#Edited because people would rather I not use their gifs

[sailoryooons]

Angel | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader

☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 

☾ Word Count: 15,551

☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 

☾ Published: September 3, 2023

☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist

Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.

She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.

Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 

Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 

Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 

Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 

Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 

“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 

“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.

“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”

Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 

It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.

Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.

Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 

Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 

They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 

Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 

“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”

“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”

“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 

“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”

“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”

“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 

Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 

A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 

Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.

When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.

People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 

The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 

Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 

Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 

The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 

Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.

Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 

Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 

Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 

Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 

Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 

Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 

Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.

Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.

Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 

His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 

Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.

The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 

At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 

Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 

It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 

“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”

“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”

“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”

“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”

“Whatever shall we do?”

He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 

“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”

“Thanks, Angel.”

“Mhmm.”

His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 

Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 

Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 

In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 

Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.

Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 

He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 

He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 

It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 

Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 

With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 

Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 

“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.

“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 

You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 

Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 

“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.

“Mhmm. Just a long night.”

“You smell like perfume.”

“Hmm?”

“Like peaches.”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”

“Maybe.” 

“Interesting.”

“Not particularly.” 

He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”

Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 

“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 

Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 

Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 

“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”

“Are you a foot person?”

“What if I was?”

You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”

Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.

“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”

“That so?”

“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”

Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 

You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 

So he does. 

Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 

Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 

His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 

Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 

He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 

Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 

Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 

Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 

Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.

When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.

This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 

There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 

“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 

“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 

He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 

A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 

Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 

The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.

Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 

“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 

He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.

When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.

Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 

“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 

The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.

“You don’t-”

“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 

“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 

Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 

Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 

“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.

“Give it to me.”

One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 

Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 

A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 

Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.

The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.

Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 

There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.

You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 

Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 

“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”

“I’d sleep in them anyway.”

“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”

“Meh.”

“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”

“Huh. So you are jealous.”

“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 

-

Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.

Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 

When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 

You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 

Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.

The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.

A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.

“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.

Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”

“Mhmm.”

“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 

With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.

Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 

Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 

You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 

As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 

Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 

At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.

If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 

It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 

And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 

The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 

After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 

You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 

Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 

Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 

The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 

At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 

It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 

Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.

While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.

Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 

Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 

Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.

Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.

You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 

He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 

Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 

-

Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 

Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 

The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 

A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 

“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”

You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 

Money. This man has money. 

Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 

The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 

The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.

If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.

“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”

“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”

“Well said.”

Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.

“Do you know where we are?”

You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”

He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”

“You asked a question.”

“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”

“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”

He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 

Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.

“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”

“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”

You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”

“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”

You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”

“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”

“To get their cock sucked, usually.”

Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.

Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 

“I will fucking kill you.” 

There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.

You need to be valuable. And fast. 

“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 

Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”

“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 

“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”

“One way to find out, right?”

Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.

Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 

Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.

Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 

You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.

It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 

Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”

You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”

“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”

“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”

“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”

“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”

“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”

“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”

“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”

This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 

“Okay.” 

His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 

“Okay. I love you.” 

“See you soon.”

-

Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 

When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 

Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 

All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?

Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 

Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 

“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”

“What?” Yoongi demands.

“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 

It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 

“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”

“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”

“He told you where they were?”

“No, she did.”

Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”

“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”

“In front of-”

“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”

“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”

“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”

“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”

Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”

An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.

I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 

In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 

None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 

-

Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.

You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.

It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 

You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 

At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 

Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 

It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 

You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 

The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.

You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 

It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.

Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 

Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.

A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 

When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 

Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.

His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 

Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 

I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 

Click. Squeeze. Bang. 

You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 

A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.

Squeeze. Bang. 

It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 

Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 

“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 

“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 

It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 

Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-

Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.

Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 

“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”

“No.”

“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 

“I don’t-”

“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 

Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”

You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 

When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 

“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 

“Yes.”

“Then why-”

“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”

“Okay.” 

“Look at me.”

You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”

-

A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 

It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.

Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 

Home. 

The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 

Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 

Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 

The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 

So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 

Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 

The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.

“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”

“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”

“Give me five.” 

When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 

Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 

Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 

Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.

You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 

Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.

He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 

When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.

He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 

Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 

Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 

One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 

Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.

His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 

Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.

“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 

He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 

“Fuck.” 

He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 

“Fuck yeah.” 

You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 

“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.

“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 

“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”

“You do.”

“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 

The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”

“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 

“Mmm.” 

The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 

He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.

A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”

“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”

Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 

Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 

Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 

“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 

“Fuuuuck yeah.”

His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 

“Shit shit shit shit.” 

You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 

The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 

For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 

“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

“I’ve always been yours.”

“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”

You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”

He pauses. “What?”

“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 

“Then why stay there?”

You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”

“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”

“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”

He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 

[libraincarnate]

🦋 astrology notes: 14 🦋

quick note: i'm absolutely not an astrologer. these are just a collection of some of my observations, thoughts, theories, and personal experiences. with that being said, i'm still learning along the way & i may come back to edit this post to make corrections. above all this is just for fun. lastly, keep in mind that i’m not reading your birth chart and i know nothing about you. these are just some possibilities that may or may not apply to you. enjoy!

ꕤ venus-mars aspects: people with this aspect may feel good/beautiful when moving their body. they could really enjoy sex, stretching, exercising, playing sports, dancing, etc. could be into getting massages, doing their skin/hair care routine, eating healthy & more cause overall, they’re taking care of their body/themselves and they’re into that. there’s a desire to connect with their body and actually listen to what it wants and/or needs. they want to feel good and look good & they probably have a nice body too.

ꕤ neptune-uranus aspects: can indicate a wild sleeper. the type to shift the blankets from one end of the bed to the other, waking up with their pillow in weird positions or they themselves are hanging off the side of the bed. could accidentally hit people while they’re asleep if they share a bed with someone. may have strange dreams, possibly spiritual/prophetic ones too.

ꕤ libra venus: they want an equal relationship with equal effort. if they have kids with someone, they expect that person to be as involved as they are when it comes to parenting. it's a partnership so no one should be doing more than the other, it should be *balanced*. they absolutely know how to make a person feel loved, adored, and appreciated. they can be quite lovey-dovey & they also want to be doted on too. they want someone who makes them feel comfortable enough to not have to look or act perfect all the time. they want their partner to see their beauty on the outside & the inside too. even if it's not fun to admit, they know they’re not truly perfect and they want someone who will accept the parts of them that aren’t beautiful, the parts they're insecure of. yes they love compliments but genuine ones from their lover that aren’t always about their appearance are meaningful and cherished.

these people are so caring. this is a sweetheart placement. with that being said they expect their partner to be nice to them 98% of the time. this doesn’t mean you can’t tease them or make jokes, but just don’t overdo it or be rude. so this doesn’t necessarily mean that they want an extremely nice or gentle bf/gf, but rather someone who’s never truly mean to them and shows them the same amount of love, respct, & consideration.

ꕤ virgo lilith/rising/venus & lilith in the 2nd house: may feel ugly or uncomfortable wearing heavy makeup. they’re so used to being natural that they feel as if they look too different wearing lots of makeup or even a little. could feel as though it emphasizes their features in a way that they don’t like because it comes off too strong. they’re just used to & prefer that natural look, but they may prefer light/subtle makeup, like that “no makeup” makeup look.

ꕤ if you feel like you don’t relate to certain placements in your natal chart, check the persona chart of that planet and look for that same planet within that persona chart. you may find that you can relate to it a bit more or it can reveal something else about that part of you/your life, maybe help you connect the dots.

for example, if you feel like your venus placement in your natal chart doesn’t really apply to you, check your venus placement in your venus persona chart. or if it’s your moon then look for the placement of the moon in your moon persona chart.

ꕤ the placement of sagittarius in your chart can show you where you might be afraid to commit: 

in the 4th house - could be afraid to start a family of your own because of how much your children/family would depend on you and because of how much you’d be responsible for another person.

in the 7th house - could be afraid to commit to long term relationships that may lead to marriage because you view it as something spiritually and/or legally binding (to an extent), and the idea of that sounds restrictive or "too permanent" & daunting, even if you're in love, so you may self-sabotage. your lack of commitment here might also be because you don't feel comfortable trusting others/being vulnerable. plus, sag is an honest sign that cares about integrity so if they make a vow they won't want to dishonor it. but then there's the possibilty/fear of being trapped in a miserable or lifeless marriage, or being unable to leave without conflict or upsetting consequences.

in the 6th house - could run from your daily responsibilities/routine if it lacks variety. can be afraid to commit to jobs that may have the potential to become mundane & monotonous, jobs that don't have many opportunities or room for growth and advancement.

ꕤ saturn in the 9th house: may not enjoy going to church, if you we’re born into a religious family this could have been an issue for you, perhaps you have a religious father that is strict and religion may have been a persistent theme that brought about conflict.

ꕤ aries moon: when they’re pissed off you’ll know because they’ll express it verbally and/or physically (this doesn’t necessarily mean they’ll put their hands on you). out of all the different emotions, they probably feel anger the strongest. they’re not the type to hide their emotions like capricorn moons and that’s probably because they usually can’t no matter how much they want to or try to.  

they are direct & unafraid of confrontation, but if they tell you that you hurt them then they care about you because that’s not something they’ll easily and openly admit. they’re loyal so they take it to heart when someone they love/trust wrongs them. if that person doesn’t have a good reason then they’re most likely cut off because aries now sees them as disloyal & untrustworthy.

aries likes to be in control, but with the moon here they can struggle to have control over their emotions because they feel things so forecully, not being in control only makes them more irritated, and they can be quite irritable. 

ꕤ sun in the 7th house (synastry): it can create such a strong bond that it feels like they are your soulmate. it could be hard to separate from each other because it feels like you guys are meant to be. they’re someone you want to share your life with. life is better with them. things can feel gloomy when there are problems between you two or when they’re not around & so this can also be a clingy placement. but that’s probably because they make you feel warm, safe, and overall they’re just one of your favorite people. 

ꕤ leo mercury / leo in the 3rd house: they’re quite descriptive & they incorporate lots of figurative language in their everyday speech whether it be personification, exaggeration, or similes/metaphors. with that being said they can be funny and make good story tellers. they draw people in with the way they speak and keep them interested. could be good at voice acting and imitating the voice of another such as singers or actors. these individuals have some bright ideas & they could probably write great books too.

ꕤ lilith in the 6th house: i’ve mentioned that taurus in the 6th house can have messy traits but lilith in the 6th house takes the cake imo. like they can be straight up dirty, sorry not sorry. the types to not clean up after themselves. they’re not afraid to get their hands dirty and i mean that literally. like no gloves needed ever lol & then they’ll “clean” their hands by running it under water for 2 seconds. also the types to not follow the rules or the steps of doing something. they do things their way or in a way that’s uncommon/different but they can also remain calm and focused in chaotic & unorganized environments.

ꕤ sun in the 4th: these people would make really good house wives or stay at home moms. they’re just good at being domestic and naturally good at running a household. they’re the glue to the family. i know the 4th house isn’t related to marriage/romantic relationships but to me, women with this placement exude the traits of the perfect/noble wife described in Proverbs 31:10-31. 

or if a guy has a capricorn sun here for example, he may be an absolute family man. someone reliable and a true provider who is dedicated, involved, and loyal to his family.

overall these people can be very family-oriented.

ꕤ chiron in the 5th house: you have a bold/bright personality that makes you stand out. when you’re expressing yourself or simply being yourself, you might get negative reactions and unkind comments from others which causes you to shrink back and hide that awesome personality of yours. you feel insecure about being yourself & so you may also have self-esteem issues. but that confidence is definitely within you, it's innate.

those reactions/comments probably come from people who are unhappy, not comfortable with themselves, or they're jealous & they wish could get the attention that you receive without trying. but that’s not your fault so keep being you!

these natives could also be the type to come off as quiet/shy but they aren’t. they’re actually fun, creative, talented, and a joy to be around, but they struggle to see that for themselves. 

ꕤ gemini or pisces rising / in the 1st house - especially if you also have a gemini/pisces moon or your chart ruler (mercury/neptune) is in the 5th house of fun, games/toys, & creativity:

* this is so long i'm so sorry *

i feel like these natives had lots of dolls, toys, and/or stuffed animals growing up. they probably always had at least one throughout their life and they still do even if they’re now older, mature, or no longer play with them because gem and pisces both have this playful, fun, & childlike energy.

the rising & 1st house is heavily focused on how you project/express yourself and who you are, both your inner & outer self. so regardless of age or maturity, these traits typically remain present in gem/pisces because it’s just a big part of their identity. & the moon is how we experience, process, and express our emotions. so for some, it becomes less of a toy and more of a sentimental item, something they’re emotionally attached to.

with gemini & pisces, it’s like they are here but they’re not lol they’re physically present but mentally elsewhere in some other world of their own. they’re the types to entertain themselves in their minds.

gem is ruled by mercury so they’re always in their head talking to themselves, thinking of anything & everything whether it be funny, brilliant, bizarre, or ingenious. they get lost in their thoughts. but we do the same with toys, we talk to them as if they were real or could respond, we create these conversations and social interactions, we give them a voice, “making” them say the most silly, funny, and crazy things. 

pisces is ruled by neptune and so they’re creative and always in their head day dreaming of different scenarios, people/characters, and possibilities. they get lost in their imagination. and with toys, we become both actors & directors, assigning different roles/characters to different dolls and stuffed animals, but also to ourselves. we set the scene, dress them up, do their makeup, and “make” them act out whatever we imagine. 

& when you think about dolls/toys/stuffed animals and the way that they’re typically played with, you think of personification or a sense of bringing to life/animation, imagination, children, entertainment, pretending, creativity, etc. plus, the whole concept is kind of bizarre if you think about it lol

this made me look up barbie’s chart because she’s one of the most popular dolls/toys and it’s so funny how she’s a gemini rising & pisces sun/moon.

if you read this until the end, i hope you enjoyed it & thank you so much for reading. ♥︎♥︎♥︎, those hearts are for you.

[bengiyo]

Random QL Superlatives: 2024 Edition

It seems @lurkingshan has begun the end of year listicle game. Time to shout out our faves.

Presented (mostly) in the order I watched them.

Favorite Blorbo of the Year: Dynamite in Cooking Crush

I love when a show reveals that someone who has been upbeat or strong is actually carrying a ton of pain. Learning about how Dynamite suffered so much because of his family touched me to my core, and forever solidified the friendship he has with Samsee and Prem.

Favorite Use of Visual Comedy: I Became the Main Role of a BL Drama

This show really had everything, and more than anything it had some of the best visual gags of the year. There is so much humor in the framing of scenes in this show. It was a genuine delight, and I'm so happy I'll get to see Aoyanagi Hajime again next year.

Favorite Facial Hair: Gu Jing in VIP Only

This show ended up rather flat, but damn do I think about this man's face sometimes.

Favorite Disappointment: Last Twilight

This show really could have been great if it didn't fuck up so badly.

Favorite Existential Crisis: Love For Love's Sake

The way this show telegraphed that it would be heavy, and then still managed to gut the audience, is one of the most impressive things I got to witness this year. I love that this show left people with so many different interpretations that don't contradict each other.

Favorite Use of Omegaverse: Tadaima, Okaeri

Yes, there were two BL omegaverse shows this year. No, I did not enjoy the other one. I was instead overinvested in the success of my gay dads and their kids every week. HIKARU IS OUR HERO!

Favorite Use of Food: She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat 2

I love this show with my whole being. If the Japanese don't figure out a way to get this cast to crossover with What Did You Eat Yesterday? honestly what is even the point of putting queer people on TV?

Favorite Reunion Romance: Perfect Propose

I really loved that this show was about two childhood friends both at the end of their ropes. I also loved the way this show used a questionable sexual encounter to jumpstart the dynamic. I'm so glad Hirokuni quit that nasty job, because this was so difficult to watch after having left a very difficult workplace.

Favorite Cast Dynamics: Ossan's Love Returns

"We are family!" In their 3rd or 4th outing, depending on how you want to look at it, I continue to be obsessed with Haruta, Kurosawa, Maki, and their extended network. I loved seeing Haruta and Maki working on their relationship, and I loved seeing them all grapple with the changes in their lives. I hope I never have to fight my in-laws in my kitchen.

Favorite Version of Tay Tawan: Cherry Magic Thailand

Tay Tawan was at his most charming as Karan. I'm so glad that Tay and New are able to work together again.

Favorite Version of Cherry Magic: The Cherry Magic Anime

Despite my opinion that Cherry Magic TH is the best version of Cherry Magic, I still think the anime is my favorite. The characters have an ugliness to them in this version that I really love.

Favorite Use of Yukata: Love is Better the Second Time Around

Despite my qualms with the final arc of this show, I still think about the way this show handled its second chance romance and especially the way it handled sex. Also, this show has a great visual gag in a woman who doesn't deserve this physically restraining a man from proposing to her.

Favorite Performances: The Cast of Unknown

I really think this is my favorite cast of the year. I really loved the way they all played together, and loved the handling of growing up in this show.

Favorite Use of a Mirror: Memory in the Letter

To be clear, I do not recommend this show. However, I was very impressed with all of the acting and technical work around the mirror in this show.

Favorite Show About Actors: At 25:00 in Akasaka

I really loved the way Niihara and Komagine played actors in this show. It's rare that a character withholding the truth of their feelings works out this well. This is one of the best things I watched this year.

Favorite Boy: Igarashi Daichi from Ossan no Pants ga Nandatte Ii Janai ka!

Not BL, but I love Daichi so much that he gets a shout out here. I love that he wasn't a manic pixie dream gay, that he was allowed to be angry, and that he was allowed to be imperfect. Daichi is now forever a part of my soul.

Favorite Rambutan Enjoyer: Venice in Marahuyo Project

Venice is so funny to me. I love that she's not the brightest one in the group, but she understands everything important. She protects Archie because she understands how hurt and scared he is. She accepts everyone who joins their group unquestioningly. She is eating in almost every scene. She is perfect.

Favorite Flirt: Vee in San's Dreams in Century of Love

I think we should let Offroad flirt with Daou more in future shows.

Favorite Narrative: Knock Knock, Boys!

This is favorite show from Thailand this year. I loved the use of every story in this show. The kindness pouring out of this show was really something special. I loved that this show never made fun of Almond for being a version, let Latte have positive relationships with his exes, let Thanwa dress like a normie, and treated Peak's closeted storyline with immense respect. I look forward to showing it to many more people.

Favorite Back: Mahasamut in Love Sea

I loved the way Fort played this man, and I love that we got another BL romantic lead that doesn't look dehydrated. More romantic leads should get to deck abusive fathers in BL.

Favorite Collector of Marbles: Takara in Takara no Vidro

A rare version of the Knowing blessed us this year in Takara. He was overwhelmed by Taishin's naivete, and I really loved seeing a character who absolutely knew who he was. I loved watching a character manage obsessive tendencies, and I loved how he spent much of the show holding back because he was afraid of himself. What a blessing these two were.

Favorite Use of a Workplace: The Trainee

I really loved that GMMTV used one of their best production houses to tell a story about interns in a production house. It was genuinely refreshing to see a workplace show from Thailand where everyone involved understood the work they were portraying. This was a really solid ensemble piece.

Favorite Homo: Shion in Twilight Out of Focus

I love this pink-haired boy. He was loud and competent. He was clear in what he wanted. He said plainly that he wanted a boyfriend, and HE WON. For everyone who got called slurs in their youth, Shion is for you.

Favorite Second Chance: Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo

Hwang Da Seul was determined to get it right this time, and boy did she! This show did a wonderful job establishing the teen romance, justifying its separation, and earning its reunion. Best BL of the year.

Favorite Adaptation: Love in the Big City

Also not BL technically, but there's no way we make a list of shows form this year without acknowledging Nam Yoon Su's incredible performance as Go Yeong and the efforts of literally everyone involved in this show. If there's one show you need to watch this year, it's this one.

Favorite Angry Outburst: Qi Lu in Blue Canvas of Youthful Days

I loved the way Qi Lu got mad about Qian Xiao holding back with him. It's the most I've enjoyed a character being wrong this year. It was the exact right response for a character like him. He knew who he was, what he was feeling, and that Qian Xiao was feeling it, too.

Favorite Cross-Cultural Exchange: Love in the Air: Koi no Yokon

We've had more than a few Thai adaptations of Japanese works. This is the first time MAME work crossed over to Japan, and it's been so cool seeing how much the Japanese team really loves Love in the Air. I feel no competition between the two adaptations of this novel, because it's clear that the Japanese show is a huge fan of the Thai show. It makes so many loving homages to the source work that it's clear this is a passion project for many people involved. It's so cool that we're now seeing Japan adapt Thai works, and I'm so excited to see where this takes us next.

Well, this was fun! Tag me with your list if you make one!

[imperator-titus]

Favorite Party Banter [Astarion Edition]

[Astarion (Ascended)] [Halsin/Jaheira] [Gale] [Karlach] [Lae'zel] [Minsc] [Minthara] [Shadowheart] [Wyll]

I often miss party banter because of party comp (and sometimes just straight up can't hear??) so here's a collection of my favorite bants while going through dialogue files. I know the wiki has the banter (most? all?) but I added the file names and dev notes.

Either Astarion (Spawn or unspecified) is the main speaker/subject or I think his reaction is good shit.

Not in any particular order.

(Big surprise it's probably the biggest list.)

[PB_Wyll_Astarion_SCL_FishermansHut]

Wyll: To think how vibrant this place must have once been. Children playing, merchants hawking. Real people living real lives.

Astarion: I know, can you imagine the noise? This is much more peaceful.

Wyll: Come, Astarion. I know you're not really as heartless as all that.

Astarion: Of course not, I'm a pussycat really. Just ask anyone who's seen my claws.

[PB_Astarion_Karlach_MountainPass]

Astarion: Gods, how are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

Karlach: Want me to carry you?

Astarion: Oh, darling, would you? {Devnote: With genuine hope}

Karlach: Sure! If you promise to swap once I get tired.

Astarion: Please, I can barely manage my pack - you’d kill me.

[PB_Jaheira_Astarion_NorthAlleys]

Jaheira: Nevermind the shining squares - I am more comfortable on streets such as this. A peek at the true face behind the mask.

Astarion: Yet another thing we have in common. We’re two peas in a pod.

Jaheira: I said a peek behind the city’s mask, Astarion - not a look up its skirts.

Astarion: Jaheira! What do you think of me? {Devnote: mock shock/scandalised}

[PB_Minthara_Astarion_ROM_Act3]

Minthara: Are you a better man now that you are loved, Astarion? Did they mend your ways?

Astarion: I rather think they did. Can’t imagine anyone wanting to do that for you, though dear.

[PB_Wyll_Astarion_ROM_Act3_001]

Wyll: Astarion, I was wrong about you. Truly wrong about you.

Astarion: Let me guess - you thought I’d suck blood, but actually I just suck? Was that your witty jab? {Devnote: A little tired of Wyll’s bullshit}

Wyll: No, I mean it. There’s little between us we share. But you’ve fallen in love and stood by your lover. That is something this dreamer’s heart can appreciate.

[PB_Laezel_Astarion_ROM_Act2_002]

Lae’zel: The more I learn of this plane, Astarion, the more I believe ‘love’ is its greatest disease.

Astarion: Oh, I don’t know. The screaming fever is pretty bad.

[PB_Astarion_Halsin_ROM_Act3]

Astarion: I hear things got wild between you two. I hope no one was too badly mauled.

Halsin: We’re all in one piece. Perhaps you’ll join us next time.

Astarion: It’s bad enough having one person with fangs trying to keep control of themselves. Two of us could be dangerous.

[PB_Astarion_Minthara_MorphicPool]

Astarion: We’re getting close. I do believe fate is shuffling the cards for the final deal.

Minthara: Let the cards fall. We have a strong hand to play.

Astarion: And speaking personally, I intend to cheat.

[PB_Karlach_Astarion_ROM_Act2_001]

Karlach: Sorry if this is rude, but… can vampires fall in love?

Astarion: What a preposterous question. Vampires can do anything you can do, and a damn sight better.

Karlach: Sunbathe? Swim?

Astarion: All right, there are a few limited exceptions.

Karlach: Good to know love is on the table though.

Astarion: It is. Though if the table is laden with good wine and meat, love is often left to rot with the salad leaves.

[PB_Minsc_Astarion_ROM_Act3_Spawn]

Minsc: No, Boo. Astarion is a friend now - he would never bite you. {Devnote: quietly comforting}

Minsc: Yes, vampire?

Astarion: Yes… I mean - no? I am not interested in biting the rodent is the point.

Astarion: Not least because he lives in your trousers…

[PB_Astarion_Laezel_ROM_Act2]

Astarion: So Lae’zel, things seem to be getting serious with you two. Do you have pet names for each other yet?

Lae’zel: ‘Pet’ anmes? As if we were domesticated animals?

Astarion: Gods, you have so much to learn. Repeat after me: honey muffin, sweetie pie, sugarplum.

Lae’zel: Honey muffin, sweetie pie - Astarion, do you see all your lovers as food? {Devnote: As if they’re in another language}

[PB_Shadowheart_Astarion_ROM_Act1_PickUpArtist]

Shadowheart: I can't quite believe you've been a pick-up artist all these years, Astarion. {Devnote: Poking fun/banter. Referring to Astarion's romance with the player}

Shadowheart: Most of the things you say still sound like you're in a two-copper paperback read by little girls.

Astarion: I sound like a charming rake, you mean? The hero everyone fawns over?

Astarion: Well, if the doublet fits...

[PB_Astarion_Gale_Colony_Generall]

Astarion: It's enough to put you off tentacles for life.

Gale: You had a taste for tentacles?

Astarion: The Elfsong Tavern used to serve excellent calamari. Mind you, that was two hundred years ago...

[PB_Gale_Astarion_ROM_Act1]

Gale: I see you waste no time pursuing your quarry, Astarion. {Devnote: referring to Astarion and player beginning to date, amused by it}

Gale: Tell me, do you always woo your lovers with such patient attention? {Devnote: poking fun because it all happened so quickly}

Astarion: I rather thought I was a little slow this time. Usually, they're begging me to drain them on the first night.

[PB_Astarion_Gale_ROM_Act2]

Astarion: So, how was your night with Gale? Did you have a long, hard debate? {Devnote: teasing the player about spending the night with Gale}

Gale: Ignore him. Astarion envies the depth of our bond because he's of a shallower inclination.

Astarion: Snort.

[PB_Shadowheart_Astarion_Battlefield]

Shadowheart: Imagine what this place was like, on the day of the battle. The ground most have been covered with the dead... {Devnote: somber}

Astarion: A tragedy - just think of all that wasted blood.

Shadowheart: You wouldn't actually feed in the wake of a battle, would you? You're not a vulture. {Devnote: 'eww, really?'}

Astarion: Oh, I don't know. I've fed on things that would disgust most vultures.

[PB_Minthara_Astarion_ROM_Act2]

Minthara: Half the men of Menzoberranzan are pleasure-servants. Weaklings, whose beauty is their only redeeming quality.

Minthara: You would fit right in with them, Astarion. {Devnote: mocking Astarion, trying to get a rise out of him}

Astarion: You think I'm beautiful? Oh, Minthara.

Minthara: Hrmmph. {Devnote: scowling, irritated grunt}

[PB_Shadowheart_Astarion_SharTemple]

Shadowheart: You're uncharacteristically quiet, Astarion. Awed into silence?

Astarion: Awed? By this? Please - size isn't everything. At least when it comes to temples.

Shadowheart: Well what would impress you, then?

Astarion: Oh, I don't know, but a little more colour wouldn't hurt. All the black and purple just makes me think of bruises...

[sysmedsaresexist]

what are your thoughts on the community theory that autism may cause more fictives?

I come to you, anon, a broken man. I am in shambles. My life has been ripped apart.

I just spent a straight hour writing a response. It was a beautiful response, with sources, and pretty colors, and oh, about 2k words.

And it's all gone.

BUT!!! I, Quill, am not one to be discouraged. I'm going to redo this. FROM THE TOP!!!! (and now saving draft every 5 seconds istg-)

TL;DR: I really genuinely love the theory and think it has a lot of merit. However, I also really disagree with how some parts of the community handle this theory, and the stereotypes of autistic systems that come from it.

Alright. Mod Quill here, yes, I am an autistic system, currently a bit itchy inside because I should've been almost done this post and nearly into my latest fixation (don't starve together), and instead I'm rewriting this all and delaying my gratification. I am being so strong and brave right now.

[EDIT, before I actually get started, now that I'm done my ramble: in the following essay, I discuss introjection as a whole, rather than just fictives. I personally only have fictional introjects, but we all absolutely despise the term fictive being used on our system, so we avoided the term.]

Let's start with the fact that introjection is incredibly normal. My GOAT, Piaget, discusses at length how schema develops, and that's based a lot in introjection. Introjection, as a concept, is the idea that we, as people, unconsciously take on the beliefs, personality traits, sometimes even emotions of those around us. This can be for a lot of reasons.

Introjection (Defense Mechanism) was an interesting article I found discussing this idea, especially as it discusses introjection VS internalization, identification, and incorporation. Basically, when y'all try to find good articles online about introjection, those other words are usually fair game as well. This article is largely setting out to define various types of introjection. It describes normal introjection (bringing up Piaget, love that guy, he's my main man as a teacher) and brings up how introjects (i.e. the emotions/traits/beliefs/etc) can be distorted via fantasy. When that happens, it's considered secondary identification, and (she cites Freud here but I am not going digging more for MORE research atm), "Such secondary identification aims to reduce feelings of separation and hostility, and increase feelings of closeness, between the self and the external object, and thus it is regarded as a defense mechanism." So, in basic terms, introjection as a coping mechanism is often meant to reduce separation and increase closeness between an individual and the object of their introjection.

This can be seen very readily in CDDs. For instance, a hypothetical child is seeking more secure attachment with an abusive parental figure; they then form a dissociative part that is literally that abusive parental figure, making that person a part of them. This is a highly pathological defense mechanism.

So where does autism come in? Well... It's a disorder featuring:

A constant feeling of loneliness or ostracization for many individuals (discussed here)

A feeling of requirement for masking or mimicry of others in order to fit in (discussed here)

Diagnostic criteria that clearly show an inability to connect with others, rigid thinking patterns (akin to a fixed-mindset, just musing here), and an inability to maintain healthy relationships.

So... autistic CDD systems would then be individuals with a dissociative disorder, who (due to their autism) often report feeling more disconnected with themselves than their peers, who already rely on imitation as a conscious form of survival in an attempt to achieve closeness...

So you mean to say, Autistic CDD Systems Introject More???? HUH.

It's spelled out right there. It's fairly blatantly obvious. And genuinely, I don't think anyone was really doubting this. I don't think anyone is really out here saying that autistic people don't experience significant dissociation/introjection.

However, there's a lot of people recently shouting to the hilltops that there's no proof that autistic systems experience higher amounts of introject alters. And...

Duh? Obviously? There's already a significant lack of research into introjects in CDD systems. Why on earth would they then skip forward to research into introjects in autistic CDD systems? The medical world isn't going to skip around like that -- particularly, well... because why would they even research this to begin with?

Genuinely, I think that's my frustration with the recent discourse about this topic. There really is no reason, in my eyes, why the medical world should focus on this topic. What benefit would it have for patients? Introjects are simply another form of alter, same as any other. I suppose, potentially, it could lead to more ideas on how to help autistic CDD systems with their introjects in particular, but... is it that much different than just treating autistic CDD systems as a whole?

There's really no reason to be so up in arms about this idea. You're not going to be getting proof that this theorized correlation is actually scientifically valid; that's just not going to be happening anytime soon, unless someone has a really invested interest in autistic CDD introjects.

However...

HOWEVER!!!!!

That also does not mean I necessarily agree that every autistic system is like this. Because, for instance, I am not like this.

If you don't know, hi, I'm Quill, a mixed-origin CDD system featuring 15 parts. The origins aren't really important to this conversation, but we like to use accurate labels. We have 4 introjects, all of whom are fictional in nature. One is very close to source, one is so separated we forget she's an introject, and the other two are somewhere in the middle. And, despite what most people would assume, as I am a level 2 autistic individual as well as a system...

Only one of those introjects is from a hyperfixation of ours -- one that was brief, lasting only about 2 days, and that has never caught me up again -- and she's the one who immediately source separated.

Now, I am someone who struggles with hyperfixations. I scream internally while I autistically click the next 5 hour FNAF marathon when I'm supposed to be grading. I know so much lore. But yet, despite the sheer number -- undertale, MLP, FNAF, Petscop, most recently DST -- I haven't split introjects from any of those fixations.

And, well, that makes sense. Because introjection isn't just about attachment to an object. It's about taking something you need from that object. And it's unconscious in most cases.

(Semantically, I suppose that means that introject isn't really the best term for created parts who are fictional in nature, but I do not care about semantics all that much when it comes to people's self-identified labels in a minority group).

So, in the cases of my introjects:

At a time when we felt incapable, angry, and confused, we split a confident, strong, and (healthily) angry part.

At a time when we felt we were at risk of losing everyone and everything because we couldn't keep them happy, we split a character who found her lost loved ones and kept everyone happy.

At a time when we felt we needed distance from our conflicting emotions, we split someone who canonically has never been conflicted.

At a time when we were in desperate need of love, we split someone we knew would seek that love out without fail.

It wasn't based on our hyperfixations; it was based on our needs.

I think that large swaths of the system community online forgets that CDDs are borne of childhood trauma. Splits in CDD systems are caused by trauma-responses* -- you're stressed out, so your brain puts what you need to handle that stress (such as the memory of the event, the feelings you need to handle it, the personality traits that would be helpful) into a new part. In the case of introjection, a CDD brain is still doing that -- it just relies on a blueprint provided by the world around them. In the cause of autistic systems, I think they find it especially easy to rely on those blueprints.

I mean, autism comes with its own difficulties with personhood, dissociation, and lack of feeling like oneself. There's evidence to indicate that, rather than an autobiographical sense of self based on seamless memories, autistic individuals lean toward a patchwork sense of self. Extend that to CDD systemhood, an inherently dissociative, traumatic experience that comes with memory problems that further prevent autobiographical self memory, and you've got a compelling reason why introjecting whole characters (with themes and narratives that fit the experiences trying to be integrated) might be more common in autistic systems.

And... all of that -- all of the nuance, all of the discussion of trauma and the inherent struggles of being autistic -- somehow has been boiled down repeatedly, on both sides of the argument, to "Autistic systems split more introjects because they hyperfixate."

This idea led to me feeling completely isolated in system communities. I found myself in groups with the following (incredibly limited) views on autism and systemhood:

Introjects are not more common with autism at all, and anyone saying so is spreading misinformation.

Introjects only split due to traumatic experiences, and autistic people experience more trauma than others, so they split more introjects.

Introjects split more frequently in autistic systems due to hyperfixations, so if you're really autistic, you have more introjects.

And... none of these are right. All of them lack nuance, and all of them patently ignore the facts about trauma and how it impacts the brain in CDDs.

Based on the community experiences I've seen, there is a blatant correlation between autism and introjects. To ignore that correlation is to be blind to the community entirely. However, to say the correlation is only due to hyperfixation is to ignore many, many other possible reasons why autistic systems split more introjects -- of which my post only addressed some potential reasons -- and, in doing so, isolates many systems. It also stereotypes autism to hyperfixation, which is only one of the thousands of potential sprinkles on someones autism sundae, and leaves some individuals (such as myself) feeling even further isolated.

(And to suggest that it is because autistic people experience "more trauma" than others is to begin the 2025 Trauma Olypmics, and I refuse to entertain a torch bearer for those particular games.)

I understand where many individuals are coming from when they express frustration over the theory; I've been in that exact position myself, demanding proof of the correlation due to my own isolation from the community. And, with a disorder that already, inherently, feels so isolating already, on top of another disorder with its own share of isolating feelings...

I just desperately hope that people can be open to others experiences. I think it's entirely possible that someone attaches so firmly to a hyperfixation that they split a new part from it. I also think the theory I presented here -- that autistic individuals introject more readily due to a propensity for introjection in part borne of trauma -- is also entirely possible. I think there's thousands of possible explanations, and I think there's thousands of "right answers."

And I also think that none of this matters beyond a simple intellectual curiosity, and coming to understand myself more. I wrote all of this up due to my passion for the subject. I am autistic, and I want to be seen, and heard, and I want people to understand it more. I want people to broaden their perspectives and maybe see someone else's shoes, even if they aren't comfortable wearing them yet.

If another system is like mine, yay! If another system is unlike mine, yay! Regardless, every system is unique -- just like how every representation of autism is unique. And I think we should find beauty in the theories that present themselves, and enjoy the ideas more than the outcomes.

Fun additional reading that came up in the process of my buzzing about this for multiple hours:

Experiencing Self and Others: Contributions From Studies of Autism to The Psychoanalytic Theory of Social Development -> According to a friend (paraphrasing a tiny bit), "the abstract, in my reading, is basically saying that comparing autistic and non-autistic kids can help us understand more about how theory of mind and mental modeling of others can develop, particularly in relevancy to concepts of internalization/introjection." They did read through the whole article (while also warning me to never use scihub) and indicated for me that this really doesn't discuss autism in correlation to introjection, and even seems to suggest that autistic people can't introject (in the non-pathological sense) due to their inability to connect to others. (I genuinely think this is in direct opposition to the first study I mentioned, about how introjection is a defense mechanism, especially as autistic people experience significant amounts of trauma due to their disorder anyways.)

Making the thought thinkable: On introjection and projection -> Can only access the first page, which discusses a bit about echlalia and inner worlds. However, the title makes me curious about what this could offer in terms of the Autistic System Introjects Debate(tm). I want to go digging a bit more to see if I can get around the paywalls on this. This is a complete wild card to me.

Whose memories are they and where do they go? Problems surrounding internalization in children on the autistic spectrum -> A very interesting article that came up while my friend was reading the Experiencing Self article. Again, I cannot access anything but the abstract myself (fucking pAYWALLS) but it's promising. Here's a quote: "The author suggests that, instead of internalizing shared experiences leading to growth, children with autism can feel that they add to themselves by taking over the qualities of others through the ‘annexation’ of physical properties that leads to a damaged object and can trigger a particular sort of negative therapeutic reaction." (Emphasis mine) Friend suggests full article is a goldmine. I'll leave that for you all to go digging for, if you'd like to know more.

(*Footnote: I mean splitting in the most basic, CDD medical understanding of the disorder way possible. Obviously, as a mixed-origin system, I understand there's more than one way to split a part than simply through traumatic/stressful experiences.)

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked. 

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents. 

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets. 

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense. 

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight. 

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications. 

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would. 

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen. 

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you. 

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice. 

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog. 

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat. 

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal. 

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal. 

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness. 

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash. 

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum. 

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.” 

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves. 

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink. 

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found. 

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his. 

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots. 

“Sit.” He commands. 

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you. 

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth. 

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone. 

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery. 

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men. 

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes. 

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers. 

Rot. 

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.  

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity. 

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace. 

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it. 

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine. 

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words. 

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more. 

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them. 

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood. 

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time. 

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle. 

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences. 

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax. 

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper. 

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots. 

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down. 

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table. 

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling. 

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest. 

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.” 

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed. 

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more. 

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger. 

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks. 

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile. 

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin. 

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off. 

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips. 

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails. 

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck. 

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him. 

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place. 

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding. 

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock. 

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet. 

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb. 

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve. 

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns. 

“Chaos magic?” He questions. 

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin. 

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain. 

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon. 

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort. 

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes. 

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct. 

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent. 

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly. 

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy. 

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs. 

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things. 

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him. 

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look. 

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders. 

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive. 

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull. 

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon. 

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol. 

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull. 

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours. 

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest. 

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap. 

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh. 

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants. 

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm. 

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. 

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt. 

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him. 

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady. 

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles. 

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted. 

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk. 

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips. 

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully. 

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock. 

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you. 

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers. 

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation. 

“Please—” you gasp out. 

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place. 

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit. 

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin. 

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath. 

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy. 

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.  

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased. 

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual. 

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre. 

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp. 

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt. 

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain. 

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

[winchesterwild78]

The Art of Not Saying "I Love You" pt 2

Master List

Characters: Soldier Boy, Ben x Reader, other characters from The Boys

Warnings: Angst, language, SMUT! (all sorts of fun, unprotected sex-cover it up people), violence

A/N: This chapter starts breaking down the enemy part of our reader and Ben. Also, Tom is a dick 😂 Not sure if I’m going to write another chapter after this. I might have one more for this one. 

I do not own the rights to the characters in this story. This does not follow The Boys timeline, and is a work of fiction.

All work is my own, please don’t take it or use it without permission. Reblogs and Likes are always welcome.

Written and edited fast, please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

I ordered room service but couldn’t eat anything. My stomach was in knots. Ben’s words echoed in my head, “He was with his wife. They have a 5 year old son and she’s pregnant.” 

I felt sick. I’d been dating, and sleeping with a married man. Now I understood why he never stayed and why he’d never let me go to his place. 

I felt so stupid and used. Now Ben knew and I’m sure he was just loving this. I ran my fingers through my hair and let out a shaky breath. 

Turning on my phone I called Tom. I had no idea what I was going to say. 

“Hey, Y/N. Are you okay? Butcher and Annie are looking for you. I’ve tried to call a million times.” Tom’s voice made my stomach turn as soon as I heard it. 

My heart pounded, “Is it true?” Was all I could manage to get out. 

“Yes, baby. We’ve all been worried sick.” I scoffed, “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about your wife and son, and let’s not forget your unborn child.” 

The line was silent. “Ben told you, didn’t he? Stupid bastard. I told him I’d tell you.” 

“Oh no! Don’t you fucking blame him for this. You’re the fucking liar who cheated on his PREGNANT wife with me!” 

“Baby, I swear I can explain.” “Ha! There’s nothing to explain. You’re married with kids and lied to me. That seems pretty cut and dry to me.” 

“It’s not that simple. Vicky and I were having problems and I met you at the bar. Things happened and I fell in love with you.” 

“No, Tom. You don’t know what love is. This, what we had isn’t love. It’s wrong and it’s over. Lose my number and don’t contact me again.” 

“Baby please don’t do this.” He pleaded. 

“I’m not your baby, Tom.” 

“Fine, go ahead and throw this away. Go fuck Soldier Boy. I know you’re dying to. It’s obvious he wants my sloppy seconds.” 

“You know what Tom, I might just do that. I bet he can actually give me an orgasm!” 

“Fuck you! You know nobody is going to love you like I did. You’re damaged, fat and pathetic, you know that.” 

“Okay, Tom. I’d rather be damaged than a fucking cheater. Enjoy what’s left of your marriage.” 

I hung up and could feel the anger rise in me. I tried to call Annie and Butcher but they didn’t answer. 

I took a deep breath and called Ben. “Hey doll face. Are you okay?” 

“Not really, but I will be. Ben, I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.” 

“Hey, where are you?” I bit my lip. I knew what would happen if I told him. He’d come to me. Part of me wanted it, but another part was still so angry at him. 

“I’m at the Park Avenue hotel, room 233.” “I’m on my way, sweetheart.” “Okay” I whispered. 

My heart fluttered in my chest at the sound of him calling me “sweetheart”. I liked it a little too much. 

A few minutes later there was a pounding on the door. Swinging the door open I saw Ben. He looked so tired but relieved. 

He grabbed my shoulders and pushed me into the room, kicking the door shut with his foot. 

His lips were on mine in an instant. I moaned into his mouth. He started kissing down my neck, “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” 

I didn’t say anything. I wanted him to keep going. 

“You have to tell me to stop, because once we cross this line we aren’t going back.”

“Ben, don’t stop, please. I need you.” 

His hand found the hem of my shirt, lifted it up and pulled it over my head. 

His lips back on my body as his kisses left a tail of fire on my skin. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His hands slid to my back and unhooked my bra. My breasts sprang free from the confines of the material and Ben licked and sucked each nipple. 

My skin, my body was on fire. He gently laid me back on the bed and removed his shirt. I bit my lip and clenched my thighs together at the sight before me. 

He climbed on the bed, legs between my thighs and he hovered over my body. His hands trailing down my body to the waistband of my pants. His green eyes, dark with lust, looked at me and I nodded. Hooking his fingers in my pants he pulled them off. Leaving me in nothing but my panties. 

He stood, and removed his pants and his boxers. I licked my lips when I saw his long, thick cock spring out of his boxers. “Fuck” I whispered. 

He smirked, “Like what you see sweetheart?” I nodded, “Yes, I need to taste you.” 

He raised his eyebrows, “Are you sure you can handle it?” I nodded eagerly. I leaned up, took his length in my hand and guided the pink, swollen tip to my mouth. 

I licked every inch of him from the tip, down the veiny shaft and to the base. Pulling moans from Ben’s lips. I licked back up his shaft and opened my, taking every inch in. 

Ben’s hands went into my hair, gripping and pushing his hips further into me. His cock so long it gagged me a bit, but I was able to adjust to his size. 

As I pulled back, my tongue swirled around his shaft. “Fuck sweetheart, that feels incredible.” He moaned as he pushed my head back down. 

I hummed with him in my mouth and he groaned, loudly. 

The pornographic sounds filling the room were soaking my panties. The wet sound of me sucking him and the grunts and groans falling from his lips were absolutely sinful in the best way. 

His hips slammed his cock deeper in my throat. “Fuck!” He pulled me off, “Sorry sweetheart I was about to cum down that pretty little throat of yours and I’m not done with you yet.” 

I wiped the saliva and precum from my lips and Ben kissed me, deeply. He helped me lay back on the bed and he spread my legs. He smirked, “Damn baby, your panties are soaked. All this from sucking me.” He hooked my panties in his fingers and pulled them off. 

Taking his thick, calloused fingers he slid them in between my folds, pulling a moan from my lips. 

“You’re so fucking wet, darlin’. You’re ready for me aren’t you?” I nodded. My body ached for him. 

His large hands parted my thighs as he slid down. “I need to taste you, make you cum on my face before I give you a proper fucking.” 

I bit my lip. His tongue and fingers went to work on my pussy. His tongue swirled, sucked and lapped at my swollen clit as his fingers pushed in and out of my pussy. 

My hips arched off the bed with each thrust and lick. I was overstimulated but not stimulated enough. My mind was a mess and I was starting to understand why all those women looked so fucked out when he finished with them. 

Ben was a sex god, and right now he was mine. “Mmm, look at you. So flushed and ready to cum. You want to cum, baby?” I babbled something incoherent and nodded. He smirked, “Cum then.” 

My body responded to his demand. I screamed his name and arched my body off the bed. It felt like I was floating. I had never cum like this before. It was amazing and I wanted it again. 

Ben kept working my bundle of nerves again. My legs were trying to close, but he pushed them open. “I’m not done with you yet. I know you have another one there. Cum for me baby girl.” 

Without warning I was coming again. My body was overstimulated and I was breathing hard. “Ben, please. I need you.” 

Ben leaned up, kissed my lips softly and nodded. He pumped himself a few times and lined up with my dripping wet entrance. 

He slowly pushed in. I grabbed the sheets and then his shoulders. “Relax baby.” He whispered in my ear. Kissing my lips as he slowly pushed every inch of himself in me. His thick cock stretched me in the most delicious way. 

Ben rested his head in the crook of my neck, “Damn you feel incredible, so tight.” Ben leaned up and slowly pulled himself out of me. I could feel every inch moving in and out. 

It was the most incredible feeling I’d ever felt. My hands gripped his shoulders with each thrust. I’d secretly imagined how this would feel, but nothing prepared me for this. 

I’d heard Ben when he was with other women. He was always fast and hard, satisfying both him and her, but this was different. He wasn’t in a hurry. Ben was savoring every second we spent together. 

Ben changed position a little bit, he was on his knees and took my legs, throwing them over his shoulders and his hips slammed into mine. 

“Look at you, so fucked out, so beautiful and mine.” I bit my lip, “Yes, Ben. Yours.” 

That spurred him on because he slammed into me. His grunts and thrusts louder, faster. “I want to coat your pretty insides with my hot seed. Fuck a baby into you.” His words took me by surprise, Ben was always so careful when he had sex. Otherwise he’d have hundreds of kids running around. 

Just as his words hit me I felt it. His release inside me, coating my walls. His thrusts ragged as he emptied himself in me. 

I felt his cock stop twitching and he slid out of me. Some of his cum spilled on the sheets. Ben walked to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and came back to clean us both up.

This took me by complete surprise. I never would have thought the infamous Soldier Boy was into aftercare. Once I was clean and so was he, Ben pulled me into his arms. 

Placing a soft kiss on my forehead, “Damn that was better than I imagined.” My heart thumped in my chest. I nodded, “Yeah, that was incredible, Ben.” 

He lifted my chin and kissed my lips. We laid in silence for a while, then Ben spoke first.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from Tom.” I looked confused, “Ben, it wasn’t your fault. You and I just met. How could you have known Tom was married?” “I knew something was off when he refused to stay with you and you’d never been at his place. I should have said something.”

I placed my hand on his chest, “Ben, honestly I don’t think I would have believed you. You told me when you found out, so that’s what matters.” “I should have snapped his neck when I saw him.” I shook my head, “No, Ben. His wife was there and you would have gone to jail. He’s not worth it.”

I laid in his arms and thought about the conversation Tom and I had on the phone. “I did confront him, you know.” Ben looked down at me, “I’m glad.” 

I told Ben what Tom said about Ben taking his sloppy seconds, then I told him what he said about me. Ben was pissed, “What a fucking pussy. If I see him again I’m going to kick his ass.” 

“Ben, he’s not worth it.” “He might not be, but you sure as hell are.” My heart fluttered in my chest. 

Shit! Don’t do it. Don’t fall for him. He doesn’t have long relationships. You’ll only end up hurt and alone. 

A few hours later I woke up alone. My heart sank. I rolled over and could still smell him on the pillow he was laying on. 

Looking over I saw a note. My heart beat wildly in my chest as I took it in hand.

Y/N,

Come home.

-B

“Home” A smile spread across my face. I grabbed my stuff and started to head back to the apartment. Maybe he could have a relationship with me. 

Ben’s POV

I look down and see her sleeping peacefully in my arms. God she’s so beautiful. How could anyone ever hurt her?

Brushing the hair out of her face I placed a soft kiss on her lips. I slid out of bed and wrote her a note telling her to come home. 

Pulling on my clothes I left as quietly as I could. Walking out in the cool air I could still smell her perfume and shampoo on me. Then I saw him. Walking down the sidewalk all smug. 

What he did to her, said to her played in my head and an anger rose in me. I could feel my chest burning hot, glowing. I tried to breathe to calm down, but seeing him holding hands with another woman just set me off. 

Before I knew what I was doing I walked up to him, grabbed him by his throat and pinned him to the wall. 

The woman with him screamed. “You stupid son of a bitch! You have another one?!” The woman begged me to let him go, I turned and looked at her, “Doll I’d leave this one alone. He’s married and has two kids.” She looked at Tom and gasped. She walked away.

“Now where was I?! How dare you call her damaged, fat, and pathetic!” I punched him in the face. He yelped in pain. A crowd gathered around us, a smirk tugging at my face. 

“Please, stop. I’m sorry.” Tom begged. Y/N’s face, tears and pain played in my head. I just kept punching him. 

“Ben! Stop!” A deep voice came from behind me. I turned, it was Butcher. “Do you know what this son of a bitch did, Butcher? What he did to Y/N?!” He placed a hand on my shoulder, “Yes, Ben I know, but this isn’t going to solve anything.” 

I released Tom and he fell to the ground. “You better bet glad he showed up.” Tom stood up and scampered off. 

Reader’s POV

Walking back into the apartment was strange. There was a heaviness to the air, a tension between Butcher and Ben. “Hey sweet pea.” Butcher said as he pulled me into a hug. “Hey.” I looked over at Ben, he couldn’t look at me. A pang of sadness stabbed my heart. “Welcome home, Y/N. Glad you came to your senses.” “Butcher, this is temporary until I can find a permanent place.” 

That’s when I noticed Ben’s jaw tighten and his eyes met mine. “Hey doll face. Glad you’re back.” I smiled and nodded, “Ben.” As he stood I noticed his hand.

“Oh my god, Ben. What happened to your hand?” He looked at it and chuckled, “Eh, it connected with some pussy’s face.” “Why don’t you tell her who’s face, Ben.” I looked at Butcher and then back at Ben. 

“Drop it, Butcher!” Ben growled. “No, Ben, tell me who, please.” I stepped closer and put a hand on his chest.

“Tom. He was out with another woman. Fucker hadn’t learned, plus he had to pay for what he did, said to you.” 

I didn’t know if I should be pissed or flattered he beat Tom up. “Oh Ben.” I leaned up and kissed his lips. He pulled me close and deepened the kiss. 

Butcher stood with his mouth on the floor. 

“I had to defend my girl. Besides, he had it coming. A real man doesn’t cheat on his wife.” I smiled, “What about his girlfriend?” “That too.” He smirked and pulled me close. “Now, let’s get you settled back in.”

He took me by my hand and led me to the bedroom, shutting the door and helping me settle back in.

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[loganwritesprobably]

First Meeting.. P4 (One Piece Edition)

Part one with Ace, Law and Sanji Part two with Zoro, Robin and Luffy Part three with Crocodile, Mihawk and Buggy

Here is the final three characters I planned on writing for this: Benn, Shanks and Smoker! If anyone is interested in seeing this with other characters, my requests are open. All readers are gender neutral, so everyone is welcome to enjoy. No Y/N is used!

Requests are open for x reader things! I will write basically ANY kind of reader - male, female, non-binary, gender neutral, trans, disabled, black, white, latino, asian, neurodivergent, etc

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Notes: For Smoker it's kind of a first re-meeting but.. that totally still counts

Generally, men that much older than you weren't your thing - but men that much older than you weren't usually that attractive. Like, this guy was hotter than 90% of the people you saw come into port. You had a rule though, you didn't flirt with people just passing through. It wasn't worth the trouble of maybe getting attached, just for them to leave again. You knew for sure that this guy would be leaving again fairly soon when you saw him interacting so casually with Emperor Red Hair Shanks. Not worth the trouble on any level.

A young woman approached your stall and struck up conversation with you, and you fell into what you knew how to do - shifting stock. An older man in town had hired you to run the market stall he owned selling animal produce, because he was getting too old to be spending so much time on his feet and in the sun. You took the job happily. A man then approached, asking about the various things you had, and you continued with what you knew best. You told him about the milks and cheeses, the furs and the meats, and he just nodded along with a list of things in hand. You told him about each product, but he just stood there looking at his list, a little clueless. "Do you want to give that list to me, and I'll get what you need?" You offered, and the man just handed the list to you with a sheepish expression. You laughed good-naturedly and took it, grabbing things quickly to set on the counter for the man to take.

You turned your back to the main window, getting a few other things listed, and when you turned back to the man once again, the hot older guy was stood there too. "Come on Yassop, you know better by now." The guy said with a sigh, but he looked fond. Both pirates then. You set the final things down and counted up the total, writing it down on the list that had been handed to you so they could keep that as a record of their expenses. "That is everything from your list." You said, pointedly speaking to the man that had been identified as Yassop rather than the handsome man. "Ouch, don't think I've ever seen you be ignored quite like that Benn." Yassop said, and sudden understanding dawned on you. Benn. Benn Beckman. You felt a little stupid for not realising sooner, not that you'd exactly spent much time thinking about pirates. You had bigger problems. "Hey, I have to leave some for the rest of you." Benn seamlessly joked back, and Yassop took the list back from you, which he passed to Benn for him to look at while you packaged everything they'd bought in paper and into bags.

Benn was the one to pay, and his fingers brushed yours as he handed over the berri for everything they'd bought. A little spark lit as you touched, which you tried very hard to ignore. You didn't care. Nobody that's visiting, you'd promised yourself. "You're damn gorgeous, by the way." Benn said, and you knew you were already fucked.

You were a pirate. You didn't like to call yourself or your crew nobodies.. but hey, sometimes things that hurt a little were true. Tiny bounties, very few fights on your records, and little to no concerns of being tracked down by marines or by bounty hunters. So you were living the pirate life on easy mode for the most part, which you weren't really complaining about, you couldn't imagine having to learn how to really be a pirate whilst being hunted. You and your crew were in a random bar on a random island, drinking them out of house and home - but you were paying them, at least.

Your crew were yelling and laughing together, and it made you smile. You'd been looking over some paperwork (and why did being a pirate involve paperwork?), with a drink in hand, letting them have their fun. Most of them were a little younger than you, and if not physically then certainly mentally. Your head shot up as the door swung open to reveal some older men whose faces you recognised. Lucky Roux, Yassop, Limejuice, Hongo, Benn Beckman. The Red Hair Pirate crew. You didn't think this was one of their islands, you'd have noticed you were sure of it, so there was nothing wrong with you being there.

You sat very still for a few minutes, just watching what they would do, and how your crew was reacting. They were mostly oblivious, which was fine, as long as they weren't running your mouth they'd probably be okay. The Red Hair pirates also didn't seem to pay your crew any mind, which you weren't exactly surprised by.

When the door opened again, letting more sunlight into the relatively dark venue, the more experienced pirates looked up and laughed and cheered. Enter Emperor Red Hair Shanks. He was a sight to behold. You could feel his strength radiating from him, and damn he was handsome. You wondered if the rumours of his flirtatious personality held any stock, because you certainly wouldn't mind being flirted with. The man looked around the room, and as if he could hear your thoughts, his eyes locked on you. You looked quickly back down at your paperwork, but couldn't see any of the words. He didn't approach immediately, but a few minutes later someone did sit at your table with you. You looked up to find Shanks, with a drink in hand. "Your drink looks pretty empty, can I get you a refill?"

Once upon a time, you'd been training to be a marine, alongside Smoker. Not anymore. You'd seen some of the things that the marines were willing to do to civilians first hand and you hadn't been able to reconcile that with what you wanted to do with your life. Rather, you became a pirate. Yes, both pirates and marines had the power to do both bad and good things, but pirates didn't answer to a higher power in the way that marines did. You could choose to do good every day, and you didn't have to ask permission - so that was what you did.

More than anything, you were a travelling doctor. Your crew didn't fight, and neither did you really. You were all more than capable, but it was a last resort, because you all intended to do good as much and as often as you could.

Smoker had continued onward into the marines, and you'd lost a valuable friend.

You were in Alabasta, aware that the warlord Sir Crocodile kept the citizens safe, but one of your crew members wanted to visit home, and it never hurt to check in. You found devastation. Most of your crew members at least knew basic first aid, and so you deployed in pairs or trios to different towns to try to treat those that you found still alive. They were dying en masse of dehydration, and those who weren't dying from dehydration were suffering sunstroke, or illnesses they already had were worsened. You came across many a drunk child, because a mother decided alcohol was better than total dehydration, and you appreciated that they were trying. You gave away the ship's entire stock of fresh water, and your shipwright showed everyone how to build water filtration systems, so that you could show that to the citizens too. Then, you were able to distribute salt water that could be filtered into drinking water.

You were there for weeks. Then the marines flew through.

"What are you-" A familiar voice called out, and you froze where you were patching up a child's leg wound from collapsing. You took a deep breath, and checked the wrap, then stood to face Smoker. "Hello, Smoker." You said, voice soft, and he couldn't seem to find a response.

[david-talks-sw]

"If it's amazing, they'll know."

When talking about "George Lucas' vision" and the original six Star Wars films, there's one thing to bear in mind and that's Lucas' style of filmmaking.

These are movies for kids, designed to emulate the Saturday matinee serial format from the '30s, à la Flash Gordon. You see this most of all in the dialog. But something else you notice is George Lucas' filmmaking style, particularly in how he films and edits.

Take Darth Vader's introduction, for example.

Look at the composition: Vader stands tall, in contrast to the - as the script puts it - "fascist white armored suits of the Imperial stormtroopers". They're all in white, he's all in black, he's bigger badder, emerging from a cloud of smoke. What an entrance.

But if you think about it, it's just a single full shot. Very basic.

Compare this to Kenobi, wherein Vader is treated like a monster out of a horror movie. First, you glimpse his shadow, people reacting...

... then ominous bits and pieces like his boots or his lightsaber...

... and finally Vader himself, in all his terrifying glory.

That's a modern way of shooting it and it admittedly makes ol' Darth seem that much more imposing and absolutely badass.

But Lucas comes from a background of editing, experimental filmmaking and used to work as a documentary cameraman.

So what he did is just put the camera down and have Vader walk in. It's a faster yet differently-efficient way to introduce the character. It's more about dynamic pacing and visuals.

And that is Lucas' style. In his words:

"The way these films were put together, they're shot very much like a documentary film and the action of stage, and then I shoot around it. I don't stage for the camera. And as a result, there are a lot of things that happen pretty much by accident. It lends an aura of authenticity to everything." - Star Wars - Episode I: Podracing Featurette, 1999

Another example: the introduction of General Grievous.

A door opens revealing his ugly mug and he walks in. Boom.

But in Star Wars Storyboards: The Prequel Trilogy, you find that - as envisioned by the storyboard artists - our introduction to Grievous would've been very different.

"We wanted to have the introduction to Grievous be a series of really close shots that would be a series of details: his creepy foot, his creepy hand...

... his scary alien eyes...

... but George brought up an interesting point. He didn't want the film to concentrate on one design detail or one element— but rather let the world be there and let the viewer find those things without necessarily having it shoved in their face." - Derek Thompson, SW Storyboards: The Prequel Trilogy, 2013

"George nixed the idea, saying: 'I don't want something to be special because of how it's filmed, but because of what it is. Just put the camera on it and let it play out in front of the audience. If it's amazing, they'll know.'" - Iain McCaig, SW Storyboards: The Prequel Trilogy, 2013

That's it in a nutshell. "If it's amazing, they'll know."

The above storyboards look awesome and seeing Grievous be introduced that way would be great... but it wouldn't be Lucas' Star Wars. It would be some other director taking a crack at it.

And this way of shooting can be weird, even boring, at times. I mean compare Mace leading his troops into battle...

... to Aragorn leading his, in Return of the King.

The latter is so much more emotionally impactful. For a number of reasons (eg: Aragorn is a deuteragonist, Mace is a secondary character with less development), but one of them is that the moment is just shot in a way that's more interesting.

First we have an angle on Aragorn as he smiles and charges. Then the rest of the other characters as they react and follow suit, then the troops do the same.

With Mace it's, uh, *checks notes* he flourishes his saber and charges, the clones follow. Hell, for half a second we're looking at just an empty screen.

But y'know what the shot does look like?

It looks like something out of a WW1 documentary.

It's that authenticity he was mentioning further up.

At the end of the day, you can call it campy or bad... it's Lucas' style. It's cinema. There's a logic to it.

"To me, the script is just a sketchbook, just a list of notes, and, sometimes, I prefer the documentary feel of free flow, so I let my instincts tell me where to go. I like to create cinematically; I don't like to have a plan. I like to have a rough idea of what I'm going to do-certain themes, certain issues I'm going to deal with-and then I try to do so." - The Making of Revenge of The Sith, page 116, 2005

He doesn't try to make a character look particularly badass with camera angles or make the shot too choreographed, he just goes with the flow, and makes the deliberate choice to shoot it that way, because for better or for worse... it's his movie.

So yeah, just a tidbit I thought would be interesting.

Edit:

@schilkeman added this very interesting point in the replies:

"He doesn’t stage for the camera, but he does compose for the camera. The documentary style, while somewhat detached, requires the filling of the screen with motion and light. The way things move through frame seem very important to him. These are things his films excel at."

[janeyseymour]

hi i love ur writings so so much i’m so sorry this idea is rushed but i hope its enough

abbot family is trying to encourage melissa to “get back out there” and meet people after everything she’s been through. she brushes them off constantly until they stage an intervention during lunch and even barb is concerned for her work wife. melissa leaves this lunch with some big feelings because little does everyone know melissa has been seeing someone this whole time. comes home to reader smoking a joint while cooking in the kitchen and reader says something along the lines of “you look like you could use this more than me” and they make a plan together to introduce reader to everyone at a 4th of july bbq

you gonna get what you ask for 🤪 Not edited in the slightest. I got places to be and people to see

Intervention

WC: ~2.35k

It’s been a year and a half since Melissa Schemmenti publicly said no to a marriage proposal. A year and a half since the fiery redhead had gone out with anyone, and she really doesn’t have any plans to start dating again- at least that’s what the Abbott crew thinks.

The truth is, the second grade teacher has been seeing you since the night she went to the casino and bar to blow off some steam after reuniting with Gary to return his things and get her stuff back.

You were at one of the slot machines when the redhead passed by you, laughing.

“What’s so funny, Red?” you asked as you looked up at her.

“You ain’t gonna win no money that way,” the woman stopped in her tracks to tell you. “C’mon. Let me show you how it’s done.”

That night, you stuck by her side as you watched her win thousands of dollars at one table alone, clearing out quite a few men.

It’s late when she finally threw in the towel. She offered to walk you out to you car, and you took her hand in your own.

“So,” you exhaled a small cloud of smoke from the cigarette the two of you were sharing. “What are you gonna do with all that money you just won, pretty lady?”

“Take you out on a date,” Melissa had replied cooly. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven?”

Neither of you looked back.

That was a year and three months ago. While your side of the family knew of your relationship with the teacher (and they absolutely adore her), her crew doesn’t have a single clue of your existence or rather large presence in Melissa’s life- despite the fact that you were now living together and your lives were intertwined.

So whenever anyone at Abbott tells Melissa that they found someone they think she might fancy, she just brushes them off.

“Janine, no offense, but if you think someone is worth dating, I would find them to be-”

“Hey,” Gregory cuts her off.

Melissa just shrugs. “My case in point. Greg, you know I love you like the black son I never had, but you’re boring as hell.”

“Ava, I am not about to go clubbing with you to pick up a man fifteen years my junior,” the redhead rolls her eyes.

“C’mon,” the principal chuckles. “They fun! They’re like energizer bunnies.”

“I barely have the energy to stand and get the remote from the other side of the room,” Melissa retorts as she opens her bottle of iced tea.

“I think you would like him!” Jacob pleads. “He saw your picture and said you were fine.”

“I am fine,” Melissa states, gesturing to her figure. “And I’m just as fine without a partner.”

It’s gotten to the point that even Barbara is concerned about her friend’s adamant denial to get herself back out there. So, the day that Melissa has recess duty, she brings it up to her coworkers.

“Now listen, I am not usually one for meddling in someone else’s love life, but don’t you think it’s concerning that Melissa flat out refuses to even attempt to put herself back out there?” the kindergarten teacher asks to the faculty room.

“Weird as hell,” Ava waltzes in, but having heard the question decides to chime in. “But aye, good for Schemmenti, realizing she don’t need no man in life.”

“I just find it odd…” Barbara taps her chin. “Melissa, while one with a tough exterior, loves love. She’s always wanted someone to spend her time with.”

“Maybe we should stage an intervention,” Jacob suggests. “To really show her that she’s good and healed from the failed proposal and to get back out there.

Gregory looks mildly impressed with that suggestion. “That might work.”

They have no idea that the entire time she’s supposed to be out monitoring the children on the blacktop, she’s smiling down at her phone like an idiot talking to you.

And when she comes home that day, she fully goes through with the things you two had texted about earlier.

The Abbott crew plans an intervention for Melissa- a banner, letters, all of it. When she comes into the staff room, smiling down at a midday text you had sent her, the rest of her colleagues are standing by the couch, looking somber.

“Fuck. Who died?” Melissa’s smile drops immediately.

“No one died, Melissa,” Barbara states.

“But we think a part of you might have,” Janine says dramatically, somberly.

“What the hell are youse talkin’ about?” thee redhead rolls her eyes. 

“Melissa, dear,” Barbara says softly, calmly. She makes her way over to her friend and takes her by the hand to guide her towards the seat they had put in the middle of the room.

One by one, they read the letters that they had all written, expressing their concern for their favorite fiery Italian teacher.

“Melissa,” the kindergarten teacher finishes up. “We all love you dearly, and while we understand that it takes some time to get over the heartache that Gary caused, this is a bit extreme. We are worried.”

“An’ I appreciate the thought and care that you guys put into this,” Melissa tells them with a sigh. “But I promise youse: I’m fine. I don’t need to get back out there.” She almost adds on that it’s because she’s happily seeing someone, and has been since three months after her split from the guy that filled the vending machine.

“Just… know that we’re all here through all of your seasons,” Jacob tells her. “The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

“We do care about you,” Janine says softly, and she offers the redhead a hug. Melissa doesn’t necessarily want to embrace the shorter woman, but she goes into the arms of her colleague.

Gregory just gives her a nod that conveys his love for his coworker, to which she smirks and nods right back in his direction.

“Now, can we eat lunch?” the redhead chuckles.

As the day passes on, Melissa comes to realize just how much her coworkers care for her- their gesture, albeit absolutely ridiculous and dramatic, was heartfelt and full of love. Maybe she should just come clean about the relationship she’s in. Or she could just buy them all some Philly soft pretzels and soda instead to thank them. Yeah… that’s what she’ll do for now before she can talk to you about how the two of you want to go public about your being together.

She orders the pretzels to be delivered to the school before the day is done, and when everyone is reconvening back in the faculty room to grab their lunch bags before heading home, Melissa makes sure she’s the first one down there. She has the box on one of the tables, along with a some cans of soda. Whatever they don’t take, the redhead knows will be eaten and drank at home.

“Oi,” she calls to her friends. “Come get a pretzel and a soda as my thanks for carin’ about me so much.”

They all light up at the sight of the gesture, aside from Gregory.

“I do not like pretzels, or soda, and for that reason I will not take one,” the man says as his friends dive in. “But thank you.”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “I figured you would say that. Which is why I got you a bag of peanuts and a water.”

He looks mildly impressed and takes the offered items gratefully.

Once again, they all voice their love and care for the woman that gave them a salty treat before heading out for the night. Everyone except for Barbara. She waits for Melissa to clean up and gather her things before walking out with the woman.

“That was very sweet of you,” the kindergarten teacher nudges her friend.

Melissa huffs. “Oi. Don’t knock me like that.” She readjusts her grip on the small box of pretzels before sighing. “But it was just a thank you for caring.”

“We care about you a lot more than you know,” Barbara smiles. “And just so you know… you are a Philly eleven, and I do think you should get yourself back out there. I know it can be scary to put your heart back out there, but even if it ends in heartbreak and a few smashed in headlights, I will always be here to help you pick up the pieces.”

“I know, Barb,” the redhead says softly, so out of character. “Thank you.”

“Think about it!” the older woman says as she parts and heads off in the direction of her car.

With a sigh, Melissa unlocks her car and gets everything settled before slumping into the front seat.

Coming home with a treat, she texts you.

Is it you? You reply back.

She chuckles at that. She can practically see the smirk written on your face. You’ll see.

When she pulls in, she can smell you before she sees you. You’re clearing smoking, but she can also smell the delicious dinner that you’re making. 

The redhead makes her way into the house, deep in thought of how much her friends are looking out for her, and attempting to piece together how to approach you about the topic of coming out.

It’s odd. Your girlfriend makes her way into the kitchen and places the box of pretzels down, but she doesn’t make her way over to you the way that she usually does. Instead, she’s looking down at the food, brows furrowed and deep in thought. 

You turn the burner down to ensure that the food won’t burn or bubble over before making your way behind Melissa. You wrap the arm that isn’t holding the joint around her waist before holding it up to her lips and offering her some. Even in your somewhat inebriated state, you know something is up with her.

“You look like you could use this more than me,” you chuckle softly.

She shrugs, but does take a hit before blowing the smoke out.

“Hard day?” you ask her gently. “Need to be taken care of?”

Again, she shrugs. She doesn’t really know what to say. This is so unlike Melissa. Usually, she comes in huffing about the ridiculous antics of her boss, she bounces on her toes when she tells you the sweet things the kids had done or said, and she is more than willing to dish out the tea that was spilled in the staff lounge earlier that day.

“Mel?” you ask softly, taking a cheek in your hand and cupping it gently. You force her to look at you. “What happened today?”

She laughs softly, before full out cackling. This sudden change in mood startles you.

“Mel, babe, you’re scaring me,” you tell her. “What happened?”

She sits down and plucks the joint out of your hand. “The crew planned an intervention for me,” she tells you with a chuckle as you go back over to the stove.

You turn. “Oh?”

She nods, a playful smirk on her face.

“For?” you raise a brow. You turn your attention back to dinner. “Can I guess?”

“Sure, hun,” she laughs as she takes another drag.

  “The aggression that you email the parents with?” No. “The heeled boots hitting the linoleum tile too loudly when you’re pissed?” No. “The arson?” No. “The threats of a bare knuckle fist fight?”

“Jesus,” Melissa laughs. “When you list all of that out, I sound like a terrible person.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I love everything about you!”

“I know you do,” she chuckles. “But no. None of that.”

“Then what?”

“My love life.”

“Your love life?” you turn to look at her incredulously.

“My love life,” the redhead sighs. “They had a banner, they had letters, they had the chair in the middle of the room… everything. And for me. When I don’t even have a problem with my love life.”

“So why did you come in lookin’ all sad?”

“Not sad… just thoughtful. The things they said… it showed me how lucky I am to have coworkers that care for me as deeply as they do. So at the end of the day, I had pretzels for them to show my gratitude. And after, Barbara and I walked out together… and… how would you feel about telling people that we’re together?”

You finish stirring the food and plating it before bringing it over to the table where your girlfriend is sitting. You set the two dishes in front of her before sliding into her lap. You finish off the joint together before smiling.

“I’ve been ready,” you tell her. “I’ve just been waiting for you to be.”

“Yeah?” she asks you as she kisses your temple.

You nod before taking a bite of your dinner. Damn, between the two of you, you should open your own restaurant. “We’ve been together for over a year, living together since six months in, I don’t plan on going anywhere, and I would hope you don’t either. I think it’s time.”

“I think so too,” she says softly. “But with the end of the year comin’ up… we’re all crazy busy.”

“So we can organize something for after the school year?” you suggest. “Maybe a fourth of July barbecue?”

So that’s what the two of you do. Your girlfriend walks into school on the last day and tells her friends that she knows that don’t have anything going on for Fourth of July, and they better be at her house for a barbecue. They all look at her, clearly confused. No one- not even Barb- has been invited over to the house since Melissa and Gary broke up. Nevertheless, they don’t argue and all promise to be there.

They all come in one clump, and the faces that they make when you open the door draped around Melissa are priceless.

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” she says proudly. “The reason that I have been declining all of the people you’ve suggested I date, and the reason I have not ‘put myself back out there’. I don’t gotta when I have her.”

[marvelouslizzie]

No One Else Matters

Summary: Things between you and Bucky Barnes have been going great until an Avengers dinner party reminds you of that one night you spent with Steve Rogers. Now you are afraid that the meaningless past hook-up might jeopardize your future with Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI, secret relationship, alcohol consumption but no one is drunk, semi-public sex, unprotected p in v (on birth control and clean), begging, pet names, dirty talk, mentions of past hook up with Steve Rogers, eavesdropping, no mention of y/n

A/N: Another random idea that turned into a one-shot thanks to my amazing friends. Thank you so much @notafunkiller for beta-reading and editing. Also, some lines belong to her because she helped shape the story and I appreciate it a lot!

This story isn't any form of Steve Rogers hate. I just wanted to write a story like this and it wouldn't work with anyone else besides Steve. If you don't want to read a story where Steve is a past hook-up that didn't work out well, please stay away from the story.

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission. 

Every like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated. Don’t hesitate to message me. I would love to answer questions or start a conversation as long as it doesn't include any kind of hate.

Read more tag starts after the first paragraph of the story.

Coming to this Avengers dinner might have been a big mistake. Essentially you were looking forward to this night because it had been a while since you saw your co-workers. Some are more like friends than co-workers, but working for SHIELD keeps everyone busy. Small events like this help people to get together, catch up and maybe plan other stuff for the future, but tonight feels somewhat different.

You were enjoying yourself until you saw Bucky and Steve casually chatting on the other side of the room. That doesn’t happen very often and it reminds you of things you'd rather not think about. Things that happened years ago. Like that one time, you hooked up with Steve. It was buried so deep into your memory, you simply forgot about it and it’s not like you see Steve that often. Occasionally, his team asks for your help and you try to do your best. And you have been nothing but friendly to each other since that night. You remember him taking it pretty well when you said you’d rather stay friends with him. He probably wasn’t looking for a relationship anyways.

It was before everyone found out HYDRA was nesting inside SHIELD for years. He was simply the golden boy. The first Avenger who unexpectedly returned. A savior. Everyone was in awe of him and tried to be their best version. It felt like a fairytale came true.

The problem is whenever people make an idol of someone expectations go over the roof. And when you meet that person, see what they are like up close, you just notice he’s just like anyone else. Even though they didn’t do anything wrong or bad, it still feels somehow disappointing.

He was different than what you expected him to be. You noticed that pretty quickly and decided to keep things professional. It worked out amazingly until… now. You look around, trying to calm yourself down, keeping that memory to yourself because this is definitely not the time to bring it up.

**

When the dinner finally starts, it turns out to be a good distraction. You chat with whoever is around you about recent missions, the latest gossip, and things SHIELD is planning to do in the near future. But your eyes keep wandering towards Bucky, who is seated across the table. It’s a huge relief to see Steve and him aren’t seated together or even close to each other. Everyone knows they used to be good friends, but that’s not the case anymore. Since Bucky is back to himself and started to work for SHIELD, things went downhill for their friendship. They slowly drifted apart.

You try hard not to glance back at him again, but he’s looking at you. That makes things even harder. You notice how his lips form a small smile whenever your eyes meet and how he tries to play it off as something he did because of his conversation. But you know his smile is caused by you and even though you don’t want to accept that, it melts your heart a little more.

After the dessert is served, people start to focus on their drinks more. Different groups are forming, and when you want to take check on Bucky, he quickly tilts his head to the right, signaling you to leave the room and meet him. You look around to see if anyone noticed, but no one’s focus is on you two. 

You do nothing but watch him discreetly walk away first, without waiting for an answer. He knows you will follow. And that’s exactly what you do: you place your empty glass on the counter and leave the room as subtly as he did. What you don’t notice is that someone actually has been watching you very closely.

You have no idea where Bucky went exactly, so you start to wander around, trying to guess where he’d choose to hide until he grabs you with his arm, pulling you inside an empty room before quickly locking the door.

“Bucky!” A half-yelp leaves your lips, but it’s muffled by his hand.

“It’s me,” he whispers against your ear before he starts to kiss your neck sloppily. “Relax.”

He doesn’t waste any time. His hands are everywhere on your body: grabbing your breasts over the clothes, squeezing your ass.

“I missed you.” His breathy whisper gives you goosebumps. 

“Oh, I missed you, too.” You grab his face with both of your hands and finally kiss him properly. He happily sighs and lets you take control. His lips are soft, tasting like bourbon, which surprises you because he is usually a beer kind of guy. Maybe he decided to try something different tonight since he isn’t the one paying. 

That reminds you of the party and everyone inside. Including Steve Rogers. Bucky’s ex-best friend. And that make the anxious feeling in your gut returns. You need to tell him about what happened between you and Steve. Even if you’re afraid that it would change everything between you two. But you aren’t ready to lose him. Not when you’ve just started to realize how strong your feelings are for him.

He doesn’t fail to notice the shift in your mood. You aren’t as present in the kiss as if you have something on your mind. He stops kissing you unexpectedly, making you give him a confused look.

“Are you okay?” He sounds genuinely concerned.

You take a deep breath. Maybe it’s just better to tell him now and get it over with. What’s the point of delaying the inevitable?

“I gotta tell you something.”

You see how his concern grows even more. His expression is serious and full of worry.

“Do you want to break this off? Is that what it is?” 

God, the way he asked that question just hurts something inside you. He sounded so broken, so afraid.

“No, no! Of course not.” You quickly clear the air, leaving no space for any kind of misunderstanding. “But you might wanna break things off with me after I tell you… this.” 

You can see how your words confuse him. He squints, trying to understand what you are talking about and coming up with a reasonable explanation. You know whatever he’ll think about won’t be even close to the reality, but you didn’t expect his response either.

“Are you pregnant? Is that why you are nervous?” His hand caresses your cheek as he asks you. “You know I wouldn’t leave you for something like that, right? We can do whatever you want. It’s totally up to you.” 

No, you aren’t pregnant. That’s not even a possibility. You’ve been on birth control even before you two started to have sex. Still, hearing his soft-spoken words makes you melt inside. 

“No, baby, I’m not pregnant.” 

You both take a breath after eliminating another possibility. He looks at you fora few seconds, trying to decide if he should say it or not.

“Is it about you dating Steve?”

Words can’t describe how surprised you are. Questions flood your mind instantly. How much does he know? When did he find out? Who told him? And dating? No, you definitely did not date Steve Rogers. God, you have so many questions to ask. You don’t know where to start. 

“You know about that.” It comes out more like a question than a statement. The shock is so clear in your voice. 

“Of course, I know.” 

“How? When?” The questions come out one after another and make him smile a little. You stop yourself from asking even more and decide to make one thing clear. “And I did not date him. It was a one-time thing.”

“Oh.” He sounds surprised. Maybe he thought it was more serious, but if so why didn’t he bring it up before?

“When did you find out?” You have to know. 

“Not so long ago.”

“Who told you?” 

“Sam. He thought there was some kind of tension between you two, but I couldn’t see it. So he explained.” He doesn’t sound like it bothers him much, which is relieving.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same.”

He’s right. He can ask the same question. Your answer is simple, though.

“I actually forgot it happened.” Is he really smiling? “It wasn’t that memorable to me.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

You can’t help but laugh. God, you love him so much. You were worried sick about how he would react and here he is joking about it.

“Do you want an actual answer?” You finally ask. 

“Yeah, sure.” He doesn’t seem to mind.

“It was okay.” 

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “So it was bad.” 

“Like I said, not memorable.” You choose to repeat. You don’t wanna disrespect him that much, but you don’t even remember much about it. That was one of the reasons you wanted to stay friends anyway.

“Doll, it’s fine.” He finally decides to answer you seriously.

“So you don’t mind?” 

“It was way before us. It’s not my place to judge you for it.” 

That’s a huge relief. You were so worried he would just choose some kind of bro code over you but no. He chose you. You breathe out with a smile on your face.

“And if someone is gonna get judged for their past, it’s not gonna be you.”

You instantly frown because you understood immediately what he meant by it.

“That’s not the same thing. I chose to hook up with him. You didn’t choose to get brainwashed.”

“Yeah, of course, but I am the one who killed those people.”

“Bucky, no.” You touch his chest, trying to comfort him without realizing it. “Don’t go there. Please. That’s not a fair comparison.” You want him to be free of this guilt. He’s trying to redeem himself so hard, it has to end somewhere.

“Fine.” He finally accepts it. “I don’t care about your past. I only care about your present and future. Is that better?” 

“Yes, it is better.” You wrap your arms around his neck and close the distance. “You are always so forgiving, yet you are so harsh to yourself.”

“As long as you are mine, I don’t care about anything.” 

That does it. An unexpected jolt of arousal overwhelms you. Suddenly, you don’t feel shy anymore. 

“Can you…” You try to collect your words. “Can you fuck me like you did the last time?” Asking that out loud feels a little weird. Maybe you should’ve drunk a bit more.

You watch as his eyes widen in response. Oh, he wants that as much as you do. No need to feel shy.

“Which position exactly?” He sounds so cheeky, but you can see his question is genuine. He needs additional info because it wasn’t a one-and-done.

“Against the wall.” You bit your lip, remembering how good it felt. So rough, yet so full of pleasure. You can’t help but shiver when you remember that orgasm.

“Fuck.” He surpasses a moan. “We have to be quiet, doll. Can you do that for me?” His voice is really low.

You eagerly nod in response. You aren’t sure if you can actually do it, but you will try your best if he’s going to do what you asked for. 

“God, I love you so much.” You can’t hold yourself back anymore. Hearing those words from him sparks something unstoppable inside you. Grabbing him by the face, you crash your lips against him. 

“I love you, Bucky.” You keep kissing him. “So much.” Your hands move south, unbuckling him as quickly as possible. 

Your movements are rushed but not sloppy. Like you did this a million times before. It feels familiar, but it doesn’t change how much you need him. Urgently. And he doesn’t seem to mind that your act as if you are in a hurry. When you finally unbutton his pants, they pool around his ankles, and that’s when he decides to lift you up. His hands stay under your ass while he presses you against the wall, your dress already curled up around your waist. 

“Are you ready for me, doll?” He asks with that voice he uses when he’s really aroused. It turns you on even more and you didn’t know that was possible.

“Yes.” You want him inside you so much. You need his lips on you. “Please, Bucky, I need you.”

“You do?” Oh, youknow this tone too well. He loves to tease you and make you talk more about what you want, and it’s always so rewarding. So you don’t hold back.

“Please, fuck me, I need your cock so badly.” Even though it’s dimly lit inside the room, you see the shift in his eyes. Your words are feeding some kind of primal need inside him. “I need you, baby, please. I’m so wet.”

“Let’s see if that’s true.” He holds you with one hand and aligns himself to your entrance with the other. You shouldn’t be surprised by how strong he is, but every time he manages to astonish you. He doesn’t even struggle to carry or hold you. When he finally thrusts inside you, a loud moan escapes your lips. The stretch is so fucking delicious. “Shh.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” You quickly try to apologize. “It just feels ssso good.” A low moan follows your words.

“You know I love to hear you, doll.” He starts moving. “I love how you always beg for more.” His free hand goes to your head, pushing a strand of hair back so he can see your face better. “But this time we need to keep it quiet. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

That makes him smile. You wrap your hands around his neck again, wanting to be close to him. That’s when you both hear a sound really close to you. So close that you feel like it came right at the door. You both still for a second, listening to find out if someone is outside, but there’s no more sound. So that noise is long forgotten in a minute.

You don’t even care if someone is outside. You don’t care if someone hears you fucking. Bucky Barnes loves you. No one else matters. Your lips clash against his. It’s such a sloppy kiss, but you love every second of it. His hand moves to your neck, holding you in place as he starts to pound on you.

“Is this how you wanted it?” He keeps asking, wanting you to speak, but you can't. “Is it that good you went speechless?”

You nod eagerly.

“Come on, darling. Use your words.” He’s moving relentlessly, taking your breath away with each stroke.

“Yes.” You finally manage to say. “Oh god, yes.”

“Yes to what?” He taunts you. “Is that what you wanted or is it that good?”

“Both!” You say louder than you intended, then you remember you promised to be good and you lower your voice. “Yes to both!”

“Good girl.” His flesh hand travels to your neckline. He quickly pushes the straps of your dress down more, finally revealing your breasts. You aren’t wearing a bra, thanks to the padded dress. “God, look at you.” He marvels at you. “Such a pretty little doll. All mine.” 

His mouth latches on your right breast, sucking and biting it while he keeps moving. He knows how to use his mouth well everywhere. It makes everything so much better. You can feel that pleasure starts to bottle up, your abdomen tensing.

Oh, he truly knows how to get you there. He knows how much you love it when you two climax together. It feels heavenly… like you are in your own little world and there’s no one but him there. Nothing else matters. As your legs start to shake with overwhelming pleasure, you imagine going back inside, talking to others while his come is dripping out of you. No one would know what you two were up to. Not a single soul. It’s your little secret. The thought makes you moan a little bit louder. Your hands grip hard on his shoulders. 

Bucky moans right next to your ear. “God, you feel so good.” His hands are gripping hard on your ass. “I wish I can stay inside you forever. I don’t wanna move. I don’t wanna go anywhere else. I just wanna keep fucking you, until you beg me to stop.” Does he know what his words do to you? Does he notice how it amplifies your orgasm? Or does he just say whatever he wants to say? “I’m gonna come.” He warns you. “I’m gonna come, baby. I’m gonna come.” 

You ride your orgasms together, as he empties himself inside you. His head falls on your shoulder while he keeps holding you. His lips press against the crook of your neck. While you keep taking deep breaths, you can feel his heart racing. 

“Are you okay?” He asks while moving away enough to take himself out of you.

“Okay?” You question as he gently puts you on your feet. “I feel amazing.” 

You lift yourself on your tiptoes and give him a full wet kiss. 

“Now I believe you.” He gives you a little smile that only makes you want to kiss him again.

“I’ll be louder when we go home so you won’t have an ounce of doubt.”

“Yours or mine?” His question comes instantly.

“I don’t care.” You really don’t. All you want is him. Where, when, and how are just details.

He helps you shape your hair back to normal while you pull the stripes up. Your underwear is a mess and you are dripping out already. Bucky takes a napkin out of his pocket and kneels in front of you. He gently pushes the serviette between your folds, cleaning you up enough so you can go back inside. 

“Thank you.” You love it when he takes care of you like this. “But you know that won’t be enough. I will keep dripping all night.” 

“I’m counting on that.” You can see on his face how much that thought excites him. “Keep dripping onto your underwear while talking to others. Remember what we did here. Imagine what we will do later.” He stands up while you fix your dress and you realize that you can’t wait to leave this party already.

“You have such a dirty mouth. I love it.” You grab his face with one hand and just force him to kiss you. Not that you can actually force him to do anything, but he lets you anyway. “Come on. Let’s go back.”

**

It’s been a while since you returned to the party. Everything seems normal. No one even realized you were absent. No one is suspecting anything. That encourages you to look around for Bucky. When your eyes meet, he gives you a teasing smile while casually chatting with Sam.

The whole night you didn’t say a word to him. Not around other people. But you don't see any reason to keep avoiding him. Everyone knows you two are friendly. So you decide to walk over and chat a little.

“Oh, look who remembered us!” Sam jokes as soon as he notices you.

“Hello to you too, Sam.” You don’t mind his teasing. “Good to see you missed me.”

“Hey.” Bucky raises his beer bottle to casually greet you. He probably got tired of the bourbon.

“How are you, fellas?”

“Oh you know, missions and drinks. Same stuff,” Bucky answers your question. 

“Nothing new?” You tease him, just to see how he would react.

“Nope. Just little old me doing the same things.”

“Really, I keep telling him to go on a date or something but no. He prefers this misery instead.”

You try to surpass a smile forming on your lips, well aware of the exact reason why he’s declining the offer.

While you’re staring at each other, Sam notices Steve on the other side of the room and raises his hand. 

“Hey, Rogers!”

That’s definitely the last thing you need tonight, but there’s no way you can stop Sam. Steve joins your group in a couple of seconds, but for some reason, he looks… kinda miserable.

“You alright, man?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He absently answers. “I’m fine. Feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Maybe that super serum is finally wearing off.” Sam jokes and it manages to make Steve smile for a second.

“How are you all?” Steve asks while looking at the whole group, but his eyes stay on you for a bit longer than the rest.

“Oh, we are fine. We were talking about the lack of Mr. Barnes’s dating life.”

God, he isn’t going to let that go, is he? 

“Speaking of dating…” Sam continues while taking his phone off. “I met this guy the other day and he’s perfect for you!” Is he talking to you? He shows you a photo of this blonde guy who honestly looks alright, but he’s practically a stranger. “He’s a good guy and he fits your type. I can give your his number if you want.”

“What the fuck, Sam?” Your response makes the rest laugh. “You are playing matchmaker now?”

“I mean… someone gotta do it and I was hoping you would find someone to return the favor for me.”

You look at Bucky just to see he’s kind of enjoying this while Steve looks thoughtful for some reason.

“That’s definitely not my type.”

“Really?” Sam side-eyes Steve for a second to see his reaction, but it’s like he already knew that. 

“And I am already seeing someone, so…”

“Wait a second!” Sam sounds surprised. “You are seeing someone? Since when?”

“Why are you so surprised? You thought I would inform you about my love life or something?” Bucky is laughing quietly on the side, and Sam looks a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t know. I thought you were single. You are already off the market, huh?”

Bucky subtly nods to his last comment but doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah, it seems so.” You put your drink on the nearest surface and stretch your neck a little. 

“Tired?” Bucky asks this time.

“Yes. I’m thinking about leaving. Maybe I should call an Uber or something.” You make a move to take your phone out.

“Actually… I was considering the same thing. I can drop you home, you can save up the money.”

“Really?” You didn’t expect him to offer to leave with you. Usually, one of you leaves first and the other follows, but maybe after tonight's events, he decided that there’s no reason to hide anymore. “Sure, that'd be great.”

You see Sam rolling his eyes. “There go hours of effort.”

“You wanted to leave before?” It’s obvious you are talking to Bucky.

“No, not really, but he assumes that and tries to talk me into staying every time.” You start to laugh. It’s not hard to imagine why Sam thinks he’d rather be somewhere else.

“Sorry, Sam, but we are old. Apparently we need more sleep.” You are mocking yourself and Bucky at the same time, wondering how he’ll react.

“He is old, but you… not so much.”

“My soul is old and that’s enough.” You raise both of your hands and wave a goodbye. “Anyways, time to go. Good to see both of you.” Your thumbs and index fingers move around like two guns pointed at Sam and Steve.

“Good night,” Bucky simply adds.

While you two quietly walk away, Sam is already suspecting something is up.

“Did I drink too much or is there something going on between them?” Sam asks when you are far enough not to hear it.

“They are together.” Steve tries to sound as casual as possible.

“Wait! Really?” He thought something was just blooming between you two, not a full on relationship. “How do you know?”

“I heard them.” Steve notices how it sounds and quickly adds: “Talking.”

“And you are okay with that?”

“Yeah, sure.” That doesn’t sound convincing at all. “It’s not my place to say anything. It was never that serious.” He isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince Sam or himself. “I mean… I think she’d want to get serious, but she talked about staying friends and I jumped on the opportunity and agreed because I didn’t want a relationship.”

Sam nods. “Well, good for them I guess. They seem like a good match.”

“They really do.”

[allthingsfangirl101]

Hypocritical Tornado Wrangler – Tyler Owens

After receiving my news, I wasn't quite sure how to react. I went back through the interview as I walked into the old barn that the Tornado Wranglers used. There was space for Boone to create his crazy inventions and for Tyler to do his calculations. There was even a corner that Tyler converted into a small office so I could edit his YouTube videos.

I started working with them a few years ago. I was at school for video production and ended up getting stuck in the school's basement during a tornado. After the storm, I ran into Tyler. He was having an issue with the lighting on his camera and I offered to help him. He offered me a job.

Two years later, Tyler comes to me with every camera and video problem. He doesn't trust anyone other than me. To be honest, I don't trust anyone other than Tyler. He has saved my life so many times that I only want him whenever I'm in danger.

The phone call that I just got off of changed everything. It was an offer that I couldn't refuse and I would never get another opportunity if I let it pass me by.

I gasped when I bumped into someone.

"Hey, Y/N," Boone smiled. His smile faltered when he saw the look on my face. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," I stuttered.

"What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" He asked, playfully poking me in the side.

"I umm. . . I got a job offer," I forced myself to tell him.

"Really?" He elongated. "What kind of job?"

"It's an internship. . . in LA."

"Wait, that's huge!" Boone excitedly jumped up and down. He stopped jumping when he noticed I wasn't jumping with him. "Why aren't you jumping?"

"Because," I sighed, "I'm not sure if I'm going to take it?"

"Why the hell wouldn't you take it?" Boone laughed.

I glanced over his shoulder to see Tyler walking into the barn. When I looked back at Boone, he was smirking knowingly. I cleared my throat as I wrapped my arms around myself.

"Y/N," he said my name in his teasing tone.

"I just don't know if I'm gonna take it," I said before turning on my heel and walking away.

* * * * * 3rd POV

Ever since Y/N told Boone about her job offer, he's noticed her change. She's kept to herself, hidden behind the camera, and refuses to be alone in the room with Tyler.

Boone rolled his eyes when Tyler jumped on the side of the truck and turned toward the crowd.

"If you feel it. . ." He yelled, waiting for the crowd to finish his mantra.

"Chase it!"

"I said, if you feel it. . ." He repeated.

"Chase it!"

Boone looked over to see Y/N watching Tyler. She had the camera on the team, but her eyes were focused on Tyler's face. She felt someone staring at her so she searched for them. That's when her eyes landed on Boone staring at her sadly.

She looked away and started filming the team getting ready to leave. Boone turned toward Tyler and realized something; Tyler's naiveness toward Y/N's feelings may be the reason they lost her.

"You ready to go?" Tyler asked Boone as he joined him to the side.

"Do you know how hypocritical you are?" Boone scoffed. Tyler froze and turned back toward his friend. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

"What are you talking about?" He asked. "How am I hypocritical?"

"If you feel it, chase it," Boone mocked.

"That doesn't answer my question," Tyler sighed. Boone grabbed his shoulders and forced him to turn around.

"If you feel it," he said slower, "chase it. Before she's gone."

"Y/N's not going anywhere," Tyler scoffed, shrugging off Boone's hands.

"You sure about that?" Boone challenged. "Y/N is a genius with all things camera. She's the reason you look so good in our videos. Sooner rather than later, people are going to notice her talents too."

Tyler turned around and studied him. His heart sank when he saw the expression on Boone's face. "Boone," he elongated, "do you know something I don't?"

"We all know something you don't," Boone joked. His smile fell when he saw the confusion on Tyler's face. "Wow, you really don't know."

"Did Y/N get a job offer she didn't tell me about?"

He looked over his shoulder at Y/N who was reviewing the shots she just shot. He sighed before shifting his focus back to Tyler and not answering his question. "I've known you a long time, right?"

"Yeah," Tyler laughed. "Maybe a little too long."

"Which means I've also known how long you've been madly in love with Y/N."

"I am not. . ." He started to defend himself quickly, but Boone's look cut him off.

"You've been crazily obsessed with her since we met her," Boone continued. "Every time a guy looks at her, you turn into her guard dog. I've seen you literally threaten to leave a guy in the middle of a tornado for not leaving Y/N alone at a bar."

"I'm protective of her," Tyler shrugged. "I'm protective of everyone on our team."

"Nah, man," Boone laughed. "You're safety protective of the rest of us. But Y/N? You're obsessively protective of her. The kind of way a guy is protective of his girl."

"It's not. . ." Tyler stuttered. He couldn't ignore the feeling he got when Ben, the reporter, walked over to Y/N. It was the way he smiled at Y/N that made Tyler uneasy.

"Dude, just tell her," Boone sighed. "You're always saying if you feel it, chase it. You've had feelings for her for a long time. So, chase her. Before it's too late."

* * * * *

Tyler hesitated outside Y/N's motel room. He lifted his hand to knock several times but never got the courage. After bugging Boone some more, he finally told Tyler that Y/N had a job offer in LA. He knew that if he didn't tell Y/N how he felt, he might lose her forever.

That thought made him finally knock on the door. His heart jumped into his throat when she slowly opened the door.

"Tyler? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he said, letting out a small chuckle. "Well, actually. . . Are you leaving?"

Y/N's stomach sank. "How did you. . . It wasn't. . . I haven't. . ."

"Can we talk?" Tyler asked. Y/N bit her bottom lip as she opened the door for him. He walked in and sat on the small couch as Y/N closed the door. She walked over and sat next to him.

"What's on your mind?" She asked, already knowing what was on his mind.

"Did you get a job offer?"

"Not really," she said honestly. Tyler watched as she played with her hands. He wanted to reach over and grab them. "It's an internship that could become a full job."

Tyler paused, hoping that he knew the answer to his next question. "Are you going to take it?"

She looked up at him and saw the worry in his eyes. In that second, she knew her answer to his question.

"No," she whispered. "I have no intention of leaving, Tyler. You guys need me too badly."

"Yeah, we do," Tyler said, his voice dropping. Looking into her eyes, he corrected his last statement. "I do. I need you, Y/N. Without you. . ."

His voice dropped as he thought about what he would do if Y/N left them. If she left him. When the thought got too painful, Tyler leaned over and pressed his lips to hers. She gasped in surprise but kissed him back. As their lips moved in sync, Tyler reached up and ran his fingers through her hair. He broke the kiss and leaned back, looking into her eyes.

"Without you, I'd lose focus," he finished. "Without you, none of this would be worth it. To be honest, the only thing I focus on when we're chasing a tornado is you."

"Me?"

"You," he repeated. "The only thing on my mind is making sure, yes we get some awesome content, but more importantly, making sure you are not in harm's way. Making sure I get you home safely."

"You always get me home safe," Y/N whispered.

"Please," Tyler said, his voice slightly breaking, "promise you won't leave me. I wouldn't survive without you, Y/N."

"Really?" She asked, her voice breaking.

"Really," he said with a small smile on his face. "No storm, no matter how big, scares me as much as the thought of losing you."

Y/N reached up and grabbed his face, making sure he was looking at her as she said, "I promise, Tyler. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good."

Y/N giggled when Tyler grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap. "Because I am not letting you go."

She laughed as she slid her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I think I'm okay with that."

[temporarywelcome]

12 Fics of Christmas Day 3 - Jimmy Darling

"Kiss"

Words: 617 (short n' sweet)

Summary: Reader wants to knit sweaters for her castmates for Christmas, forcing Jimmy to help her. She gets annoyed. (inspired by a suggestion by @melsimps)

A/N: sorry its so short and pretty much ass I was writing a paper. I might edit the whole thing tmr tbh

____

“Is this a joke?”

She looked up from the bundles of yarn around them, tilting her head to the side, “A joke?”

Jimmy scowled, holding up his hands, “Do I look like I can knit?”

“I’m not asking you to knit,” Y/N giggled, plopping a ball of yarn onto his lap, “I’m asking you to help me knit,” 

“Gee, how wonderful,” he said sarcastically, however, he did not make any moves to leave. He instead held up the yarn, allowing his love to set up the strings and the needles, “So what are we knitting?”

“We?” she mused.

Jimmy huffed, “Yes, we. I am holding the yarn, therefore, I am knitting this as well,”

“I don’t think that’s how this works, Jimmy,”

“It does. I said it does,” the corners of his lips curled into a soft smile, leaning towards her and puckering his lips.

“No time for kisses,” Y/N replied, brows furrowed as she focused on her work. Jimmy pouted, frown deepening when she didn’t even notice his huge exaggerated expression. “I want to make sweaters for everyone,”

“That’s a lot of people, sweetheart,” he stated the obvious. 

“I know,”

“That’s a lot of yarn,”

“I know,”

“I don’t think we have enough,”

“We don’t,” she paused her work to look up at him, “You’ll buy some more, won’t you, Jimmy?” 

“You want me to buy the yarn for your knitting project?”

Y/N gave him a teasing look, giving him that little smile he adored, “I thought we were knitting, Jimmy,”

Oh yes. He did say that. “Will you say they were gifts from both of us?”

“Mhm,”

He thought for a moment, but he actually was not thinking, because he already knew he would buy her a hundred balls of yarn if she asked. He simply stared at her, admiring how concentrated she looked as she looped the strings together expertly. 

“I was thinking we could do a little Christmas act,” she began, and he listened. Well, no, he did not listen, because he was too busy thinking about kissing her. She just had such kissable lips, how could he not?

“Sounds good,”

“And I think I should kiss that Dandy Mott guy at the end of it,”

“I like that,”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re not listening, Jimmy,”

“You come up with the best ideas- Ow?!” he gasped as she flicked him on his nose, “What was that for?”

“You’re not listening to me. I just suggested kissing that dumbie Dandy Mott and you said you would like that,”

“I did?” he asked in horror, “I did?” 

“Yeah,” Y/N grumbled, “What are you thinking about that’s so important?”

“You,”

“Me? You’re thinking about me so damn hard you have to ignore me to do it?” 

“You’re rather cranky right now,” 

“Because I hate to be ignored-” he zoned out again as she babbled, smirking as he saw one of the members of the Freak Show busy decorating. They took out an object from a box: a mistletoe. Sweet. 

As Y/N spoke, Jimmy continued to stare until the cast mate felt it, snapping their head in his direction. He subtly tilted his head, beckoning the man over. As the man approached, Jimmy made a point to look at his face then the mistletoe in his hand. 

“...how would you feel if I just stared at you during every conversation we had and didn’t pay you no mind- Jimmy!” Y/N hissed, slapping his arm now next, “What the hell is wrong with you today-?” she paused, looking up to see the mistletoe held up between the two of them. 

“Sorry, darlin’,” Jimmy shrugged cheekily, “I think we need to kiss,”

____

Tags: @envy-of-greed @bohnerrific69 @loveofcherry

[callsignfate]

HELLO HELLO! Happy New Year! From 1 to 10, how would you rate 2023? (10 being the BEST YEAR OF YOUR LIFE and 1 being the worst year)

It's not my first time reading your work (which is amazing), but it's my first time making a request in your blog. I don't see one of those posts with the rules and boundaries to make a request soooo I hope this isn't disrespecting any of your rules.

Valeria Garza could have any woman she wants by her side. But not her personal assistant (reader). Reader always kindly reject valeria every time she invites her on a date or for a drink. Valeria never understand why but respect her decision.

One day valeria finds out reader is a single mother!!

Reader rejects valeria not because she's not interested but because she thinks when valeria finds out she has a kid, she would change her mind.

Take your time and take care 🫶

Valeria x Single mother

A/N: This is lightly edited as most posts might be for a bit, I'm just finishing all the drafts I left hanging and editing them as much as I can for the night. Thank you Anon for this idea and I have some fluff one-shots for this idea I might post as well. As for my 2023, it was rough so I would say 2 or 3 for most of it but it did have some nice times. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

TW: Mentions torture and hints to murder, child is gn! but referred to as beautiful.

Loving a woman who runs Las Almas would be a mistake, a huge mistake you always told yourself. Moving here to Las Almas to get away from the man who threatened everything you loved was one thing but to fall in love with a woman who was more dangerous than him was something you cursed at yourself for even thinking about it mentally every day.

The day you caved and took her offer to become some sort of secretary was one that you wish you could regret, but you often didn’t. The pay was great, giving you the chance to give you and your child something you dreamed of the day you had them. Stability. All you did was show people to her office and answer calls that weren’t the dangerous kind. Sometimes you’d keep track of whatever accounts she trusted you with and make sure nothing was coming in or out unexpectedly, easy enough.

You worked efficiently while you thought of the thing that usually plagued your mind, why you? She must have had hundreds of not thousands of people at her disposal, so why you? You didn’t let yourself think too deeply about it as the fear of losing the comfortable life you had made for you and your child over the now two years you worked for her.

You rarely missed days, only taking a few when your kid was sick or needed you, often saying instead that you were sick, she didn’t question it and never told you off for taking a day or two, only eyeing you slightly when you arrived back.

Valeria was always impressed with your work, she didn’t at first need a secretary, rather using it as an excuse to get closer to the woman who ran through her thoughts often when she first heard of a beautiful outsider's arrival to Las Almas, nothing came up that made her worry, and the few things she trusted you with at first always stayed in her inner circle so you were trustworthy, even if the things she told you at first were false, tests to see if the info would end up anywhere else.

As the months went on things got more comfortable, as she hoped they would. Hoping her little flirtatious comments would get through, they did most of the time, not that you weren’t quick to offer a small smile but quickly get back to the point of the conversation. The gifts she gave were met with endless thank you’s and a small smile before she'd find the items worth of money back into one of her accounts soon after.

Valeria was getting slightly impatient and confused, She could have anyone she wanted as most were at her feet, willing to receive gifts of her wealth that she rarely personally used on anything but well-made clothes or the standard needs for herself. Why weren’t you cracking? Why were you evading her efforts so well? Why were you so unwilling to take a gift, other than a holiday bonus? Many others have asked for this and tried to get close to El Sin Nombre for the same treatment you received.

The weekend rolled around again and like always she walked by your empty desk where you had always left a reminder sticky note for her, something that needed to be done over the weekend when you couldn't remind her yourself. She huffed and kept walking, taking a stroll through the streets of her empire for something to do wasn’t the worst idea, you told her many times to try it, and this once she did.

At first, Valeria walked with her men trailing her far back, looking as if they were too just strolling the bustling streets in the crowds. The store windows and many street vendors had nothing she could think of getting you that you wouldn’t return or pay her back for anyway. Valeria’s eyes scanned the street, and the people, many times over, until she spotted you being pulled around by a child who looked strikingly similar to you, you had an exhausted smile as you followed the kid seemingly pulling your arm off as you nodded and watched as the kid pointed to some toy a vendor was selling, she walked through the small crowds as she got closer to hear you talking, you were asking if they were sure if that's what they wanted, the kid nodded quickly, your back was to her but she could already tell that was you, and that was your child that held on tightly to your clothes with a tight fist, anxiously.

Before you could get out the money for the toy Valeria already paid for it, you looked over to her with a smile that fell into shock, the one secret you had desperately held on to, the one thing you had feared her finding out was now indisputable, there was nothing you could say to sway her otherwise. You stood there frozen before clearing your throat and trying to think of something, anything to say.

“Thank.. You.” You finally mumbled out before you looked down to see the toy already in their hands as they moved it around in the air, some dragon toy they had asked for many times, a toy they had only seen a few times because you didn’t want Valeria’s men to see you and possibly report back to her, you were so careful, your head felt like it was building with pressure, the soft thrumming your blood pumping through your veins filled your ears as you assumed they, like your face, were bright red.

Valeria noticed the shock and fear immediately, she wasn't a stranger to people looking at her like this, yet until now you hadn’t. You always had a polite smile and kind words to offer, even small talk when you both had the chance. Valeria was perfect at keeping her emotions hidden, yet this time she struggled to not react in any way to the fear that was so prevalent on your face that it looked like she had tied you to the chair and was getting ready to torture you.

Your mind was racing with anything to say or to do, but you felt paralyzed. She wouldn’t harm you but would she stop talking to you? Offering you small compliments and the job if she found out you were taking sick days for your child instead? You knew Valeria had a soft spot in her somewhere but were you in it?

“They’re beautiful, they look just like you,” Valeria said before offering them a piece of candy from the vendor, which she quickly paid for. Of course, they took it excitedly, with a small thank you before putting it in their mouth.

“Thank you… Again. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just didn’t want you to worry I wouldn’t be there or that I.. single mothers are somewhat frowned upon sometimes and I-” You rambled on filled with anxiety that felt like the world around you was louder and brighter than before.

Valeria saw this quickly, how anxious you were, how you pulled your child behind you and pressed them against you, for a moment she wished she had a mother who was willing to stand in front of someone deadly and still put themselves between it all. She offered her normal smile and a laugh, hoping to ease your worries.

“I’m not worried, I’m guessing this is why you always told me no to my many advances,” Valeria said with an amused tone, finally realizing it wasn’t that you weren’t interested, but rather you were worried she’d perceive you differently. Valeria was happy to know that her killing that man who ended up putting hits out on you and hunting you down wasn’t a terrible Idea. She could see the smallest resemblance to the father's in the child's face.

“I don’t want anyone in my life that isn't supportive or willing to help me take care of my child, they are my priority, always.” You said as the confidence slowly filled your town, the protectiveness Valeria could see in your eyes.

Before Valeria could say another word, she watched as your child begged to be picked up which you obliged, struggling to carry the bags with everything else. Valeria sighed and clicked her tongue in disagreement while shaking her head before she slid the bags off of your shoulders and tilted her head for you to lead the way to wherever else you were headed.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I don’t know if you’ve already covered this, but I had a question to ask about the VDC in Book 5. To clarify, I understand that RSA needed to win for thematic and character arc purposes, and that in-lore it was an audience vote not a professional one. The story beats line up. But the choice of cutesy and childlike RSA performance over the more refined and professional NRC performance still doesn’t quite click with me. Is there some kind of cultural difference that didn’t translate to explain why one performance was supposed to be understood as preferred over the other? Even if it was an audience vote, the standards should be higher just by virtue of this being a big name competition for teenagers held at a prestigious school.

Very quickly, I want to add a couple other points that help to explain why RSA won over NRC! Book 6 opens early on with Vil noting that NRC was not able to perform as well as they wanted to since they had just come out of a difficult battle against his OB form. (Because of this, he accepts responsibility for their loss.) Thus, the NRC performance may not have actually been as "refined", "professional", or as polished as we imagine it to be.

Additionally, it’s stated in book 5 that RSA’s song choice had universal appeal whereas NRC’s did not. We see this effect on the production crew when Neige and the Seven Dwarves do their practice run; their performance has a refreshing and soothing effect on what appears to be an older audience (as it plays to their nostalgia); we must consider this when evaluating RSA and NRC. For example, I know that I really disliked NRC's performance (sue me/j) because it sounded very oppressive and therefore unrelatable to me. The lyrics are literally about how NRC will dominate their opponents and win 😭 Sure, the music and lyrics for Neige's song aren't complex, but they're at the very least accessible and easy to follow along with. (That's not to say that I prefer RSA's performance though; I'm just explaining why someone might not find NRC's performance appealing.)

Lastly! We as players are looking at the two song + dance numbers from an omniscient perspective. We need to consider our own biases when judging, and accept that it may differ from the characters in-universe view things. Maybe you prefer NRC’s performance. That’s fair! But how much of that is informed by your personal music preferences? And how much of that comes from your attachment to the NRC characters, since you’ve followed their stories up until this point? As Rook points out in book 5, he’s aware of how hard NRC has worked to get here… but he’s also aware of Neige’s hardships too (er, in terms of his lifestyle; ie living with the dwarves and doing chores, etc.). Consider then, would you honestly not have a bias for RSA had Twisted Wonderland’s story centered on them instead of NRC?

It’s also worth noting that how things are seen in Twisted Wonderland may reflect its own unique culture rather than how we in the real world may perceive it. Maybe the people of Twisted Wonderland just prefer a cute, nostalgic performance. This may not necessarily correlate with west or east at all and that has always been a possibility! (While TWST does take inspirations from the real world, it’s not a 1:1 with the real world.)

dkhlbaiyfadvfoad Okay, NOW onto the actual question being pitched!

When you look at media from different countries, there are some stark differences in how the same information is presented. One example is like... any Gordon Ramsay show yes, I am using him as an example. Compare the American cut and the British cuts; there are much more loud sound effects, dramatic music, yelling, and cussing in the American cuts. The British cuts, by comparison, are notably quieter and contemplative, with hardly any cursing. Another example! Looking at variety shows from the east vs the west, they're quite different as well. Eastern variety shows tend to be "cute", usually using various cute sound effects or edits which make the guests appear more bashful (like drawing blush over their cheeks or something). We don't see this in western TV shows, which are louder and more boisterous. I've noticed a similar trend in the music industries of the east vs the west as well, where eastern stars tend to emphasize their youthfulness and playfulness and western stars try to be more "mature" and grown-up. These are just my personal observations and may not reflect reality, especially seeing as I am not involved in music-oriented spaces.

I asked friends and personal contacts in both eastern and western pop music fandom spaces for their own insights (which is also in no way representative of both fandoms, but at least this gives us other perspectives for consideration). To summarize, most of them replied that they did not think cultural differences account for this situation, since equating a preference for a "cute" aesthetic is not the same as RSA performing what is basically a nursery rhyme. There's no real-world equivalent for that (at least none that they can think of), and I agree with all of this. There’s really no point in trying to compare the two.

I remember lots of Japanese fans being upset at NRC’s loss too (when book 5’s ending was first put out), so the impression I got was they didn’t prefer the performance of RSA over NRC either. It was not just the international fandom that was disappointed. I don’t believe TWST ever intentionally set out to present “Everyone Yahoo!” as the “superior” song and dance number, or as the performance we’re supposed to like more than the other. It was very much framed as something pathetic and unlikely to win in most of the eyes of the NRC characters. They make fun of RSA’s clumsiness and claim it’ll be easy to win over them. The player most likely is supposed to think this way too—until Vil, the one with an eye for showbiz, realizes his loss. Why? Because it doesn’t matter what we think. What matters is how this clumsy performance will resonate with the common person.

What I think it ultimately comes down to is emotional appeal to the audience, which is more of a personal/individual level thing than a cultural thing. The competition is decided by audience vote. The average person honestly does not care about quality or standards. No one is giving them rules to evaluate by, no one is going to tell them off for not having strict standards. They will pick based on what they like best or whatever makes them feel good. And what will make anyone feel food, regardless of age, sex, race, education, socioeconomic status, etc.? Something cozy and familiar, thoughts of simpler times… Nostalgia.

Something else to think about is what a powerful motivator emotions can be. There are irl idol competition shows that are high stakes and decided by audience vote just like VDC/SDC… and people will still vote for their favorites even if they gave a technically bad performance. This is because fans are so emotionally invested in and attached to the performer. It doesn’t matter how “bad” they are, the performer/performance makes the audience member feel impassioned, and they will then act according to those intense feelings. Think about what you’re like when you’re in a terrible mood vs a good one. You act completely differently, right?

I hope that perspective helps! 🙏 I tried to be as thorough as I could be in this response, but please let me know if I misspoke or maybe missed a point.

P.S. I happen to be responding to this ask after TWST showed us the NRC Tribe’s dance performance in a MMD video. I wonder if this only made the “NRC should have own” crowd double down on that opinion since now we’re seeing just what their performance looks like 🤔 (though we don’t have a complete MMD video of Neige’s group to directly compare, just this which shows part of the dance and not in the same clumsy way that Neige and co. perform it).

[alaezasmystery235]

↛𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ↛𝗣𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗔 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗗𝗦

꒰ ♡ ꒱ 𝓅𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝒹 ; 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗙𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝗦𝗽𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

⋆·˚ 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 ⋆·˚ ----- This reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn't, you don't need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn't resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious!

⋆·˚ 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞 ⋆·˚ ----- All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from 'pinterest' i don't own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however edits goes and belong to me only @alaezasmystery . I use the editor tools canva and kapwing for the header and divider. Extra credit to @daninixx for giving permission to use her rules and disclaimer.

⋆·˚ ༘ 🍋 ✧*

ＰＩＬＥ 1

Instantly, I'm getting strong Leo energy here . I feel that your future spouse's love language is more on the physical touch and quality time spent together . I feel that you guys are gonna be having a lot of passionate love making in the bedroom .

This is someone who treasures every moment spent with you. I feel that they may not look like the kind or really sweet talk. But they are hella romantic and gonna notice every single little things about you.

I feel that both of you love travelling and be out in the nature more. So do see them bring you out more for walks sitting by bench and bringing you out to See the stars .

You may catch sometimes staring at you more often but not in the creepy way rather than in adoring way. I feel like you're gonna think if you are truely blessed to have them . I feel like they suck at communication , but rest assured they are gonna show you.

Actions speak louder then words ... afterall 😉.

ＰＩＬＥ 2

For this pile I am getting a strong Taurus energy . I feel that your future spouse's love language is more on act of service to you . I feel that they will put you on a pedestal and be very protected over you . They're gonna be treating you like a queen or King .

At times, you'd feel like they are being very gaurded and they might hover over you and when there are other people around or sensing someone trying to get too close to you . I feel that they can be throwing a little jealous comments but it's not that they are possessive . It's cause they want you all to themselves . It's kinda cute how would they react , they are like a baby who wants your attention on them only.

They are someone who will go distance for you . I feel like that they will work together with you to build a strong Foundation . I heard " built an Empire for you because you are my queen or king " .

They would want to take things one step at a time because they believe that good thing takes time . I feel that they are gonna have this endearing gaze on you when you guys have a kid together .

ＰＩＬＥ 3

For this pile I am getting air sign and fire sings more . I feel that your future spouse's love language is more on the quality time and giving / receiving gifts .

I get this cheeky vibe from pile 3 . The way they show their love isn't how many would show. They will be acting like a child and always teasing you to get your attention but when they do get you mad they will sulk and feel sad about it .

Like Pile 2 , they are a big baby when it comes to you . I feel that on the another hand they will be working very hard on their pentacles so that they can provide for you .

Some of them may even gift you with a key that symbolises , that you hold the key to their heart . I feel that they will shower you with random gifts and flowers . I feel that your future spouse is quite the adventurer, a cheeky one I'd say ....

I feel that they will want to do crazy stuff with you like out of the blue . They see you as this light that lights up their world . I am hearing " you are my sunshine " . Just know that sometimes they didn't mean to annoy you , they were just trying to make you smile and to get your attention on them by doing something silly .

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