#AND I FUCKING FORGOT I SET MY FAVORITE FOOD LIKE YEARS AGO .............................

[personal-breeze-2]

WHAT A FUCKING JUMPSCARE FROM THE UNDERTALE NEWSLETTER

[whatsnewalycat]

Psychomanteum / Chapter 16

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 16: Famous Last Words

Chapter Summary: Revelations.

Word Count: 7.7k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal

Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨

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The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears. 

The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you. 

You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen. 

You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it. 

You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick. 

You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover. 

You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another. 

You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it? 

When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along? 

All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why? 

Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there. 

Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home. 

There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes. 

But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit. 

He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you. 

A week before he died, he gifted you a journal. 

He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious. 

“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.” 

“Is it edible?”

“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”

You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion. 

So fucking high. 

Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins. 

“A notebook?” 

“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”

You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking. 

“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.” 

You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him. 

Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”

The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.

You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you. 

The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning. 

At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future. 

Weeks went by before you wrote inside. 

It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.

There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages. 

The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through. 

And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot. 

When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own. 

With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee. 

Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast. 

—

The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.

One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures. 

A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs. 

He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.

Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search. 

He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him. 

In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day. 

Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be. 

While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key. 

It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender. 

Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing. 

Intuition tells him he’s running out of time. 

He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that. 

He prays that’s enough time for a miracle. 

—

You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size. 

A keeper. 

You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so. 

That should do just fine. 

The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.

After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.

—

“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.” 

She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it. 

“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”

“To bribe an elected official.” 

She blinks, “Try again.” 

“I thought she went home.” 

“And why did you go to the opera?” 

“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—” 

“Who texted you?”

“Uhhhh…”

“Do you have a copy of the text message?” 

“I, um—”

“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.” 

“Parker told me to.” 

“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him. 

“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.” 

“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”

“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.” 

“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?” 

“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“ 

“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”

“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.” 

“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?” 

“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.” 

“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘

He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?” 

“It’s her journal.” 

His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable. 

“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”

Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase. 

“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”

As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.

I am the haunted house 

He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?” 

“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.” 

Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable. 

“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.” 

He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

—

The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum. 

It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy. 

This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet. 

After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect. 

Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath. 

Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though. 

You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum. 

About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever. 

The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.

All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic. 

You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore. 

It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.

In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door. 

If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again. 

For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it. 

Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts. 

You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between. 

Then you hear it. 

A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching. 

It sneaks. 

Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last. 

Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time. 

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.” 

—

I am the haunted house  Full of ghosts  Myself and others 

Living in the past  I cannot escape Neither can they 

Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover. 

This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so. 

His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages. 

I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed. 

Warmth and affection flood his veins. 

You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.

He remembers how tedious it was at first. 

Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.

Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.

He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did. 

As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice. 

He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name. 

It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune. 

The glass patio door slides open, then shut. 

Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar. 

“You boys have fun shopping?”

Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.” 

“Oh fuck off, really?” 

“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!” 

Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“I know.” 

He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract. 

“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.” 

Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.

“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.” 

“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”

Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?” 

With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it. 

“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.” 

Parker frowns, “Can I see it?” 

Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him. 

He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips. 

“What?”

“I think I see something.”

“Something like what?”

“I need a pencil.”

Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page. 

A phone number. 

“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number. 

—

The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip. 

Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps. 

Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper. 

I cried myself to sleep that night. 

Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome. 

Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me. 

It didn’t seem real when I woke up. 

He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm. 

Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.

You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands. 

Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest. 

This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass. 

It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it. 

You pick up the pen and keep going. 

He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course. 

I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention. 

The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out. 

He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black. 

When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again. 

Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out. 

This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal. 

This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting. 

This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time. 

Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum. 

__

Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead. 

“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.” 

Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90. 

If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch. 

His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt. 

He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time. 

Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity. 

Then the voicemail picked up.

“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.” 

BEEP

“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.” 

He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”

Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”

“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”

“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs. 

“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”

His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call. 

“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.” 

“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.” 

“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?” 

When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted. 

“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”

“What do you mean?”

He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack. 

“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.” 

“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.” 

“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”

It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts. 

“Take the exit.”

He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging. 

“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.” 

—

Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract. 

Then you wait. 

After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself. 

“Ethan, I need to talk to you.” 

Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation. 

Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.

You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed. 

The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment. 

You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object. 

An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light. 

It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers. 

The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.

In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely. 

It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread. 

The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles. 

You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”

He huffs a little chuckle, “No.” 

You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?” 

“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?” 

“I came here to yell at you.” 

“Then yell at me.” 

He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window. 

“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”

You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.” 

“If I ask you something, will you lie?”

“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”

You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none. 

“Were there other women?”

“Do you really wanna know?” 

You nod. 

He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.” 

“How many?”

“Three.”

It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit. 

“Were they serious? Did you love them?”

“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze. 

“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”

“You tried to kill me.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts. 

“Please say something else.” 

“What do you want me to say, Lou?”

A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.” 

“What’re you so scared of?” 

“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?” 

You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika. 

You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him. 

It all seems so fragile.

“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”

“Is it worth it?” 

“Don’t you think?”

You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love. 

He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”

“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.” 

“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?” 

You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken. 

If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan. 

If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter. 

Dieter. 

Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever. 

Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.

Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him. 

Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you. 

Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before. 

You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side. 

You shake your head.

“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.” 

Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”

—

When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat. 

"The destination is on your right. Arrived." 

He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest. 

“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”

Thunk 

One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path. 

Goddamnit, not now. 

If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness. 

A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward. 

It has to be a porch light, that has to be it. 

Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him. 

The trees open up into a clearing.

As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio. 

He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”

His voice is garbled and frantic. 

Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”

Dead silence. 

White hot panic spikes his blood. 

He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house. 

There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms. 

On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense. 

The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around. 

—

Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water. 

Ker-plunk!

Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile. 

The next one is heavier. 

You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash. 

Delight shivers up your spine. 

You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath. 

Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet. 

You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite. 

It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him. 

For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok. 

The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door. 

“LOUELLA!” 

You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”

Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin. 

When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him. 

“Dee?”

[ Next Chapter ]

[astoldbychae]

I want all the evens of the Lovey Dovey questions for Messiah even tho he doesn't deserve it

Not even tho he doesn't deserve it *flatlines*...He's tryna call you twinny...He needs you to take him off of Do Not Disturb. 🤣

♥ (02) Does another OC love your OC? If so, whom, and does your OC know?

Yes, Angel and [redacted]. He knows Angel does and has been in his feelings about their break up for some time now. As for [redacted]...No, he doesn't. He thinks she forgot about him after all these years. Who this is will be revealed at a later date...*grinch smile*

♥ (04) Are there any romantic gestures that your OC hates?

He's not big on surprises. Although they are most likely innocent & thoughtful, in his erratic mind he feels like it's a set-up. He's done some things in his past and he's always on alert.

♥ (06) What is the most romantic thing that has been done for your OC?

For his birthday, Angel planned a baecation in Sulani. 3 days and 2 nights of good vibes, good food, and good sex! They would've stayed longer but he's very busy with running his clubs, so she had to use those few days to her advantage. [this wasn't a surprise, she had to tell him she wanted to take him somewhere far away for him to relax with just him & her...also she needed him to clear his schedule in advance LOL]

♥ (08) What is your OC’s dream marriage proposal?

He's been on the fence about being married. After he fucked up on Chana (his daughter Amiri's mother who he was engaged to years ago), He hasn't really thought about seriously settling down. Deep down He wants love but he tends to fuck it up (word to the Villainous Valentine aspiration).

♥ (10) What is your OC’s favorite big way to show their love?

It used to be sex but as he's aged he's learned what real intimacy means, so quality time (especially since he's very busy, if he's clearing/shifting his schedule for you that's big for him). When he's in love, date night is important for him. He likes to do fun/adventurous things. He also enjoys giving gifts. If she has a dog, he's literally treating her dog as one of his children. That's one of the ways He got Angel, that dog LOVES him.

♥ (12) What do you love most about your OC?

I love that he's my wild card! He's got the Villainous Valentine aspiration with erratic, jealous, romantic, active, and family oriented traits. You just NEVER know what you're gonna get with him. Literally keeps me on my toes!

♥ (14) Does your OC have any romantic traditions?

Nah, no romantic traditions. Folding you up like a pretzel is what he considers a romantic tradition.🤦🏽‍♀️

♥ (16) What is your OC’s ideal first date?

Something adventurous and fun. If it's wild, that's a bonus! (Did I mention he has the Adrenaline Seeker lifestyle?)

♥ (18) Does your OC have a “type”?

He loves thick and curvy women with a nice set of lips...both sets. He's an ass man for sure but the hips & thighs is what drives him crazy. If she's short, that's also a plus!

♥ (20) How does your OC feel about public displays of affection?

He's here for it! All of it! He's freaky tho...so it's bound to turn him on and turn into something else.

♥ (22) How often does your OC read romantic literature?

If it's not about money or business (or his daughter's homework) baby boy is not reading about it. Lol

♥ (24) How does your OC determine that they’re attracted to someone?

If he can have deep conversations but also shoot the shit with you, that'll get him. If you have a sense of humor and a smart mouth...He's hooked!

♥ (26) Is your OC ever the first to say “I love you”?

Yes, when he was with [redacted] as a teen and next with his daughter's (Amiri) mother. He was actually engaged to her but she broke it off because he cheated with someone from one of his strip clubs and had a baby. He said it first to Angel also but it was when they were fuckin, so...at that time I don't know if he really loved her or if her coochie was just hella good. LMAO

So he definitely will if his heart is in it. He's romantic and has a tendency to fall in love hard when he does.

♥ (28) What is something unconventional that your OC thinks is romantic?

Doing puzzles together. He LOVES puzzles!

♥ (30) What is your OC’s favorite romantic movie?

Love & Basketball. He knows it line for line!

[purplesurveys]

1826

When was the last time you had a Poptart? Must be a handful of years now. Poptarts are super rare in our groceries and when they do show up it's like 400 pesos which is just not worth it. I just get it when I have a very very specific craving for Poptarts which doesn't happen a lot.

Do you like hot chocolate? I just get this one Spanish hot chocolate at my favorite European cuisine restaurant and that's it. I never try anything else because I know it won't hold a candle to my San Gines hot chocolate hahaha.

Where do you buy gasoline? One of the Petrons on my local highway.

Who made you laugh the hardest today? I hardly laughed today, so idk. I guess my sister? She makes me laugh at least once a day.

Who was the last person to promise you something, and what was it? My mom telling me she'll wake me up at 11 PM so I can meet the calltime for my hike yesterday, which she was able to do.

Would you ever jump into a fire to save your bestfriend? Hard to tell until I'm in that situation. I like to think I would hold out for Angela for as long as I could.

Do you have a callus from writing too much? I absolutely did. I had a 14-year callus on my right middle finger – it's no longer as blackened as it used to be, but the bump is still there and I assume will always be.

What was the last thing you failed at? Prepping for my hike. I wanted to pack light so I only brought a waist bag, and I totally forgot about a change of clothes. That meant I was stuck with my sweaty, dusty clothes even during the long drive back home hahaha, but anywayyyy that also meant I had the BEST shower ever as soon as I got home so I guess I still win.

Who is someone you’ve made a bad first impression on? Probably that dude I had my first-ever job interview with. It was my first, I didn't know how to act, I was extremely nervous, and I kicked off the introductions by reaching my hand out to shake his.

Problem was that was back in September 2020, and it was the peak of the pandemic when you did. not. want. any fucking one getting in contact with you in any capacity whatsoever. I could tell that that set the tone for the remainder of the interview because he acted a little condescendingly from that moment on. 

Can you use chopsticks correctly? I can use chopsticks to hold shit up but I doubt I'm doing it the actual proper way, like with the right finger placements and stuff.

What was the last movie you watched on TV? Ang Tanging Ina Mo hahahaha.

Who is your best guy friend? Hans.

Do you think walruses are cute? Sure!

What is the correct plural form of platypus? Platypi? Platypuses?? I'm not actually sure heheh.

When was the last time you used a glue stick? Must have been in high school or college, so the safest time range would be 4-11 years ago lmao. I don't use them anymore! I did use glue recently when I made a scrapbook for Bea, but it was the liquid type.

What is your favorite form of transportation? Car, please. I know it's a problem and I'm part of the problem, but since I'm privileged enough to have a car in this godforsaken country I might as well take advantage of it. Our public transport is one massive clusterfuck and is a daily struggle for the average Filipino who otherwise has no choice but to take it.

Do you read cereal boxes while you’re eating? Sure, and I do this with other packaged food as well haha.

What’s the last thing you accidentally (or purposely) burnt? Fries. I like them on the toastier side.

Do you know anyone named Trey? Nope.

What was the name of your last or current math teacher? I don't even remember who she was anymore.

Did you know that there is a Twilight-sponsored Blood Drive named, “Carlisle Would Approve”? Donate blood for Edward? :) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHHAHAHAHHA no I don't but thanks for the laughhhhh

Do you know anyone with a lip piercing? I probably do. Tons of people from my university had tattoos and piercings.

What did the last tattoo you saw, look like? Carlos recently had a "Fear is the mind killer" tattoo done. It's still so fresh that his arm hair's still shaved and the tattoo's still raised haha.

Do you own any hair ribbons? Nope.

When was the last time you curled your hair with a curling iron? During my college grad shoot, 4 years ago.

Do your fingertips hurt when you type for a long time? Nope, but my wrists occasionally will.

Do you know anyone with a green bookbag? No.

Do you like colorful skinny jeans? Eh, not anymore.

What was the last reason you were disappointed at someone? I was disappointed at myself for the tone I used with Celeste first thing in the morning.

Do you like “Juicy Couture”? Nope.

Where did you buy your favorite pair of jeans from? Mango.

When was the last time you wore a white shirt? Last week.

Have you ever given birth? Nopes.

Doesn’t it just sound painful? It does, which is why I never want to go through it. I admire those who have, though.

Did you know that the equivalence of a woman giving birth, is a man peeing out a golf ball? 0_o Huhuhuhu what in the fuck

Do you enjoy making out? Sure.

What’s your favorite food to put ketchup on? Only with tortang talong or fish, and only if we're dealing with banana ketchup. I never liked tomato ketchup and don't really want it anywhere near my food.

[finnofamerica]

One Powerful Motivator - Bucky Barnes x Reader | Smut

Summary: Bucky gets jealous when another man puts his hands on his property.

Word Count: 2,993

Date Posted: 08.21.2022

TW: Choking, Breeding, Bondage, Orgasm Control, Praise.

Note: This is a D/s fic, please do not try ANYTHING that you read without doing the proper research or getting the proper training. It is extremely important that you do not accidentally hurt someone. Remember that kink is customizable and there is no right way to do it as long as you’re keeping safe. We play here by Safe, Sane, and Consensual, but there is also Risk Aware Consensual Kink, and Personal Responsibility, Informed Consensual Kink. Don’t yuck anyone’s yum, I am willing to answer any questions that I can.

🔞MINORS DO NOT INTERACT🔞

|| Masterlist || Request Here || Ask Me Stuff || Request by Anon(s)

B: Don’t forget about our play date later. 

Bucky sent you that text early this morning, reminding you of your plans to meet up. The thought of what he had planned shot heat through you. You had to push the thought away as you got prepared for your work day, the freezing winter morning setting you right. 

The day passed slowly as you kept checking the clock every twenty minutes, wanting the day to be over from the moment it began. 

J: Girls night! 

The text from Jade came through. Shit, You thought, I totally forgot. You texted Bucky, telling him of your mistake. 

B: Have fun! I’ll pick you up from the club at 8, I don’t want you driving. DO. NOT. GET. DRUNK.

Y/n: Yes, Sir. 

B: Good girl

You were practically vibrating with excitement. Yet, somehow you think that Bucky planned your play date on girls night purposely.

You’d met Bucky over a year ago by accident. Quite literally by accident. You spilt your drink on him at your office’s annual holiday party. It just so happens that you’re actually really good friends with the boss’s personal assistant Jade, and the two of you conspired to get the party hosted at a local club. A favorite club of the two of you, that you frequented for your monthly girls night with Eve from accounting. Turns out accounting girls party hard. She could out drink you most of the time. 

- Over a Year Ago - 

“God,” You gagged, half hiding behind Jade, “Adam from IT will not stop flirting with me.” 

“What do you have against the IT boys?” Evelyn laughed, another mini-shot of rum into a cup full of coke. 

“I don’t have anything against them, it’s just that Adam never showers! You’re lucky he doesn’t hang out at your desk every chance he gets. Anytime he has to deal with an IT issue for us he always stops at my desk for like a half hour after. He smells like a gym sock.” You whined. 

“Thank god HR can’t hear you.” Jade chuckled, “Oh wait, you are HR.” 

“And yet, you’d think Adam would be more aware of the sexual harassment policy.” Eve handed you the spiked drink. 

“Yeah, and I can’t get him fired because he’s our boss’s son. Stupid fucking rich people. Fuck that’s strong, Eve, I’m not built like you!” 

“God, I can’t stand Carver.” Jade snorted. “But he pays me too fucking much for me to quit.” 

“Yeah don’t remind me that you’re the most over paid person here.” 

“Do you want to get calls at two in the morning to help him with his B.S? Cus I’ll trade.” 

“Nope!” You and Eve said at the same time. You wouldn’t wish Jade’s job on anyone, for any reason. 

“I’m gonna go get food from the bar.” You dismissed yourself from your friends, taking your drink with you. 

“Y/n,” The bartender greeted you with a smile. “Your usual?” 

“Hey Dave!” You grinned, “I would but I have to be on my best behavior tonight.” 

He chuckled at your little pretend pout. “Ah, you’re with the Obrams party.” 

“Correct, so it’s soda sippin’ for me. Anyway I need some food, you got mozz sticks? Tell me you got mozz sticks.” 

“Don’t worry, Girl, I got your Mozz sticks, I’ll even get them garlic parm like you like.” 

“You’re the love of my life Dave.” 

“They’ll be up in 10, I’ll put them on the Obrams’ tab for you.” 

“Beautiful.” 

You turned away from the bar, hardly taking a step before slamming into a thick sturdy chest, spilling your rum and coke all over this poor man’s pristine white t-shirt. 

“Fuck me, I’m not even drunk!” You whined. Today was just not it for you. 

“I’m sure that wasn’t an invitation,” The person in front of you chuckled, causing you to actually look up at him. Fit chest ran up to a beautiful bitable neck, all the way up probably the most handsome face you’d ever seen. Blood rushed to your cheeks, feeling much more embarrassed than you would’ve been had you ran into, say, Adam from IT. 

“Hi,” You whimpered, unable to look away from his hypnotizing blue eyes. 

“Hi,” He grinned, clearly enjoying being able to look down at you. “How about you buy me a drink as an apology.” 

You nodded, turning back to the counter, staring at Dave with big eyes. The sentiment was clear, how fucked am I. Dave shook his head with a fond smile. 

“One sec, Darlin, I’ll be right back to you.” 

The man took a seat at the bar next to where you stood, “I’m Bucky.” 

“Y/n,” You shook his hand, taking notice of his tattoo sleeve, “Listen, I am absolutely mortified right now.” 

“Well, it’s hell of an ice breaker.” He chucked. “Not to sound like an over used pick up line, but do you come here often?” 

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know if I should answer that, what if you’re a stalker?” 

“You’re on first name basis with the bartender, so you either come here often, or  you’re one of those annoying people who addresses the staff by their names.”  He joked. 

“Okay, you got me, I’m one of those annoying people,” You joked back. “I like your tattoo sleeve.” 

“Thank you,” He rolled up the sleeve of his tee to show off as much of it as he could. It was incredibly detailed piece, and your realized that they were clockwork flowers. They were stunning. 

“May I?” You asked, tentatively reaching out your hands. 

“Go ahead.” 

You were extremely gentle as you traced the work, feeling some scar tissue underneath the negative space. 

“I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo, but I could never find the time.” You told him, more or less thinking out loud. 

“You should,” He looked at you. You could swear somehow he was checking you out without looking like he was checking you out. “Some ink would look good on you.” 

You could feel your skin heating up at his words. 

“Y/n,” Dave interrupted, drawing your attention, “Your sticks aren’t up for another couple of minutes did you need something else?” 

“Yes, I’m gonna by this man a drink, and I, uh, spilt my coke, could you get me another one please?” 

“Of course, girl, should’ve figured it was all over that man’s shirt,” The bartender teased, turning to Bucky, “Listen you don’t want nothin to do with her, she crazy.” 

“Dave!” You squealed, shocked at his antics. 

“I don’t know, I’m always up for a challenge.” Bucky didn’t take his eyes off of you. Dave looked at you like, Girl you’re in trouble. “I’ll take a rum and coke, seeing as I’m covered in one anyway.” 

You pushed yourself onto one of the stools, making yourself comfortable. You figured the girls wouldn’t miss you for a little while longer. You and Bucky spent the rest of that party talking, and boy did you really like him. You liked him so much that you gave him your number that night. 

It didn’t take long for casual conversation to turn into something more. When you learned that power that Bucky could hold over you, the power that you wanted to give him, it was addictive. It took many discussions of likes, dislikes, limits, desires for you and Bucky to find something that truly worked for you. 

- Present Day - 

You and your girls found a table off to the side in the crowded club where you spent most of the last hour and a half unwinding from the work day. You were taking it slow, following Bucky’s orders to not get drunk, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the fuzzy warmth that the milkshake-like drink spread through you. 

“I wanna dance,” Eve grabbed your hand pulling you away from the table. 

“Eve, I am not nearly drunk enough to dance.” 

“You may no be, but I am and I need someone to dance with so your sexy ass is coming with me.” 

You laughed and rolled your eyes, joining Eve on the dance floor. You got lost in the music as you danced together, not really paying attention even as another body joined yours, or perhaps that was the alcohol. You let yourself relax, to be honest, you enjoyed the feeling of being sandwiched between the two warm bodies. 

Suddenly you were ripped away from between them, lips smashing against yours. Your urge was to shove whomever it was away and then you caught it. The familiar smell of one James Buchanan Barnes. You melted into him, returning his kiss with fervor, arms winding their way around his neck. His hands roamed your body, groping you ass over your skirt. Behind you you could hear a man scoff, and presumably move on to the next available target. 

“If you’ll excuse us, Eve,” Bucky pulled away, leaving you panting. “We have plans tonight.” 

“Of course, Handsome,” Eve play flirted from behind you, “As long as you keep bringing her back in one piece.” 

“My bag,” You whispered, “I’ll grab it, just give me a minute.” 

You rushed back over to the table, making sure to give Jade enough money to cover your drinks, before Bucky could haul you back to his apartment. 

He had a scowl on his face during the drive. 

“I may have to cancel play time, Doll.” Bucky said, frustration latent in his voice. 

“Did I upset you, Sir?” You asked, fiddling with your hands, “I obeyed all your rules. I didn’t get drunk.” 

“Yes, but that man’s hands were all over you, and you were letting him touch my property.” 

“I’m sorry, Sir, I thought the dancing was innocent enough.” 

“He certainly didn’t - the way he was feeling you up.” Bucky growled - and not in the sexy way. You fiddled with your collar, a symbol of your commitment to him. 

“Sir, may I make a suggestion,” he gave you a nod, “We could take a bath, relax.” 

He let out a sigh, “Yes, that sounds nice.” 

Bucky seemed satisfied for the time, though you could practically see his racing thoughts. You reached over taking his hand that was resting on the car’s emergency brake. He held it lightly, and you knew that he truly was not mad at you. 

He started stripping the moment his front door was closed and locked, b-lining for the master bath. Bucky sat on the edge of the tub as if filled, giving you plenty of opportunity to admire the beautiful work of his tattoo. 

“Strip and kneel.” He stated, though not coldly. Your eyes never left him as you did as he requested, unbuttoning your blouse slowly, letting it fall from your shoulders. Next was your skirt, undoing the zipper just enough to let it slide over your hips, pooling at your feet. 

“All the way, Doll.” 

You turned away from Bucky, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, letting that too fall to the floor. You pulled your panties down seductively, giving your Sir a good show of your ass. You faced him again, taking to your knees in front of him, if you just leaned forward, you could kiss his thighs. 

Bucky cupped your chin, stroking your face softly, his other hand went to your throat, playing with the ring on your collar. Tentatively, you leaned forward to rest your cheek on his knee.

“You are my sweet doll,” He petted your head, “aren’t you, pretty girl?” 

You nodded, smiling softly.  You could feel the soft haze of submission setting into place. You trusted Bucky more than your trusted anyone in your life, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you were safe in his hands. 

“You know that no matter how frustrated or angry I may be at one time, I still love you. You’re my good girl.” 

“Of course, Sir, I love you too.” You responded dreamily, enjoying his touch, only for it to be interrupted by him turning off the water. He helped you into the bath, settling himself in behind you. He held you tightly, and you could feel his frustrations slipping away with the steam. 

Ten minutes passed without a word, it wasn’t needed, you were just enjoying your time with him. 

“Do you still want to play tonight with Sir, Doll?” Bucky asked in your ear, his voice deep and playful. One of his hands reaching down, just barely brushing your clit. 

“Yes, Sir, if you’re feeling up to it.” You nodded. 

“Get out of the bath, Doll. Dry off. Go to the bed and play with yourself. I will join you in a few. You are not allowed to cum.” 

You didn’t need any other direction, you were up the moment he asked. You dried yourself hastily, leaving the towel for him. You picked out your favorite vibrating wand, plugging it in and settling on the bed. You lost yourself in the pleasant vibration, making sure to have your legs pleasingly spread open when you heard Bucky emerge from the bathroom, the tub draining loudly. Bucky took his time with his approach, letting your heart flutter with anticipation. 

Bucky reached over, taking the vibrator from you, shutting it off and setting it aside. 

“Move to the middle of the bed, Doll.” 

You did as he said, then let him take over adjusting you. Bucky pulled the ankle cuffs from under the bed skirt, fastening each to your ankles. 

“How’s that? Good?” He asked, making sure that they were snug, but not so tight as to hurt you. 

“Yes Sir.” You nodded, admiring the way he looked while he was strapping you down. 

“Hands above your head, Doll,” He directed, moving to get the wrist restraints. He strapped you in, repeating his question from before. 

“Its good, Sir.” 

“That’s a good little doll,” He praised you, slipping a blindfold over your eyes. Your breath hitched when you felt him take one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting the pert bud, massaging your other breast in his hands, playing with the nipple. 

A sharp pain took your nipple that was just in your lover’s mouth, making you cry out, panting as wetness flooded you. Bucky lavished your other nipple with his tongue, followed by that same sharp pain that made you whimper pathetically.

He kissed down your body, loving every inch of your skin, until he finally kissed your clit. The contact made you gasp, sending a shock of pain through your chest as it jostled whatever Bucky had attached to you. Bucky took his time eating you out, enjoying the little whimpers you let out from the torturous devices he affixed to your nipples. 

“Remember, Doll, you are not allowed to cum until I tell you to. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, Sir, I understand,” You whimpered and moaned under his ministrations. Though you could feel yourself getting close to the edge, and you knew that Bucky knew it too. 

“Sir,” You whined, “I need you to stop, I’m gonna-“ 

Bucky issues a swift smack to you clit, the shock holding you off from your orgasm. 

“So wet for me, Doll,” Bucky praised. You could feel the tip of his thick cock pressing against your entrance. “Such a good girl.” 

He leaned in to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips as he finally penetrated you, moving slow as you stretched to accommodate him. 

“Fuck,” He groaned against your lips, “always so tight for me, such a perfect little doll.” 

His hand crept to your throat as he began pumping into you. He didn’t choke you at first, just traced the band of your collar, but as he fucked into you roughly he cut off that blood rush to your brain. Keeping his hand in a ‘U’ shape to keep from hurting you. 

You were putty underneath him, moaning from the pleasure he was giving you, whimpering from the pain in your breasts every time he thrusted into you. You gripped his arm as his hand tightened around your throat restricting your air flow. 

“Sir,” You coughed out, getting wetter by the second. You could hear how sloppy your pussy was as he pounded into you. 

“You’l’ breathe when I fucking tell you you can breathe,” He growled in your ear, making you moan. You loved it when Bucky got rough with you, and he knew it. “God, I’m gonna breed this perfect cunt of yours, Doll.” 

You whimpered underneath him, as he released your neck. The blood rushing back to your brain made you dizzy. 

“You come when I tell you to, Doll,” He demanded, counting you down. When he hit one, he pulled the devices off of your nipples, making you cry out in pain as your orgasm rushed over you. Bucky groaned in you ear as his thrusts got sloppy, the feeling of you clenching around his cock pushing him over the edge, spilling his hot seed into you. 

His weight was heavy as he rested on you for a moment, panting. Reaching up he undid your wrist restraints with one hand, allowing you to remove the blindfold yourself. When he pulled out of you, you could feel his cum spill down on to the mattress. 

“I’m gonna get you cleaned up, Doll,” He promised as he undid your ankle restraints, “You did so well for me.” 

You relaxed in your happy haze as Bucky got a warm towel, and cleaned you up gently. Once finished, he climbed back in bed with you, holding you close to his chest. He rubbed your back, praising you softly as you came back to reality. 

“How’s your throat doll? You okay?” He asked, caressing your cheek. 

“Mhmm.” You nodded, “Can I have a pudding?” 

“Yes, you can have a pudding for being a good girl.” He kissed your forehead.

|| Request Here || Ask Me Stuff ||

My requests are open for Marvel, Stanger Things, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Hobbit, Jurassic Park/World, & Harry Potter.

|| See My Character List ||

[fangirlandtheories]

we need steddie

(or really any st)

fic recs

from you again

pls

Jesus, I'm sorry this took so long haha. For those who don't know, I received this ask about 4 days ago. Needless to say, the process of making a fic rec isn't a quick one. I'll leave them below the cut because it's a loooooong list.

-- The One Who Walks on the Grass       By:Ragdolly

“Hi Mom! I’m going to stay at the Wheelers tonight so don’t wait up for me! Mrs Wheeler says it’s okay.” “What? But Dusty-“ She’s cut off. “Eddie came with Robin from the Video Store with movies so we’re going to watch together! Promise I won’t stay up late okay, love you, bye!” The disconnect tone hugs the corners of the quiet room, food now stopped steaming and Steve fighting to not feel as crumpled as the napkin on the table. Set in the kind of grey area before season 4 before vecna comes in in which steve kinda feels left out.

I’m beginning with this fic for a very important reason. This fic resonated with me in ways that I haven’t felt in a long time. The way that Steve feels in this fic is the way I felt in the friend group I was in when I was in highschool. It makes my heart clench because I can feel it! It’s also very focused on the relationship of Dustin and Steve which I absolutely adore. 10000000/10, one of my favorite fics ever.

Status: Complete

-- (something happens and I’m) head over heels    by: GibbousLunation

Eddie made a strangled disbelieving noise, expression flickering. “You are not apologizing to me right now, for like, feeling a normal way about stuff. I can’t believe you.” Steve pushed a shaking hand through his hair. His heart rate no longer in his ears meant he felt he could at least think a little more clearly. “Maybe it was the heat. Doesn’t always have to be something messed up, right?” Eddie gave him a placating nod. “Sure, heat exhaustion is a helluva thing.” It had been happening a lot recently. The… forgetting. Zonking out. Whatever. He was pretty sure he was just extra exhausted, it had been a few weeks since everything but it might have just been the adrenaline or something finally wearing off. Sometimes it was like he just forgot someone was speaking, or couldn’t remember for a moment what they’d been talking about. Like blinking out of a fog maybe. It does not get better, in fact, it actually continues to get worse.

This fucking fic man. This fic nails the interactions between Steve and Eddie so well, you’d almost believe that Joe Quinn improvised them. The internal dialogue for Steve is so fucking gorgeous, I love this fic so much and you should just stop reading this review and hop to reading this fic instead.

Status: WIP

--A Helping Hand    by: Anb_3005

Steve helping all his friends through their troubles while at the same time forgetting to get himself help Or All the times Steve helps his friends and the time they pick up that Steve is definitely not okay

I’m a sucker for Steve taking care of his friends while simultaneously forgetting about his own needs, and if you are too, then this is the fic for you. This fic has everything! Breakups, Skateboards, Haircuts, even MTV’s Dan Cortez.Okay maybe not Dan Cortez, but this fic is so good he’s not even needed. 

Status: Complete

-- and i know that you don’t, but if i ask you if you love me—  

by: fakecharliebrown

Once, only a few weeks before his parents decide he’s too old to be tucked into bed at night, Steve grabs his mother by the wrist and asks, “Does Father love me?” “Of course he does,” she says immediately, smoothing the blanket where it rests over his chest. Steve blinks up at her. “Then how come he never says it?” She purses her lips. “He shouldn’t have to, sweetheart. You should just know.” (It isn’t until years down the line that Steve realizes she’d somehow turned that into being his fault.) or; Steve Harrington through the years, on loving and being loved.

So I’m a goddamn sap, so anything about Steve discovering his self worth is like a hallmark movie during the holiday season for me and I love it. Steve is such a complex character that we know so little about, so I love seeing the breakdown that so many authors create. This one in particular is amazing and I highly recommend it.

Status: Complete

--Bloodletting   by: grumpyhedgehogs

After a narrow escape from the Upside Down, it's hard to find your footing. Or: Steve Harrington deals with his terrible parents, Robin Buckley refuses to leave her best friend to fend for himself, and Eddie Munson simply will not stop lending Steve his clothes for no reason Steve can see. (Or: Steve cares too hard and too deeply to not have someone else care the same way about him. Everyone knows this except, apparently, for Steve.)

The genius of this fic, beyond great writing, is how spot on the emotion is. The insecurity isn’t too in your face, but it’s always there, lingering in Steve’s mind. His self worth is always gone, but Eddie seems to know just where to find it every time. You can feel the love in this fic, not just between the characters in the way they were written, but also between the author and their readers.

Status: WIP

--destiny has brought us oh so close together  by: deadratz

The first time Eddie finds him, Steve is crying in the school bathroom after his breakup with Nancy. They're not friends, they don't plan to become friends. Somewhere along the way they become a lot more.

This fic is a collection of moments in time between the pair, but what I love is that the slowburn is fast enough to keep you invested, but slow enough to not jump the shark. Beware though, this fic is one that contains smut so be sure to cover your eyes if you can’t handle that. Very sweet moments filled with a pleasant mixture of angst and joy.

Status: WIP

--Every Breath You Take    by: Raysisting

“I can’t do this anymore, Eds,” Steve whispered, swirling the whiskey around in his cup. “It’s getting to be too much for me. I don’t know how much more I can handle.” Approaching Steve as if he were a wounded animal, Eddie gently placed his hands on the brunette’s shoulders, rubbing soft circles into them. In front of Steve sat a letter, its contents blurred out by the tears that had come from Steve’s eyes when he first opened it. “What did this one say?” Eddie asks gently. Steve sniffles, taking a sip of the whiskey before he begins to speak, “He knows where we live.” ~~~ Or, Eddie’s a famous rockstar who has a stalker. Steve’s just trying to hang on.

This fic is still in it’s early phases but I really see the potential in it to become a very booming, popular fic as more chapters are added. A very original idea that’s is incredibly well executed so far. The buildup of fear and suspense so far has been very good but still remained subtle which is very impressive, so definitely give this one a read.

Status: WIP

--Fade Into You   by:annabeeus

Steve Harrington doesn't need help. He just needs to get through this summer without completely falling apart. Unfortunately, it seems like Eddie Munson has other ideas.

(or: the one where they fall in love with each other, bit by little bit)

Don’t be fooled by the 5 chapter length, this fic is 50K+ words of pure brilliance. The attention to detail and the characterisation is nothing short of artwork. Please read this!!!! 10/10

Status: Complete

--Four Eyes   by:Baff

Eddie thinks Steve hates him. He keeps looking at him suspiciously.

 Steve wears glasses, and doesn't want Eddie to know. For normal, not emotionally charged reasons.

God I’m in love with this fic. It’s simple and sweet and sometimes that is exactly what you need. It’s a 2 chapter quick read that you won’t regret, plus the mental image of Steve in those glasses is just icing on a cake to be honest.

Status: Complete

--Freak Trumps King    by: apatheticBlues

Okay, so not only is Steve Harrington apparently not a douche, but he’s also kind of a mess? Now that Eddie is properly looking, he notices the slight bags under Steve’s eyes and how his face is drawn, as if he hasn’t been getting enough sleep. That doesn’t make sense– Eddie would think that Steve is living a cushy life, with his mansion and parents that probably pamper him like a goddamned baby. This Steve doesn’t look pampered at all; instead, Eddie can see a familiar haunted look in his eyes that screams he’s just like you. ••• ••• ••• If you looked up the definition of "fucked-up" in the dictionary, Steve Harrington's face would be plastered right next to it. After living through two Upside-Down debacles now, it makes sense. Eddie Munson doesn't know about that, but he does notice how similar he and the former King of Hawkins High really are.

There’s a growing trend of Scoops Ahoy!Steve meeting Eddie and I’m so fucking here for it!!! I love imagining that Eddie lasted for more than a season so picturing him being involved with the Scoops Troop is one of my new favorite fantasies. I also love Eddie seeing Steve and being like ‘This isn’t the guy I remember and holy shit he looks hot and unhealthy.’ so if you also like that, this is the one for you. 10/10

Status: WIP

--Ghosts   by:WeirdAn

Six years after Steve Harrington left Hawkins he has no idea who he is or what he wants to do with his life. Then he gets an invitation to Nancy and Jonathan's wedding. After that it seems that he cannot escape Hawkins, because his past apparently comes to haunt him, next thing he knows, he runs into Eddie Munson of all people.

Listen up kiddos, this is a smutty one so please be mature enough to read it. It’s artfully done with a sense of longing and the beautiful bitter sweetness that comes with growing up. It’s that humbling experience of returning to a place you once spent all your time, but you’re returning as a different person now. That’s the power of this fucking fic. It makes you feel the anxious hope of a new crush, afraid of the possibilities that arise from that but equally thrilled. This is an excellent piece of writing that deserves more recognition. 10/10

Status: WIP

--guilty as charged (but damn, it ain’t right)   by: fais_do_do

This really was not how they had wanted to announce their relationship - beaten, bloodied and fresh from a jail cell. Or, Steve and Eddie deal with the aftermath of one night in late September and no one lets them do it alone.

The 80s were a time of technological and cultural revolution, a time in which the odd one out stopped trying to fit in with the Joneses, but that didn’t make it an easy time. This fic highlights the real life struggles that many queer people faced in real towns during the 80s. I love seeing Hopper in a protective stance, but especially with the teens because I think it’s been a bit brushed over that they are still children. Imagine making the decisions they make in the show, but you’re 17. 17 year old me was an idiot, 23 year old me is an idiot. This is a gorgeous work in progress showing two young men who have no idea how to be loved by adults (except Wayne ofc) finally getting the parental care they need. I’m in love with this piece and I can’t wait to read more. 100000/10

Status: WIP

--Heart Of Glass   by: moonscarab “So, like.. sorry if this is overstepping or anything but what’s your relationship like with your family? I’ve just never heard you talk about them. I assumed you had a bad relationship with them. Family reunions out the window and all that.” Sometimes Eddie Munson could read Steve Harrington like a book. Dog ear the pages to save them for later, creasing the words a little bit but no worries. He could easily smooth the paper back out. - Or Steve invites Eddie to his family’s Christmas party

The only thing I have to say is ‘WOW.’ That’s a lie, I have a lot more to say. I genuinely thought I knew the general direction of this fic and then the most recent chapter, chapter 6 came out, and my jaw dropped. It's so good and I love the kind of spunky energy that Steve has. His parents are villainous without being out of character, a very impressive feat, and Eddie keeps his charm while remaining protective ad loving. The OCs fit the plot perfectly nd the pace is perfection. 11000000/10

Status: WIP

--Hells Bells     by: multi_fandom_help_me

Steve Harrington has begun to hear the clocks ticking, and he knows Vecna is coming for him next. But he can't worry the kids when they have a plan. Will the group stop Vecna before he gets Steve, or will Steve have to face his worst fears at the hand of this monster? OR Eddie is the only one who notices Steve is acting weird, and while they get ~close~ he learns all about one Steve Harrington.

This is the Steve Gets Vecna’d fic that everyone has to read. It’s non negotiable. The attention to detail, the emotion, the codependency. This is the fucking fic. This is the one. It’s so good. Just read it, okay, don’t make me find you. I don’t wanna spoil anything so I’ll stop now, but oh my fucking God.

Status: Complete

--home is wherever I'm with you by: genesisofrhythm

After Steve learns Max has been living alone since her mother went AWOL, he takes her in. Now he has to balance semi-adopting a child, with his budding feelings for Eddie and figure out what the hell to do with his life in the process.

Max and Steve as siblings Supremacy. This fic has a really great dynamic between all the characters. It’s sad but sweet and it brings you hope. It really captures the feelings of conflict, do you forgive but never forget? How can you trust again? The love shines through most of all, making it one of the kindest fics I’ve read. 10/10

Status: Complete

--I think my kink is when you tell me that you think I'm pretty

by: Running_Mouth12

But Steve Harrington was never pretty. At least, he was never called that in a way that curled his stomach the way that Eddie Munson called him pretty. It hurt his guts in a way that left him spinning, like after riding a rollercoaster and getting up too fast after.

If you read my shit, you know the first tag, every single time, is Insecure Steve Harrington. That boy is dripping with insecurity and I love it because it’s fun to write about. This fic nails that and then some.ALSO SPANISH SPEAKING EDDIE AND FRENCH SPEAKING STEVE. I am absolutely living.  It’s so so good, please do yourself a favor and read it.

Status: WIP

--I’ll Try Harder Next Time   by: Tinyginger

Eddie is alive, he is. He's just in a coma, and trying to wake up. Steve is hanging on by a thread and spreading himself thin. The kids are struggling. But they all have each other

Dyslexic Steve is a given for me. No matter if it’s tagged or not, Steve, in my mind, is dyslexic in every fic and episode I’ve seen. I love this so much. This really holds onto the fear of letting himself relax for just a moment, and that is something I crave to read more of. If he lets himself take too deep of a breath, everyone will hear the wheeze kinda thing. He’s not doing well, he knows it, but he won’t do anything about it. It’s stubborn and gorgeously well written. 10/10

Status: WIP

--There's Something Below Rock Bottom  by:mackwrites

Eddie Munson had knew a few things. He knew that there were certain rules to be followed, others to ignore. He knew (well, learned recently) that there was an alternate dimension under his hometown that was responsible for a lot of bad shit. He knew that a Critical Hit was oftentimes fatal. And that blow Harrington just took... Well. Eddie didn't like the odds. Or, those bats did a number on Steve, and no one is talking about it. Also, Eddie survives because I said so.

Ooh hoo hoo my H/C lovers this one is for you. It’s delicious in it’s fear, the pacing, the suspense, the whump. *chefs kiss* Seeing Steve try and fail at convincing everyone that he’s okay? Priceless. The gang worriedly making sure he’s getting taken care of in the same way he takes care of them? Worth a million. Hotel? Trivago. Just read it already, you know you wanna.

Status: WIP

--things to come   by: birthdaycandles

“Steve?” Eddie interrupts again. Steve casts a glance in his direction, but Eddie is looking past him at the television with hazy eyes. “Yeah, I’m here.” Steve jostles his foot gently and gestures for the doctor to continue talking about fluid levels. By fluid, he’s pretty sure she just means blood. The blood that Eddie was coughing up, he figures. It had to go somewhere, so they must’ve drained it the same way they drained all the leaking air from Max’s lung. Maybe. He hopes Eddie’s uncle gets this stuff better than he does. “Don’t you live in Loch Nora?” Eddie asks just as the doctor is opening her mouth to speak again. Steve builds up to a sigh, unsure how exactly to tell Eddie to shut up when it’s not even his fault that he can’t, before he realizes Eddie’s gaze is still glued to the TV.

A goddamn masterpiece, that’s what this fic is.Steve running himself ragged without even knowing it, the guilt, the slowburn. It’s magical and you need to read it right this second.

Status: Complete

--I’m grateful for everything you put me through, it’s the only reason that I’m any good to talk to

by: Muntist

Steve learns a little bit about being loved.

A simple explanation, a complex fic. The little things that make you feel loved, those are the moments that this fic is made up of, moments that Steve didn’t have. It’s heartbreaking watching him see how other people are loved, how his parents never gave him that, as he realizes that they don’t even like him, let alone love him. It’s very emotional so 10000000/10

Status: WIP

--My Four-Leaf Clover by: isbuckybarnesokay

Steve wakes up in the hospital post-Vecna takedown, and he loves everyone. In the year that follows, he might even come to realise that they love him, too.

This is a sloooooow burn filled with longing and heartbreak, miscommunications and making up. Once you’re in, you’re in for the long haul as it really hooks you within seconds. You’ll feel a bit like Robin, screaming at the two for not seeing the other’s feelings, by the end and it’s such a delightful feeling. You’ll love it, trust me on that.

Status: WIP

These last few are actually series, so there will multiple fics.

--Under The Weather   By: wayfarers0

a cold front: in which Eddie is sick as a dog and Steve offers a place for him to stay.

the cold shoulder: in which Steve catches feelings (and Eddie's cold)

These are such sweet works, highly recommended to all, but especially to my fellow sickfic lovers. You get a healthy dose of h/c affecting both Eddie and Steve, so whatever floats your boat, this fic has it.

Status: Complete

--Awareness   by: honeycornbread

A series of fics about the important people in Steve’s life taking care of him as he comes to grips with having seizures.

One of my personal favorites. If you read my work, Let It Out and Let It In was inspired by these works by this amazing author. I love the vulnerability that they bring to Steve while still keeping him in character. As a huge lover of the belief that Steve would have seizures in the aftermath of his brain trauma, this fic hits the spot.

Status: Complete

-- How Do You Call Your Loverboy? by: fangirlandtheories

A collection of standalone fics based on requests.

This one is a completely shameless self plug. I worked very hard on these fics, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Status: WIP

That is all I had bookmarked for this request haha! I know it's a lot, but to be fair, there are so many talented people writing for this fandom and I want to include as many as I can. Thanks so much for the lovely ask!!!!!

[aetherin21]

The answer is parallel.

Pairing: Getou Suguru x reader

genre: angst.

Part 1, Part 3

Notes: How can you turn an intersecting line to a parallel one? by erasing it completely like it never happened :D This is part 2 of my previous fic but it can be read as a stand alone. I think I did better than the first? I might come back to the last one for some small fixes here and there.

A year had passed since that incident occurred. Suguru was too lost in his world. Drowning in his ego and dilemma. Forced to return to normality with sets of homeworks, tests and missions as if nothing had happened. It made him stressed as they all neatly lined up to grab his attention in wherever direction he went, forgetting something important in the process. He could always go back to it once everything settles. Right now, for him, the present was more crucial.

Staring back at him was his failed assignment in algebra. Angry red dragged across every crevice of the paper, dictating all the right and wrong answers to him. Crosses out weighed the circles. He couldn’t help but fume on all his mistakes. He knows he answered everything perfectly. Math is his best subject, well was. Maybe the question itself was wrong? Especially the last one. All the numbers in his calculations lead him to believe they would intersect. How could he be wrong?

“Fuck this.” He said. There were still other things for him to do than to mull over something so small. He’ll do better with the next one, he has to. He’s Getou Suguru, the model student after all.

Without realizing time had flown all too quickly like a strong tidal wave. It had crashed onto him, sweeping his being along the shores repeatedly. His best friend was leaving him behind as Satoru grows stronger. Shoko had become MIA doing her roundabout ways, ignoring everything and everyone. One of his lowerclassmen had died too, only leaving half of his remains and a friend empty. As Suguru tried to crawl away from the currents, it had left him too drench in black and blue.

The imaginary chalkboard of his psyche had crumbled. Tragedy had forced its hand and added itself in his equations. Defying the equalibrium, tipping the zero scale further to the negatives. Unable to keep track what's on his mind anymore, what's universally right and wrong. Now he just stands there in the middle of the room surrounded by two corpses, in a place he once called home.

He had killed his parents. The people who he once loved and cherished. His mother who made his favorite food, who cleaned up his childish wounds and greeted him every morning of his life. She's gone and so was his father. The person who he looked up to, who proudly announced the world his only begotten son. They were all gone and all that was left were red.

That’s okay, he thought to himself. They were wrong answers anyway just like that washed up village too.

Bzzz.

Bzzz.

The sound of his phone suddenly reminded him of the thing he forgot all summer long. With a single swipe of his fingers, his eyes were greeted by a familiar name. A familiar picture.

It was her.

How dare he forget? The person who had become his pillar, his anchor and his bound eternity. Tons of messages had piled one after another in his inbox. Letters of hellos and good mornings to how are yous and goodnights. Reading every word felt too bright, too selfish. He could only squint. He hasn’t replied for months now, let alone read a single one and yet she still continued to send them.

Y/n: I miss you. I hope you're okay. One of them read. Suguru couldn’t help the annoyance swell inside of him. How was he okay? Everything had gone to shit. A few weeks ago? Months ago, he couldn't even remember extactly but he knew he almost died. Even now just a couple of days before, two innocent kids were abused and mistreated. And yet —

Inhale

Exhale

How would she know? She was probably too focused on her own little bubble to even see what’s wrong with the world. Living so freely in a rose colored world. Probably waiting for the next episode of her favorite show or gossiping on the latest news. She wouldn’t understand the dangers he faces everyday, how his kind sacrifices their life just for them to be safe. She was clueless.

He hates this.

He hates her.

He has to.

Looking at the screen with utter nonchalance, he finally replied. It's time for their mathematical lines to finally diverge from each other. No, to erase it like it never happened. In the first place they were never meant to intersect, never meant to reach and traverse each other. She was, after all, just a monkey. He can’t make exceptions, not even one. This is for the future he dreamed of.

With one last click, he asked her to meet him.

Time seemed to flow slowly as he sat on the empty park bench waiting for her. She was late for their rendezvous. It’s fine, he doesn’t really mind if she doesn’t show up. It’s rude but it's better that way. At least she was far away from him to taint his being, he thought. Far away and safe from him.

The unconscious prayer seemed to be ignored as the sound of running footsteps brought him back from hell. His vision was greeted by a disheveled figure. Y/n’s hair was strewn all over her face and skin drenched in sweat. All she wore was the sweater he left behind, her red school track pants and house slippers. A mess she was but still looked pretty in his eyes.

Y/n was Suguru’s little rebel. She would always trust whatever stupid teenage idea pops out of his mind. Played along with his little whims. Even now, sneaking out from her strict parents' gaze to have a midnight escapade with her boyfriend. She was too good for him. Rubbing his neck, Suguru couldn’t help but bitterly smile at that thought.

"Suguru, did I make you wait?" Hands on her knees, catching all the air she can with those puffy lips he loved the most. She wasn't really sporty to begin with but she was determined either way and other ways. "Sorry, I had to wait till everyone’s asleep."

“It's fine.” he responded coldly. Mustering up every fiber of his being to put on a façade. He reminded himself she’s a monkey.

Silence embraced them both as they drank in the reflection of each other. It's been months after all. Both of them were too busy with their own lives. Suguru with the jujutsu world and y/n with her own normal life. Neither of them knew what's in each other's brewing pot but they wished they did.

Y/n could only search his eyes for answers, for words to say. She missed him so much, too much. She wanted to ask how he is. Has he been eating well? He looked a bit skinnier than the last time she saw him. Is his school overworking him too much? Is Satoru being an ass to him? Her mouth could only open and close as the questions were jammed in her throat, unable to vocalize all her convoluted feelings. unable to seek the truth. So instead of words, she closed their distance with her lips. Enveloping him in her warmth.

She really missed him. She could crumble anytime with his presence alone. With his touch alone. Never even wanting to let go, holding on tightly as she can. There she waits for his answer.

But Suguru couldn't embrace her back, couldn’t kiss her back.

Even if his hands were aching to, even if they were dying to scoop her up and just eat her there all together. He can't. He already convinced himself so. Instead he broke her to tiny pieces pushing her to her abyss. Pushing himself to his abyss. "Sorry y/n, I don't think this is gonna work out." Eyes looking beyond her existence for there was a better calling for him than her religion. There's no need for prayers anymore.

It hurt.

But it's okay. Everything has an end after all, its just this one has to be erased completely.

Y/n already anticipated this but it still hurt nonetheless. Years they spent together now being thrown aside. Was it all for nothing? Was it because she was powerless and weak? Not a part of his world? Tears flowed her cheeks, unable to hold it in anymore. “I heard from Satoru…”her hands were holding the ends of his sweater she was wearing, finding comfort from its scent as her lips trembled.

“... I love you and it's okay.” was all she could say as much as she wished there to be more.

She had known all this time. She wasn’t clueless as he thought she was. She knew what he had done and what he had become. How he felt so broken, alone and in pain. How this world was too cruel to him. To them.

She knows what he’s about to do too. His friends had informed her, warned her even but she didn't care. All she wanted was for them to continue to intersect once more, it's all that mattered to her but she couldn’t lie that a small part of her hoped it was all made up. That her Suguru isn’t capable of ever doing those atrocities but just from his demeanor alone told her otherwise.

He noticed her fear, her rejection of the truth, of reality. It wasn't only her voice that was shaking, her body too. Holding herself together as much as she can. Seeing it right in front of him made him want to puke. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was supposed to be quick and easy like he did to his parents yet it became too emotional.

"I am sorry." That’s all he could say as her tiny sobs increased its volume.

The agonizing sound ripped through his already resolute determination. Surprising him as his body began to betray him. The feeling of her small form against his. He wanted to be disgusted by this sudden sweet vulgarity but a part of him couldn’t. Pressing her further, deeper, swallowing all her tears and cries. this was all for him and only for him. Locking it forever inside him, this would be a fleeting memory that solely he would remember. “So sorry.” he mumbled over and over again as he dug his grave in her hair. Saying goodbye to the Suguru she knew, He was.

With every repeated apologies it had crossed off all his broken promises, marking it red and never to be fulfilled.

In their last hour of their forged numbers, forged convergence and forged eternity. They were in each other’s arms as lips danced for the last time. Whispering their I love yous over and over again till the other couldn’t speak anymore.

At that moment, Getou Suguru remembered the last question of his homework. The answers were never supposed to be intersecting. With clear bright markings correcting his mistakes, the answer was parallel.

They were parallel.

[kiame-sama]

28 Years (5th Pregnancy)- Yandere!Silva x Reader

Warnings; yandere relationship, yandere tendencies, yandere behavior, yandere, mention of past trauma, pregnancy, c-section, more arguing, vasectomy, Zeno is so done with his son's bullshit

"No. We are not doing this again. I won't allow it!" "Hey, I told you how to fix this from ever happening again." "I did use protection. It clearly didn't work." "I didn't say 'use protection' did I? I said you should get a vasectomy since it's clear that regular protection and emergency medication doesn't work!" "I shouldn't have to-"

"ENOUGH!"

You and Silva fell silent at the firm and loud command from Zeno, looking over at the frustrated elder assassin. He happened to be holding young Alluka in his arms while the infant whined and cried from all the noise, compelling you to take the young child and set to comforting the infant. Alluka quickly quieted once in your grasp and allowed you to return your attention to the matter at hand, the new heartbeat that originated from within you.

You had been trying to avoid a third pregnancy given your prior back-to-back pregnancies and your already fragile health, yet here you were with another infant growing within you. You assumed something like this would happen, given your past attempts with contraceptives and how little they actually worked. Naturally, you suggested Silva have a vasectomy as it was not only a surefire way, but also a reversible surgery.

Originally, you suggested getting your tubes tied despite the danger that came with it but Silva quickly shot down the idea with his usual explanation of not wanting to lose you. Silva knew somewhere in him that the typical contraceptives wouldn't work, given the fact that he had used several similar methods to trigger a termination of prior pregnancies you were unaware of. He had hoped in some way that your body hadn't built up a resistance to them, but he also knew it was going to happen eventually.

He did plan on undergoing a vasectomy when you had first suggested it, but he quickly forgot about it in favor of getting to finally fuck you senseless now that your body had somewhat recovered after your most recent pregnancy. He had just been so relieved you were able to be brought back from your cardiac arrest following his mistake of once again taking your child away, and couldn't help himself from indulging in his favorite pass-time; fucking you. It was clear to everyone how addicted Silva was to you, in the way he would always return to your side after a job, how he would guard you jealously from anyone other than himself.

He was so whipped for you.

But now, you had a serious choice to make for your future and the future of the life already growing within you. It wasn't hard to guess what Silva wants to have happen, and some part of you agreed after enduring all that you had. Yet... You still felt that maternal connection already forming, wanting to protect all of your children from Silva, even the new child within you that had yet to take even a first breath.

"You're not keeping it." "Yes, I am." "No. I won't tolerate this again!" "Good thing you aren't the one who has to tolerate it. Last time I checked, its my body that goes through all the strain and effort of pregnancy, not your’s." "Are you doing this just to hurt yourself? To try and exhaust your body to the point of death?" "... Again, last time I checked, I wasn't the cause of my heart stopping." "..."

Silva stood silently, passive expression on his face as he wrestled with his own mind over the matter at hand. On one side, you were right; he was the reason he almost lost you, he's been the reason every single time. Even if it was complications during birth, it was still his fault entirely for getting you pregnant in the first place. On the other, he knew the immense toll another pregnancy will have on your body and the chances of you dying during birth increased with each one. The odds were not good.

It was then Silva spoke, his voice gentle and not at all like what you were expecting him to growl out with. It was the voice you scarcely heard on those far and few between days Silva would be truly gentle in every way, usually reserved for when he decided to honestly apologize to you for something. He was proud and cold, but there were those moments when that pride was set aside, when he would actually explain how he felt instead of leaving it at short sentences that never offered answers.

"(Y/n), don't do this again. Don't stubbornly hold on to this one. I know you already love it, as you love all of our children, and you will always fight for their safety no matter what, but for once you need to let me win. Let it go." "... If I say 'no', will you take it from me anyway?" "(Y/n)..." "Are you going to take my baby away from me again, Silva?" "..."

A soft sigh left Silva's lips as he frowned, knowing you were going to win the argument regardless of what he said or did. He knew he owed you more than he could give and there was no way he would force you to give the child up. If you truly wanted to keep it, he wouldn't be able to convince you otherwise. Still didn't mean he had to like it.

"There is no sense in saying the obvious or telling you the risks you run having another baby so soon after your two prior pregnancies." "I know..."

Zeno hummed in a contemplative way, knowing Silva would refuse to go out on a job while you are pregnant and he had already refused to leave the Zoldyck estate in favor of keeping an eye on you. Given how intensely and fiercely he protected you, Zeno knew the immense toll the pregnancies have taken on Silva as well as you. But no one in the family wanted a repeat of the events that took place after Silva had taken Alluka away from you without telling you.

It was going to be a long eight months.

~~~~Four Months~~~~

"You need to sleep, (y/n)." "But what if something happens?" "Nothing is going to happen." "You don't know that..."

Silva frowned as he watched you pace in front of the couch in your shared rooms, chewing on your lip as you cradled your youngest in your arms. The child had already fallen asleep in your arms an hour ago, yet you still held on securely and refused to set your baby down for even a moment. Silva had seen the way you reacted to Illumi being taken and the subsequent over protective behavior you showed once you got him back in your arms.

Your behavior now was similar to how you behaved then, refusing to let your infant out of your sight to the point of impacting your health negatively. Silva knew you were reacting the way you were because of how he had managed to take Alluka from you in the first place. He had taken Alluka while you were sleeping even though you slept with the infant swaddled in a pile of blankets in your arms, so now you refused to sleep in fear Alluka would disappear from your arms once again.

Now he had to face the lasting consequences of his actions in the form of soothing you to the point of trusting him once more. It was going to take a while, however, as Silva had broken your already fragile trust yet again by stealing away your newborn, so it was unlikely he would be able to get you to trust him completely any time soon. Instead of the trust he once had, he had to watch you slip away into anxiety driven behavior due to his careless and selfish behavior.

It was driving him mad to watch you slip into such frenzied behavior, especially given the fact that you were enduring your third pregnancy in a row. Not only did you need sleep now more than ever, but you also had been refusing food in favor of feeding Alluka instead. It infuriated Silva to no end, as he had no choice but to let your anxious behavior play out until you calmed down once more. He wasn't going to chance doing anything that may be upsetting to you, but that also meant he wasn't going to force you to rest no matter how much he wanted to.

"At least sit down, (y/n)." "With you? No. No, not again." "I swear to you, I won't take-" "You've said that before, and it didn't stop you from taking Alluka away from me." "I'm aware I made a mistake, but I assure you-" "No."

It was going to be a long four months until you gave birth again and potentially trusted him once more.

~~~~Six Months~~~~

You hummed as you looked down at where your darling Alluka slept, curled up and held securely in the arms of Illumi. Silva had reached a breaking point when it came to your anxious and stressed behavior, deciding to allow Illumi to be by your side consistently so you would finally relax and get some much needed sleep. The presence of your eldest nearby did wonders to soothe you, trusting in your son to take care of his little sibling and keep Silva from stealing the infant away.

Though Silva disliked the fact that he had to share your attention and affection with his eldest son, the alternative was far worse in his opinion. You had gotten to the point of rarely sleeping so you could ensure Silva could not steal your baby away, draining yourself immensely in the process to the point you were not only rapidly losing weight, but you were becoming far less coordinated by the day. When enough was enough, he consulted his father on what his next step should be and the answer was obvious; let Illumi help take care of your wellbeing.

Your eldest practically jumped at the chance to spend unlimited amounts of time with you, not even perturbed by the fact that he had to take care of his youngest sibling. An extra cot was added into the bedroom, allowing Illumi to be present for around the clock assistance in child-care and to give you the added comfort of having your most trusted son nearby. You ensured to teach him how to properly hold an infant and how to soothe Alluka's fussing relatively quickly, only strengthening your motherly bond with Illumi by allowing you to put full faith in him with Alluka's well-being.

For once, Silva's plan worked like a charm. Not only did you finally start catching up on the rest you needed, you began to eat your meals with Illumi and therefore began to eat regularly once more. Along with your physical health, your mental health began to improve as well. You started smiling and talking more, resting with surprising ease in the arms of the very man you refused to so much as blink around only weeks prior.

Thanks to your teachings, Illumi was a rather brilliant nanny in your stead. Alluka would hardly make a peep when held in the comforting arms of Illumi and similarly, Illumi would make little to no noise while caring for his sibling. Even if he had more responsibilities with taking care of Alluka, Illumi wouldn't trade that time for anything in the world. He could spend time with you, talk with you, relax in your maternal love and affection.

Truly it was a win for all three of you. Alluka was always cared for. Illumi was finally able to spend more time with you. You were able to relax for the first time in who knows how long. Even Silva had relatively few losses, given how much more affectionate you were with him now you knew your infant was safe.

~~~~Eight Months~~~~

Silva paced outside of the delivery room, looking up almost every minute to check the time before resuming his endless pacing. He was much like a caged lion or bear, pacing just to pass the time and to do something other than sit still. He certainly was far more dangerous than any of those animals combined, only serving to add a rather pointed reminder to any doctor of what their fate would be should they fail.

But that was the whole purpose of this endeavor, to ensure nothing failed. Surely nothing could have gone wrong with all the precautions that were put into place.

Surely.

Either way, the long time it was taking only served to make Silva more anxious and his presence all the more intimidating. It in truth had only been a few hours since you went under so the doctors could perform a c-section to safely deliver what would be your fifth child. After the close calls with both Killua and Alluka as well as the fact this was your third back-to-back pregnancy, Silva wanted to take no chances with your life.

A c-section was how Killua and Alluka ultimately had to be delivered despite the fact you were able to have a 'typical' birth with Illumi and Milluki, so naturally it would only make sense for your fifth child to be delivered via c-section. It didn't sit well with Silva, however. Nothing would sit well with him until you were safely out of surgery and in his arms.

But what was taking so damn long?

"For fuck's sake, Silva, sit down. Pacing doesn't make it go faster and intimidating the doctors will only make it more likely for them to mess up." "Their lives are forfeit if they so much as make a single mistake." "And they know this. They've known this. All you're doing is adding another element no one wants to deal with."

Despite his father's chiding words, Silva continued to pace and glare at nothing in particular. Where it always seemed as if the man had a scowl on his face, it seemed ten times worse given he was actually scowling. The moment the door opened, Silva was pushing past the frightened doctor and into the room where his wife lay motionless.

For a moment, Silva felt an honest pang of fear in his chest when he saw you were not awake, the ever present beep of the EKG soothed him to know you were still alive and merely unconscious. The doctors all scattered like frightened rats, scurrying away from the intimidating mountain of a man who silently pulled up a chair, sitting by your side and refusing to take his eyes off of you.

Zeno, Maha, Milluki, and Illumi entered the room in a much calmer manner as they also came to stand around you. Alluka had been moved into Zeno's care given the impending delivery of the new addition to the family, and Illumi stood ready to receive the newborn and care for it while you recovered. Everyone had been preparing for the newborn in their own way, from the butlers ensuring the utmost safety to Zeno taking over Alluka's care, it seemed everything was finally prepared for and taken into account.

Meanwhile, in the past month, Silva had finally undergone a vasectomy so there would be no further chance of yet another pregnancy threatening your future with him. It was possible that it could be reversed and so it was the only surefire way no unexpected pregnancy would happen again. Where Silva felt he would have no reason to reverse the change since he already had five children, the option was always still available should something ever come up.

Perhaps finally there could be peace in the house. At least, peaceful enough no sudden pregnancy could threaten your life. Now all that needed to happen was getting the new infant out before Silva could finally have you all to himself once again.

He could wait. He could wait as long as he needed to. Because in the end, you would always be his.

[silversatoru]

birthdays don’t have to suck

fushiguro megumi x f!reader (elli)

synopsis: you get really sick on your birthday, but megumi makes sure that you still have a good day :))

t/w: fluff, reader is sick, vomiting, medicine (tylenol lol), some details pertain specifically to elli

wc: 2.2k

a/n: a small birthday present for the love of my life @megumifushi who never sleeps enough and is always sick,, i love u and i hope ur days not too bad <3

you stared into your dimly lit laptop, red eyes squinting at the black text that sped across the screen as your fingers scrambled against the keys. you weren’t even sure that what you were writing was comprehensible at this point, but your essay that was due tomorrow morning wasn’t gonna write itself. at this point it just needed to get done, concerns of quality were thrown out the window hours ago.

aside from the burning and stinging in your eyes, your entire body ached, and you were ridden with chills and goosebumps. seemed like a fever was coming on, but you didn’t have the time or capacity to care about that right now. you’d pop a few tylenol and crawl into bed in a couple hours, and everything would be better tomorrow.

what time was it anyway? it couldn’t possibly be that late yet, right? 

you glanced to the corner of the screen, eyes falling on a bright 3:56am that made your heart sink and your eyes widen. you had a terrible habit of losing track of time and staying up into ungodly hours of the night — a habit that your wonderful boyfriend was trying so terribly hard to break. 

you glanced to your left and took in his sleeping form, his lips parted ever so slightly as he took small breaths of air. he’d be disappointed and upset with you if he knew how horrid your sleep schedule had been lately, and he’d probably blame your chills and headaches on your lack of sleep as well — which in all fairness was probably pretty accurate. 

“i’ll just finish this up real quick and then i promise i’ll sleep, ‘kay gumi?” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his soft, spiky hair. 

he was undisturbable, his mind off somewhere in a dreamland that was quite the distance from your small bedroom. and that was probably for the better, because him nagging at you to go to sleep would be too distracting for you to get your work done. 

your hands moved rapidly against the keyboard for about another hour, words spilling onto the screen until you finally hit the page requirement for your paper. it was probably terrible, most likely had a few words spelled wrong, and honestly you were pretty certain you’d repeated yourself several times, but fuck it — submit. you were typically an excellent student, so one bad paper wouldn’t kill you, and you were too tired and achy to care right now. 

you got up and placed your laptop onto your desk, plugging it in and letting a heavy sigh fall from your lips as you made your way back over to the bed. the soft blankets were therapeutically warm on your chilly skin as you crawled in against megumi’s back, effectively turning him into the little spoon and pressing your nose to the back of his neck. thankfully, sleep found you shortly after, your eyes fluttering shut as you drifted off into a much needed slumber. 

babe 

wake up 

babe

you woke up to small finger pokes to your cheek from megumi, his face laced with concern as your vision finally focused on his features. he bent over and pressed his lips to your forehead, pausing there for a fraction of a second and then standing back up. 

“i think you have a fever. i noticed when i woke up and you felt like a fucking space heater,” he frowned, confirming your initial suspicions from last night, “i’ll go get some medicine”.

you groggily nodded your head, shivers coursing through your body and dotting your extremities with goosebumps. your condition had definitely deteriorated overnight, your eyes stinging and a horrible nausea creeping up your throat. 

by the time he returned with the medicine you had yourself propped up against the pillows, thick blankets pulled up to your chin in an attempt to minimize the icy feeling in your body. he handed two small tylenol tablets to you with a disappointed look on his face — a look that said: i’m gonna kick your ass for not getting enough sleep again. 

“i’ll let everyone know you’re not feeling well enough to go out tonight,” he hummed as he handed you a glass of water, your brain filling with thick fog as you tried to decipher why he would need to let anyone know you were sick. 

the look of pure confusion signaled to him that you had no idea what he was talking about, megumi shaking his head before he spoke up again, “it’s your birthday, dumbass, we were supposed to get food and stuff with yuuji, inumaki, and nobara and maki”. 

birthday 

oh 

forgetting about that was another habit you continued to succumb to every year.

“mm, shit,” you sighed after drinking back the pills, “i forgot”. 

“figured you would,” megumi clicked his tongue, “but i didn’t, because i’m a good boyfriend. can you drag yourself out to the kitchen? you should eat”.

“don’t think so,” you mumbled, attempting to disappear back under the blankets before he could coerce you to follow him outside of the bedroom. 

but megumi is impossibly even more stubborn than you are, wrapping his arms under your body and lifting you to his chest, “guess i’ll just have to carry you then”. 

“fine,” you let out a long groan — was it a bit dramatic? maybe. but in your defense you felt like you’d been hit with a train.

he peppered your face with kisses as he carried you out of the bedroom, lovingly setting you down on one of the high bar stools around your kitchen table. he instructed you to stay in the chair, abruptly returning to the bedroom to bring out a couple blankets to wrap around your shoulders. you were grateful for the extra heat, you body still shaking and shivering as the medications worked to cure your fever. 

megumi was a man of few words, preferring to display his love for you through acts of service than grand confessions, and this was very eminent when he wordlessly grabbed a couple pots and began cooking for you. you let your face fall onto your arms, resting your chin as you watched him silently shuffle between the stove and the pantry. the silence was comfortable, and you weren't going to complain about watching your muscular boyfriend walk around the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose, plaid pajama pants. 

a few minutes later he was placing a steaming bowl of soup and a couple slices of baked bread in front of you, a savory scent flooding your nostrils. 

“red lentil,” he spoke as he handed you a spoon, “it’s your favorite, so you better eat it”. 

“yes, sir,” you gave him a small smile, dipping the cool metal into the hot liquid and scooping a spoonful into your mouth. 

“all of it”

“yes, megumi, i will try”

to no surprise, the soup went down pretty fucking horribly, your head hanging low over the toilet while megumi held your hair out of the way. your throat was practically raw by the time you were done heaving and vomiting up the meal, your eyes brimming with hot tears. 

megumi tied your hair up in a neat bun so he could step away, filling up a glass with water and carefully helping you to take small sips and rinse out your mouth. he was tedious with the clean up, washing your face and helping you brush your teeth — ensuring that you felt the best you could given the situation. he then scooped you back into his arms, carrying you back to bed and profusely apologizing for making you eat the soup — but he was just trying to make you feel better, he really was doing his best.

you were ready to add today to your long list of terrible birthdays, chalking it up as another failed attempt, but megumi was not about to let that happen. he knew you had a rough history with birthdays, but now that he was here? you’d have a bad birthday over his dead body. 

he scoured the back of your fridge for ginger ale, gatorade, jello, and whatever else he could find to make you the perfect sick-person platter. and he made sure he was logged into every streaming service that the two of you collectively owned, preparing netflix, hulu, and crunchy roll so that he could easily access every single one of your favorite shows and movies. and so you spent the majority of your day tucked safely against megumi’s chest, forcing down small sips of ginger ale and watching an assortment of tv. 

your phone rang at some point — a facetime call from all of your friends who had gotten together so they could all wish you a collective happy birthday. megumi stuck a singular candle into a cup of blue-raspberry jello and ignited it with a small flame; and then they all sang the most terrible rendition of “happy birthday” that you’d ever heard, yuuji’s voice a little louder and little more out-of-tune than everyone else's.

you mustered enough energy to blow out the flame, everyone cheering while megumi shoveled a scoop of the blue jelly into your mouth. you swallowed it with a smile, praying it stayed down while everyone sent you off with an assortment of “feel better!”, “we love you!”, and “wish you were here!”

your night got pretty quiet after that, you and megumi climbing back under the covers to watch a few more episodes of your new favorite anime. it wasn’t until well into the night that he finally asked you if he could give you the presents he’d gotten for you. reluctantly, you said yes. you hated receiving gifts (it was just one of the many reasons you hated your birthday) but you knew that megumi wasn’t going to take no for answer. 

he was obviously nervous, palms sweaty as he handed you a couple neatly wrapped packages in plain, solid colored paper. they were very megumi, perfect folds with not a single crease, the paper simple yet elegant and adorned with a singular bow on top. 

you hesitantly peeled the paper off the smaller of the two, revealing a tiny box that contained a classic looking silver locket. you felt your heart pinch in your chest as you clicked the locket open and revealed two small pictures of each of the two of you. you weren’t particularly sentimental, but on top of your lack of sleep and not feeling very well, the simple gift caused few tears to well up in your eyes. but he was quick to wipe them away, insisting that you had to open the second gift first, and that birthdays weren’t meant for crying. 

you followed his instructions, ripping open the second package and revealing a larger box that contained a series of envelopes. each one was decorated with tiny doodles of you and megumi, his demon dogs, hearts, etc. they were sickeningly cute, and you immediately reached for the first one before megumi reached out and stopped you. 

“they’re not for now; they’re for when i’m gone, you know, on missions and stuff,” he could barely even maintain eye contact, his eyes dipping low as yours filled back up with tears. 

despite your lack of energy and the fever that was starting to return, you showered him in hugs and kisses after that, thanking him over and over for the most perfect gifts, and for making your day as wonderful as it could have been. 

all things aside, you were coming around to the idea that birthday’s don’t have to suck. 

bonus: the first letter: 

to y/n:

i know im not great at telling you what i have to say through words, actually, i’m kind of really bad at it. but i thought writing these might be a nice way to try and get better? i’m not sure. anyway, i guess i’ll start by saying that you mean a lot to me, and i probably miss you a lot right now (even though ill be too afraid to reach out and say it). not sure how long i’ll be gone for at the time but it’s probably a few days at least. gonna work hard so i can hurry back to see you. 

i hope you’re sleeping enough, but i know you’re not. you never do, especially when i’m not there to yell at you. i hope you’re eating enough too. but you’re probably also not doing that. you’re like taking care of a stubborn child, you know that? but this is supposed to be a love letter so i’ll try to refrain from scolding you too much. but do try to take care of yourself. ill see you soon. 

megumi

[nebulus-frd]

Jealous and protective Rowan and oblivious Aelin in a modern established relationship au

Hi!!!

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The beach. The sea. Them.

Synopsis: Modern AU where Rowan and Aelin finally get a deserved vacation. But he isn't enjoying all the attention given to his wife during the first day of it.

Rated: T

Warnings: implied sexual content. If I forgot anything, let me know.

Words: 1700+ (oneshot).

1/1

It was their first time back at the beach after being married.

The life of a military couple was hectic, to say the least, but Rowan and Aelin were rather used to the chaos. This explained why Rowan found himself alone in bed on the first morning of their vacation. Although his wife had always been a late riser, he knew better than anyone how hard it was to break their routine and if he himself hadn’t take medicine to fall asleep, he wouldn’t probably have slept at all.

Not bothering to properly dress, Rowan moved to the kitchen only to find it empty. Did she go grocery shop? But to his surprise not only was the fridge completely packed, but three sandwiches also topple each other on a plate next to a note.

Good morning princess, did you sleep well? Not even a true love kiss was able to break from the evil medicine spell. I’m training on the beach. Join me… Or not, if you feel like sleeping throughout the entirety of our vacation.

Love,

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.

Rowan didn’t even feel the smile that broke through him. God, I love her. Of course, she was training. His wife always called him a workaholic and a military freak, only to always prove herself one. The food was warm enough for her not to have left for too long. And in half an hour Rowan found himself heading to their hotel gym.

Where was Aelin?

He had circulated the gym area twice without success in the mission of joining his wife. Could she be at the beach? It wouldn’t be a surprise. Aelin loves the sea, the sunny weather, and the heat on her skin.

Eight years ago, if someone said to Rowan that there were people who loved those things, he would have straight-out laughed in their faces. He couldn’t anymore. He had learned to appreciate each of these unlike anyone else.

Rowan loved the smile Aelin would have while watching the sea, loved the glow her eyes would reflect under the sun’s light, loved the heat from Aelin’s heart.

His wife had changed each perspective he had in his life.

And while at the beach, once again he asked himself how the hell, he was deserving of the woman he married to?

Aelin was coming out of the sea, dressed in a swimsuit that covered a lot more of what he was used to seeing, looking like the sea god herself had descended in the mortal world to bestow her beauty upon mortals. Thus, Rowan was hindered breathless and as soon as their eyes locked up, he could listen to her thoughts through them.

“Are you delight with the view?”

And the smile that broke in her lips made his knees go weak. She pointed to a small pile of clothes at his right and he could recognize the tennis beside it. As soon as they met Rowan girdled his arm around her hips and kissed her.

“Missed me much?” Aelin asked holding a smirk while still in his arms. Her turquoise eyes nailed on his green-forest ones. The only answer she received was a grunt and a heavy head dropping in her shoulder. “You know you could use words, rather than growling like a beast”, which made Aelin feel the smile coming from her husband, she could picture it too: the perfect set of teeth accompanied by two fangs that were borderline not-human, which had left so many marks on last night's activities, she had almost come to the beach in a diver suit.

“I can’t be bothered. There are a lot of more interesting things to do with my mouth… And my tong…”, Rowan’s impure statement was interrupted by the sound of Aelin’s phone ring, it took a moment for the woman to snap out of the mood her husband had put them in. Poor object, it earned a glare that, if possible, would have transformed it into ashes.

“Oh hi!... Yes, of course, I’m coming… Right, next to the bar… Yes, be there in a few”, she said on the phone friendly. With whom she could have made prior appointments?

“Where are you going?”, Rowan asked confused, involuntarily holding her tighter, Aelin didn’t hide the smile at her husband's unwillingness.

“WE are going to a functional training, apparently the hotel holds them every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday”, she said while putting on a pair of shorts and her tennis, Rowan just nodded in answer.

Once they were in the central area, the closer location between the hotel’s pools and the beach, the equipment could already be seen as well as 10 people roaming around it. Soon enough a man came up to them greeting Aelin, too friendly to Rowan’s likeness, although he could only spot the top of his head.

“Miss Galathnyius, it’s good to have you with us today”, the strange said while avoiding looking at Rowan’s side but he did not miss a beat.

“It’s Mrs.” his accented and low voice seemed to reverberate, earning him an alarmed glance from the instructor, as he had taken from his clothes and name tag.

“Yes, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Galathnyius it’s a pleasure to have both of you here”, the smaller man seemed ready to bolt as he alternated his looks from Rowan’s face tattoo and Aelin’s mirth-filled eyes, she just nodded and that was very well what he did. She knew it wasn’t jealousy from her husband, more like his inability to not correct a mistaken person.

Oh, how wrong she was.

…

Half an hour throughout the class, Rowan was calculating how much trouble would he be if he were to beat three civilians. As the training was open to anyone at the beach, around fifteen more people had come to enjoy the activities. Including a group of four men, who seem too inclined to help Aelin with her training.

Which had made Rowan seeing red since he heard the first suggestion in correcting Aelin’s posture during a core exercise. Whilst his wife seemed completed oblivious as not only agreed to a few suggestions and gave tips of her own. Rowan didn’t mind that both were right.

Nonetheless, at each suggestion made by a stranger, Rowan would casually assert his territory. Moving closer to Aelin, helping her with the weights and holding her during an exercise that required it. Of course, there was the possibility that none of the people participating held any second intentions towards his wife and were only trying to be helpful. He seriously doubted it, even though that was what Aelin seem to think.

Usually, Rowan had never been one to bluntly be jealous and if he found it necessary to discuss attitude with someone, he wouldn’t do it in front of Aelin. But he’d gone apeshit when one of the guys from before made a move to touch her while he went to grab for water. Fuck this. He had been by her side every single moment. What’s with these disrespectful motherfuckers?

The man whose hands extended to help Aelin in moving the piece on her waist only caught a movement in corner of his eyes before a mountain of a man was before him. His eyes caught a glimpse of a wicked tattoo on the man’s face, which had been hidden by the cap he was using.

Rowan’s intimidating demeanor and the fucking gold ring in his and hers left hands were more than enough for assholes to grasp the situation.

She is mine, I’m hers. Fuck off.

Either it was the rings or himself didn’t matter. Apparently, with one look everybody understood his warning.

…

However, nine hours later, he’d been left baffled as his wife complained how, after he glued himself to her side, nobody had talked or interacted with her anymore.

“Well, if you weren’t such a territorial bastard today, we could have made some friends that could introduce us to the town”, she said as they had clearly lost themselves while looking for a Japanese restaurant.

“I beg your pardon?”, Rowan answered seeing red all over again just from remembering the previous event.

“Oh, come on, you thought I did notice? You were just asserting your territory for the heck of it”, she said not bothering with more than an eye roll, still searching the street’s name on their map.

“For the heck of it?”, Rowan was bewildered. Aelin thought he was doing that out of leisure?

“You couldn’t possibly be jealous of those guys from the beach, right?”, she said finally dropping the stupid map that had put them in their current predicament and looking straight into his eyes. Whatever she saw there gave Rowan his favorite smile. “You were….”, she laughed, loud and uncaring. Beautiful. “You are unbelievable”.

Like the viper his wife was, she stealthy approached him in that dark alley. “My cranky husband was jealous of some gym dudes?”, her voice was surrounded by arrogance and seductiveness. Reminding Rowan just who he had married with. The most confident, assertive, dazzling woman he had ever met.

Their eyes were locked on each other as she stalked him like a snake ready to consume her prey. His response to her provocation was nothing more than a grunt. “You know what you should have done?... You could have kissed me right there, ravished me, really… And I would’ve said thank you”.

After many years into their relationship, one would think that Rowan had become numb to Aelin’s advances. However, it was very much the opposite of it. He would be scandalized, shocked… And excited, she burned him with bold words and even bolder actions that made his head spin. His calloused hand didn’t miss one second into holding Aelin’s by her backside and his mouth went to her neck.

“Ditch dinner, Fireheart, I will show you what I would like to have done”, Rowan could feel Aelin’s thundering heartbeat, like his own due to their proximity. It would never lie to him, he affected her just as she did him.

“Oh, why, when you say with such gentleness. I suppose we could make something at home”, she smoothed her hand at Rowan’s ringed finger each word, handing him a bright smile by the end. “I love you”, albeit the sentence was said in a soft tone, it swept bothering feelings between the two, such as sea waves that accompanied their evening.

“To whatever end”, he said holding her left hand and as they walked toward the ocean. Free, unrestricted, and vast. Much like their love.

[iwishicanbeagoodpianist]

the Wifilcon and the Winter Router

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC/Reader Summary: When Bucky learns that his neighbor has been stealing his wifi for months. Warnings: None A/N: I'm not a fanfic writer at all, this, like all my stories, are adaptations to fanfics. My original stories are not written in english, so this is also a translation. please do not repost my work

For an instant, Bucky thought that the knocking he was hearing was coming directly from his head, I mean, it wouldn't be the first time his mind played tricks on him, but he realized that the sound was actually coming, unluckily for him, from his apartment door. Oh no no no no no no no, I just got back from putting up with Sam for almost 6 full weeks, I don't need interaction with more people for now.

Bucky thought for a minute to ignore the sound, to wait for the person to give up and leave, anyway he didn't spend many days on this apartment, almost no one had seen him leave or enter the building and he had no contact with the neighbors, only with the lady on the 7th floor who once lost one of her cats, which ended up in Bucky's apartment, accidentally. Not that I found the cat in the alley and actually brought him to my apartment, it doesn't mean that I stole the cat, he was in the street by himself, I rescued him.

When the banging on the door stopped and Bucky thought he could breathe calmly again, a voice between altered and annoyed was heard all the way to the living room where he was sitting trying to overcome his third panic attack and fourth existential crisis of the day .

-"I know you're in there! I saw you coming in a few hours ago! I've been waiting for days for you to come back!"-

More out of instinct than anything else, Bucky pulled out the knife hidden in his right boot as he slowly backed away from the door. Do I really have a spy as a neighbor? Should I call Sam? Is he in danger too? Never mind now, you need an escape route Bucky, concentrate, third floor, window to the alley, 2 minutes max, the bike is parked far away, I'll have to run, but to where, rendezvous point, safe place, think....

- "for God's sake, open the door, I need you to pay for your fucking internet plan, I'm in the last season of my series and I need to know if Carolina died or not!"-

- "The internet?"- Between the andrenaline from escaping and the shock of not understanding what was happening Bucky spoke louder than an assassin, with over 60 years of experience, should have spoken. Oh, shoot.

-"Yes! Your wifi, I need it to finish watching my series"-

Whispering "wifi" to himself, Bucky tries to remember where he has heard that word before, this is what I get for never listening to Sam when he talks to me. But before he can continue his mental analysis of all the conversations with Sam about such stupid things as his favorite American Football team, the New Orleans Saints, that I remember, to how Antonio could possibly leave María on the last episode of the 6 o'clock telenovela of which Sam is a fan, his apparent "neighbor" spoke up again:

-"Jesus Christ, can you open the door? So we can resolve this like adults"-

Bucky resigned to the fact that he has given his position to the "enemy", walks to the door and opens it waiting for his death. Well at least if I die I won't have to listen to Sam again talking about Antonio and María. But on the other side of the door, there was a woman, who in her pajamas, very unthreatening but cute, was watching him as if he were a ghost but still with defiance in her eyes, in one breath she introduced herself and continued her speech about her complaint to Bucky:

-"As I was saying, I need you to pay for your internet"-

-"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand what you mean"- mumbled Bucky.

- "Good Lord"- To Bucky's surprise his neighbor, pushes him and enters his home, well not so much a home home, more like the headquarters of his secret club, of which he is the president, vice president and only member, the point is that it is his place, where he can (and wants to be alone), as she lives here. This must be a dream, maybe I hit my head too hard in the last mission and I am unconscious in the hospital.

Crossing the room, Bucky's unwanted visitor looks around searching for something while whispering the words "I see you are quite minimalist, but maybe this is too much, someone urgently needs to look for some inspiration on Pinterest". She stops abruptly in front of the shelf where, in theory, a TV should go, while shouting: "EUREKA", she bends down and picks up a white device which has two antennas and like a million little blinking lights, damn, that looks like something out of a spaceship, I'm being watched by aliens? I'm being spied on by Kree?

-"This is your router, this is where the internet signal comes from, which I need you to pay for so I can finish watching my series"-.

Bucky, still in shock for the third time in less than 15 minutes, as he processes the idea that perhaps Thanos' unknowing twin is spying on him for a second invasion of earth and revenge for his brother's death. He can only nod to his now more relaxed and happy neighbor.

-"Perfect, thanks! I need to check the food I left in the oven, I'll talk to you later"- and as quickly as she came she left through the same door, leaving Bucky with more doubts than answers, peeking down the hallway, he realizes that she is the neighbor who lives next door, to his right. When Bucky comes out of his initial stupor, still not fully understanding what is going on, he decides to take his cell phone out of his pocket and call his own personal Google to solve his doubts about this century: Sam Wilson.

-"Hey Buck! What's up?"-how does he always manage to sound so happy? focus Buck.

-"What the hell is a router and why do I have one in my house?"- somehow Bucky manages to formulate, although maybe his voice cracked a little on the last words.

-"That thing's been there for at least two months and you didn't even notice it? Have you even paid the bill?"-

-"You put this in here? Without telling me????"- maybe Sam is also a Kree? Who can I trust now? It's all a trap?

Listening to Bucky's accelerated breathing, Sam tries to explain to him slowly, that in this century life without internet is not life, but obviously as Bucky does not even know how to set the alarm on his own cell phone, he was in charge of buying the router and creating the contract with the company so that, the 106 year old man could have his personal network at home. He had given it the name but he had not given it a password so that Bucky himself could set it up later. "I am an excellent friend, I mean co-worker, if I may say so"

-"Sorry man, after all that happened, we got called for a mission and I forgot to tell you, do you have your laptop over there? I'll help you set up a password, so your neighbors won't steal your internet anymore"- and with that comment everything started to make sense in Bucky's slightly screwed up but functional mind about the events with his seemingly non-spy and harmless neighbor.

Meanwhile Bucky was trying to remember his own password to unlock the laptop in front of him, also courtesy of Sam. "Bucky, when you learn about online banking and that you can pay your rent, electricity, phone and everything with a click of your computer, you will thank me". It should be noted that Bucky hasn't used that laptop once, like a good 100 year old grandpa he goes to the bank to make his deposits and pay his debts, which obviously consisted only of electricity, water, gas and phone because the man had no idea that there was a device in his house that spit out internet, apparently only his next door neighbor knew this. Buck tells Sam how he thought his router was an alien device and how he thought his neighbor was a KGB agent coming to kill him. "Relax Buck we all have undesirable neighbors that steal our internet signal sometimes", well undesirable is not the word I would use to describe her but ok.

When Sam finally explains to him how to connect his computer to the internet, Bucky can finally see the name that his wonderful co-worker, not friend, because he could never be friends with someone so stupid as to think that the name "THE WIFILCON AND THE WINTER ROUTER" was a good name.

- "my god Sam, you're such an asshole!"-

-"HEY! That's a great name!"- Sam responds with as much indignation as possible, he's the best at naming everything from dogs to wifis.

- "I can't believe you're Captain America, I can't believe we're even friends"- Bucky really can't understand his luck to have friends, well, co-workers whatever.

- "Well excuse me but we're co-workers..."-

- "Well, take this call as my formal resignation, bye"-

-"Wait a minute Buck..."- Bucky ended the call, to finish -his self-imposed- punishment of listening to Sam Wilson talk for over an hour. At least I asked him how to use the bank's website to pay for the internet. Suddenly, without warning and without explanation, the memory of his neighbor is lodged in his head, her hair in a ponytail, her reading glasses, pink shorts, her sweater from some university of which he can't even remember the name because he was watching out for other things... that she wouldn't kill me obviously, he was watching out that she wouldn't pull a knife out of her back and kill me right there. The message on his laptop indicating that he can now set a new name and password to his wifi distracts him enough to stop thinking about his sweet and cute non-spy neighbor and how she would look with her hair down and her glasses off.

Still with the sweet feeling in his chest and the desire to see her again he writes as the new name of the wifi, while laughing:

"If you want free internet, you owe me at least one free dinner"

After paying the internet debt and closing the laptop, Bucky gets up hoping to find something edible in the kitchen, while leaning over to look inside his fridge and analyzing how bad it would be to eat a fried egg with pasta and sriracha, he hears again a knock on the door, but this time it does not cause Bucky the anguish and anxiety that caused him the first time, but quite the opposite.

-"Open the door Winter Router! I prepared chicken pot pie for dinner"-.

[holylulusworld]

Play Pretend

Title: Play Pretend

Summary: Sam betrays you in more than one way. Years later you meet again. Can he win you over again or will you never forgive him for breaking your heart?

Squares filled for: @spnquotebingo​

Quote: ("I wake up in the morning and I feel like I'm missing something. I know that there's something not right, and it takes me a while to remember what it is... then I remember. My best friend is gone. My only friend. It was silly of me to rely so much on one person." - Love, Rosie)

Word Count:

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader, implied Sam x Ruby

Characters: Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, cheating, sadness, break-up, mentions of blood junkie Sam, hurt & comfort, fluff, meeting again, second chances???

A/N: Set in Season 4/later on Season 10

Divider by @firefly-graphics​

SPN Quote Bingo masterlist

The night before your world exploded…

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean pokes his head into your room, or rather the room you share with your boyfriend of four years, Sam. The love of your life. “Sammy is still at the bar and tries to find out if there is anything the victims got in common.”

“Dean, I love you like a brother,” you whisper, not even lifting your head to meet his eyes in the dim light of your bedroom, “but please stop lying for Sam.”

“I did not lie, Y/N,” mumbling the words Dean steps closer into the room, eyes glued to the wrapped gift on the nightstand. “A gift?”

“He forgot our anniversary, Dean. I know he's with her, that demonic bitch again. I can see her red lipstick on his shirt and smell her cheap perfume and the sulfur. I tried to make Sam see she’s not what he wants or needs but-“

Your voice cracks and you wipe your eyes. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” Dean sits on the bed next to you, eyes glued to the gift on the nightstand. “Sammy, he changed since I’m back, or maybe it was while I was gone.”

“The moment you were gone he stopped being my Sam and became a shadow of the man I fell in love with. I let him stray, even leave me for weeks as he lost you but now – you are back, and he still leaves me.”

“Maybe you should talk to Sam, Y/N,” you turn around, shaking your head lightly. “What do you want to do?” Dean asks, already knowing the answer. “I will miss you, Y/N. You’re the annoying little sister I never had.”

“I will miss you too, Dean,” choking out a sob you close your eyes. “You know that you can always call me. Just give me some time to calm.”

Just like any other night for months you lie on the edge of the bed, ignoring Sam sneaks into your shared bedroom.

You can smell her on him, and if the moonless night would offer more than dim light you could see the lipstick on his neck and the scratch-marks on his back.

Sam hides his infidelity poorly lately. Hickeys. Lipstick. Her scent on him. He  seems to want to rub it in your face that he’s no longer interested in you.

His hands, the ones which once felt so warm are cold when he touches you now. Not sexually, of course. Sam didn’t even look at you for months. Not that you wanted him to touch you. 

You pretend you are asleep when Sam settles on the bed next to you. He sighs, mumbling your name when his eyes land on the gift on his nightstand. 

“I forgot our anniversary, babe,” he whispers, rolling to his side to look at the back of your head. You can feel his hand gently run over your arm, but you don’t move, not wanting to break things up with him tonight. “Gonna make it up to you after we killed Lilith.”

Tonight, you will let your hatred burn all the love your felt for him out of your heart. Tonight, you will play pretend and ignore the pieces of your heart on the floor when he kisses your neck softly.

Tomorrow you will get back up and leave the love of your life for good.

The next night you are gone. You don’t lie in a cold bed, waiting for the love of your life to pretend he still loves you. And you don’t pretend to not see the love in his eyes is long gone…

“Gone?” looking around your shared bedroom Sam balls his hands into fists. “How can Y/N be gone? She was with you the whole time.”

“You mean the time you spend with your favorite demon, the one you love to fuck?” Dean spats, stepping toward the nightstand. “She even bought you a gift even though she knew you fuck that corpse. I think I’ll take a few days off.”

“Do you want to leave me too? Just like the useless girl I dragged around for years?” Sam spats.

“Sammy, I love you but right now, I don’t recognize my brother anymore. No wonder Y/N left and didn’t look back…”

Around six years later, St. Cloud, Minnesota

“I’m telling you, Sammy,” Dean smirks, jerking his head toward the bags with food on the table at their shared motel room, “this is the best burger in town. The owner makes the pickles, Sam. You should learn to enjoy the little things.”

Sam makes a face, not in the mood to talk about food with his brother. “If you say so,” he shrugs, glancing at his phone. “You know, we could just sit this one case out.”

“I’m fine,” Dean grumbles, thumb running over the mark on his arm. “It’s calmer today. Just let me enjoy my food, drink some beer and forget about anything else.”

“Rowena said she’s close to finding a spell to break the bond. Charlie and Castiel help her stay focused on helping you and not rule the world,” laughing Dean looks at his brother, shaking his head. 

“You need to get laid, Sammy. Find a girl and stop worrying about me.”

“I’m not in the mood,” Sam tuts, looking at Dean’s greasy food. “I just-“

“I know, I know,” rolling his eyes the elder brother takes a large bite of his burger. “You can’t focus on a sweet girl while your brother runs around with the Mark of Cain.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s bullshit, Sam. Go to that bar we passed on our way here. Hit on the bartender or whoever floats your boat. Get laid,” adamant Dean hands Sam a condom. “Don’t come back before you got laid.”

“DEAN!”

“SAM!”

“FINE!”

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, giving Sam a sweet smile. The kind of smile she spares for men like Sam who rarely stumble into her bar. “Beer, Whiskey, or something sweeter?”

“Beer is fine,” Sam looks around the almost empty bar, hating Dean made him leave. “Maybe some peanuts too.”

“I wouldn’t eat the peanuts,” watching someone sit next to him Sam eyes you warily. “It only makes you thirstier for their cheap beer,” you whip your head to meet Sam’s gaze. “It’s awful by the way.”

“Y/N,” choking your name out Sam lets his eyes wander to comfirm it’s really you. He looks at the tiny tattoo on your neck, a tiny butterfly. The one you got while Sam held your hand tightly.

Your hair is a little longer, and your face shows your journey since he last saw you. But it is you. Undoubtable.

“Winchester,” you tap your glass, glaring at the bartender who ignores you to shove a piece of paper with her phone number toward Sam. “You look good. Heard you killed that bitch.”

“That was six years ago, Y/N,” Sam moves closer, places his large hands onto the dirty bar counter. “H-How have you been? Do you still hunt?”

“Never got out of business,” you shrug, eyes glued to your glass now. “Heard you got out of business some time ago. Seems like you’re back to business to me. Wasn’t your style?”

“Dean came back,” mumbling Sam looks at you, feeling his heartbeat quicken when you nod silently. “Guess she wasn’t the one.”

“No one seems to be ‘the one’ to you, Sammy,” it’s a low blow but you deliver it with a smirk. “That you cheated on me was the best thing happening to me. I finally had the time to train more and focus on the one thing I’m good at. Killing.”

“You’re not a killer, Y/N,” you scoff at Sam’s words, not wanting him to believe you are still the broken girl he betrayed years ago. “I wasn’t me back then, Y/N. Ruby, she fed me demon blood. I wanted to become more powerful to defeat Lilith.” he sits next to you, hand reaching out for his beer to hold onto something to calm his nerves. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix what you have broken, Sam. I trusted you. Dean and Bobby trusted you. None of us was good enough to you. It wasn’t Ruby pushing me away, it was you,” you down your drink, slamming the glass onto the counter. “Go ahead and fuck the bartender, Sam. She almost drools all over you.”

He watches you toss a few bucks onto the counter before you turn to leave. Sam can’t let you go, he just can’t, so he does the only thing coming to his mind – he grasps for your arms to slam you against the nearby wall, his lips silencing you.

“Sam, let me go,” you pant. God, you hate he looks even better in the dim light of the dingy bar. The years have been kind to Sam. Even though you see the pain and loss he endured in his eyes and the fine lines around his eyes, he’s still the most attractive man you ever met. 

“Please, let us talk, Y/N. I know you’ll not believe me, but I never forget about you. And I never forgave myself for hurting you deeply,” he whispers, lips pressing against your temple.

“I can’t talk to you, Sam. Do you know how I felt? Do you?” you cry, tears on your cheeks. “In the first weeks I-I felt like-“ you choke out a sob, shaking your head when Sam tells you he’s sorry again.

“Y/N,” he whispers, voice deeper than you remember. You missed Sam grew out of his insecurities and became a man. He’s no longer the boy he used to be when you still were a thing. “Give me the chance to talk to you, please. Dean, he would be happy to see you too.”

“Back then all I could do was to leave and still, you affect me. I wake up in the morning and I feel like I'm missing something. I know that there's something not right, and it takes me a while to remember what it is... then I remember. My best friend is gone. My only friend. It was silly of me to rely so much on one person." you sniff. 

“Oh, Y/N,” you hate his eyes soften and you know it’s only a matter of time Sam will try to bring you into his arms. “I should’ve never let you go. You were my best friend, the only woman I loved after I lost Jess. Please, believe me, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You were not only my lover but my family too. Do you know how lonely I was? I had no one left, no one,” crying you let Sam bring you in his arms. The pain and hurting hit you out of nowhere when you feel his warm chest press against your face. “How could you cheat on me with that corpse?”

“’m so sorry, baby girl. So sorry,” Sam curses. He thought about you now and then, never forgot about you over all those years. He believed you got over him and found love in someone else’s arms. It pained him to think about you; but seeing you like this, facing the consequences of his failure shatters his heart. “Please, let me take you to my home, show you a place where you can feel safe.”

“I never was safe, Sam. Not without you by my side. I-I got broken, beaten, and ripped apart more than once. Do you see the girl from back then in me? I don’t. She’s gone and I don’t know if I’ll ever find her again.”

“Y/N,“ Sam whispers your name, kissing your hair softly. “I found you again. Now let me help you find yourself…”

Tags in reblog.

[escapewithbts]

Forgetful - Seokjin

———————————————

You sat at the two person table by yourself just staring mindlessly at the menu. You could probably recite the whole entree list by heart at this point.

The dimly lit restaurant was crowded and filled with noises; dishes clanking, people laughing, the soft tune of music. It would have been the perfect atmosphere… had you not been there alone.

 You sighed and glanced at your beautiful (and expensive) watch… one of the many gifts given to you by your boyfriend last Christmas.

 It was 8:43. Your reservation had been for 43 minutes ago.

 “Excuse me,” the perfect-looking hostess came up to you for the third time and spoke to you in Korean, “but we are super busy, as you can probably tell, and if you’re not going to order then we really need your table.”

 You frowned and glanced down at your phone. Still no texts or missed calls.

 “I know, I’m so sorry, can I just wait until nine? I don’t know why he’s taking so long, I’m sure he’s on his way…”

 “So you’ve said,” she replied with a fake smile, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder and walking away.

 Wow rude, much?

 You stared at your phone, your vision becoming blurry from the tears forming in your eyes. You hoped everything was okay with him. And you couldn’t help but wonder if he forgot.

 You scrolled through his texts, the last from this morning around 10:30am saying he was beginning the shoot for the latest Run BTS! Episode and he would see you later. You assumed that meant here.

But he never showed.

 You touched his contact to give him a call, but again it just rang and rang until you were again met with the automatic voicemail. You sighed and typed him another text.

Hey I’m leaving the restaurant now. I hope you’re okay. Please call or text when you get this.

 Then you grabbed your things, stood up and walked towards the exit of the restaurant.

 “Oh my god, it’s about time she left,” you heard the hostess whisper to someone as you walked passed her podium, “She claimed to be meeting a member of BTS here for dinner!”

 Her snickering was the last thing you heard as you pushed open the door and went back out into the warm Seoul night.

By the time you made it home to your and Jin’s shared apartment you were exhausted and your feet absolutely ached from the heels you were wearing. You unlocked the door and went inside, immediately removing them and rubbing your swollen soles.

All of a sudden, you heard noises coming from the living room. Jin was home?

When you turned the corner there he was, sitting on the couch, laughing at some show playing on the tv and eating ramen from a bowl on his lap.

Your heart sank. He was okay. So what you had feared was true after all. He just forgot.

Forgot your one-year anniversary dinner.

“Oh hi, (y/n)-ah!” he exclaimed when he finally noticed you standing there, a heap of noodles dangling out of his mouth.

He swallowed them and continued,

“Wow, you look really pretty! Did you go out with your friends?”

Your eyes instantly welled up with tears and a couple fell down your cheeks before you could stop them. You tried to swipe them away abruptly with the back of your hand but Jin still noticed.

“Jagi, what’s wrong?”

He set his bowl on the coffee table in front of him and rose from his seat on the couch to walk over to you.

He reached his arms out to hold you, but you instantly stepped back to avoid his embrace.

He cocked his head and furrowed his eyebrows confusingly, his large red lips turning into a frown.

“Jagiya? Is everything okay?”

You sniffled and glared at him.

“So you just don’t check your phone anymore?”

He immediately reached into the front pocket of his trousers and pulled it out.

“Aiishh it must have still been on silent from the shoot today. I’m sorry if I missed-”

He stopped mid sentence as he finally observed all your missed calls and read your texts.

His face fell.

“Oh… fuck. (y/n). Shit.”

He looked up at you, an expression of worry and guilt evident on his handsome face.

“(y/n), jagi, I’m so so so sorry. Fuck! I-I completely forgot. I got caught up with work and- ”

You put your hand up to silence him.

“I don’t want to hear it, Seokjin.”

He winced. He knew you only called him by his full first name on two occasions: one when you were really really pissed at him, the other when he was making really really good love to you… and right now it certainly was not the latter.

You brushed passed him and headed toward the hallway. You were tired and hurt, and now to top it all off you had a massive headache. All you wanted to do at this point was take a shower, go to bed and forget this evening ever happened.

But you heard Jin follow you toward your shared bedroom.

“(y/n), please, I’m really sorry. I know there aren’t any excuses. I fucked up. I really, really fucked up.”

You scoffed, not turning back to face him.

“Yeah, you think?”

He paused in thought for a moment.

“Well, what if-what if we celebrate now? I can cook you up some really delicious food, all your favorite foods from home! And-and we can light some candles, have dinner, spend the whole rest of the night together…”

You stopped in the bedroom doorway and swung your whole body around to face him again.

“No. It’s too late, Jin. I waited at the restaurant for an hour for you. I’m exhausted, okay? I just want to go to bed,” you paused, “So please. Just leave me alone.”

Jin’s shoulders fell in defeat as his gaze went to the floor. His arm lifted to scratch the back of his neck.

“O-okay,” he whispered.

Then he squinted his eyes tightly shut, and that was the last thing you saw as you let the bedroom door close in his face.

The warm shower felt amazing on your body, but you couldn’t help the thoughts that plagued your mind while in there. Jin had forgotten arguably the most important date in a relationship. What was next? Your birthday? The next anniversary? It made you feel like your relationship wasn’t important to him, like you were an afterthought. It hurt your heart.

Once you were clean and out of the shower, you changed into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. Your head still ached immensely; you had hoped the shower would have fixed that, but all that overthinking had only made it worse. You knew Jin usually kept some pain medication in his nightstand for when his body was sore after a particularly grueling day of dancing, so you proceeded to his side of the bed and sat down on the edge, reaching for the top drawer.

Immediately upon opening it you spotted a red envelope, “My (y/n)” written across the top in Jin’s messy handwriting. You hesitated for a second whether or not to investigate it, but ultimately, with a shaky hand, you pulled it out. You took a deep breath before opening it and removing the card inside.

In an elegant font, the front of the card read ‘Happy Anniversary to the one I want to annoy for the rest of my days’, and written on the inside ‘Hey, that’s you!’.

You couldn’t help but stifle out a small chuckle, accompanied with an eye roll, of course. It was so Jin. Your Jin.

Your eyes then scanned his handwritten message next.

Jagiya,

 Congratulations! You have been chosen by WWH Worldwide Handsome Kim Seokjin himself as the person who gets to be annoyed by him for the rest of your life! Don’t you feel so honored? It’s a coveted position, there’s only one spot, and you got it! We’ll talk about the details later 😉

No, but seriously, my (y/n), thank you for putting up with me for a whole year. I know I can be pretty obnoxious, silly, stupid, goofy, forgetful (ha, he got that one right for sure), busy and sometimes moody, but you have stuck with me through it all and I appreciate it. You are so special and I hope you know how lucky I feel to have you. You’re so supportive and patient and kind. I can’t wait to share many more anniversaries with you.

All my love,

Jin

You clutched the card to your chest, tears streaming down your face again. But this time you weren’t upset. You were touched. His words definitely didn’t excuse what he did (or rather didn’t do) this evening, but at least you knew how he truly felt about you. He really did love you. Your heart suddenly felt full.

You stood up, holding the card tightly, opening the bedroom door to go find him.

 “Jin?” you yelled down the hall. But, to your surprise, he was right outside the bedroom doorway, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, his long legs spread out in front of him, his phone in his hands.

“Jin I-“

But he quickly stood up and turned his phone to face you.

“Jagiya, look I downloaded an app where you can save all your important dates! And you can set it up for reminders days, even weeks beforehand! So I put in today, of course, and your birthday, but please don’t think I would ever forget that, and the day we went on our first date, the day I first cooked for you, the day-“

He stopped speaking when you suddenly stood on your tip toes and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. He immediately wrapped his around your lower back and squeezed you into him.

 “I’m just so sorry, jagi.” he mumbled into your hair.

You nodded against his broad shoulder.

“I know.”

You pulled away and presented the card.

“I found this.”

Jin’s ears promptly turned bright red and he closed his eyes tightly. Then he put his head in his hands.

“Aiissh, it’s so cheesy, I’m sorry.”

You placed your hand on his upper arm, making him glance back down at you.

“No, Jinnie, not at all. It’s perfect. I loved it.”

He smiled, wrinkles forming at the sides of his eyes.

“See? I didn’t completely forget! I knew it was coming up. I just didn’t exactly remember when we were going to dinner and I should have-”

You placed your lips on his in a tender kiss to shut him up again. He pulled you closer to him, so your bodies were completely touching before you broke apart, still attached at the foreheads.

“Mmm Happy One Year Anniversary, my (y/n)-ah,” he breathed out.

You nuzzled your face into his strong neck.

“Happy Anniversary, my Worldwide Handsome.”

*

Masterlist

Hehe

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

pasta & posies

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Logan, Virgil Rating: Teen & up  Relationships: Analogical Warnings: Language, food Word count: 1818

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

analogical week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: Virgil loves his husband, but he’s pretty darn sure today is not their anniversary. So why the flowers? 

Notes: Day 1 of Analogical Week 2021! @analogicalweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, does not need context to read. 

Virgil had just set a pot of water to boil on the stove when he heard the front door unlock and Logan clearing his throat as he stepped in, just like he did every time he arrived home. Virgil was pretty sure Logan didn’t realize he did it; he had no plans of telling Logan, in case he tried to break the habit, because Virgil thought it was kind of ridiculously endearing and didn’t want him to stop. Then again, most things about Logan were that way, so maybe Virgil was just a sap.

“Hey, babe,” Virgil called. He glanced at the clock on the microwave; as usual, Logan was home from work right on time, practically down to the minute. Virgil appreciated the fact that Logan was a creature of habit more than he knew how to put into words. The familiarity of Logan’s routines was a regular source of comfort to him.

Logan appeared in the kitchen doorway, smiling, something green and purple in his hand that Virgil vaguely registered but didn’t focus on. “Hello, dear.” He set down his briefcase—and god, Virgil was never going to be over how hilariously on-point it was that Logan had a fucking briefcase, not now after seven months of marriage and probably not ever—and crossed the room to kiss Virgil hello, his free arm easily sliding around Virgil’s waist and holding him close as gently as he had the first time they’d kissed.

Logan lingered in the kiss for longer than usual, though it stayed soft and sweet. Not that Virgil was complaining about any of that. He wrapped his arms a little more securely around his husband’s neck, rising up on his toes so his head was at a more comfortable angle.

Logan smiled and broke away at last, only to tip his head down and press his forehead against Virgil’s.

“You good, L?” Virgil asked, half laughing, reaching up to caress Logan’s cheek.

Logan nodded, humming assent. “I love you,” he said simply. He stepped back. “These are for you.” He offered the thing he’d been holding, which turned out to be a bouquet of purple flowers.

“I—thanks?” Virgil accepted the flowers, blinking down at them. Had something happened to prompt this? “I love you too.”

Logan nodded, leaning in to kiss Virgil’s cheek. “How can I help with dinner?”

“Uh, can you chop… things?” Virgil said, still preoccupied with the flowers. Was today something specific? Had he forgotten something?

“Certainly.” Logan pulled out a cutting board and knife. “We’re having that pasta salad you like, correct?”

Virgil nodded. “Mmhm.” October sixteenth… there wasn’t anything special on October sixteenth, right? Right?

Logan rummaged around in the fridge, pulling out cherry tomatoes and a bell pepper and the second half of a can of olives. The olives were stored in a reusable container, because Logan had casually rattled off the health risks of leaving food in open cans the first time he’d seen Virgil do it, and the next weekend Virgil had dragged him to the nearest slightly pretentious suburban outlet mall to buy a whole kitchen’s worth of storage containers.

Logan rinsed the tomatoes in a small colander and glanced over at Virgil, who was still standing in the middle of the kitchen staring at the flowers in his hands, mind racing. (Virgil couldn’t think of anything he was forgetting about today, but then, that was the thing about forgetting, wasn’t it?)

“I do not believe we own any vases, which I should have thought of; I’m sorry—but I think we have some jars on the top shelf that we could put those in,” Logan said. He reached up with one hand to the shelf in question and pulled down a jar, proffering it.

“Sure thing,” Virgil agreed, accepting the jar, in the back of his mind appreciating that Logan had clearly assessed his distress and tried to help, even if he’d misread what the actual problem Virgil was having was. “Cool cool. Cool cool cool. Um.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, set down the colander in the sink, and turned to give Virgil his full attention. “Is something wrong, dearest?” he asked, bringing the unspoken out into the open.

Virgil chewed on the inside of his cheek for only a beat. “Uh, how come you got me these?”

“The color reminded me of you,” Logan said, and Virgil began to relax. “And I believe flowers are considered a traditional anniversary gift,” he added, and Virgil panicked again.

Anniversary? It wasn’t their anniversary, right? Right? No, it definitely wasn’t. So what on earth was Logan talking about?

But Logan seemed to think this was all the explanation that was needed, turning back to the counter and beginning to slice the tomatoes in halves.

Virgil bit his lip and set the flowers down on the table so his hands were free to fill the jar with water. He set that down, too, and went to the cupboard to pull out a large bowl for the dinner to go in; he set it down on the counter beside Logan.

“Thank you, dear,” Logan said absently, transferring the small pile of tomato halves he had already accumulated into the bowl.

“Mmhm,” Virgil mumbled, heading back to the table and beginning to arrange the flowers in the jar. He had to snip quite a bit off of the long stems in order for them to sit properly in the jar, but after some shuffling, they didn’t look too bad at all.

Logan had gotten started on the bell pepper by now, and the pot on the stove had steam leaking from beneath the lid, hinting at the boiling water inside. Virgil pulled out the bag of dry pasta and the salt and began adding them to the pot.

“Hey, Lo?” he said cautiously, stirring the pasta in the pot.

“Yes, dearest?” Logan didn’t look up from the pepper he was dicing.

“Our anniversary—our wedding anniversary—is March 25. Right?” Virgil reached up and set a timer for the pasta on the microwave. They had been married at sunset in the garden outside the museum that they went to on their first date. Virgil had worn a black suit with a blue vest and tie, and elaborate black eyeliner reminiscent of a masquerade mask filled in with blue and purple eyeshadow, and Logan had worn a white suit with a purple shirt and bowtie.

“Yes, dear,” Logan agreed.

Virgil held back a sigh of relief that he hadn’t somehow totally misremembered. “And our boyfriends anniversary is December 6.” He had been the one to ask, nearly five years ago now. He had no idea he’d gotten the words out, sitting at a tiny table in the coffeeshop and holding hands across it as their third date drew to a close, but he’d somehow stammered out the question, and Logan had lit up and nodded so hard his glasses had slipped down his nose and nearly off his face before Virgil reached out and caught them.

“Yes.” Logan smiled to himself.

“And our first date was on November 13, and we got engaged on September 30. Yeah?”

Logan nodded. “All of that is correct. What—?”

Virgil sucked in a breath. “Okay, so this is probably totally stupid and obvious and I should know it already—”

“No, hey—” Logan began to protest.

Virgil forged on anyway. “—but what the fuck is it the anniversary of today?”

Logan blinked. “Oh.” He set down the knife beside the now fully chopped pepper.

Virgil cringed. “I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“No!” Logan interrupted. “No. I’m sorry for making you anxious, dear. I forgot. I don’t think I ever told you.”

That… was unexpected, and Virgil couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. “Uh. Never told me what?”

Logan glanced away, looking flustered. “I—well.” He looked back and reached over for Virgil’s hand, squeezing gently. “Five years ago today, I realized I loved you.”

All Virgil could do was stare for a moment, his chest filled with something achingly sweet at the sight of Logan’s earnest face, dark brown eyes searching Virgil’s as he clasped his hand reassuringly.

“Oh,” Virgil choked out, reaching for Logan’s other hand and squeezing back, feeling a smile stretch across his face. “Yeah?” He reached up, taking one of Logan’s hands with him, and caressed his husband’s cheek.

Logan glanced away again for a second, biting his lip, then brought his gaze back to Virgil’s. “Yes. I—I wrote it down. In my Notes app. And this year I set a reminder for it on my phone.”

Virgil let out a tiny laugh. “You did?”

“I did.” Logan nodded, a smile creeping onto his own face. “It was important.”

“You are such a nerd,” Virgil said, his voice shaking with emotion. He moved forward until the toes of his purple converse almost bumped into Logan’s plain black work shoes and reached up to wrap his arms around Logan’s neck. “I love you so much.”

Logan wrapped an arm easily around Virgil and cradled Virgil’s cheek in his other hand. “I love you too,” he murmured, his expression soft and tender and open and just for Virgil and perfect.

Virgil leaned up and kissed him, cupping the back of Logan’s head in both his hands and drawing him in closer as Logan kissed back, marveling yet again over the fact that Logan was his husband and he had somehow gotten lucky enough that this was the everyday they were creating together, this was the thing that was going to be ordinary for the rest of his life, and he was pretty sure he would never get enough of Logan and his thoughtfulness and the way he worked so hard to be vulnerable with Virgil and the way he kissed Virgil and his curiosity and passion for learning new things and everything about him, he was Virgil’s favorite everything and Virgil loved him so much—

The timer on the microwave went off, startling them both.

Logan was the first to start laughing, and that set Virgil off, pressing his face into Logan’s shoulder and giggling helplessly as Logan reached over to turn off the timer and then the stove, his other arm still holding Virgil close.

Virgil collected himself, gasping in a breath and forcing the laughter back into a fond grin. He pressed another, quicker, kiss to Logan’s mouth, then pulled away and reached for the potholders so he could drain the cooked pasta.

As Virgil set the now-empty pot back down on the stove, Logan touched his elbow to get his attention.

“Hm?” Virgil said, turning to face him.

“You are a wonder,” Logan breathed, pulling him close again and simply hugging him.

Virgil grinned, reaching up to touch Logan’s cheek and gazing into his eyes.

He had picked a pretty good person to build forever with.

[starrybethany]

I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 5

Word count: 4.0K

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Adam: You followed me

I stare at the three words, blinking with tired eyes. All I want to do is sleep, especially after the day I’ve had with Holden, but the baby decided kicking me was more important. So here I am at four o’clock in the morning checking my social media when I should be getting another three hours of sleep.

I rub my eyes, unsure of how to even respond to the message.

It’s just a statement. I feel flabbergasted by it- really, we haven’t talked in years- well, technically months, but the last time we saw each other we just fucked, and our child went to see him without my knowledge or consent. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to those three words?

Y/N: I think we need to talk.

I sigh, setting my phone down. Might as well get straight to the point. The sooner I tell him about the second baby and ask why he would see Holden without at least running it past me the better. I roll over, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Hopefully I can sleep at least a little bit longer. I’m going to need it to deal with the moody adolescent I’ll be seeing in the morning.

~

“I made some toast and bacon. Just let me just finish cutting up these strawberries and then breakfast will be ready,” I inform Holden as he hops down the stairs.

He picks up the filled plate waiting for him on the table, throwing the food into the trashcan and setting the plate on the counter, giving me an expectant look.

I stare blankly back at him. I know he’s waiting for a reaction. He wants me to blow up so then he feels okay yelling at me instead of starting the confrontation himself. Instead, I just say, “That’s wasteful.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his backpack from its usual spot by the door and making his way outside, letting it slam shut behind him. I release the breath that I’ve been holding in, popping a strawberry into my mouth.

I open my Instagram app to catch up on the posts that I’ve missed, freezing when I see that I’ve received a DM. I forgot that I sent a message to Adam last night. Well, technically this morning. After I sent the message, I passed out hard, and I thought the whole thing was a fever dream.

Adam: What about?

Adam: Here’s my number

My fingers tap the screen quietly as I add his phone number into my contacts, saving it and staring at it blankly.

Well. No time like the present.

Before I can even realize what I’m doing, before I can even think things through and decide what to say or whether this is a good idea or not, or hell, even what time it is in Chicago right now, I click on the phone icon.

I curse to myself, raising the phone to my ear. Absentmindedly, my hand raises to my mouth so I can chew on my fingernail. Nail-biting is a nervous habit that I gave up years ago, but I guess old habits die hard.

“Hello?” His groggy voice comes through the phone.

I can’t breathe.

The oxygen gets stuck in my lungs. All I can think about are his hands on my body, sliding down to grip my hips. The twinkle in his eyes as I would pull my shirt over my head.

And not to mention the last time I saw him. His hair is longer than he used to keep it, but it suits him. It looks good on him. And he bulked up since the last time I saw him, too- his abs definitely looked and felt like it, anyways.

“Hello?” He repeats, sounding more awake and borderline annoyed now.

“Adam,” I respond softly, suddenly feeling shy. Come on, where did my confidence go? I’ll need it to get through this conversation.

“Y/N,” he says, all sounds of annoyance out of his voice. “You actually called, I didn’t think that you would-“”Sorry for waking you up,” I blurt out, glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s seven in the morning here. Chicago is an hour behind Philadelphia- it’s what kept me from calling the boys on the team late at night for several years.

“Oh, no, no, don’t you ever worry about that,” he reassures me. It’s quiet. I know he’s waiting for me to speak, to let him know what I want to talk to him about, but I just can’t get the words out. I feel them stuck in my throat, clawing to escape. “So, how’s Holden?”

And there it is.

That question is what spurs me to speak, to dig into the man who hid a huge secret like that from me. But I guess I’m doing the same thing to him now.

“I don’t know, how is he, Adam?” I spit out.

He sighs. He sighs. I want to punch his perfect fucking face.

“If I had realized that you had such a problem with it-“”Such a problem with it?” I repeat, not believing my own ears. Suddenly I’m reminded of why I decided not to tell Adam about this baby and why he wasn’t ready to be in Holden’s life for thirteen years. Hell, it sounds like he’s still not ready.

“My son lied to me about his intentions of going to Chicago, traveled halfway across the country by himself, and saw someone who he’s never met before. Yes, I have a fucking problem with it,” I growl.

“Our son.”

“What?”

“He’s our son. You said my son.”

All I want to do right now is to reach through this tiny screen and hit him upside the head. Really, after I lay out all of my concerns, this is all he has to say to me?

“Whatever. When are you coming to Philadelphia next?” I question. I don’t want to air all of grievances and talk about the new baby over the phone. I’ve had enough communication classes to know that you need to see someone’s nonverbal behaviors instead just hearing what they have to say.

“Why? You want to see me?” Suggestion laces his tone.

No, asshole, you already got me pregnant again.

“Yes. We need to talk about Holden… and some other things,” my voice trails off at the end, not sure how to warn him about such big news.

“Some other things, eh? Well, I’ll be looking forward to that,” he responds, clearly thinking that it’s something regarding us and our relationship, well, our dislike or lust for one another or something, instead of picking up what I’m trying to hint at.

“Cool. So, can you take a trip to Philly sometime soon or are you going to wait until hockey season?” I inquire.

“I can take a trip there, just for you. And Holden, of course.”

I can’t help but let a small smile slip onto my face. That sentence shows me that he’d be a good dad if he just put in the effort. It infuriates me that he’s kept that from Holden for years just because he hasn’t felt like working towards a relationship with his son.

“Good. Let me know when you’re in town so we can meet up.”

“What? You’re not going to invite me to stay with you?”

“Goodbye, Adam.” I hang up before he can respond. All I can imagine the rest of the day is his reaction after that phone call. He would have that small, knowing smile on his face, pulling his phone out of his pocket every five minutes to check and see if he got a new text from me or to send the fifth one in a row to me- one that I still would not respond to.

And my heart skips a beat at the thought of that.

~

It’s been a week since the phone call and since Adam sent me a screenshot of his booked ticket to Philadelphia two weeks from then. For some reason, maybe it’s the stupid, hopeless romantic part in me, I had hoped that he would book his plane ticket and hotel room for that night or even the next day. But he told me he had some ‘lose ends’ to tie up in Chicago before leaving.

And it’s also been a week since Holden has said a word to me. I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve asked him about his day, his friends, cooked him his favorite meals all week, I even offered to take him to Target to get a new video game.

None of that has worked. And it hurts. It hurts knowing that after everything I’ve done for him and everything I’ve sacrificed for him, and how Adam has done none of that, he looks at Adam like a God and me like the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

I know it’s what I’m supposed to do as a mother, care for my son and make sure he’s happy, but it’s just- it’s just- ugh.

I start to feel my blood boil as my mom’s voice echoes in the back of my head. Life’s not fair.

It’s then that I realize that I’ve given him enough space and time to figure out his feelings and how he wants to proceed. I don’t want to give him too much space that he begins to resent me and feel like I don’t care about him.

I know that feeling all too well.

I knock on his bedroom door softly, waiting for him to open it before I just walk in. It creeks open slightly, and just as I expected, eyes matching my mom’s peek out to glare at me.

“Can I talk to you, Holden?”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me.

“Please, you don’t even have to talk, just listen,” I beg.

Fortunately, he opens the door the rest of the way, watching as I walk into his room and sit gently on the edge of the bed. He sits down on his worn computer chair, laptop open to some video game I don’t recognize on his desk.

“I want to start by apologizing for yelling at you last week,” I begin, taking a deep breath. Apologizing isn’t something that comes easy to me- I grew up in a family where the words ‘I’m sorry’ were unheard of. My parents were always right, and I was always wrong.

“I realize it probably wasn’t easy for you to go to Chicago by yourself to meet your dad. Holden, I just want you to realize that I would do anything to protect you, and I love you with my whole heart so realizing that you were in such an emotionally taxing situation without talking to me about it first-“I pause to sniffle, starting to feel tears well up in my eyes. “I felt helpless. And I couldn’t stop wondering why you didn’t feel like you could share that with me and then I realized that it’s because I don’t share stuff with you either.”

He watches as I lift my sleeve, wiping the tears from under my eyes. His face is still blank, but his eyes look like they’ve softened. He’s understanding my words so far.

“So, yes, this baby is also Adam’s baby. And he did ask about you when I saw him back in February, but I let my pride get the best of me and I told him that he didn’t deserve to see you. I’m sorry for robbing you of meeting your father earlier,” I genuinely apologize, maintaining eye contact with my son.

He shifts in his seat, his hard exterior softening with every word. “Well, I’m sorry for calling you a shitty mother. And saying all of that other stuff. And, if it makes you feel better, I did go to the computer programming camp. I just saw Adam when we had a night off.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“What did he tell you? About not being involved in your life?” I ask carefully, curious as to what Adam told Holden to turn him against me like that.

“He just told me that he was working through some stuff,” he shrugs, acting like he doesn’t care but I know my son well enough to tell that he does. “And he wasn’t ready until recently to meet me.”

I bite my tongue to keep it from releasing an insult towards Adam. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Honestly?” I nod, probing him to go on. “Pretty awful. I don’t think I want a relationship with him, mom.”

A mix of emotions run through my body at his word. I feel anxious, because now I have to tell him that Adam’s coming next week and will want to see him, sadness, because my son now recognizes how his father did not want be involved in his life, and anger toward Adam for making him feel like this in the first place.

“Well,” I cough awkwardly. “He’s coming to Philadelphia next week. I’m going to meet him to tell him about the baby. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. It’s all up to you, bud.”

I stand up slowly, rubbing my belly as the baby begins to kick. He always seems to do that whenever I move even just a little bit- he’s an active little guy.

“Oh,” I turn back around just as I’m about to close the door. “How did you even find out who your father is?”

“Please mom, I’m not stupid,” he grins slyly at me, sliding his headphones onto his neck. “You lived in Chicago when you got pregnant with me and worked for the Blackhawks. I figured, since you said you worked a lot, the only guys you really had a chance to be with were on the team. And when I asked you about my dad for that project for school you said he was Swedish, so I just went to the Blackhawks roster in 2020 and found the Swedish players, messaging them some really uncomfortable and intrusive messages on Instagram.”

I chuckle at that, shaking my head. It will never not blow my mind how clever and smart he is. As I close the door to his bedroom, I hear him say, “On the plus side, Alex Nylander is a really nice guy.”

~

The day is finally here. Being eighteen weeks pregnant makes it really hard to hide my baby bump, but I somehow manage to find a baggy sweatshirt that I’ve stolen from one of my ex-boyfriends to cover it up. I don’t want to walk into the restaurant we’re meeting at and have him immediately know.

Somehow my jeans still fit on my legs, but I have a feeling by the end of this lunch they’ll be unbuttoned. It’s just the way it goes sometimes.

I get to the restaurant before Adam, just like how I planned it. I wanted time to scope out my exits in case I need to bail halfway through this meal- knowing Adam, it’s a possibility. I haven’t thought through what I was going to say too much.

I know I need to talk to him about why he would keep Holden going to Chicago to see him a secret from me, and we need to talk about the baby.

But mostly I just want to hear him grovel. The secret, sadistic part of me wants to hear him beg for forgiveness for making me raise my child by myself for the past thirteen years. I want to hear him admit that he fucked up- I’ve never heard Adam Boqvist admit that he fucked up before.

He shows up two minutes late.

I know because my phone is sitting face up on the table and I click on it every five seconds to see what time it is. I tell myself that if it gets ten minutes past noon and he’s still not here, I’m going home and giving up on dealing with Adam ever again.

But then he’s standing in front of me, familiar toothy grin on his face, black beanie on his shaggy hair, and a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

“You’re late,” I state sternly, not letting any sign of emotion onto my face. I need to let him know I mean business. I need to let him know that I’m never getting into bed with him ever again.

“Yeah, sorry, there was a line at the grocery store,” his grin begins to slip, but as he holds the bouquet out towards me, it takes over his face once again. “I got you these.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t make any movement towards them. His smile falls once again and I begin to feel guilty- he did buy these flowers for me, but he also impregnated me and left me twice.

He slides into the chair across the table from me, setting the flowers on the table and coughing awkwardly. “So, have you ordered yet?”

“Just water,” I respond shortly.

“Do you want to split a bottle of wine?”

“I’m not really a day drinker,” I eye him over the top of my menu, then go back to skimming through the items. It’s a charade, though. I already know what I want.

“Are you two ready to order?” The peppy waitress appears at our side, notepad open in her hand.

“I’ll have the chicken alfredo,” I announce, folding my menu.

“I’ll take that too. And a bottle of your sweetest wine, please,” the blonde orders, passing his menu to the waitress. When she leaves, he turns back to me. “I know you like the sweet stuff.”

I take a deep breath, deciding to cut to the chase. I’d rather get through this meal as soon as possible. The sooner we get done talking about this stuff, the sooner I can get out of here.

“Adam, I’m pregnant.”

He chokes on the sip of water he’s just taken from his glass, water dripping down his chin and landing on the table in front of him. I can’t help but watch with a content smile as he coughs, trying to catch his breath.

“Excuse me?” He utters through coughs, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat. “I’m due in November.”

“Well, uh, congratulations,” he says unsurely.

I roll my eyes, muttering, “You clearly haven’t gotten smarter since last time.”

He seems to catch on to the hidden meaning behind my comment, his eyes widening. “Oh is it- since we-“”It’s your baby,” I conclude bluntly.

A smirk begins to spread across his face. I can’t believe it. He’s smirking just after I told him that he got me pregnant accidentally for the second time.

“Why do you have that look?” I snap.

“My little swimmers work pretty well, don’t they?” He inquires confidently, sipping from his water and succeeding this time.

I lean across the table, turning it on him. “I don’t know, do they? Are there any half-siblings that I need to worry about?”

The smirk is replaced by a look of genuineness now. It startles me, the sudden change of emotions. “No, it’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

I lean back in my seat, the sudden seriousness too much for me to bear. I fiddle with the napkin sitting next to my glass, avoiding eye contact with him. “Yeah, so it’s a boy.”

“Another boy,” he echoes my very thoughts the moment I found out the sex.

I grin at the thought of my second child. When he’s been kicking me at night and keeping me awake, I think about what he’s going to be like. Is he going to cry a lot or is he going to be a quiet baby like Holden was? Will I have to keep an eye on him every minute or will I be able to get some breaks?

And what about when he’s older. Will he like hockey like his dad? Would he like the Flyers because we live in Philadelphia, or would he like the Blackhawks because his dad plays for them?

“Speaking of boys, how is Holden doing? He hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.” Adam means for the question to sound casual, but I can hear the undertone of worry in his voice. Maybe he isn’t as much of a shitty father as I think he is.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” I confess.

He doesn’t bother to hide the hurt on his face. I don’t expect him to. I know how it feels to feel unwanted and unloved by your child- I felt it when Holden told me that I’m a shitty mother. And although Adam deserves the consequences to his actions, I can’t help but feel a small amount of pity for him.

“I deserve that,” he sighs.

“You do,” I agree, knowing that I’m shoving the knife deeper into his heart. “But just give him time to decide what he wants to do. It’s all so fresh to him.”

He gives me a small, vulnerable smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me that he was going to see you while he was in Chicago, Adam?” I ask him the question I’ve been dying to ask ever since I found out about the situation.

He shrugs, not saying a word.

“Yes, you do know,” I persist. “So just fucking tell me. Enough of the bullshit, we’re in our thirties now. It’s time to focus on the children, not your fucking pride.”

He looks baffled by my sudden outburst, but it inspires him to answer. “I was afraid that if you found out, you would stop him. Then I’d never get to meet my son.”

“I would have stopped him,” I agreed, causing him to open his mouth to begin arguing with me. I start to speak again before he can begin. “And reschedule the trip to a time that works better with my work schedule so that I could go with him. Yes, you’re his father, but you’ve never been in his life. You’re essentially a stranger to him.”

He narrows his eyes at me like my words are a challenge. “Not anymore.”

I narrow my eyes at him now. “Really? What’s his middle name? When is his birthday? What’s his favorite color?”

He doesn’t respond and I scoff, taking a sip of my water again. “That’s what I thought.”

We’re quiet as the waitress returns with our meals. I cut my noodles, taking a bite of my food.

“I don’t want it to be that way with this baby,” he says, quickly adding, “And Holden anymore. I want to be there for this baby from the start. Or from now, I guess. And I want to be there for Holden, if he ever wants me.”

Mixed feelings begin to flush through my body. This is what I wanted for my kids from the beginning, an active father figure. And Adam’s offering it now, but why am I still feeling so hesitant?

After years of expecting him to step up as a parent and him never doing it, I have reasonable doubts when it comes to Adam’s parenting ability.

“Well, you know it’s up to Holden. You can’t force him to like you,” I begin slowly, trying to phrase my words in the best way possible. “But with this second baby… we can try it. I have a doctor’s appointment in two days. I’ll text you the address and time.”

“But my flight leaves tomorrow,” he whines. “Can’t you just reschedule for today?”

“You have so much to learn, Adam,” I shake my head. “I just hope you realize that being a parent means that you’re selfless more than selfish. Tell you what, go back to Chicago if you want to. But if you go back to Chicago, the only time you’ll communicate with the boys is when they want to talk to you.”

[mintyminyoongi]

Idiots

Pairing: Min Yoongi x ReaderRating: T

Word Count: 7.8k

Trigger warnings: None 

Summary: Imagine you love Yoongi and Yoongi loves you but you’re both idiots and can’t say it. Or better yet, read about it.

Normally, when your phone starts ringing at 2:00 AM, you would curse the living daylights out of the person on the other end of the line. Maybe ask them if they were raised by barbarians or looking to get fully throttled. 

But when you finish grumbling curses under your breath and crack an eye open to look at your screen, you can’t help the way your heart flops over a little. Yoongi. You swipe your thumb across the screen to answer before it goes to voicemail. 

“You better be dead or dying,” you groan into the receiver. 

You hear him curse under his breath and some fumbling around. “I, um, am not dying. Coincidentally. I forgot to check the time again.” 

His low, drawling voice sends a shiver down your spine, as always. “Yeah, you did.” You find yourself chuckling, despite your initial anger. 

“Sorry,” he mutters. “You were sleeping?” 

You laugh fully this time. “Yeah Yoongi, I was sleeping. Like most people do at two in the morning on a Wednesday.”

“Ugh, sorry Y/N.” He sighs into the phone. 

You frown and roll in your sheets, sitting up fully. “Hey, you okay? It’s  been a while since you’ve spaced on time like this.” 

About three years ago, you met Yoongi. You’d just graduated from university and had been able to get an internship at a tech start up in Seoul. It was shit pay and crazy hours but you loved the work. 

You had met Yoongi in a cafe, late one night. Officially, you were off the clock but you had taken your laptop with you to try and catch up on some of your assignments. The cafe was close to your apartment, open late and had cheap, strong coffee. 

Yoongi had been set up at one of the far tables, feline eyes droopy despite the numerous coffee cups littering his table. He had a fancy set of headphones on and his bleached blonde hair had dark roots growing in. 

The cafe was busy, even during this time of night so you took one of the last empty tables near him. You tried to get work done, honestly. But between your sleep deprivation, over caffeination and this gorgeous boy sitting a table away, it was difficult. 

So he naturally caught you staring at him. And your best way to save face was to point dumbly at your own ear. His brow furrowed but he pushed one headphone off his ear anyway. 

“Sorry, just... I could hear your music through the headphones. It’s a little distracting.” It wasn’t, you could barely hear it over the other cafe noises. “Also, it’s bad for your hearing. To play music that loud.”

You wanted to disappear. Like wholly, from this plane of existence and any others that were out there. 

But he just looks at you with an amused, crooked smile. 

You didn’t know at the time that Yoongi was a successful rapper. He went by the name Agust D, and had just gotten back from his first tour after the release of his mixtape. 

And the formation of your friendship went just like that. He needed a friend that didn’t care about his fame or his reputation. And you just needed a friend. 

So what if you thought he was incredibly hot and talented and funny… Yoongi had never shown you any interest, romantically. And that was fine with you. His friendship meant the world to you. 

Anyway, Yoongi wasn’t the best at taking care of himself. So when he calls you in the middle of the night, it’s almost always because he’s been locked in his studio all day and has lost all sense of time. 

He sighs, not answering you right away. “I’m okay. Just- stuck on a song.”

You furrow your brow. “When did you eat last?” 

A beat of silence. “Um.”

“Yoongi.” You bite your tongue to hold back the full lecture. “How about sleep?”

An even longer pause. “I took a nap this afternoon,” he says. “Or wait. What day is it?” 

“Alright, that’s enough. Go home. Take a shower, sleep in an actual bed. You’re not doing yourself any favors running on fumes.” 

“I know.” 

“Nope, not buying it. I wanna hear you leave the studio.” 

“Woman,” he sighs under his breath. “Fine.”

You can hear him shutting down the programs on his computer, almost feeling the way he’s making mental notes of where to pick up in the morning. 

“So, which song is giving you trouble?” 

Yoongi starts to describe the track, how he wants a syncopated rhythm but it’s not hitting right. He muses all the way during his walk home about different things he can try.

You curl back up into bed, just listening to him and giving what little insight you could. It kind of pained you to admit how much just the sound of his voice affected you. 

Before long, you hear his front chime open. “Okay, I’m home.” You hope you were imagining just how exhausted he was. Even though you know you weren’t. 

“Good. Please take care of yourself, Yoongi. You’re starting to give me gray hairs.”

Yoongi just huffs into the phone. “Thank you, Y/N. I am sorry for waking you up. Tomorrow’s your big presentation right?” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “Yeah, it's at nine. So like,” you wince as you look at your screen. “Six hours.” 

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. “I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine, Yoongi. Honestly. I’m used to running on no energy and all coffee.”

You could tell he didn’t feel better with that answer. “We're still on for movie night on Friday?” 

“Yes please. I’ve been killing myself trying to avoid spoiler alerts.” 

“Okay, great. I’ll bring snacks to make it up to you.” 

You thought about protesting but knew it would be pointless. “That sounds like a fabulous idea. Now go get some sleep! And when you eat in the morning, it needs to be something that doesn’t come out of a plastic package, you hear me?”

“Aish, woman, let me live,” he gripes but you know him well enough that you can practically picture the smile on his face. “See you Friday. Good luck with the presentation, you’re gonna kill it.” 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You hang up and have to force yourself back to sleep, always getting a bit of a high from talking to him. 

On Friday night, you were running around your apartment like a mad woman, trying to get it clean before Yoongi shows up. Even though he was terrible with the concept of time, he was never late to your movie nights. 

You had stayed late at work talking to your boss about your presentation from the day before. So when Yoongi showed up at your door right on time you were still in your work clothes, hair a mess. 

“Hi, come in. What the-” Your eyes practically bulge out of your head when you see how many bags he’s carrying. 

“I said I would bring snacks,” he says sheepishly, cheeks tinted a dusty pink. 

“Yoongi, this is like a whole store.”

He sets the bags down on your kitchen counter. “I felt bad about waking you up.”

You shove his arm, eyes widening further as he starts unbagging everything. “I told you it was fine, you dope! This is way too much food.” 

Just as he opens his mouth your doorbell rings. Yoongi looks at you guiltily, a bag of your favorite chips in his hand. 

“I may have also ordered pizza from that place you like.” 

You wanted to smack him and kiss him in the same instant. That pizza was the perfect way to end a long, stressful week. “Well, you answer the door. I’m going to change clothes.”

In your room, you quickly change into sweats and a t-shirt. You fix your hair into a normal, less insane ponytail and make your way back into the kitchen. 

You find Yoongi staring at you as you drop your hands from your hair. “What?” 

He coughs, looking down. “Nothing. The food’s all ready.”

You frown a little but leave it. Then you see the three pizza boxes sitting on the counter. “Min Yoongi you did not order three pizzas and buy all these snacks.” 

He squawks a little, unable to form words for a second. “Will you just take my apology already?” 

Your heart seizes a little at his sincerity and you try not to read into it. “Fine. Apology accepted.” You cross your way into the kitchen, grabbing some plates out of the cabinet. 

“How did your presentation go, by the way?” 

“Oh my god it went great, Yoongi! My boss loved the idea of an integrated software, and he gave me the lead on it.” You turn to see him watching you attentively, a proud smile on his face. 

“And this is the first time you’ve been the lead, right?” 

“Yeah, at least one of this size. It’s gonna be a lot of work but I’m really excited.” 

Once again, Yoongi gives you this unreadable look. His gaze makes you feel squirmy so you hand him a plate. “Well I’m proud of you, Y/N. You’ve really made a name for yourself at that company.” 

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You cracked open the first pizza box and could’ve started drooling. “Oh my god, this smells amazing.”

When you’re thoroughly surrounded on the couch with more pizza, snacks and wine than any two people could need, you start the movie.

You and Yoongi had started making movie nights a habit about a year ago. Every month you both find time to make it work. It was kind of your favorite thing but you wouldn’t tell him that. 

You really were trying to reign in your feelings for him. It didn’t seem fair, when Yoongi was only looking for platonic companionship. So you keep respectable inches between the two of you as you queued up the movie. 

Yoongi gave you a judgy look at the moan you let out around your first bite of pizza but a swift elbow to the ribs made him look away. 

The movie was pretty good, it was a slasher movie that came out earlier in the year. You watched with your mouth hung open in disbelief as the killer rose from the dead for the third time and snuck up on the lead actress. 

“Oh, come on, they can’t be serious.” You lean forward on the couch cushion, thoroughly enveloped in the plotline. As the killer brandishes a kitchen knife and raises it above his head, your reflex is to smack Yoongi in the arm. 

“Why doesn’t she just turn around?” you demand. “The house is like 800 years old the floorboards are creaking louder than your snoring.” 

You can feel Yoongi look at you in offense. “First you hit me then you insult me?” 

The girl on the screen eventually turns around and a chase ensues. You turn to Yoongi. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you. I just get so wound up at these movies.” 

“Oh, but you meant to insult me?” He says, an eyebrow raised. 

Damn, he looks good sprawled out on your couch. The thought comes unbidden. You bring yourself back to the present, to the sound of screaming and shrill horror music in the background. The present with Yoongi sitting on your couch. 

“Yeah, I mean have you heard your snoring?” 

“When have you heard me snore?” he demands.

You turn to face him on the couch, the movie forgotten for the moment. “Like three months ago, when you showed up at my door, completely wasted. You stumbled around my apartment for twenty minutes and then you passed out on the couch. You snored. All night.” 

Yoongi looks at you with his mouth hung open, speechless. He shakes his head, seeming to snap out of it. “I completely forgot about that night.”

“Yeah, it was after some event at your label. You showed up smelling like cheap perfume and whiskey, barely able to stand up straight. I gave Namjoon an earful the next day for letting you get that drunk.” 

Yoongi scoffs, suddenly finding the hole in the knee of his jeans very interesting. “He didn’t let me do anything. I can be pretty stubborn when it comes to that stuff.” 

You nod, not understanding where the uneasy mood came from. “That’s pretty much what he told me. He said that you showed up to the event pissed off, that you were an asshole the whole night and he couldn’t keep you in check.” 

“Yeah I wasn’t myself that night.” 

He still wouldn’t look at you.

 “I remember,” you say. “I’d never seen you that far gone before. Namjoon said he hadn’t either.” 

Yoongi stays silent. For long enough that you started to turn back to the TV screen, not wanting to push him. 

Truthfully, that night had kind of scared you. He had been almost incoherent when you let him in. Yoongi was a fan of a good whiskey but he usually didn’t get that drunk, let alone wasted like that. You hadn’t known what to do so you kind of just stood back as Yoongi mumbled to himself, shucking his jacket and boots before falling onto the couch and passing out. 

He says something under his breath and even though you were right next to him you didn’t catch it. You wince as a bloodcurdling scream comes from the TV screen. He doesn’t even seem to notice it. 

“What did you say?” You ask him, scooting a little closer. 

Again, he stays quiet. At which point you’re starting to get annoyed, so you let out a huff and flop back against the couch cushion.

“You had a date that night.” 

You stare uncomprehendingly at the gory scene on the TV before looking at him. “What?” 

He had turned his gaze to you, but not in your eyes. He’s looking somewhere around your shoulder, you think. 

Yoongi runs his tongue over his teeth before answering you. “That night, you had a date with some guy from your office.”

You think back, remember that you’d had a date with Minho. He was in the advertising department of your company. He had a really cute smile and loved cats so you thought you’d give him a chance. 

You thought if you just actively started dating that you would get over your stupid crush on Yoongi faster. 

Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. 

Even though Minho was attractive, and he had really funny stories you only found yourself thinking about Yoongi all night. The date had ended when he walked you to your door, and kissed your cheek. You told him it had been a nice night but you didn’t think you saw him as more than a friend. Things had been awkward around the office for a few days but he took it graciously and you two are friends now. 

Yoongi had shown up not long after you’d gotten back. You were still in your dress, heels kicked off by the door. You remember now, he had given you a once over and scoffed before stepping past you into the apartment. Before you’d gone on the date, you’d told Yoongi about it. You thought maybe if he hyped you up it would help you be more excited for it. 

Instead, he just said “have fun” and didn’t speak to you for the rest of the night. Until he showed up at your door, so drunk he couldn’t stand straight. 

He never asked about the date, you didn’t think he even remembered it. He certainly didn’t seem like he cared about it at the time. 

Belatedly, you realize the end credits are rolling on the screen. 

And Yoongi is staring at you. Not at your shoulder or somewhere in the vicinity. Right at you. 

“Yoongi…” You say, because you didn’t know what else to say.

He gulps down the rest of his wine and turns to face you fully. “I-I didn’t have the right to be jealous but I was. Of him. So I went to that stupid fundraising event and focused on the free drinks and the easy women. And ended up here anyway.” 

You swallowed thickly, trying not to overthink what he was saying. “You were jealous?” The words are strained as you say them. Your hands curled into fists because the bite of your nails in your palms helps to ground you. 

Yoongi leans in a little, sucks in a quick breath. He opens his mouth to speak just as the movie kicks back to the main menu, the title music blaring through the speakers. 

You jump reflexively. You didn’t realize how close you’d gotten to him, your face barely a few inches from his. So close you can see his pupils dilate, can smell the sweet red wine on his breath. 

And just like that, Yoongi seems to snap out of something. He stands from the couch and picks up your dirty plates and wine glasses. He’s already in the kitchen, loading the dishes in the washer when you feel yourself snap back into reality.

What the hell was that?

You were pretty sure you weren’t misreading things. He was jealous that you were dating other people. Well, had dated other people. Honestly you were tired of the whole song and dance. You hadn’t been on a date since Minho. When the right guy came along, you would try again. But you hadn’t found anyone that could hold a candle to Yoongi. And you didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. 

But… why was Yoongi jealous? He was famous, had tons of beautiful idols and models and actresses he could pick from. Maybe he was just jealous of having a normal dating life. 

Either way when you shuffle into the kitchen with the bowls of snacks, you couldn’t ignore the tension in Yoongi’s shoulders. The dishes were all loaded but he stood at the sink, clutching the edge of the counter. 

“Yoongi.” This was new for you. You’d never felt uncertain around him before. Maybe shy, when you caught yourself thinking about his adorable smile or strong hands. But never uncertain. 

He cleared his throat and turned abruptly. “I forgot I have an early morning tomorrow. I should get going.” 

You frown, not wanting to leave things in this weird state. You follow him to the door where he’s pulling on his coat. “Yoongi,” you try again. 

He falters, head hanging low. 

“Will you just tell me what’s bothering you?” You finally demand. 

Yoongi turns swiftly, pulling you close to him by your waist. He leans his forehead against yours and you suck in a breath, gasping it out at his proximity. Usually you’re the one initiating the contact, little side hugs or poking his cheeks when he’s grumpy. You always tease him about his fear of intimacy.

He huffs out a breath and closes his eyes. His hands tighten their grip on your waist. 

You let him hold you. Part of you can tell he somehow needs this. You wonder if he can feel how heavily your heart is beating inside your chest. It feels thunderous to you. 

Yoongi shifts, turning his face into your neck. You feel yourself relax a bit. This feels more familiar, closer to the hugs you’ve shared before. You allow yourself to wrap your arms around him, hoping to bring him some comfort. 

“Don’t date anyone else.” 

The words are soft, spoken against the skin of your neck. But you hear them perfectly. And your heart skips a beat all the same. “Yoongi-”

He moves, pulling his face from the crook of your neck. It takes him a minute to bring his eyes up to meet yours. And it almost seems to pain him when he croaks out “Please, Y/N.” 

One of your hands seems to have its own mind as it combs through the hair at the back of his neck. His eyes close a little as he waits for your answer. “Okay,” you whisper. 

His sharp gaze snaps up to yours and it takes you aback. Your hormone addled brain thinks that he’s going to kiss you. And it really seems like he’s going to. He moves one of his hands from your waist to cradle your face in his palm. 

You lick your lips subconsciously and Yoongi’s eyes dart down to watch the action. And then something happens in his brain because he’s letting you go and backing away. “I should go,” he mutters as he pulls a mask from his coat. 

Something about his tone is final. You don’t want to push it or question him. He turns back to you when he’s out in the hallway. “I’ll call you later.” 

You nod, thoroughly overwhelmed and incapable of forming a response. And then he’s gone. And you close the door and have to ask yourself if you didn’t just dream the whole thing. 

You were slammed at work the next week, trying to get the initial details of your new project hammered out. And maybe the lack of communication from Yoongi encouraged you to throw yourself headfirst into the work. Because you really didn’t want to stop and think about what your conversation that night had meant. 

‘Don’t date anyone else’? That could really only mean one thing, right? If he didn’t want you dating anyone else it was so you could be with him. Right?

Or maybe he just meant he didn’t want you dating the wrong guys, to protect you or whatever. As if he could know that Minho or any of the other guys you’d dated were “wrong”. 

And this whirling blackhole of a thought process is exactly why you’d been staying late every night this week. 

The sun had been down for hours when you finally left your office building. You’re on the subway home when Yoongi calls you. Your eyes widen and you feel your heart stutter a bit when you see his name on the screen. 

When you answer the phone you immediately hold the receiver away from your ear, the speaker blasting music and overlapping chatter from a crowd. “Yoongi?” 

You think you can hear him saying something in the background. After a few moments you hang up. He must’ve called accidentally. And you have to kick yourself for getting so excited. 

He’s out at a club or a concert, judging by the noise. It could be for work or for pleasure. Either way, he’s out with people and probably other girls- 

You have to stop yourself. He’s not yours. 

You get through the train ride and the walk home with a set jaw. This was exhausting. This weird, in-between thing was way worse than just suppressing your feelings altogether. 

It was a little after 10:00 when he started texting you. You’d just finished eating a bowl of instant noodles over the sink when you see it. And from the first text you could tell he was drunk. 

10:11 Yoongi: I MISs you

10:15 Yoongi: Y/N

10:15 Yoongi: This palace sucks

10:19 Yoongi: wis

10:19 Yoongi: I wish

10:20 Yoongi: Wish yu were hr

10:23 Y/N: Yoongi, you’re drunk. Text me when you’re sober. 

Not long after your message he tries calling again. It pains you to do it but you let it go to voicemail. Nothing he says right now is going to keep you from combusting. 

So you try to occupy yourself with a few episodes of trashy reality TV until you think you’re tired enough to go to bed. Yoongi hadn’t texted or called again. You hoped it was because he went home. Your brain strayed to some other girl catching his attention at whatever club he was at. Imagined her taking his mind off of you and his phone. 

You bite your lip to stem off the ridiculous tears that spring into your eyes at the thought. He’s not yours, you remind yourself again.

The incredibly overwhelming sense of deja vu hits you when your ringing phone wakes you in the early hours of the morning. Yoongi’s face is on your screen. Maybe it’s because your brain is more than half asleep or because part of you is desperate to know if he went home alone that you answer the call.

You were grateful that you didn’t immediately hear the noise of pounding bass and drunk people in the background. But you do hear traffic noise, lots of it. 

“Yoongi?” 

“Y/N, what time is it?” His voice is still heavy with alcohol and you wince. 

“It’s like one in the morning, Yoongi. Where are you?” 

“Fuck. I told you I wouldn’t call you like this again.” He mumbles and you can imagine his lips forming that adorable pout. You have to shake your head out of that thought process when you hear a car horn too close for comfort.

“Yoongi, listen to me. Where are you? Are you safe?” 

There’s a moment of silence as you imagine him looking around. “I’m- near the um, that corner store where you spilled soda all over me that one time. ‘member?” 

“Yeah, I remember. Yoongi, can you get yourself a ride? You should go home and sleep this off.” 

He continues talking, as if he didn’t hear you. And maybe he didn’t. He sounded just like that night, months ago. Who knows how much he’s had to drink. “You were so… so flustered and I-I remember you asking me how much my shirt cost because you were worried you wouldn’t be able to pay me back. And I told you it was just a regular t-shirt but really it cost $300 and I never told you that. And you were so cute. You were stuttering, and your cheeks were so red.” 

“You- you kept trying to clean me up and everyone in the store was staring. I kind of realized then that you were maybe the cutest girl I had ever seen. Like, the cutest. But I didn’t… I didn’t know how to say that. Because I don’t like people and there are very few that I choose to spend time around.” 

While (a very large) part of you loved this confession, you know it didn’t count. He was so incredibly drunk and would probably not remember any of this in the morning. And since you couldn’t see him, all your brain can imagine is that he’s about to stumble into traffic at any moment. 

“Yoongi please. I need you to put me on speaker while you get yourself a taxi. I need to know you’re safe.” 

He cuts himself off. All of a sudden the traffic noise is much louder so he must’ve put you on speaker. He grumbles as he’s tapping through the app. “Y/N thank you for taking such good care of me.” 

“You’re welcome, Yoongi.” Your voice comes out whisper-soft and he might not have heard you over the rushing cars, 

He must take you off speaker because he’s easier to hear again. “Says it should be here in ten minutes.” 

You exhale, not even realizing how worried you had been. “Okay, good.” 

“You interrupted me, you know.” Again, you can picture the pout on his face so clearly. 

You chuckle a little, leaning back against your headboard. “You’re right I did.” 

“Where was I?” You notice his Daegu accent is slipping in the more he talks. You wish it didn’t affect you as much as it did. “Oh, that people suck. Not you though, Y/N. You don’t suck and I’ve been scared to tell you that because I love our friendship. I don’t want to fuck it up.”

Your heart flutters. You try to keep reminding yourself not to read too much into this. He’s drunk and has never said anything along these lines when he’s sober. He’s had all the opportunity. But maybe you’re a masochist because you ask. “Fuck what up, Yoongi?”

He sighs. “I hate that I’ve never had the guts to say any of this to you sober. I’m such a coward, Y/N.” 

As if you somehow know what he’s going to say, you try to stop him. “Yoongi, wait.” 

“I love you, Y/N. I’m fucking stupid because I love you and I can’t even say it to your face.” 

Tears sting into your eyes because this feels so surreal and it almost physically pains you to hear the words you’ve been dreaming about for so long. 

You think you hear him getting into the cab when a car door slams shut and the traffic noise is much more muffled.  “I fucking love you, Y/N,” he sighs happily, like he’s glad to have it off his chest. 

You have to steel yourself because you can feel your brain slipping into La La Land. “Yoongi, you are drunk. Hang up and call me when you’re sober.” 

He chuckles a little. “So bossy. Just because I’m hanging up, doesn’t mean I’ll forget that I love you,” he croons. 

“Christ,” you mutter under your breath and hang up.

You flop against your pillows and try to calm your racing heart. What. The. Fuck. 

In all of your fantasies about Yoongi you had never let yourself imagine he would say those words to you. It was too painful. 

It was painful even now. Until you could talk to Yoongi face to face, you couldn’t know what he meant, if he meant any of it at all. So you were reminding yourself of this, to keep yourself sane as you lay spread eagle on your bed. Wondering what you did in your past life to deserve this kind of emotional turmoil.

When there’s a knock on your door. And a very drunk Yoongi calling your name through the cheap wood. 

You run to the door to let him in before he wakes up any of your nosy neighbors. When you open the door, Yoongi almost falls across the threshold. You reach out on instinct to steady him and close the door promptly behind him.

“Would you shut up?” you hiss. 

As he straightens and sees you, he gets this lazy smile on his face. 

You decide to speak first and cut off whatever thought process he had. “What are you doing here?” 

Yoongi pouts and rubs a thumb across your cheek. “I missed you.” 

“You were supposed to go home Yoongi.” 

“Didn’t want to,” he shrugs. 

You sigh, knowing you didn’t have the heart to kick him out when he was like this. “Fine. Will you at least take a shower before you crash? You stink.” 

“You just want me naked,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at you. 

Instead of answering him, you turn to your room to get him a change of clothes. If he were anyone else, if he hadn’t just told he loved you- this would be hilarious. You would never let Yoongi live this down. 

But it wasn’t someone else. It was Yoongi. And not only had he told you he loved you, it seems like he already forgot about it. He was so unaware of the spiral you were in it was painful. 

He was struggling with his boots when you made your way back into the living room. You swallow back the lump in your throat as you kneel in front of him. 

You nudge his hands away and make quick work of the laces. 

“Y/N.” When you look up, you’re struck with the clarity in his gaze. You’re not sure what changed in the time it took you to get him some clothes but the flirty Yoongi was gone. 

His eyes were still dropping and he was a little sideways on your couch but he seemed more like Yoongi again. 

“What?” you ask and wince when your voice cracks. 

“I meant it.” 

Your eyes close and you sit back on your heels to give yourself some distance. “Yoongi, please.” 

He doesn’t say anything more and when you finally open your eyes again, he’s running a hand over his face. “Okay,” he sighs. Then he grabs the clothes from off the floor and disappears into the bathroom. 

How did things get so complicated so quickly? 

This was exactly the kind of situation you were hoping to avoid all these years. You roughly wipe your eyes to stop any tears from falling before getting to your feet.

You hear the shower turn on as you make up the couch, tucking sheets into the cushion and bringing out extra pillows. And then you don’t know what to do with yourself. Your first instinct is to go close yourself in your room and not come out until he’s gone in the morning. 

You knew you could never do that though. You’d never been good at ignoring Yoongi. It was unclear if other people experienced this kind of magnetism towards him, but you were hopeless.

Because of the war going on in your brain, you were still sitting on the couch when Yoongi walked back down the hallway. And - in a word - oof. 

The clothes were his, some you’d stolen a long time ago but he’d put on a muscle since then so the shirt was a little tight. His damp hair hung a little longer, hanging into his eyes a little bit. 

The shower seemed to do him some good, he looked a little more alert. More himself.

You watch him warily and tuck your knees into your chest. He takes a seat opposite you on the coffee table. Then you two sit there, not looking at and not talking to each other. 

Then Yoongi heaves a heavy sigh and you dare to look at him. “Y/N…” He doesn’t seem to have more to say than that.

You turn to look at him. “Yoongi, I’m exhausted. Can we talk in the morning?” 

He nods, shoulders sagging. “Yeah. That’s a good idea.” 

You shoot up from the couch, ready to get out of this tense atmosphere. “I brought out sheets and blankets. And there’s a stack of pillows there. If you need anything else, you know where everything is.” 

“Y/N.” Yoongi’s hand reaches out, maybe to stop you or grab you. You just dart a few paces away. You had no resolve left and you were pretty sure if he touched you at this point that would just crumble. 

“I’ll see you in the morning, Yoongi.”

His sighs and it ruffles your hair, sends a shiver down your back. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

The next morning, as the sun shone brightly through your curtains, you were praying for a sinkhole to open underneath your apartment building and swallow you whole. Or maybe like a stray asteroid could come in through your window. Less casualties that way. Anything to get you out of this conversation with Yoongi.

You hadn’t slept all night, trying to decode Yoongi’s words and your own feelings. You’d been squashing them down for so long, trying to make them as small and inconsequential as possible. 

It was sometime after the sky started to turn pink that you truly allowed yourself to accept how much you love Min Yoongi. How much you always have. 

For as long as you can remember, you have cherished every moment with him. Your movie nights. When you could bring your laptop to his studio and listen to him produce music while you worked. Getting late night coffees at the same cafe you first met. 

The list goes on. 

Now it was just a matter of figuring out if Yoongi really did… love you. You know that saying “drunk words are sober thoughts.” And maybe it was true in this case. But what if he just meant he loved you as a friend?

Really, it wasn’t that far fetched. You have never met a more emotionally guarded person than Yoongi. He didn’t even want to admit to being friends until after you threatened to send a video of him dressed up as his female counterpart “Yoonji” to Dispatch. 

In short, you were getting nowhere fast. Which is why you finally kicked yourself out from under your sheets to make some coffee. Coffee always helps right?

A quick peek into the living room and you can see Yoongi curled up on the couch, still out. 

You tiptoe past him and into the kitchen. You start to brew a pot of coffee and let the comforting smell wash over you. It seemed to rouse Yoongi as well. Over the back of the couch you see him stretch his arms, groaning as he does it. 

You pour two mugs of coffee and give him time to fully wake up. 

He shuffles into the kitchen, one eye cracked open and trying to smooth his hair down with his hands. “Morning,” he mumbles.

You wordlessly hand him a mug of plain black coffee. He hums gratefully and takes a large gulp. 

Not for the first time you internally coo at his early-morning grumpiness. His eyes are puffy and his hair is sticking up in multiple directions despite his efforts. You sip your own coffee and try to figure out how to start this conversation. 

Yoongi leans against the opposite of the island counter and looks at you over the rim of his mug. “So.” 

“So,” you agree. And then leap into it. “You remember everything you said last night?” 

He takes another large gulp of his coffee before setting the mug down. “I do.” 

You lean your elbows down on the counter and grip onto your mug with both hands to have something to ground you. “Okay.” 

Yoongi looks at you, eyes wary. You can’t look at him, can’t be the one that says something that ruins this friendship.

“Y/N… can we just forget it?” 

Your eyes fall closed. You wonder at the same time if it’s possible for your heart to fall out of place in your chest because it no longer feels like it’s there. “Yeah,” you force out of your vocal chords. “Let’s forget it.” 

“I just- it was wrong for me to say those things. To you. While I was so… out of it.” Yoongi sighs. “Will you look at me? Please?” 

He’s staring at you, fully awake now. His gaze is imploring, like his words are saying one thing but his eyes are trying to tell you something else. 

“Y/N, your friendship is one of the most important things in my life. You found me when I was in a shitty place and couldn’t find any real people to be around. Everyone wanted to know Agust D, they didn’t give a fuck about me. I can’t lose that, I can’t lose you-” 

You take another drink from your mug to distract you and to hopefully hide the tears building in your eyes. This was the most likely scenario, you knew that. But you had still allowed yourself to hope for the best. 

“I get it Yoongi. You love me, as a friend.” 

He makes this noise in the back of his throat and comes around the island towards you. 

On instinct you back away, trying to keep the distance. You throw your hands up when your back hits the counter behind you. “Yoongi, please don’t-” 

He immediately stops a few feet away from you. “This is exactly what I didn’t want,” he says, voice breaking a little on the last words. “I didn’t want to upset you.” 

You realize that the tears in your eyes have fallen so you wipe them away hastily. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

Yoongi frowns, “You’re crying so it’s not fine.” He looks at you with such concern that it hurts. Like he would do anything to fix it if he could. 

“Please don’t look at me like that,” you say weakly. 

“Like what?” 

You are exhausted, mentally and physically. So your filter is gone. And you blurt, “If we’re going to be just friends, I can live with that but that means you can’t look at me like that. Like you love me more than that.” 

Yoongi just looks at you, jaw slack. “Let me be perfectly clear, Y/N. If we’re going to be just friends I am going to be the one living with it. Because…” he sighs and closes his eyes, as if to collect himself. “Because I do love you more than that.” 

If your heart hadn’t fallen out of place earlier it certainly did in that moment. “What?” you squeak.

He takes a cautious step towards you. “Last night, I meant everything I said. I’ve never been brave enough to say it to your face, but I have been in love with you for the better part of three years. It wasn’t fair of me to say all of that to you or to show up here and have you take care of me. And I mean it, we can be friends. Because I’d rather be friends than nothing at all. But since we’re here I might as well get it all off my chest, even if it means I never mention it again. At least that way I can finally breathe again.” 

Your chest heaves with panicked breaths as you absorb everything he just said. This time there wasn’t any way to misconstrue his words. No doubt about the meaning. Yoongi had just laid himself bare in front of you. 

“Idiots,” you mutter. 

Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up past his hairline. “What?” 

“We are idiots,” you say and a somewhat manic laugh slips its way past your lips. When you see the hurt cross his face, you step closer and clap a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, Yoongi.”

He pulls back a step and the action sobers you immediately. “We are both complete idiots, Yoongi. Because I’ve never been brave enough either. Brave enough to tell you that you are what kept me sane during my intern year. That getting to see you is the best part of my day. And I’ve never told you I love you because I was terrified of you not feeling the same way.” 

“Idiots,” he muses. Yoongi looks at you, eyes darting everywhere as if looking for the lie. His lips slowly curl into a smile when he doesn’t seem to find one. He closes the gap between you, cradling your face in his hands.

When he presses his lips to yours, it’s gentle. The tenderness makes your eyes slip shut, makes every time you’ve ever dreamt about this in the past pale in comparison. You could never have imagined how perfect it would feel when his hands roam the planes of your body, wrap around your waist and pull you flush against him. 

The closeness has you overwhelmed, whimpering into his mouth. You find yourself craving even more contact, pull yourself infinitesimally closer by wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. 

Yoongi pushes against you, making you stumble back a few steps until you hit the counter. Without missing a beat, his hands move from your waist down to your thighs. He grips the flesh there and hoists you up onto the countertop.

You gasp at the lift, legs wrapping around his hips for anchorage. Yoongi takes advantage and licks his way into your open mouth. You let him take the lead, feeling wholly overwhelmed by the way he kisses you. Your fingers thread in his hair, tugging on the roots when the sensations become too much. 

Yoongi groans, pressing his lips harder to yours for another second before pulling away. He immediately presses another chaste kiss to your lips before leaning his forehead on yours. 

You don’t open your eyes right away, almost afraid he won’t be there when you open them. 

“Y/N,” he whispers. Your heart flops over, probably somewhere down near your appendix at this point. “We really are idiots.” 

You smile, finally looking back at him. You tighten your legs around him, your body’s way of telling him he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. Yoongi’s eyes slip shut as he lets out a hiss. “Woman, you’ve gotta stop doing that.” 

“Why?” you smirk.

“Because all I’ve thought about for years is being able to love you like I want to. I want to love you in every way you deserve to be loved. But I also haven’t slept in days. I haven’t slept a full night since I was here last, for movie night. If you keep doing that I’m going to take you right here and it won’t be my A game.” He kisses you slowly, making your toes curl in. “I want to give you my A game.” 

You smile fondly at the rant but relent, dropping your legs to either side of his hips. Your fingertips trace the shadows under his eyes “I haven’t slept well either. Since that night.” 

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi whispers, slumping into you. 

“Don’t be,” you say as you comb your fingers through his hair. “How about a nap? Because I too want nothing less than your A game.” 

Yoongi straightens and glares at you. You put a hand on his chest and push lightly. He backs up enough for you to hop down from the counter. You take one of his hands in yours, taking a second to appreciate how easily they fit together. 

“What, you’re not going to make me sleep on the couch again?” Yoongi says as you lead him to your room.

“I’m still not fully convinced this is all real.” You turn and pull him close again. “Until I am I need you to stay close to me. So no more couch.”

Yoongi smiles softly. “I can do that.” He kisses your forehead sweetly. 

He audibly groans as he climbs into your bed beside you. You roll your eyes at him. “Don’t be so dramatic.” 

“You try sleeping on that couch. Whoever talked you into that couch is a nutjob.”

You smack his chest. “You convinced me to buy that couch!” 

Yoongi shrugs, grinning softly. You smack him once more for good measure. Then you give into the instinct your body has been screaming for, which is to snuggle into him. You get comfortable with your head resting on his chest and one of your legs tangled between his. Your fingers fist into the material of his shirt on their own volition. 

He pulls you closer with the arm that’s under you, not seeming to be satisfied until every gap between the two of you is gone. 

“From now on, let’s be idiots together, okay?” 

Yoongi chuckles and drops a lingering kiss on the top of your head. “Deal.”