm encouragement. 

“What’s your name darlin’,” Jared asked again. 

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” your name came back to you, finally. 

“And Y/N,” Jensen asked now, “what is your question?”

“Okay, um, so my question is for both of you and I’d like to extend it to Rob and Rich too if that’s okay?” You glanced around at everyone’s faces and all four seemed to be nodding their heads that that would be okay. When you looked over at the band you caught Rich’s eye and he quirked a brow at you, a small reminder of your other purpose on the stage. Clearing your throat you pulled out the your question but kept your other hand in your pocket with the cold bottle. 

“But, before I ask it, I’ve been asked to give something to Jared by a friend.” 

“Oh cool, what is it!” Excitement took over Jared’s face like a puppy dog who heard the word ‘treat’. That joy was quickly doused when he saw what you pulled out of your pocket. “Oh, God,” Jared pulled a hand over his face, scrubbing at his cheek adorably in annoyance. 

“Sorry,” you did feel a little guilty, but mostly it was funny. 

“Which one of those douches was it,” Jared pointed accusingly at Rob and Rich. 

“You’re welcome!” They shouted in unison, giving Jared a big thumbs up. 

“You suck,” Jared shouted, but good-naturedly sank to one knee, upending the Smirnoff Ice and draining it as quickly as possible. What made you absolutely lose your breath, and nearly your mind, is that when he dropped to his knee he used you as his brace. His long fingers wrapped almost all the way around your knee, and he squeezed gently, almost teasingly, as he gulped down the icy drink. You couldn’t take your eyes off the way his neck was pulsing as he swallowed, and a small drop of sweat was running achingly slowly down past where you knew you could find his pulse if you just reached out your fingers and touched. 

When he finished, he exhaled on an over-exaggerated ‘ahh’ and his eyes locked straight with yours. He maintained eye contact, his hazel irises twinkling in the bright lights beating down on the stage, and he rose slowly back to his feet, giving your knee one last squeeze before reaching out for his microphone again. 

“Now, Y/N, since we’ve got that out of the way,” Jared flared back at Rob and Rich, “what is your question?” 

The rest of your time on stage was an absolute blur. Jensen answered your question first, quickly followed by Rich. Jared and Rob took a few seconds each to consider before offering their best answer and then before you could process what was happening Jensen was pulling you to your feet and wrapping you in a burning hug. Jared came around the other side and stretched his arms around both you and Jensen, briefly trapping you there between them. Then all the sudden you felt a rush of air as they pulled back and you were being ushered off to the side by a volunteer. 

Your eyes took a moment to adjust back to the lack of blazing spotlights, so you kept following the volunteer without giving much thought to where she was leading you. It was a shock when you found yourself being pushed through a gap between a curtain and the wall, moving back behind the stage. A little holding area was filled with everyone who had just been on stage, and a volunteer passing around water bottles.

“Why am I back here?” You whisper shrieked at the volunteer. She laughed at you. 

“You want to take a picture with the guys?”

“Oh wow, you’re not serious,” you panicked, smoothing out your hair and patting over your face, hoping your makeup hadn’t sweated off too much.  

“You’ll be fine,” she laughed again, good-naturedly though. She must be used to dealing with fangirling freaks, you thought to yourself. 

“Hi Y/N,” Jensen called when you were just about level with the group. 

“Ready for your close-up?” Jared asked, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

“Um, yeah I guess,” you gulped, trying to organise your thoughts as you followed Jared and Jensen over to where a camera tripod was set up against another wall. You were walking between them, the bare skin of your arms brushing against their hands, because they were that much taller than you. “It is so nice to meet you guys, seriously, I just want to say thank you for being like, amazing and wonderful. You’ve made such an amazing family,” you stop talking and try to rein yourself in, knowing you can’t guarantee you won’t say something monumentally embarrassing very soon. 

“Well, you guys are all pretty amazing too,” Jared smiled, clapping a hand on your shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze, clearly sensing you could do with a little calming down, not that having him touch you actually accomplished that. Your heart felt like it was trying to jump out through your throat. 

“So, where do you want us?” Jensen smiled warmly at you, but there was something else peeking out from behind his bright green eyes. Mischief, maybe. 

“Oh god, I don’t even know,” you tried not to giggle hysterically, which was your usual defence mechanism when you got nervous. 

“It’s okay, just come over here,” Jared pushed you forwards slightly towards Jensen. They stood together, arms slung around the shoulders that were touching and pulled you in front of them. Stumbling a little, like a total idiot you berated yourself internally, you fell back against them. Assuming they’d want a little more space, you started to take a step forward but then you felt solid warmth pressing against your back. Jared and Jensen had both pulled you closer into them and they were pressing you back into their bodies. You felt more than heard a chuckle roll through Jensen’s body, and he slung his left arm around your body, settling his hand against your right shoulder. Jared mirrored him, crossing his arm over Jensen’s to hug you tighter to both of them. 

“Okay, say ‘bacon’!” The photographer snapped a few photos of you all absolutely laughing your asses off, because who says ‘bacon’ when they take a photo? But as the laughter settled you felt a sense of incandescent calm spread through you. Jared and Jensen were still pressing you against them, and the laughter had broken the tension you’d been holding in your limbs, allowing you to settle into them without so many nerves. 

When the photographer indicated that he was done the boys released you and each other, Jared ruffling his hair mostly to give his hands something to do. You felt more relaxed now, and a little more confident that you weren’t going to start babbling nonsense so you took a chance to ask for a favour. 

“I’m gonna ask since I’m here and I know I’ll kill myself later if I don’t… Do you think it would be okay if I got a photo with the band?” 

“Oh, sure, yeah,” Jensen said, obviously having expected something much more out of left field. He waved over to the guys still milling around in the holding area. “Hey, Rob, get your guys over here!” 

When they were in better earshot Jared pointed his thumb at you and said, “Your new minion wants a picture.” His voice was scathing but hid his amusement pretty poorly considering he was an actor. The band plus Rich all crowded around you for a photo, going for a giant group hug approach and pulling loads of stupid faces, helping you chill out even more. 

As they released you from the crush you turned back to Jared. “Sorry, again, about that,” you said, referring to passing on Rich’s prank before, and blushing a little. 

“Yeah, bullshit,” Jared laughed, his eyes crinkling and fuck, why was that so sexy.  

“Well did you want to give her this for your revenge Jared or…” Jensen let his thought trail off, swinging a cloudy white bottle by the neck between his thumb and a finger. 

“Jay, we cannot Ice a fan,” Jared laughed exasperatedly. 

“Sure we can,” Rob grabbed the drink from Jensen and tossed it at you. You screamed a little but by some miracle you caught it clumsily, clutching it to your chest to keep it from smashing to the ground. 

“Y/N you really don’t have to drink that,” Jared insisted, trying to protect you from his ridiculous friends. 

“No it’s okay, fair’s fair” you laughed, twisting off the cap of the cold drink, confused as to how this was your life right now. You brought the bottle to your lips, taking a moment to shoot Jared a reassuring smile because he was still looking worriedly at you. Before you managed to actually drink any of it though you heard Jensen clear his throat, and he looked pointedly from you, to the ground at your feet. 

“You forgetting something?” Jensen grinned as he watched you, arms crossed over his chest. Of course, you thought, you were supposed to take a knee when you downed it. 

“Someone’s bossy,” you chided, but you let yourself fall, landing on both your knees instead of just one like the challenge technically called for. Glancing up at Jensen for permission to down your drink now you saw him exchange a fleeting look with Jared. For just a moment, something had cracked through their smiling exteriors. It was dark; hungry. The change had been infinitesimal and before you could swear it had been there to begin with, their warm, encouraging smiles were back. You tipped the bottle back, keeping your eyes locked with Jensen’s the whole time, like Jared had done with you earlier on the stage.

[yoonminos]

pretty little dare  (dirty pretty things #2) [part 1 here]

↳ pairings: jimin x jungkook x female reader

↳ genres: smut and the tiniest bit of fluff | words: 8k

↳ warnings: explicit sex, dom/sub undertones, slapping, spanking, degradation, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, breathplay, assplay, rimming, switch!jungkook, switch!reader, dom!jungkook, sub!jungkook, dom!reader, sub!reader, alcohol use, semi-public sex.

↳ summary: It’s finally Saturday and, after a long uni week, you find yourself in a house party with your friends. As custom, after a couple of hours of dancing and drinking, you all end up in a circle by the backyard for the traditional round of truth and dare. What you don’t expect is to have one of your most intimate fantasies revealed and turned into reality through one pretty little dare. 

Saturday has finally arrived after a very tiring and long uni week and, to help with the stress and celebrate the weekend, you’re in a house party at the sorority that Sunmi, your best friend, lives in. After a few hours of dancing and mindless drinking, you find yourself in a typical truth or dare game along with many of your friends. Since the weather is warm and there’s still a bit of light outside, the sky above you painted with beautiful hues of peach orange and pink as the sun begins to set, you all are forming a small circle by the backyard of the big house.

You’re pleasantly buzzed, two tequila shots and your current vodka cocktail making you feel light and giggly as you move to sit on the cushions spread on the floor, between Jungkook and Taehyung. Jungkook’s eyes are on you, a hand reaching for yours to help you steady your balance as you sit down. When you finally do, his fingers are softening around your hand and intertwining with yours before he’s leaning in, a bunny smile on his lips as he plants a soft kiss to your cheek. You smile back at him before turning forwards and placing your drink in front of your crossed legs.

As the game starts, some not-that-much-surprising truths and reasonably funny dares begin going around. Yoongi is dared to take a body shot on Hoseok, who giggles and wiggles, ticklish every time Yoongi's face is close to his body, making the task much harder than one could initially imagine. It ends up with Yoongi basically manhandling him into staying still so he can accomplish the dare.

It goes on. Yongsun ends up giving Byulyi a lap dance and it is, well, incredibly hot. You have a feeling that almost everyone around the circle feels glad when it ends before anyone ends up gets too worked up from it. Later, Jungkook - after being pressed into choosing truth, because everyone knows he just deals with dares too well for them to be funny or interesting - has to admit to his crush on Namjoon from when they first met. “We all know that, why are you wasting your truth in that question!” Is what you add, whining lowly as Jungkook simply smiles by yours side, shrugs and easily admits to it.

Jooheon has to sing a ridiculously explicit song in his best aegyo version. It’s hilarious, but your joy is quickly put out when you’re dared by Hyunah into taking a sip of Yoongi’s ungodly strong cup - the drink that everyone always avoids at parties, unless they really want to get hammered. You almost die, spitting most of the drink out when you try to take it the first time, only accomplishing it by the second. Your throat and chest burning horribly as you swallow the sip down. Jungkook is laughing at you and, as you turn to face him, he's wiping your chin fondly as you pout and whine a little.

Changkyun is dared into doing a handstand for three minutes but the poor boy can’t even hold it for ten seconds, making you all burst into laughter from his frustrated and chaotic attempts until Seokjin, loud windshield wipers laughter booming and making you all just die a little bit more until there’s actual tears coming from your eyes and your belly hurts from laughing so much, takes a breathing pause and just tells him to give up before he ends up cracking his head open.

"Just give Jooheon a kiss to compensate." You tease from your place and Chankyung rolls his eyes at you, but there’s a small smile tucked on his lips as he goes back to Jooheon's side, who's still laughing loudly at his chaotic mess of a boyfriend, until he’s pulling him close and giving him a light kiss. After he does it, he's releasing the cutest giggle and hiding his face in Jooheon's neck. Being the new couple there, you all coo sickeningly at their sweet and still bearable PDA.

As the automatic lights from the backyard turn on, the sky having darkened in a velvety indigo blue, the game starts to get more interesting. Wheein asks Hyejin if it is true that she shares a quality taste with Jungkook, having a crush on Namjoon too. This one you definitely didn’t see coming. Hyejin looks a big shocked and flustered, winded eyes and opened mouth before she is cursing at loudly Wheein who just laughs and tells her to just answer it. She curses at her again but replies, steady voice saying that it’s true. You’re offering a shocked look to Byulyi, muttering a small what the fuck and she has this bunched up smile on her lips that makes you sure she's containing her laughter.

After a few more rounds, the spinning bottle stopping right in Namjoon’s direction, Hyejin with the question side of it, you feel yourself holding your breath in expectation.

"Providence of the universe! None of this is a coincidence!” Taehyung is screaming by your side and you laugh, give a playful slap to his shoulder as he turns and offers you his boxy smile.

After a few seconds, when Hyejin’s “wanna kiss me?” comes out all sure and determined, all of you begin cheering loudly. It only intensifies when Namjoon doesn’t answer her, simply stands and starts moving in her direction. The whistling and cheering intensifying further when he kneels down in front of her, trading a few whispered words that you can’t make out before they are smiling at each other and then, kissing.

You could say that dare inspires you a little bit because when the bottle stops with its end to Sunmi, you feel a big smile spreading on your face after she tells you dare. At your expression, she begins narrowing her eyes. Calls your name with a warning tone to it, but it’s a bit too late now.

“I dare you into giving Hyunah and Hyojong a triple kiss.” You say and you hear the surprised gasps arising from all over the circle along with a hollering call coming from Taehyung, Hoseok loudly joining him in it.

“If they’re okay with it, of course.” You quickly add, looking at the couple’s direction. They seemed a bit surprised, but Hyunah has this little upturn to the corner of her lips as she leans in and whispers something to Hyojong and you just know it will be okay.

Sunmi is cursing your name and starting to complain that she can’t do that when she’s cut out by Hyunah’s voice calling her name. You laugh at Sunmi’s widened eyes, body almost paralyzed in her spot until Hyojong is laughing lowly and telling her to come on. When she finally kneels in front of them, Hyunah’s hand wrapping around her waist and pulling her close while Hyojong’s fingers tangle in her hair, you feel giddy.

“You're welcome, Miya!” You scream at her, adding supportive and excited words along to Jungkook's whistling by your side, happy to have a part in realizing one of your friend’s biggest secret desires.

The game goes on and you’re not really expecting anything when the bottle stops, questioning side pointed at Sunmi and answering at Jimin. You’re sipping on your drink, body weight already leaned in Jungkook’s side as that light buzz from the alcohol continue to flow pleasantly through your body. It’s only when she calls your name, your eyes meeting hers and finding a mischievous glint in them that you realize something is about to happen.

“Payback.” She tells you, a small wink being thrown in your direction before she’s turning to face Jimin again, who’s waiting for her. “I dare you to kiss Jungkook.”

And everything stops.

Your body is all but jolting from Jungkook’s side and straightening, eyes fleeting wildly from Sunmi to Jimin. Your mouth is parted in shock, never expecting she would do something like this, expose you like this. You do understand you kind of just did the exact same to her a few minutes back but, still. Your head in too much of a chill place right now to even imagine that she could do the same to you. You’re lucky you stopped drinking your vodka by the minute she called your name, otherwise you are sure you would have spat it right out or, worse, choked on it.

You feel Jimin’s eyes on you and when you look back at him, you can see that his gaze keeps flickering between you and Jungkook. His head is slightly tilted to the side, a small furrow to his brows as if he is trying to understand just what Sunmi might be implying. When you feel yourself swallowing, somewhat heavily and nervously, you can see a curious and dangerous glint flickering in his eyes. He licks his lips before his stare is shifting back to Jungkook. Fuck.

Jimin looks good. Too good. Black hair, glistening and gently red tinted full lips. The faintest smoky make up to the corner of his eyes. A collared printed loose white shirt with the first two buttons open, showing his collarbones and a silver necklace, tucked into the tightest of black pants, ripped and revealing a flash of his hard thigh muscles underneath, muscles that flex as he sits crossed legged on the floor. His eyes focused on Jungkook, turning velvety and half-lidded as he does. His head giving a little nod as they probably communicate something that you can’t follow.

You can't follow because you’re a little too caught up in watching Jimin, in imagining Jungkook there, on his lap, in how good it would look and you don’t even notice your reverie until Jungkook is chuckling, all low and rough, by your side and snapping you from it. When you hear him, your head turns to him, eyes widening and cheeks blushing furiously from feeling caught. As you stare at him, you realize it’s the first time you're watching his reaction to the dare. The dangerous smirk you see in his lips, the rising heat you feel simmering in his eyes before he leans in and presses a teasingly small kiss to the corner of your mouth, make everything burn.

When he backs away from you, is only to rise to his feet and walk to Jimin’s direction. By now, you feel everything you inside hammering and tightening. There’s instant arousal pooling in your belly, your core pulsing and warming. You never really allowed yourself to fully imagine this except in your subconscious, never thought that Jimin and Jungkook would agree to this. You know they had had a few kisses before, in situations like this one, but you have never witnessed it. Have never really confessed to Jungkook just what entertaining the thought of it could make to you either. The only person that really knew that was Sunmi, to whom you had confessed the dreams you had about them on a sleepover night in which you both had had too much wine, after she had just admitted to her own desire regarding Hyunah and Hyojong.

And then. Jungkook is kneeling in front of Jimin, sitting on his heels, a few inches taller than Jimin. You thank the universe right then for giving you a side view from the place you’re sitting, making you able to take in every little detail. And you do.

You take in the way that Jimin licks his lips, eager. The way Jungkook smirks, cocky and sure, as he tangles his fingers on Jimin’s hair, his other hand fisting the front of Jimin's shirt. Jimin’s arms wrapping around Jungkook's waist, defining it around his oversized gray t-shirt, pulling him closer. Their eyes are focused on each other and there’s an electrical spark there that you can see so clearly, so hot and thick that it makes your breath catch on your throat. You can’t believe this is truly happening. Fucking hell.

Like that, Jimin is turning his head slightly, looking directly at you and biting at his lower lip, a provocative and sensual smile spreading on his face. Eyes so dark and you feel too breathless, feel pure lust shooting down your blood, thick, running fast under your skin with a thrumming sensation to it. Heat coiling and twisting inside you. It's only when Jimin breaks eye contact and turns his head back that you notice that Jungkook’s eyes were on you too, a small wicked smile on his own lips before Jimin’s fingers are on his chin and turning his face to his.

Like that, Jungkook is leaning in and closing the gap between their lips.

Like that, you feel everything inside you tingling, pressuring and pounding. Pure need, want, pleasure blooming and bursting everywhere. You don’t even listen to the catcalling, whistling and crude comments exploding around you. Everything but them is white noise.

Their mouths molding against each other's and it looks perfect, so enchanting and so much more than what your imagination could ever have produced that you feel a small gasp of surprise leaving your lips before you can contain it. Their lips pressing light for a second before Jungkook is tugging at Jimin’s hair, pulling his head back and up a little bit. You can see the grin spreading in Jimin’s face, probably teasing Jungkook before letting him in and it makes something that feels like fire rush through your blood.

Then, Jungkook is pressing close again and their kiss gets deeper. He's tipping Jimin’s face and turning his own, seeking deeper and fast. Pulling a little back only for Jimin's head to surge forward and chase him, a small gap between their mouths that lets you see how their tongues are tangling for a flat second before their lips are pressing together again.

They look beautiful. The way Jungkook’s body is moving unconsciously closer and closer to Jimin's, hands fisting his hair tighter and his hips rising slightly, standing up from his heels a little bit. The way Jimin’s hands grip, digging in and easily closing around Jungkook’s small waist. It’s— it's pretty. And alluringly hot, all at the same time.

When they break the kiss, Jimin’s teeth is catching on Jungkook’s lower lip and pulling at it as Jungkook releases a surprised little gasp before lowering his hand from his hair and pushing on Jimin's chest to separate them. You notice how both their chests are moving up and down with a slightly added intensity to them. Both of their lips shining alluringly, a little reddened. Mouths slightly open, and so pretty, as they catch up their breaths.

Your mouth watering from all of it, whole body throbbing with desire. It’s too much. You pick up your drink and finish it in one go.

As Jungkook begins to walk back to his place by your side, one hand smoothing his hair and descending to his jaw, rubbing the skin there as he looks to the ground, biting his lips before he is raising his eyes to look straight at you, you're quick to raise yourself to your feet and walk towards him. He starts to say something, mouth opening with a small sound coming out but you cut him to it.

“No.” You rasp out, voice roughed up and as tight as your hand closing around his wrist, pulling him back, away from the circle and inside the house.

You ignore all the hushed murmurs, all the whistling. Your friends apparently divided on what is going on, if you tugging Jungkook away like that means something good or bad. And they don’t seem to be the only ones.

“Baby, slow down. Are you okay?" Jungkook is asking you, cursing a low shit at your back, as you simply keep pulling him, striding and pushing through the bodies on your way to the closest room you see, a bathroom, not stopping until you reach for the door. Thankfully it’s empty and you enter it quickly, harshly pulling Jungkook inside and closing the door behind you, locking it.

“Y/n?” He asks again and you can read him too well. Voice tinted with a hit of concern, a hint of arousal. His big round eyes searching your expression.

Instead of replying, you push your hands on his chest, hard, shoving him before your body follows, pressing his to the door. Your hand is reaching for his jaw, gripping tight around it as, like that, you will his head down. He follows you, easily, and you're quick to crash your lips together, taking the lead.

You kiss him hard and rough. Lips pressuring painfully, tongue taking and tangling with his so intensely that it has him moaning in no time. As the little noise escapes him, mouth opening and breaking the kiss, your teeth are catching to his bottom lip, biting it with some pressure and sucking it inside your mouth. Jungkook groans, raggedy and deep. At it, you start moving your hips, pressuring and grinding over his as his fingers wrap and dig in your waist with strength, pulling your body even closer to his, chests flushing. Your hand going back to fist at his hair, tugging at the roots firmly as you tip his head a bit and kisses him deeper.

Your hips rolling together, rubbing in all the right places and making you realize that Jungkook is already half hard and getting harder by the second. It makes a pleasant shiver run down your spine, realizing that he too was turned on by what just happened outside. That you weren’t the only one taking too much pleasure from that pretty little dare.

You groan over his lips as he grips you tighter and, in a fluid movement, turns your body around, switching places as he presses you to the door. His mouth descends to your neck, hands easily finding their way to the button of your pants, opening and ungracefully tugging them down harshly as he continues to nip, lick and bite at the sensitive skin, making you throw your head back on the door as you simply take all of it.

With your pants out of the way, Jungkook is looking at you with burning eyes, tantalizing messed up hair and heaving chest. It only makes you find it even harder to breathe as his hands find their way to you. Fingertips teasingly making their way up your inner thighs, prodding at the edges of your underwear. Your breathing getting heavier by the second and when Jungkook sucks harshly on your neck at the same time that his hand finally cups your wetness, the contact making yourself aware of how much moisture is there, you moan out his name.

“Jungkook— fuck.”

And Jungkook is pulling back, eyes thundering with so much heat as his vision focus on your lower region, hands gripping at the waistband of your underwear and pulling it down. After he does it, and it is pooling down on your feet along with your pants, his hand is gripping your waist and pushing your body further to the door. With the other, he moves his fingers slowly to your naked pussy.

He’s biting his lips, hooded eyes shining beautifully with pure lust and awe. It’s a lot. Your breath hitching in excitement as you look down too, keep on watching his long fingers as they lightly brush over the wetness in your center before pressing them down. You bite your lips, a small and shaky sigh leaving you, your breathing coming out through your nose in little hard puffs.

“Is all of this from the kiss? Fuck, baby." Jungkook asks, voice tinted with something akin to adoration and you feel yourself trembling under his touch. His index and middle finger rubbing over your entrance, digging in just slightly and coating themselves further with your moisture before they’re sliding the wetness up and up, until they reach your clit and press down on it. Giving it the smallest of rubs. Still, you’re moaning and cursing loudly, not even bothered that there might be someone out there by the bathroom’s door that might end up hearing you. Too caught up in the feeling of Jungkook’s fingers in you.

Then, his fingers are pulling back from your clit only to go down at it again, lightly, giving it a little tap. Adding a bit more pressure and strength as he does it again before he’s opening his hand, the next tap encompassing your whole core as he cups it. He continues the action, each new tap a little more certain and with a little more of added strength until they finally merge into light slaps. The noises the slaps make and the feeling of it all making your heart pound loudly by your ear, your moans turn into high pitched whines as you throw your head back on the door.

"All this for me and—" At this, his eyes are snapping up, boring into yours. "And Jimin?" As he says it, voice a bit shaky and marvelled as if he can’t truly believe it. At the same time, he gives you a stronger and rougher slap before pressuring the heel of his palm to your clit and rubbing it down.

If Jungkook saying Jimin’s name like that and in this context wasn't enough, everything else sure is to have you screaming a curse as you push your hips into his hand, rolling them and adding more pressure to where you need it.

"Shit, Jungkook.” You mutter, forcing yourself to level your head and look at him again. You find him looking at you already. Big round eyes so lust-filled and heated, flushed cheeks from the warmth being traded between your bodies and his expression so turned on that it makes you bite down a whine. You take a deep breath. Keep thrusting and rolling your hips in a slow pace, the heel of his palm digging deeper, pressuring more, pleasant shocks sparking through your body.

“Look who’s talking. Getting hard from one little kiss from him.” You manage to say, your hand reaching forward until your fingertips are tracing the outline of his hard cock through his pants, your body pressing closer to his until you can wrap your hand around it.

“I— Fuck, y/n." Jungkook moans as you squeeze him, his palm pressuring over you further and you gasp too.  

“Think I don’t see how you look at him sometimes? Fuck, Kook. You look as if you could just eat him up. Just the thought of you two. God, I wanted to join you back there so badly.” Your voice is rough, finally dripping out all the want, all the bittersweet lust that you have been containing for so long. It’s cut out by a moan as he adds more speed to his palm, rubbing it a bit faster over your clit.

“You— Fuck, baby. Such a greedy, dirty girl.” He tells you, deeply and wrecked and you feel like you’re soaring, like Jungkook is too fucking perfect for you that you can hardly believe. You chuckle and it comes out a little bit wicked and rough. You love the sound on you.

“Isn’t that why we match, baby?” You tease, slightly breathless, a smirk creeping up your lips. Your free hand moving to his head, gripping at the hairs by his nape, forcing his eyes to yours. Your other hand still pressuring and rubbing his clothed length.

“You're such a little slut too, aren’t you?" As you ask, you pull your hand back from the outline of his clothed cock and give it a light slap. Another, a little bit harsher, follows it quickly.

Jungkook actually whimpers at your words, a small broken sob breaking through his lips at your third slap. Everything inside you tightening and curling further at his reactions, making you want to positively wreck him.

"On your knees for me." You tell Jungkook, voice incredibly tight.

And he does as he’s told.

“Good boy.” You sigh as you watch him on his knees for you. Those big eyes staring up at you with so much desire and heat, consuming you entirely. It's always a sight that makes your own knees want to buckle. You rest your body weight further to the door and place your hand back on his hair, gripping for some balance. His own hands coming up your legs, trailing slowly upwards until they are gripping at your thighs, massaging them leisurely and teasingly.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks you, words dripping silkily and warm from his tongue. You try pulling his head forward and closer to where you need him as an answer, but he fights back against your tugging in his hair and remains still.

“Wanna ride your face.” You tell him, a whiny quality to your voice.

Jungkook smiles, wickedly and good, pleased with your reply. He hums, as if in thought, fingertips digging in your thighs but the touch is light, not half as strong as you need it to be.

“You think you deserve that?” His tongue is poking the inside of his cheek before he tilts his head to the side and asks you. His defiance making something in you boil.

“After that little show you gave me and how wet you made me? You gotta take care of the mess you made. Don’t you think so?” You reply, hard and demanding. Tugging strongly on his hair and pulling him closer to your pussy. He goes along a few inches, a small hissing sound as he bites his lips at the strength you're using but you can see the pleasure from it as it explodes through his eyes.  

“What if I don’t wanna?” Jungkook asks again. A big grin still displayed on his lips, curling in the corner. The brattiness in his tone and in his expression so hot and so inviting that you feel yourself pulsing again, clenching around nothing. So wet and warm and ready.

“Hm, baby wanna play hard to get tonight? Is that it?” You ask back and Jungkook nods once, biting his lips. A special glimmer to his eyes, his breath hitching slightly and you know what it means.

Your free hand comes to teasingly rub over the side of his face, fingertips dancing around lightly and you watch in awe how the excitement starts filling and swimming in his eyes, how he sucks in a breath and holds it in. Waiting.

You pull back your hand and raise it down, slapping him across the face once with moderate strength. A throatily gasp as he takes it and closes his eyes in the process.

“Look at me.” You order and he's quickly opening his eyes wide as you release your hand from his hair and strike him again. This time, he is biting his lips, a little muffled noise leaving him.

“Think I don’t know how big of a slut you are, puppy? How badly you want this, hm?” At each question you give him another slap, harder than the one before, his head going to the side slightly only for him to eagerly get it back in place for the next one. Eyes zoning out in yours and they’re dripping heavily with pleasure, already glassed as he forces them to stay open. And they keep pleading you for more.

“Let me hear you, bun.” You ask, voice dropping to a tone a bit softer because fuck Jungkook looks so fucking good like this that you feel it squeezing in your chest at the same time that it’s making your pussy drip even further for him. It’s unbelievable.

You slap him again and, this time, he moans. Throatily and loud and open. Beautiful.

You bite your lips at the sight, at the sound. He's so beautiful. Your fingertips coming down to lightly caress his burning cheek, gently trailing the red blooming in there with adoration.

Jungkook is looking up at you with some impatience dancing around his face, wide glassy eyes shining and pleading, body slightly shaking underneath your palm and it makes you shiver pleasantly. He’s biting his lips again as he waits for you. You raise your fingertips and tap them over the skin in a slap manner, but incredibly light.

“Harder. Please.” Jungkook mutters out, lowly through a shaky sigh. Big eyes staring up at you as his chest heaves bewitchingly. His skin is already holding that pretty reddened shade that makes you want to kiss it and you don’t think you can do much more of this.

“Last one, okay?” You tell him and he nods, eagerly. You smile. “Such a good boy, puppy. So good.” And you give it just how he wants it, striking him hard across the face one last time.

“Fuck.” Jungkook moans out, drawled and ragged, the slap echoing loud in the small bathroom as his body shakes strongly, beautifully and he instinctively bucks his hips into nothing.

You align his head back, fingertips slowly caressing the flushed side of his face.

"Okay?” You ask him, a little smile to your lips at his blissed out expression.

He swallows down, heavily. His jaw working and locking. His stare so intense and determined, something changed in there as if a switch has been turned on and you know him too well by now to know what's coming. It makes your blood thrum under you skin with excitement.

“Turn around.” Jungkook tells you, voice dark and dangerous and it sends a little thrill down your spine.

It gives you a small and pleasant rush to bite your lips, to look down at him all innocently and shake your head in a silent no.

“I said turn around.” His voice comes snappier and rougher this time as he gives a harsh slap to the inner side of your thigh. You gasp at the feeling, loudly.

Before you can really do anything, Jungkook is raising himself from the ground a little bit, gripping your hips tight and turning you around. You stumble a little bit, your feet stuck to the clothes pooling by it, but Jungkook's hand on you keep you steady until you’re facing the door, hands splayed there by the side of your hips.

“Gonna play with your pretty ass now.” As he says it, he slaps one of your ass cheeks, hard and good and then the other. You moan out. The feeling of his big hands on you, making your skin burn and tingle pleasantly like that, so incredibly perfect. “Sounds good to you?”

You nod but it appears not be good enough for him, another slap meeting your skin in a demand.

“That’s not how you answer me when I talk to you.”

Your eyes rolling back when his hand meets your other ass cheek, again, before his fingers are gripping tight at the muscle there and squeezing.

“Y-yeah. Want you to play with me.” You reply.

“Good girl. Bend.”

The praise followed by the order in Jungkook's rough and demanding voice makes your head spin. Everything inside you so so tight and hot and so ready for him to take apart.

His hand pressuring on the small of your back and you know what he wants, so you're kicking your feet back a little bit and bending yourself, your head down, pressed to the door and eyes closed. Waiting expectantly as you also support your hands by your sides on the door. As Jungkook spread your ass cheeks and leans in, you gasp loudly.

His tongue peeking out to litter kitten licks at your entrance as you whine, already trying to thrust your hips back on it, to push it down inside you.

“Behave.” He warns you, a loud slap to the back of your thighs.

You whine again, but Jungkook seems to take mercy on you, tongue pressuring more strongly over your core, licking a big stripe from your middle up to your ass and you moan loudly, your hands shaking slightly as they try and fail to find anything to grip on the flat door, when his tongue rolls around your puckered hole, pressuring down slowly.

You positively scream when he gets two of his fingers inside you and curls them, pumping them in and out in a slow pace while his mouth is still playing with your ass, teasing and rolling over the hole.  

“Fuck, fuck. Yes.” You moan, unable not to push your hips back and Jungkook seems to let you get away with it this time.

After a minute, he is sliding his mouth down, taking out his fingers before he starts eating you out. His tongue merciless as he swipes it over your core over and over again, thrusting the tip inside before pulling it back out, again and again, and it's maddening how he’s teasing you, making you plead for more, please and only after that is that Jungkook is gripping your ass cheeks, nails digging harsher in your skin, before he is pushing his head further and his tongue is reaching inside you. So wet and deep and so, so good.

“Ride me like you wanted, baby.” He backs away a bit and tells you, voice muffled as his hot breath fans teasingly over your core with each syllable he pronounces, goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Yes.” And you do. You turn your head to the side, open your eyes to look down at him. Brown head between your legs and waiting for you. You start snapping your hips forward and back while he keeps still, letting you fuck yourself on his face as he licks you, flicks his tongue provokingly and teases it inside you skilfully.

There's someone knocking on the door, forcing the door handle and complaining something. It startles you a bit, jumping a little but as soon as your head understands what’s the new noise is, you don't care, couldn’t possibly. Just continue fucking yourself in Jungkook’s face, hazed by the pleasure you’re feeling and seeking.

Soon, though, the contact begins not being enough for you. If Jungkook isn’t really moving his head up to meet you, from this position you can't really make his tongue go as deep inside you as you want. So you’re whining, frustrated, as you keep trying, snapping your hips further down and faster, but failing to get him deeper.

Jungkook notices, as he always does, and he is pulling back from between your legs.

“What’s up, baby?” He asks you as if he doesn’t know the answer, a teasing quality to his voice and smug grin on his shining lips. You revel in how his words come out between harsh and shaky puffs as he tries to catch up his breath.

“N-need more, please.” You ask, eyes focused on him, on the wet mess prettily spread on his lips, down on his chin. Shining alluringly under the bathroom lights. It makes you want lean down and kiss him, lick him clean. You don’t, screaming out his name instead because he’s smirking at you as he thrusts two fingers inside you. Harsh and deep. Once, twice, curling them before he is taking them out and pushing another one along.

When, with his other hand, he teases the pad of his index around your rim, while he's still fucking you down three fingers up to the knuckle, you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“So greedy, baby. My fingers down here aren’t enough, hm? Want your pretty little ass fucked too?” He asks you and you push your hips back to meet the thrusts of his fingers, moaning as his they go hard and deep inside you, curling just right.

“Yes, please. Please, Kook.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

And then Jungkook's little finger is reaching down, wetting itself on the mess you keep on making, before reaching up and pushing slowly inside your ass, barely any resistance as he starts to thrust it slowly, slowing down the pace of the ones in your pussy to match it. And you feel so incredibly full. So impossibly good that you feel your pussy starting to twitch and contract all over Jungkook’s fingers. Your eyes are shutting back and you're moaning, loud and ragged.

“Feels good?" Jungkook asks you, voice rough and tight and you want to scream.

"S-so good. So full.” You drawl out and he groans at you, fingers gaining speed as they keep on fucking you.

Soon enough, he is trading his little finger for his index, pushing it up and down your ass along with the three others in your pussy. All hard and fast and you know you’re positively screaming now, his name leaving your lips over and over again and you feel everything inside you just about to explode.

“Rub yourself for me, sweetheart.” Jungkook tells you and when you obey, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it fast and rough to the pace that Jungkook is setting behind you as your hips keep snapping back and forth to meet him, it really doesn’t take more than a few seconds for your vision to go black. 

Your walls contracting and squeezing all over him, a broken sob leaving your lips and they remain parted as you gasp for air, legs shaking and knees bending down a little bit while you force your legs to stay up, Jungkook’s hands still busy fucking the life out of you. The waves of pleasure ricocheting and burning through you so strong that you have to remind yourself to breathe, curse after curse leaving your lips, all broken, high pitched and beautifully wrecked.

“B-baby.” You tell him when you feel oversensitivity kicking in and Jungkook is carefully taking his fingers out of you, finally rising from his knees and wrapping his hands around your waist to help you stay on your feet.

He nuzzles your neck, kissing a little spot just under your ear.

“If only Jimin could hear how pretty you sound coming like that, baby.” Jungkook whispers and you whine, a shiver breaking through your whole body as you feel every hair on your neck standing up from how rough his voice sound, how breathless he is and, especially, from what he is actually saying. “How you good you fucking taste. Can you imagine me kissing him after he has made a mess of himself between your legs? Bet you two would taste so good together, don’t you think so?”

“Fuck.” You grunt out, unable to do anything but curse, still coming down from your high but the image Jungkook is painting making you start to feel all needy again. Unconsciously, you're bucking your hips back, meeting Jungkook’s hard cock and he hisses at the contact, bites your neck harshly. You can only imagine how painfully hard he is by now, still strained inside his pants.

“Kook, come on.” You tell him lowly, roughly, pushing your hips and pressuring him again. You feel as his hands leave your waist, quickly working his belt and pushing his pants down.

When he holds at your waist and presses himself to you again, you feel his wet and hard cock in the crack of your ass. He moans at your neck as he rubs himself there, up and down in the middle of your ass, picking his cock with one of his hands and slapping it over there once. He hisses at it. Hits it again and again and you’re feeling yourself clenching once more, wanting to be filled by him again. Jungkook is too much, fuck. You crave him too much. Luckily, he appears to crave you just the same.

You feel as he backs away from you and you don’t look back but still are able to hear him fussing around his pants, working a condom packet open before rolling it quickly down his length and hissing lowly at the contact.

When he presses close to you again and you push your hips back at him one more time, he is pressing you back, away, positioning his cock and pushing the tip inside you. You’re so wet from yourself, from his mouth and now he’s about to mix it all inside you. It makes you feel so dirty, so good.

“Go on.” You tell him, sensing that he’s waiting, worried if you're still oversensitive but his words, his touches have already got you all worked up again. You need him.

And Jungkook gives you him. Pushing his cock all the way inside you and groaning loudly as he does.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He almost screams. “Not gonna last long, shit. Got me too worked up.”

“It’s okay.” You assure him, hips starting to move in an indication of what you want. “Fuck me.”

He starts a slow pace, thick cock dragging up and down your walls so pleasantly, making you feel so full that you can’t help the moan in the form of his name that escapes your lips. And then, Jungkook’s head is leaning closer to your neck again, his forehead meeting the door by the side of yours.

“Just imagine. His cock stretching you, opening you for my cock to fill after he’s done. Making you feel so used, baby. So spent. In the best of ways. How does that sound to you, hm?” He whispers in your ear, voice raggedy and rough.

You snap your hips in an instinctive reaction to his words, getting Jungkook’s cock deeper inside you as a dragged out fuck tears itself from your throat. There's consuming heat spreading all over your body again. Jungkook is too good, so good to you. Fuck.

“Y-yeah.” You moan out, shaky, as his hands tighten in your waist and he picks up his pace.

“You taking us both into your pretty little mouth. So hungry for cock you don’t even know which one to give attention to. Fucking your throat so good you’ll feel us there for days. Filling your mouth with so much come you’ll drool it all over yourself, like the pretty cumslut that you are.” He continues and you can hardly breathe by now, snapping your hips and encouraging him to fuck you harder, faster, because you need to come. His words and the visual he’s giving you taking you further to your edge again.

You open your mouth and try to speak, a broken and wet sound leaving it before you swallow and try again.

“I— I had a dream. Fuck. His pretty lips around your cock, baby. So—oh, so full of you. His warm cock inside, stretching you and—and filling you so good while you fucked me.” You tell him brokenly as he keeps thrusting inside you, remembering the most satisfying wet dream you have ever had in your entire life. Knowing now it couldn’t possibly ever match to the reality. If Jungkook can overwhelm you like this, make you feel like this, only by kissing and mentioning Jimin's name, you can’t even imagine how you’d feel with both of them.

Jungkook groans and moans loudly at your words, his cock twitching inside you and his pace getting harsher, more erratic.

“Shit, baby, yeah. I’d love that.” Jungkook tells you, so perfectly wrecked and airy that you actually whine at his words, wants him to wreck you completely.

“God, you’re always so good. So good. Fuck, y/n.” Jungkook grunts, bites at your shoulder before he adds more strength to his pace, hips snapping so hard, going so deep inside you that you feel your whole body shaking as he fucks you.

One of his hands creeping up from your waist to wrap around your throat.

“Shit. Fuck. Just like that, baby.” You tell him, voice breathy and your approval makes Jungkook tighten his hold and pressure just right, just the way you like. Reducing your airflow and making your head dizzy in the best of ways.

You buck your hips back and keep meeting his pace, mouth open as you gasp for airy. Your hand going down to test your clit for sensitivity and, finding it pleasurably responsive again, you begin rubbing yourself.

It doesn't take long before Jungkook's cock is twitching inside you and you feel close to your own high. You purposefully start clenching around him, trying to make him feel as good as you can.

“Come, baby. Come for me.” You tell him, voice coming out broken and raspy from the choking.

Jungkook moans out your name over and over, pace completely erratic behind you, nails digging strongly on your hips and fingers pressuring a little bit more around your neck as he blindly chases his pleasure. Your own fingers on your clit rubbing fast circles, pressuring down.

And then he is grunting, loudly, a scream arising from it as he starts coming and it doesn’t take more than a couple thrusts before you're following him right along, contracting all over him as keeps on fucking you, giving you all he’s got. You feel your knees bucking, your whole body shaking with reverberating, exploding pleasure. Your senses numbing, your whole body tingly and pleasant as a choked and raspy moan escapes your tightened throat, Jungkook's fingers finally releasing it. 

A few minutes later, when you both are properly breathing again, Jungkook having cleaned both of you and after redressing yourselves, you find him smiling down at you.

Eyes still a bit glassed and fucked out and his face still a little red from the slapping. So pretty. You reach up to kiss his reddened cheek. Litters one, two, three gentle kisses there before you're backing away and watching his eyelashes flutter open beautifully to watch you again.  

“We talk more later? About, uh, Jimin?” He tells you in a small, slightly unsure voice. Eyes struggling a bit to keep eye contact.

“Of course, baby.” You answer him, hand reaching out for his, wrapping around it and squeezing reassuringly.

He nods at you, a bashful smile spreading on his lips. 

There’s excitement running thick all over you but you swallow it down. Bite the grin that threatens to split through your face.

“Let’s go back now.”

[merrysithmas]

some POPPER-centric hcs:

I.

Boris and Theo celebrating Popper's birthday together for two years, waking up at two in the afternoon, blinds drawn tight - but not tight enough to banish the bright gleam of treasure chest gold that flares through the slits between them, 777 Vegas coin yellow, graffitiing malleable stripes of desert sun across the walls and crumpled sheets. Theo peeking a tired eye over the coverlet from under Boris' arm, little Popper’s big cookie-round ink eyes already awake and staring at him, tail wagging bashfully against the sheets in the silence.

Boris, who was snoring just a moment ago, starts up, suddenly, electrified, hollering a gasping realization that sounds something like, “Moy malchik!” The sound pops a breaker in Theo’s brain, letting loose a migraine from last night's bender, which is evidenced by the toppled pill bottles (Xandra's), the semi-collapsed beer cans and the vague memory of Boris' stoned over-confidence ("Potter! Look - against my head - watch - I bet I can - like the movies!"), and the ultimately ignorable ache of his hamstrings.

At Boris' startling exclamation Popper lets loose an exuberant tirade of ungodly shrieking, like set off by the crack of a gun at race he was raring for, immediately licking Boris' morning-slick skin, teenaged greasy and gross, and Boris is laughing so loud that the walls almost shake, as they are so regularly starved and thin of joy. And Theo sits up, wincing (that phantom ache again, inadmissible memories) and leans on his elbow, reaching out to pat the wild little thing who quickly turns on him, "Ok - Happy birthday! Happy birthday!"

II.

Boris and Theo washing Popper in the sink - he reeks. Sickly sweet rotten fruit-smell compounded with the wet mildewy stench of old laundry, distinctly intermixed with the odor of shit. Popper’s yelping echoes through the kitchen like an antique car horn, petrified, claws rigid on the edge of the sink, braced for continued frantic attempts to flee his sudsy prison and energized with bouts of fervor not entirely unlike a demonic possession. The one overhead light fixed accusatorily above the kitchen sink makes the whole set up look like an interrogation room - worlds away from the girly relaxing grooming videos they found on Youtube.

“Potter! Not this way!" Boris screeches - voice cracking like it has been lately - exacerbated in its rawness by the cheap, caustic brand of cigarettes he smokes. Lately they’ve been meeting the parched maw of his chapped lips like a consecutive line of ants, one after the other, his fingernails yellowing. Popper shakes violently, way before Theo is ready and can throw the ratty towel across his drenched body, whirling like a windmill, fur centripetal and spiralling, soaking their filthy t-shirts flat onto their bony bruised limbs.

“Oh, Popper," Boris outright coos, followed by a placating barrage of what is unmistakably a grandmotherly coddle of (likely) Polish. "You look just like Potter!" he declares, finally discarding his ciagrette, which dims in the puddle on the counter as it sucks up water. Theo grabs it as it does, revives it, takes a long, charring drag of nicotine and tar. His eyes narrow behind his glasses, observing the drowned-rat Maltese, frigid and shaking to its bones, and completely hates how Popper's forlorn appearance quite accurately recalls his own reflecton, just in from the pool, hair flat to his head, eyes big and, somehow always, helpless.

III.

Boris and Theo say goodbye to Popper when he is fifteen. Congestive heart failure - a diagnosis so deleterious and uncomfortably human Theo finds it hard to believe when the middle-aged vet ("Dr Janet", purple earrings, thick rectangular glasses - incense burning, loose leaf tea drinking, National Park lover) breaks it to him. She seems to understand the frozen bones in his shoulders and his unexpected quietness better than he does, leaving the room before he notices she’s gone.

Even in the darkest edges of his flayed existentialisms Theo never found room for dogs. Dogs, he supposes for the first time, in an achingly unfair realization, with their bright renewable resource of happiness (which they often give freely even to the undesevering, or unknowning, or unappreciative) are immune to such nihilistic musings. Popper stares at him from the table, ragged and old, too heavy in the middle and too thin on the edges, breathing all wrong. How did - all that time pass?

Boris, on video-chat in Kyyiv, up to no nefarious deed (he insists) is the one, for once, startled by Theo’s harsh red eyes, like he's been doping too much again, but there’s no dope - just a clinical setting and a hard shuddering breathing, from somewhere offscreen, quiet like it’s coming from a baby in crib.

Boris, like a knitted sweater, so often and inevitably pulled in many different directions until he disappears, seems to swat away half a dozen Non-English speaking acquaintances before the line goes quiet on his end and Theo can actually explain what is going on. The way he touches the screen on the video chat with his fingertips when Theo presents it to Popper (“Let me see him please,” Boris had asked, with no hidden heartbreak) makes Theo’s chest crush inward like the emotional equivalent of the impact of a car accident.

Boris says no at first, when Theo makes the suggestion, no let him go when he's supposed to, not yet, then: let me see him first, and makes it all the way to JFK before his phone rings. He doesn't answer, won't, but when he walks in the jingling door from the merciless city rain, the black tails of his coat dragging water, all sharp angles and dark shadows, he already knows.

“He couldn’t wait anymore,” Theo says. And when he meets Theo’s cherry red eyes, Boris doesn’t yell, or get angry - he cries. Right there in the lobby - he cries. Hands shielding his eyes, like a boy cowering beneath the shade of an umbrella.

IV.

Later they bump coke in the bathroom of Gramercy Tavern, shitfaced at the table, “Remember when he ate Xandra’s G-string?” Theo says so loudly it rings across the room like a papal blessing.

“Aha! Yes! So sneaky. Little pervert! Gets that from you! And the time he shit in the grocery store? Aisle 12?”

The memories pour out: “His fucking pink collar with the bell on it.” “How he howl like - ooo ooo oooo! So annoying! Always in the morning! Yes, Popchyk! I’m coming!” “Oh when we caught him fucking The Playa’s chihuahua?” “да, I told him he could do better! He was nice boy she was not so nice. Still, he got more ass than either one of us,” Boris says fondly, proudly, and clinks his shotglass to Theo for what seems like the hundreth time.

“Something deeply not right about catching a Maltese in the throes of passion,” Theo says, blinking long-disturbed eyes behind the dewy lenses of his glasses. Boris seems to agree, with a noncomittal grunt, and puts a heavy, vice-like grip onto Theo’s shoulder, shaking him until he looks up.

“Like a teddy bear getting a blowjob,” he says, and Theo laughs a half-choked laugh. They’re both crying. They’re both fucking crying.

“To Popchyk née Popper, G-string sniffer, pillow hat, accomplished singer,” Theo sniffs, sitting up straightly from his messy, hunched position over the table, head back against the booth. Boris meets his eyes, they’re both such a fucking mess. “And friend.”

“Vichnaya pamyat,” Boris says formally, in response. Theo smashes his glass, agreeing.

“Eternal memory.”

V.

“Open any one! Any one you want!” Boris crows happily, the tip of his nose red like he’s been outside in the cold but he hasn’t, not for hours, and the sloshing bottle of Christmas cheer which is sitting (carelessly, without a coaster, Theo notices with disdain) on the mahogany side table is nearly empty at only half past noon. “Oh! My big mistake!” Boris makes a big show of putting his hand to his chest in guilt, elevating the bottle and placing it on top of a book instead. “блядь,” he scoffs.

“I know what ‘bitch’ in Russian is,” Theo answers, wrapped warmly in a woolen Burberry pullover, burgundy, with the festive forest green cuffs of his starched button up curling around the ends of his sleeves. Snow is falling outside like white wafting butterflies, the stone Antwerp architecture nestled under frost, Tchaikovsky on the speakers hooked up to Boris’ sentimental iPhone.

“I know!” Boris says cheerily, gesturing towards the presents beneath the tree with a sweeping, encouraging hand. “Any one!”

Theo rolls his eyes, but as they land on the smattering of gifts wrapped festively on the dark hardwood floor his mood lifts. Picking up a small one, dark matte navy blue with a silver ribbon Boris exclaims offendedly -

“No! Any one!” he repeats, taking the blue one out of Theo’s hands and replacing it with a rather less elegant medium-sized red box, bundled together with a haphazard green string. “This one!”

The oddly-weighted box quivers in his grip, a strange feeling which sends an unexpected thrill of fear through Theo, “What is this.”

“Open!” Boris goads. “Just look!” he seems pleased with himself, taking another long hit off the joint that is smoking in the ash tray and then rubbing his palms together and leaning forward over his knees, eagerly like a kid.

The box is easy to open, just a cover over a base, which Theo lifts to reveal the small fuzzy face of a tiny, tiny round dog, so extremely gay, circular in the face like a teddy bear, pawing at the side of the box.

“You like her?” Boris asks with the trepidation of new fallen snow, peering over Theo’s shoulder.

The puppy stares at him, unblinking and cherubic, and softly licks Theo’s nose. It happily lets out the shrillest bark from its tiny lungs, a sound so high-pitched it makes the bells on the tree tingle in the vaguest memory of tinnitus.

“Ah, бубенчик Popchykova!” Boris laughs.

Theo hoists the little thing up, blinking tree lights ensconsing the ball of its fuzz, an ornament-shape itself - the puppy wriggles disorganized limbs in midair, pawing innocently for warmth and closeness. Somehow smaller, more effeminate, and more annoying than his last dog. He loves her already. Round cookie-shaped eyes and a bark that splits his skull. And the name?

It fits.

[stevenbasic]

The bull began to move, gently at first, just slowly back and forth. Like a seasoned pro, Melissa put one hand in the air for balance and - once settled - tapped the thing’s back as a signal to start.

The jiggles, instantly, were mesmerizing. I felt immediately like I should turn away, not watch, not leer like the rest of these drunken bozos...I’m her boss, for God’s sakes! And this was already borderline pornographic, or heavily voyeuristic at the least. That I had Melissa’s friend and fellow employee Randi standing right here, right next to me, just made things worse.

Because Randi doesn’t miss a thing.

But, god help me, I couldn't look away. And so instead I resigned myself to feeling like a lech, watching her every move, watching every jiggle, quake and sway. And Jesus could my new Office Manager jiggle, quake and sway. Her tall, fit but insanely voluptuous body broke countless laws of physics up on that bucking bull and even seemed to invent some new ones, right in front of my unblinking eyes. Breasts, hips, thighs...it was all on bouncy display, it was all in ungodly amounts, and it was all awesome.The bull-guy certainly did his part at the controls, moving, spinning and bucking his contraption just fast enough to keep her on but keep her jiggling, wanting her to ride a while...she was suddenly the main attraction tonight, for sure. Though it was not busy, the bar was a big one and already she had a crowd of forty or so...with more quickly drifting over.

Up and down, back and forth, jiggle jiggle jiggle. I watched, we all watched, as Melissa’s body kept the crowd entranced. She seemed all but oblivious to what a spectacle she was being, and only laughed and laughed and laughed, hooting as things sped up just a bit. But just then the bull turned, and Melissa’s eyes dropped and met mine, once, in a gleeful triumph.

It was just a moment but in it we both knew that she had already won our little bet. She had a crowd nearly ten times the size of mine by now, and it was still growing. Eyes were peeled, young and old, man and woman, locked on the squealing, pneumatic brunette jiggling all of our attention up to her. She knew it, she knew she had full command of the room and her eyes, in those brief seconds they met mine, casually gloated it to me before she laughed and returned herself to bouncing on the bull, giving her crowd what they wanted. Making it grow even more.

“Jesus, that girl’s got a body,” commented the dude next to me, a smoky fellow with a grey goatee. Maybe he was speaking to no-one in particular, but I knew I should be the last person to step up and agree with him. But despite myself and the fact that Randi was still aside me I did meekly nod, and got myself thinking:

Wow, the power of something like this. I mean, look at all these stares she’s getting. Yes, it’s a jiggle-fest up there tonight but even so...the impact women’s bodies can have on a room, how commanding of attention they can be...it’s incredible. How women like Melissa can be so unconsciously powerful, how they can dominate anything simply by existing. It’s almost...scary.

Look at this crowd of guys for example; they’re rapt. Some were cheering, some were laughing and enjoying the scenery with friends. But many - most, in fact - were just staring blankly. They looked like slack-jawed goons, absorbing and probably recording every second, every little jiggle, for their own private fantasies. How embarrassing it is to be a guy sometimes, seeing all these slack jawed morons, all these uncomfortable stares.

Pulling me from my reverie was Randi, who had just aimed her phone up at her bull-riding friend. “Wooooooo!!!!! GO MISSY!!” she called, phone aloft.

“Are you f-filming this?” I asked, while in the back of my mind wondering if I could get away with the same thing.

“Of course!” she beamed, eyes glued to her screen as she recorded, “Putting this up on our Insta! Hashtag Far Horizons! Wooooo..!”

”wh-what?!?” Oh my god, right...I had made this woman my social media director, another testament to my poor judgment and the power of pretty girls. “D-don’t, uh...d-”

”Or should I DM it to your wife? What's her name again?”

”Randi!!” I exclaimed, turning to her in a sudden, honest panic, realizing that this could get out of hand quick.

“Relax I'm joking..!” she laughed, hitting <stop> as she lowered her camera,  “Bu-ut…”

Turning off her phone, she slipped it into her cleavage.

”Look at everyone looking at her,” she continued, as if she’d been reading my mind, “They’re like a bunch of zombies. Like they’re brain-dead. I swear, men and boobs, it's crazy. Tits like that can rule the world...”

And that’s here our story catches up.

”Honestly, look how big she is,” Randi continued, incredulous herself as I stood next to her speechless, both of us still staring, “And I can’t believe she’s still growing, that they’re still getting bigger…”

Now it was my time to at least act incredulous. “Wait, what, really?” I asked, feigning surprise though I had re-read Melissssy’s Instagram posts hinting at her growth countless times, “I mean…”  

So it was true? She was growing? For real?

“I mean,” Randi continued, “she already gets everything she wants, I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like when she’s, like…”

“L-like what?” My mouth was so dry.

“Like…” And with that, Randi’s two cupped hands in front of her own chest ballooned out, her eyes widened, “Pssshewww..!”

Watching my face redden, Randi laughed.

Jesus Christ. I need my beer.

As Randi let me stew in my own demented thoughts, I downed a big gulp. I eventually recovered, once more watching Melissa buck and bounce. “So, uh, what do you mean, she ‘gets everything she wants’, because of, uh..?”

“Like, everything,” Randi answered me, like she was talking to a dimwit, “drinks, money, this job…”

“h-h-hey...” I countered, suddenly feeling like I had to be ready to defend myself, as Melissa jiggled away on the bull above us. Thankfully Randi just pressed on.

“God, I’ve always wanted to be that girl,” she said, eyes on Melissa but voice a bit further away, “That girl who walks into the room...and everything just stops. Everyone just... goes quiet.”

”Hey you've got nothing to worry about…” I said, turning to her and suddenly realizing my mistake as she turned towards me.

”Aww reeeally??” she squealed, eyes flashing darkly and smile curling high. Wait, wow, I just said too much.

I turned away, back to Melissa, and in the next moment Randi did too. “No, I mean, I know I'm pretty. But I mean...imagine being like her,” she continued, “Like Missy. Like having a body that stops the world. Like, I want to be the girl forcing guys to use all their mental capacity not to look down at her cleavage. I want them to struggle to be able to look me in the eye.” Randi turned back towards me; I looked at her.

”ummm…” I didn’t know what to say.

”What color are Melissa's eyes, Dr J?”

Thankfully, the bullride stopped right then.

“Well alright Alright ALRIGHT! Let’s hear it for Miss MISSY!” came the announcer’s voice, drawing a wave of hollers and catcalls from the crowd. We all watched as Melissa dismounted, most disappointed that the jiggle-show was over...myself relieved, feeling like I’d just dodged Randi’s bullet. “Once again she took ol’ Remus here by the horns,” he finished, “stayed on the whole ride! Well done, young lady!”

Well done indeed. Jeez, I thought to myself, our bet.

“Ok, well, you obviously win...” I said to Melissa through the parting crowd as she returned towards us, laughing. I helped open the gate for her.

“Didn’t you know?” she chirped, taking my beer from me, “Girls always win.”

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Hoping for Home Ch. 1 ~ Consequences

Summary: Sixteen years ago Libby Scott was supposed to become Queen of Cordonia, but Fate had other plans.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the TRR characters, they own me.

Song rec for this Chapter: “Consequences” by Camila Cabello

Taglist: @fullbeaumonty @cocomaxley @leelee10898 @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @katurrade @indiacater @choiceswreckedme @ritachacha @noey718-blog @carabeth @daniv2278 @cosigottahavefaith @ao719

    Libby groaned as she rolled over in bed, slapping her alarm. Setting her feet on the floor with a grumble, she wiped her face before heading down the hallway to flip on the other bedroom lights.

     “School. Up. Now.” She commanded loudly, rounding the corner and plodding to the kitchen.

    Just as she was taking her first sweet sip of coffee, her daughter entered the kitchen. “Morning!” Emma sang as she opened the fridge, her blue eyes shining and bright blonde hair flying like a halo around her.

   Libby paused to observe the young girl, wondering for the millionth time if her ungodly cheer at this early hour was a trait she had somehow inherited from her father. If the man Libby was thinking of really was Emma's father.

   “Where's your brother?” Libby asked, gulping the warm liquid in her mug.

   “You know Will. I haven't seen him yet.” Emma responded, pouring herself a tall glass of orange juice.

   Libby rolled her eyes. “William! I'm coming with the wooden spoon if I don't see you in five minutes!” She hollered. After a few beats she heard the grumblings of her teenage son as he shuffled about getting ready for school. He definitely took after her in the morning.

   Still, she contemplated as she propped herself in his doorjamb, there were things about him that reminded her of both of the men she'd left behind so many years ago.

    He had the blue eyes, which both men shared and the broad shoulders. His hair was a shade of dark, dirty blonde somewhere between them both.

   Libby sighed. “You've got your last final today huh?”

  Will nodded as he tied his sneaker. “I'm not worried. It's history.”

   “Even if history is your favorite subject, don't blow this off. Will, I'm serious. If you don't get an A they're going to hold you back. Do you really wanna stay behind while Emma becomes a junior?”

   “Okay, Mom. I know how important it is. And this time I really did study,alright?”

   Libby nodded and headed back to the kitchen.

   “Don't forget you both owe me a shift at the shop after school.” She told her daughter.

   Emma nodded. Will walked into the kitchen taking a gulp of his sister's oj as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.

  “Come on. We're gonna be late.” He said grabbing the keys to their shared car.

   Emma rolled her eyes. “I've been waiting on you ya know. Bye Mom. Love you.”

  “Yeah love ya mom.” Will kissed his mother's cheek.

  “I love you both. Seat belts and drive safe!” She called as the teenagers bounded out the door.

       Drake turned down the long, dirt driveway towards the farm. It was smaller than his mother's, but he could definitely tell they'd been expanding since his last trip here.

  After unloading the horses from the trailer and sorting out the finer points of his delivery to Mr. Sawyer, he climbed back into the truck.

   “Hey Dad?” asked the young girl in the passenger's seat.

   Drake quirked an eyebrow as he pulled onto the main road.

   “Can we find a coffee shop? Like a real one. Not a roadside diner. I really want to get a chai tea.”

   “Chai tea? What even is that?” He scoffed, but the fourteen-year-old batted her lashes, undeterred.

   “Alright fine. We'll get checked in at the hotel and I'll ask the attendant about where to get chai tea.”

      The girl at the front desk had pointed Drake and McKenzie to a small place called The Nook. They pushed inside the tiny shop and Drake jammed his hands in his pockets, surveying the cozy surroundings as Mack stepped up to order.

    The boy behind the counter seemed nice enough, but Drake eyed him carefully taking note that he'd placed his hand close to McKenzie's on the counter as he leaned in to talk to her.

     He'd been paying so much attention to his daughter flirting with the cashier that he hadn't noticed the woman walking through the shop, pausing at each table to make sure the patrons we're satisfied. Then he heard her laugh.It was a deep, pristine sound. The kind of laugh that was real and came straight from someone's belly and Drake was certain that he'd heard it before.

    Like a swirling vortex the memories from years long since passed flooded over him. Ballrooms and waltzes and all of the fixtures of the royal court that Drake hated from his old life back in Cordonia raced to the forefront of his mind as he spun on his heels to find the source.

   And just like that, there she was, wearing the same smile that could light up a room almost seventeen years ago. It was like no time had passed for her at all and he felt his jaw go slack as he stared at her.

    “L-Libby? Libby Scott as I live and breathe.” Drake heard the words fall from his lips before his mind even registered that he'd said them.

****************************

           Libby heard someone call her name and she froze in place, recognizing the smooth, even voice instantly.

   She flipped her strawberry blonde hair over her shoulder as she turned in the direction of the voice.

   “Drake Walker? Is that you?” She flashed him a smile, crossing the floor to embrace her old friend. Internally she was screaming.

    “How the hell are you? It's been a long time.”

     “I’ll say. 16 years is a very long time. What are you doing in Georgia?” Drake asked.

    “Oh I um...this is home now. This is my coffee shop.” Libby told him, gesturing around the room.

    “No kidding? It's a nice place, Scott. Not quite my scene, but it's nice. No offense.”

   “Same ole Drake. I guess some things never change huh?” She laughed.

   “Guess not. I- I only came in because my daughter,” Drake began pointing toward McKenzie. “begged for a...some kind of tea.”

   “Daughter? The girl my son, Will is practically drooling over right now?”

   Drake whipped his head around to see a blonde, blue- eyed girl slap the cashier's arm. He smiled again at McKenzie before following the other girl into the back.

   “That's your boy?” He continued to watch as Libby's son reemerged, a stack of paper coffee cups in his hand as he began to restock them. Drake edged closer to the counter, surveying the teenager in earnest.

    “Drake he's not...it's not what you think..” Libby tried to lie. Her old friend didn't take his eyes off of her son as he replied, “It's not? Because I think I'm looking at the heir to the Cordonian crown, Scott. Tell me I'm wrong.”

   His brown eyes met hers in an intense stare as she bit her lower lip.

    “Tell me that's not Liam's son.”

    “He might be.” She whispered.

   “Might be? What the hell does that mean?” Drake's tone was hushed but harsh as McKenzie stepped up to them. She handed her father his black coffee with a smile.

    “Ready to go?” She asked.

    “Uh, actually, Mack, thi-this is Libby Scott. She's an old friend of mine from back home. Lib, this is my daughter McKenzie.”

   “Nice to meet you Ms. Scott. You're from Cordonia too?”

  “New York, actually. But I lived in Cordonia for a time many, many moons ago.”

  “Listen I've got to get her settled, but can I...can we talk? Like really talk? Me and Mack are in town for a few days. Maybe we can..get some food or something?” Drake asked, still sneaking glances back at Will.

  Libby gulped, her eyes fixing on anything but him. For so long she had worried that this day would come. She took a deep breath knowing she could no longer run from her past.

   “I'd love to.” She lied.

   “Mom!” Emma called from behind the counter. “Will won't take the trash out..”

  Libby sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I'm coming.”

    Drake's eyes went wide as he watched the exchange. “Scott, I thought you said you had a son.”

   She gave him a sorrowful glance, knowing this was a lot for him to digest. “I do. Will is my son.” She pointed first at the boy, then at the blonde girl from earlier.

  “Emma is my daughter. They're-”

  “Twins. Twins run in the Rhys family.” Drake mumbled.

   “ Listen I have to handle these ingrates,” Libby joked, trying to lighten the mood. “we close at 5. Would you and McKenzie like to meet us here? I'll cook you guys something special at my house.”

   “We'll be here because you and I-” Drake motioned between the two of them.

  “I'll explain everything, Drake. I promise.”

[this-ginger-has-no-soul]

The pornstache

(A/N): I’m so sorry you guys but I’m having really bad writer’s block right now and I couldn’t even write my own requests but I was sorta feeling this one so that’s why I’m writing it right now...sorry again

Request: CAN I REQUEST A SEB WITH THE PORNSTACHE? PPL ARE MAKING FUN OF HIM FOR IT AND HE ACTS LIKE HE DOESN'T CARE BUT PART OF HIM DOES BUT IT TURNS READER ON? LOL IDK, FEELIN' THE STACHE REAL HARD RN HAHAHA.

Warnings: hints of smut

Tags: @mcuimxgine, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x, @saradi1018, @holland-toms, @superwholockian309, @fly-f0rever, @capbuckthor, @livandlilah

   (I actually thoroughly enjoy the pornstache)

  You sigh softly as you listen to the roar of the crowd, just outside the blue curtains. This wasn’t the first time you’d ever been on a talkshow but no matter how many times you were on TV you’d never get used to it. You were much more comfortable behind some glass walls, singing your little heart out, not out in the open for everyone to judge you. 

   “And please welcome our special guest (Y/N) (Y/L/N)!” The curtains open and you plaster on a smile as you walk out, hoping no one could tell just how scared you were. 

   Jimmy Fallon, the host of the show you were on tonight greeted you with a wide smile and open arms. You gladly meandered into his arms, hugging him lightly as he beamed from ear to ear. 

   “It’s so glad to finally have you back on the show! It’s been what- 2, 3 years?” 

   “I think it’s been three,” You chuckle lightly, grimacing just a bit at your voice. “I’m so lazy, like it takes so much effort to put out music. You have to get out of bed, go to the studios at ungodly hours of the morning, sing for hours on end, and then repeat the whole process again,” You sigh softly, smiling just a bit. “But luckily I can look like shit and no one’s gonna notice right?” Everyone laughs at this, only partly boosting your confidence. 

   “Oh come on,” Jimmy gently smacks your shoulder. “I bet you look great,” 

   “Oh no,” You chuckle. “I look so bad in the mornings, like I’m surprised I don’t scare the shit out of my-” You pause, smiling as you think of your man back home; Sebastian. God, you loved that man more than anything. 

   “Out of your fiancee?” You nod and smile, unable to stop a blush from spreading over your cheeks. 

   “Yeah, I’m surprised he doesn’t leave me or something,” 

   “Um uh-” Jimmy chuckles, unable to even get through his sentence without giggling. “Speaking of your fiancee, aka Sebastian Stan.” At this everyone cheers, hollering and screaming at the mention of the love of your life. What made it even worse was that you knew he was watching from home, no doubt smiling as he recognized that tell tale blush of yours. “Can we just talk about his new facial hair?” At this Jimmy pulls out a picture of Seb with the mustache he’d recently been growing, a god awful pedostache. You laugh hysterically, snorting a bit as you look at the photo. 

   “Oh my god,” You laugh as you reach out and take the photo, looking at it more closely. “He looks like a poor kicked puppy,” You laugh some more, tears nearly falling from your eyes as you look at the picture. 

   “Do you kiss him with that thing?” You nod your head, still cackling at the photo. 

   “Oh it’s so great,” You giggle lightly as you pass the photo back to Jimmy. “But yes- yes I do kiss him with that thing,” 

   “Oh (Y/N),” Jimmy cringes, laughing just a bit. “It’s so bad though-” 

   “I think it’s adorable! Just look at this face!” You gesture to Seb’s face in the photo, still smiling widely. 

   “Everyone thinks it’s so awful though,” 

   “Well I think it’s absolutely adorable,” 

  “You really do?”

  “I really do,” You smile and nod affirmatively, looking at the photo again. 

  “So enough about Seb’s god awful facial hair-” Jimmy directs your attention away from the photograph and instead to an album, more specifically your album. 

   “So this is your fourth or fifth album?” Jimmy asks, giving you a slight smile. And with that conversation you delve into your interview about your most recent album. 

    You try to close your apartment door behind you quietly, hoping that you wouldn’t make enough noise to wake up Seb. It was 3 in the morning after all and after the show Jimmy had wanted you to stay and talk with him, the roots, and all the other guest stars on the show tonight. But as you open the door gently you began to realize that perhaps you may not need to be quiet after all because sitting right there on your couch is Seb, the remote to the TV clutched in his hand. 

   “Seb, What are you doing up?” You ask as you slide your shoes off, reveling in finally being free from the objective material. 

   “I was watching your show,” He mumbles sleepily as he rubs at his eyes in the cutest fashion. “I wanted to stay up and wait for you,” You smile softly as you make your way to the couch, taking a seat beside the exhausted looking Seb. 

   “You should’ve been in bed hours ago,” 

   “ ‘M fine,” Seb mumbles as he nuzzles into your neck, his mustache tickling your skin just lightly enough to border on tickling and pleasure. 

   “You’ve been up filming for hours straight, you should be resting,” 

   “I’m really fine (Y/N),” Seb smiles against your neck, his lips curling upwards wonderfully. “I don’t think I could’ve gone to sleep anyways,” 

   “How come?” You ask as you reach up to run your fingers through Seb’s wonderful hair. 

   “Well I’ve been meaning to ask you something since your show,” 

   “Yeah?” 

   “You really like the mustache?” Seb’s tone held just a bit of insecurity, one that you had to put a stop to immediately. 

   “Yes.” You reply quickly, almost too quickly. “I really like it, you can really rock the look,” 

   “I think you’re the only one who thinks that-” 

   “But that’s all that matters right? Who cares what your fans think, or some stupid magazine? So long as your soon to be spouse enjoys it then that’s all that matters,” Seb smiles gently as he kisses your neck softly, allowing his skin to brush against yours deliciously. 

   “That’s all that matters to me,” You sigh as his lips brush against your sweet spot with every word, each little brush of his lips sending fire to your core. 

   “You know what?” You smirk as you continue to run your fingers through Seb’s messy hair. “I think I’d like that mustache even more if you put it to good use,” Seb pulls away just a bit, looking at you with a curious look. “I bet your lips would feel incredible between my legs right now,” Is all you provide as you spread your legs apart, enticing your fiancee just a bit. 

   “Oh doll,” Seb sighs a bit as he leans down, his lips brushing by the waist band of your dress pants. “I’m gonna make you feel real good,” 

[snipourr-blog]

i’ll get it (klance fanfic)

After Pidge had somehow figured out the times and dates or Earth with Coran’s help, the team had celebrated Hunk and Shiro’s birthday. The “party” was mostly a day of relaxation, a day of forgetting the threats lurking somewhere in the universe.

“When’s your birthday?” Lance had asked Keith.

“What do you mean?” the boy questioned back.

“Like what day, month-- when you were born, duh,” the blue paladin chidded in his usual enthusiasm.

“It doesn’t matter, all we’d do is lounge around, I’d rather train and be prepared for fighting Zarkon. We don’t know what the Galra will do next.”

Lance was quiet, but only for a moment. “But then you won’t get a special day,” his voice a softer tone. Keith only nodded a bit.

“I don’t need one Lance.”

“Keith, do you ever think about what you want?” The blue paladin’s blunt words froze the boy beside him. Lance’s serious expression left him as he left for the next room over.

The next day, Keith expected things to be awkward between the two, for Lance to be silent and reserved. But obviously that was a stupid thought, as instead he was greeted with the unexpected.

“Happy birthday Keith!” Lance cheered in the boy’s face.

“It’s not my birthday Lance,” he stated.

Lance almost sighed but quickly nodded. It confused the red paladin. Sure, they had been getting along better, (they hadn’t been trying to physically kill each other.) but the pure friendliness? That was something else. “Did you drink some weird Altean drink?” Keith asked.

Lance laughed. “You wish, mullet boy.”

Keith made a face at the name, pushing past Lance to get his morning helping of food goo. He had to get to training soon. Lance put him behind schedule.

The day after, Keith was in the middle of brushing his teeth when he heard a knock on his bedroom door. He walked back into his room and pressed opened the door a bit to see who could be there at this ungodly hour.

Lance pushed the door open the rest of the way, throwing a small handful of colorful paper (supposed to be his amazing handmade confetti) in the sleepy boy’s face with a holler.

“Happy birthday!” He exclaimed.

Keith swatted at the paper in his face. He glared at Lance, already thinking of how he would have to clean the mess up.

“It’s not my birthday,” he stated, just like the day before.

Lance nodded. “Okay,” he said in an odd voice.

Keith sighed, turning around waving Lance away. Without a second glance at the boy he left at his doorway, he returned to his simple morning routine.

A minute or two later, he walked out into his room to get ready for the day. The floor was spotless.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have Lance popping up everyday. --- This went on for a week, then a month, then three. Lance never missed a day. They would be exploring a new planet, flying in comfortable silence and enjoying the breathtaking views when Lance would wish Keith happy birthday. Keith would reply the same each time.

It was now his birth month. Keith swallowed, thinking of what to do.

Should he tell Lance when the day comes? Or just continue with the game they had going on. Would Lance stop behaving in such an oddly cheerful way towards him?

Questions arose in the red paladin’s mind. He once had been told he was afraid of change. Well, here he was. --- Lance got hurt. It was common for the paladins to get injuries and sometimes end up in a healing pod. But Lance got injured the most.

A sneaky Galra soldier with a blade, had got behind the boy, stabbing into his side, brushing off plenty of flesh and skin. Blood had been everywhere, even though Lance had been trying to shake it off, it’s gonna be fine guys.

They weren’t so convinced.

It was the end of the day. Keith’s birthday. He was angry, sad, and overall pretty emotional. Of course Lance was in induced, but forced sleep today. Keith bitterly attacked the training simulator’s robot. He wanted Lance to wish him happy birthday. How selfish, he does it everyday.

After beating the bot, Keith sighed. He had advanced through three more levels today, a good number. Satisfied, he went to his room, showered and got ready for bed.

“Happy birthday,” He mumbled in a voice as close as he could to Lance’s warm one. He dimmed his lights.

Just as he closed his eyes, the door to his room slide open, light from the hallway startling him into a sitting position.

“How many days?” the figure asked with a dry voice, they sounded out of breath. It was Lance.

“Only around twelve hours,” Keith said with a low voice. Lance gripped the doorframe tightly. He never did come all the way into the red paladin’s room.

“Happy birthday Keith.”

Silence.

Keith opened and closed his mouth, like a fish out of water. Lance stepped beside the bed. His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

“It’s really today, isn’t it?” he said, almost nervously.

Keith only nodded. the boy slowly sat down next to him. Their thighs brushed together.

“Hey are you okay?” the blue paladin asked quickly. Keith just stared down at his hands in his lap.

“Is this it?” Keith blurted out with a voice too loud at this time of “night”.

Lance’s body became obviously rigid. “What do you mean?” his voice was the softest Keith had ever heard it.

“Now,” Keith swallowed, softening his voice as well. “...Now that you know my birthday, are we going to go back to normal?” he gripped his comforter.

“I… I don’t understand your question,” Lance said, like he was talking to a fragile but dangerous animal. One that might pounce any second.

“You’ve been so… nice? And it was just… nice, you know? To be greeted everyday with,” Keith used both hands to gesture to the boy next to him. “... with you.”

Keith stared right at Lance, daring him to say something back. No longer with a nervous buzz in his fingertips.

“I don’t want this to end.” Keith concluded.

Lance’s faces could only be explained as astonished. Maybe just surprised. Fear? Keith hoped not. Suddenly, Lance grinned widely. It was the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle at the edges, it made other people who saw it want to cry or smile as well because it was just, so, beautiful.

Keith was caught off guard by the tight hug he was embraced in in. He hesitantly put his arms around the boy as well.

“Of course not. I’ll still be… well, what you said, everyday,” Lance said with a stronger tone, more sure of what he was saying.

Silence.

“We’re friends, right?” Lance tried. His tone was back to the uncertainty. Keith decided that Lance shouldn’t ever sound like that.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Keith breathed out. He hadn’t had an official friend in years besides the other paladins.

And suddenly the feeling in his stomach he had been trying to figure out made sense.

Keith had fallen deep, deep in love.

also found on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186386