#I wanted to do a deep scroll but the images weren’t loading so I got mad and closed the app and I don’t feel like scrolling back to where I
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sadgirlautumn · 11 months ago
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My dash is so slow where is everyone???
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years ago
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I.R.L.📷1
Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, voyeurism/exhibitionism, slight stalking, masturbation, naughty talk.
This is dark!(camboy!)Andy Barber. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your guilty pleasures becomes and all too real terror.
Note: I split this into two because it kept stretching on and on ahah. But I hope you’re ready for a creepy ass camboy.
Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!
As always, if you are so inclined, please like, reblog, and comment. <3
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You could blame your break-up or the pandemic but you were just lonely. Besides, Cam left you a year ago and the quarantine was long over. It seemed the whole word had moved on except you.
You always got that fluttery feeling when you opened up the tab and typed in the address. You keyed in your username and password and that moment of shame and guilt quickly passed. Men did this all the time so what was the big deal? You had the money and time to waste on the shallow release.
You scrolled through the active rooms and found ‘SuitNTie80’. There were a few times you tried other rooms but you quickly left, always keeping to your comfort zone, not that you were ever very comfortable. There was that shadow of guilt that lingered after but you learned to live with it.
You sat up and leaned on your arm as you watched the window load and the chat popped up first on the side. You were desensitized to the image of the naked body, the large hand around the thick shaft, stroking and teasing as he issued intoxicating groans. You piled your pillows behind you and bent your legs as you watched lazily.
You were mostly quiet but you were there at least twice a week. You didn’t have much to say in the text box and the thought of a private voice chat was too intimidating for the price. You sent your donations and went on your way once you got yours.
You tickled your leg as your eyes clung to the hair along his muscled chest and stomach, his thick thighs bent and bulging as he gripped his dick firmly. He was huge, not that you were ever a size queen, but it was a nice escape, a careless fantasy. It wasn’t hurting anyone to look.
You hummed and reached for your vibe. You leaned back and teased your clit. You got wetter as he moved around and the bold yellow font popped up in the chat box. You hit ‘pay’ and bypassed the tier. The chat dwindled and the muscular body laid back so that his dick stood straight. He continued to play with himself as he pushed his head into the pillow.
You grabbed your dildo and angled it down along your folds. You poked and prodded until you slipped inside just a little. You pulled back and pushed back in until you could take most of it, the vibe still buzzing against your bud.
Another paywall popped up and again you hit the big button and confirmed. You kept the transactions on your credit card and didn’t think much until the statement showed up. Again, the audience dwindled. It was Wednesday, there weren’t as many as the weekends.
You got comfortable again and pumped the toy as you rubbed the stimulator against your clit. You bit your lip and whined, close. The deep voice stopped you.
“Looks like it's just you,” he said as he sat on the edge of the bed and kept his hand moving.
You typed a hey into the chat and sent another tip. He smiled, only the bottom half of his face visible, the trimmed beard defined his already sharp jaw. You fell back again as you tried to focus on his hand.
“You’re here a lot, honey,” he purred and rasped as he rolled his palm around his tip, “every week…”
You froze and sat up stiffly, careful not to push the toy deeper.
“You don’t have to be shy,” he cooed, “we can go into a private room.”
You didn’t know what to say. You just wanted to cum and lay down. Forget about another long day back in the office.
“No charge,” he offered, “I’d just like to hear your voice.”
Your fingers tapped noisily over the whir of the toy, ‘why?’
“You’re my most loyal customer,” he slowed his hand, “just curious.”
You just sat there, your heart pounding. You liked not being seen, just watching quietly, just being there in the audience. You were embarrassed he even noticed the frequency of your attendance. You eased the toy out of you as you leaned an arm on your leg. You hovered the cursor over the leave icon.
The invited for a private room popped up and kept you from clicking, “just a few minutes, honey, I’m almost done and I wanna help you finish.”
You bit the inside of your lip and dragged your finger down the trackpad. You hit ‘accept’ and a pop-out window buffered as it requested access to your microphone. You could mute once you were in. You confirmed and the private room loaded. You maximized it and drew your hand back sharply, already regretting the decision.
“How are you doing, honey?” he asked, “anyway you want me?”
You stared at the screen, overwhelmed by the spontaneity and your natural shyness.
“I hear your toy,” he said softly, “why don’t you tell me what you’re playing with?”
You gulped and the mattress spring squeaked as you shifted, “um, I’m okay,” you answered his first question, “how are you?”
“I’m great,” he pushed the camera back and sat so that you could see all of him, “it’s nice to hear the voice behind the name.” His teeth grazed his lip as his muscles tensed and he groaned, “so what do we got, hmm?”
“Er,” you looked down, the toy buzzing against your thigh as you’d let it slip thoughtlessly, “a vibe and... “
“And…” he coaxed, “what else, honey?”
“Um, a dildo?” you said weakly, “erm, yeah.”
“Is it inside you?” he asked.
You choked and tried to smother it. You sniffed and clicked off the toy. “Sorry, I don’t think--”
“I want it inside you, now,” he said firmly as he stroked himself, “I want you to imagine it’s me, that i’m stretching you.”
You gaped at the screen as he watched you expectantly, almost as if he could see you. You always kept your camera covered though so at least he could only hear how clueless you were.
“Turn the vibe back on and put that dick inside of you,” he snarled, “come on, honey, for me.”
“I…” you breathed, “okay…”
You shakily hit the button so it vibed again. You asked yourself what you were doing as you slipped it down against your clit and pushed the dildo into you before it could slip out completely. You squeaked and he growled as his hand sped up.
“Mmm, is it in?” he asked, “all of it?”
“Y-yeah,” you murmured, “as much as… I can.”
You cringed at your own answer and he grinned.
“Oh, you’re tight?” he teased, “sounds like you need to be broken in.” You let out a breath as you sat unmoving, filled but paralysed by the intimacy of the chat, “go on, I wanna hear you, honey. I can’t finish if I can’t hear you.”
You hesitated but laid back against the mountain of pillows. You rolled the vibe flat to your clit and moved the dildo slowly. You quivered as the ripples flowed through you and made your toes curl, your legs splayed wide around your laptop. You can hear how wet you are as instinctively you move the toy faster and moan.
“That’s it, honey,” he cooed, “listen to you, hmm? So we for me…” his voice was a series of gasps as he added lube to his length and sped up, “how close are you?”
“C-close,” you rasped.
“Good, good,” his knuckles turned white as he worked his hand even faster, “I want you to picture me… balls deep… fucking you until your hips hurt… until you can’t walk…”
You let out a pathetic mewl as you fucked yourself harder with the toy, to the point of pain.
“What’s you’re favourite position, honey?” he asked as he used both hands on himself.
“Oh, uh…” you shuddered as you thought, trying to keep the toys in action, “doggy… I think.”
“Mmm, wouldn’t you like me behind you, pounding into that tight little cunt,” he puffed, “I can only imagine how tight you’d squeeze me… the way you’d shake… you think you could take it? Hmm?”
“Y… y… yes,” your voice fizzled out and you let out a strained cry as you came abruptly.
You panted wildly and turned onto your side as you squeezed both toys between your legs and groaned. A grunt brought your attention back to the screen as you twitched. The man cradled his sack as he came and strings spilled from his tip as his voice rumbled from the speakers. He smeared his cum all down his length until he was a mess and let his shoulders fall as he stilled his hand.
“Was that good, honey?” he asked as he looked into the camera.
“Mhmm,” you uttered as you sat up and slid the dildo out, sending a shiver up your spine.
“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?” he stood and came closer to the camera, bending so that you could see his face clearly, he was startlingly handsome, “can we do it again?”
“I… don’t know,” you replied as you turned off the vibe and covered yourself as if he could see you, “maybe.”
“You did really well, sweetie,” he smiled, “and I really like your voice.”
“I…” you sniffed and swallowed as you glanced around your dark bedroom. Is this what you’d come to? “I gotta go.”
You hit ‘leave’ and immediately felt awful. As much for leaving him hanging as even indulging in the chat. You rubbed your temples and bent your fingers against your skull as you gripped your head. How sad could your existence be?
📷
The disconnect icon came up and Andy sighed. He closed down the chat and logged out. He sat and cleaned himself, gently as he was overly sensitive from over an hour of stimulation. He enjoyed his little sessions and he made a decent penny, not that he really needed the money. It was more the high than the dollar sign.
He pulled on a loose pair of silk pajama pants and the fabric tickled his tip cloyingly. He closed the lid of his laptop and tidied the room, stripping the bed and putting the plain cotton sheets back on. He sat heavily to catch his breath and leaned back on the heels of his hands.
He always saw her username in the chat when she entered and tipped but she never said anything. He didn’t think much of it, she was just another regular. LacyLilac; it was a cute name. He was just bored and wanted to try something new. It was fun and thrilling and just the sound of her wet cunt made him twitch.
He kept thinking about her voice. He was disappointed she left so quickly. He would’ve liked to talk a little longer but it was just a porn chat after all. What more did they have to say to each other?
He tried to match her voice to a face in his head. She was probably cute; she sounded young. Well, lots of people were younger than him. He was probably one of the oldest cammers on the site. 
She was shy though and he liked that. He’d married the outspoken one and he was over it. That turned to shit fast and look where it got him. Alone and pimping himself out for kicks. Yeah, it was fun at first, he liked being watched, it was always a game for him. He used to play with himself at his desk in his office, sometimes the interns caught him but they never said anything. They were too afraid.
That was all gone too. That life was behind him, so far it almost felt like it never happened. He wished it never had; wished he hadn’t wasted the time.
He stood and sighed. He took his laptop from the table and slipped it under his arm. He went downstairs and opened it on the counter. He let the screen saver bounce as he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He popped the cap off with the edge of the granite and watched the little wisp of mist rise from the neck.
He tapped on the pad and scrolled through his activity log. He found her name and clicked on it. Her profile was mostly empty except for the profile pic, a stock photo of lilacs. He got nothing from scrolling up and down the blank fields. Well, he knew a few tricks the cops passed onto him back in the day.
He opened another tab and quickly generated the link. He went back to her profile and clicked the little speech bubble beside her username. He took a moment before he began to type.
‘Hey, honey, I had fun. I hope to see you again on Friday <3. My schedule’s changing soon, you can see it here.’ He attached the link and hit send. He took a swig of the hoppy beer and leaned an elbow on the counter. 
All she had to do was click that link, if she didn’t, he’d have to figure something else out. Or maybe just give up.
The computer chirped as a green dot appeared beside her name. She was online. He saw the little eye beside his message and the dots as she typed. She stopped and he waited. Nothing.
He clicked back to the other window and opened up the visitation log for the link. He smiled and took another deep gulp. She’d done it. She tried to use the link and now he could see everything; her IP, her location, her internet provider. It was just enough to work with.
Bing. He switched back over to the chat and finally her response hung beneath his in a bubble.
‘Thx. I’ll try. The link doesn’t work tho.’
He typed with one hand as he finished his beer in sips, ‘sorry, honey. I’ll fix that and send an updated link when I get a chance. Have a good night <3.’
‘Good night,’ she responded and the green dot disappeared.
He set aside his empty bottle and closed the laptop. He was hard again. It didn’t usually happen so soon after a session. It was why he spaced them out. But he was throbbing so violently that just standing straight made him groan.
He gripped the counter and shoved his hand down his pants. He closed his eyes and exhaled as he quaked at his own touch. He thought of her little ‘ums’ and ‘ers’ and the buzz of her toy. Such a shy little thing acting so innocent and yet she was always there, watching him. 
Fuck, it wouldn’t take much more. Not as he thought of how she couldn’t even fit the whole toy in her sweet cunt. He would help her with that. 
📷
The anomaly soon grew to a habit. The second meeting was just as awkward. You didn’t do private chats, it was just easier to fade into the background, but the third was easier. Despite how your nerves flurried and your hair stood on edge, he made you feel comfortable, made you relax as you neared the tipping point.
That night, you promised him you’d be in the chat but things always went to shit when you had plans. You were almost relieved as your after hours activities were starting to get in the way of your work. You found it hard to focus when he kept sending you messages that filled your burner email.
You sat before the blue-tinted hue of the monitor, your eyes watering as the colours seared into your retinas. The spreadsheet left a template in your vision and you saw the little boxes even as you leaned back and rubbed your eyes. Maybe another hour and you could go and forget about the colour-coded rectangles.
You sighed and took out your phone. You looked out at the pen of cubicles, your small office forgotten in the corner. You handled the numbers and those only mattered when someone needed a new chair or the holiday party was coming near, and those tasks were easier left to the interns.
You yawned and swiveled back and forth in your chair. The little envelope floated in the margin. You dragged down the status bar and hit the icon. Your inbox was filled with alerts to new messages on the chat site. You only had your shell email account attached to your phone and kept to incognito mode on your laptop.
Only Lucy was still around and she was having a loud phone call on speaker a few offices down. She basically lived at her desk and served as a harbinger of your future. You opened a private window and signed in. You went to your profile and checked the blinking message box.
‘Hey, starting soon.’
‘On live now!’
‘Where are you, honey?’
‘About to go private.’
The last message was a sad-looking emoji and you shook your head. This was why you needed to stop. It felt special at first to be noticed, to feel wanted even if you were just a money sign, but it was growing exhausting. You hardly even enjoyed it anymore, you were just there to get off and get it over with.
‘Srry, caught up at work. Not going to make it tn.’
You hit send and blacked out your phone. You went back to the lifeless excel columns and compared it with the garbled mess corrupted on the second monitor. You told Stuart over and over to eject it properly and didn’t understand how the file hadn’t been uploaded to the company cloud. You shuffled through your papers and shrugged it off. No use being angry, no one cared.
Your phone vibed again. You ignored it and kept typing, looking through reports by the month as you keyed in numbers. A year's worth of tracking all down the drain. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Your phone wouldn’t stop.
You opened up your phone and went back to the private window. ‘You couldn’t tell me earlier?’ ‘Hello?’ ‘What did I do, honey?’
The messages came close together and you looked over at the log. His chat had gone inactive; it was early. You were slightly addled and confused by that.
‘It’s work. I haven’t had a chance. Can’t talk. Logging off. See you Friday.’ You hit the arrow and excited the window. 
You dropped your phone face down and hung your head back in exasperation. Your guilty pleasure was becoming a second job. The guy had enough viewers, he could hardly be missing your wallet that much. It was starting to get weird and you weren’t so sure you were going to tune in that Friday, you might be better off to catch up on your sleep.
📷
You kept your laptop off on Friday and opted instead to catch up the latest episodes of your favourite trash tv. The week was long enough to have you dozing off by the second episode and you woke early on Saturday, feeling more groggy than refreshed. Even so, you had two days to yourself.
Two days to catch up with your personal life. You went to the kitchen and used the last of the coffee. And the cream. Time for a shop. Well, you could still make a fun day out of it. There was a café in the same plaza as the grocery store so you could stop in and pretend like you were enjoying your time off with whatever specialty flavour they offered that day.
You didn’t get out before noon as you dragged your feet. Your mind kept drifting to your claustrophobic office and the migraine-inducing spreadsheets. You tried not to, fought your own mind as you steered into the parking lot, but you knew you had another week of bullshit awaiting you.
You grabbed a cart and made your rounds of the aisles, sighing as you waited on octogenarians to decide on a grain of bread. You hurried to check-out before you could get caught behind another dawdler and paid, piling your goods in your cart impatiently. You rolled out the lot and filled your trunk, pushing the cart back to the receptacle with the rest.
You hit the lock button on your keys and headed to the cafe. You eyed the strawberry and cream latte on the board as you stood in line. A deep voice drew your attention from the menu and your heart stuttered as you looked at the man at the till. It couldn’t be.
You got a better look at his face as he eyed the desserts in the glass case and pointed to the one he wanted. How in the fuck? The world couldn’t be that small. You tucked your chin down as your cheeks burned. You could only think about the image of him, or really his more intimate parts, and his low moans.
He swiped his card and moved along the counter. You stood frozen, not moving until the person behind you told you it was your turn. You apologized and moved up to the till. You stammered out your order and fumbled with your wallet, keeping your head down as you paid.
You kept your distance as you moved to wait in the corner until your turn at the window was called. You stared at the floor and tried to dissipate into the air as you pondered just leaving without your drink. When your name rang in your ears, you stepped up without look and collided with another.
“Oh, sorry,” the familiar voice made your eyes round, “shoot.”
You winced and pulled your shirt away from your chest as the hot coffee seeped down your front. You shook out the fabric and shook your head.
“It’s fine, I-- I wasn’t looking where I was going,” you dared to look up at him, unsurprised by your luck, “I hope I didn’t, er, spill too much.”
“I’m more worried about burning you,” he said, “you sure you’re alright?”
“Fine,” you repeated curtly and stepped around him, “really.”
You grabbed the paper cup and spilled even more hot liquid onto your fingers in your urgency. When you turned back the man was just ahead of you and he waited as he held the door for you. You ducked your head down as you passed him and thanked him with a mumble.
“No problem,” he said as he dropped the door.
You stepped off the curb and almost tripped. You didn’t look back as you rushed over to your car and searched for your keys in your pockets. You hit the button and quickly opened the door and flopped into the seat, placing your cup in the holder as more foam and espresso spilled from under the lid.
You hung your head back and sighed. You cringed and wanted to scream. You gripped the steering wheel and shook the whole car in your tantrum. As if your life couldn’t get worse. You were just one disaster after the other.
You wiped your hand on your jeans and started the car. Oh well, a forgettable slip-up. You wouldn’t remember it next week and he likely wouldn’t either. He didn’t even know who you were. Didn’t know you were one of the perverts watching him on their screen as they sat in the dark, lonely and desperate.
You pulled out of your spot and steered between the rows as you neared the exit. Fuck, you thought to yourself, you probably paid for that coffee. Ugh, why were you doing this to yourself? Making yourself feel worse and for what? He put himself on the internet, you were just supporting him.
“Just shut up,” you said to your inner voice as you turned out into traffic, “just stop.”
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coeurdastronaute · 4 years ago
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Essays in Existentialism: Plus One, Ch. 2
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Previously on Plus One
It oscillated every other minute between being an amazing idea, but also being the worst idea of all time, and Lexa was mostly exhausted of bouncing back and forth. It might be easier, she decided, if she just got herself on board with it being a good idea, but a deep, gnawing hole seemed to manifest itself in her gut at the very thought of seeing her ex. 
As she went through the motions of finishing the day, of doing inventory because it was Wednesday, Lexa tried not to distract herself with the thoughts of her impending trip. In just forty-eight hours, she’d be face to face with Costia, who she hadn’t seen in months, who she avoided before occasionally running awkwardly into each other at mutual friends’ events. She’d come face to face with her ex who was getting married. 
And she was going to do it with a complete stranger on her arm. 
With a heavy sigh, Lexa tossed her clipboard on her tiny desk in the storage closet and plopped down in the squeaky chair, tipping it back with a wail. Her sister was the worst. 
It was quiet in the shop, closed for just a handful of hours, Lexa always took a day to inventory and repair the damage of the week. She enjoyed the late evening work, when her workers were gone, and the shop was empty and full of dreams. No one knew how the cabinets stayed so clean, or how the scratches on table tops got sanded and fixed, or how the wobbly table by the window was miraculous cured one day, or how the ceiling fans got dusted, just that it all happened, and Lexa was off, meaning she didn’t come in until at least ten, the following morning. 
But Lexa sat in the chair and let her brain do the same mental gymnastics it always seemed to do in the new quiet she found herself craving. She opened her laptop and ignored the awaiting spreadsheet, and instead opted to look over the answer Clarke had given her to the “Know your partner” quiz Clarke googled and made them both do. A mix of basic information and Newlywed Game style innuendos, Lexa filled hers out after a bottle of wine and anxiously waited for Clarke’s. 
That was what started the daydreaming. She scrolled through Clarke’s answers and furrowed, doing her best to memorizing all that she could, as if she’d be tested on it all, as if it’d be impossible to believe she could be happy with someone like Clarke. 
And when those thoughts started to seep into her brain, Lexa leaned back again and dug the tips of her fingers into her eyes. 
In a week it’d be over. 
And with that and a deep, heavy sigh, Lexa looked at the screen again and went about learning Clarke. 
She started professionally, of course, looking at her corporate page and resume, because this was, if not anything, simply a business transaction and Lexa thought it was easier to parse a person if she didn’t actually have to fall for her. 
A graphic designer at Anya’s firm, Clarke held accolades and a long list of references. The link to her work showed a wide range of commercial campaigns and a certain amount of talent evident by her list of upcoming projects. A graduate of a small, private, liberal arts university, her academics leaned heavily scientific, which was a surprise until Lexa read some of the answers in the survey about a degree in physics given up for art. 
Lexa promised that she wouldn’t have looked at Clarke’s Instagram if Clarke hadn’t requested her first. She wasn’t someone who lurked, or at least she thought she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be someone who snuck around, digging through someone’s past, analyzing every filter and caption like a private investigator. But then Clarke appeared. 
And there were pictures of Clarke with friends getting drinks on a rooftop. And then the one with her laughing and baking. Or the Christmas party where she was on a corporate Santa’s lap, smiling so wide her eyes were shut. Despite herself Lexa found herself smiling along with the girl in the pictures. The one who went hiking with a pack of dogs, and the one who seemed to always be eating something. The one who had a lot of friends and enjoyed making them smile and laugh. The girl who posted storie about her morning run, and the girl who seemed to have a healthy work life balance. 
Lexa closed the webpages and stared at her inventory for exactly two seconds before curiosity won again and Lexa started looking at Costia’s account. There were the standard pictures of her pre-wedding planning. There was Costia working out. There was her new bride-to-be, happy and smiling at a gift for her birthday. 
And then a throwback that made Lexa’s stomach drop as she stared at a familiar image of Costia smiling in a bikini on a beach. It was from the last trip they took. Lexa was the one behind the camera. 
Three weeks after that picture was taken, Lexa walked in on Costia and a girl in the middle of the afternoon. Right in their own bed. Only to then discover it’d been going on for months. And it wasn’t the first. And then, Lexa didn’t remember much except that she moved into the apartment above her coffee shop and woke up one morning alone on sheets that weren’t familiar, in a room full of boxes. 
It seemed even more difficult to start inventory after that shot to the gut. 
But her phone went off, and Lexa leaned back in her chair after shutting the laptop again, wondering if that sinking feeling ever went away when it came to someone you love, or loved, or once loved, even for a moment. She didn’t have anything to compare it to, and she didn’t have any idea what love really was. 
It felt like a deep wound was scratched open, the scab pulled back, and a burning numbness gnawing at the bottom of her spine. It felt like it would swallow her whole, and Lexa hated, more than anything, giving anyone the power to do anything as such over her. 
Hey! Do you think this will go with your outfit?
An image came next, of Clarke in a dressing room wearing a very pretty dress, with very messy hair with her tongue sticking out. Lexa didn’t notice the gnawing feeling disappear. 
We don’t have to match completely. 
We do! Don’t you know how to date?
Not really. 
Another picture of another dress came a moment later. Clarke was pretty. She was happy and silly and kind. It felt oddly normal, for as crazy as the whole scheme actually was. 
I like that one, Lexa wrote, making sure to add a heart-eyed emoji to emphasize her point. Maybe that was flirting. Maybe she was allowed. She definitely needed more rules. 
Good, I do too. It matches your tie, you know? And these heels will still leave you a little taller than me. 
Sounds good to me!
Kind of excited. I guess I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow. 
I’ll be the one at the bar. 
I’ve heard it’s possible to find your soulmate at the airport. Something about the crossing of paths and time and space. 
If my soulmate is a bottle of wine, then I reckon I might. 
A love story for the ages. 
Lexa smiled once more at her phone before tossing it to the side and letting her head drop to the desk. With a groan she growled into her hands and broke it down. She just needed to make it seventy-two hours. That was it. She could sleep for about twenty of those. She could drink for another twenty or more, if she really tried. 
But this was it. This was the end. 
And regardless of the weight of everything else, there was something satisfying about knowing it was almost over. 
XXXXXXXXXX
The airport was absolutely teaming with bodies and people, weaving their way through the swelling crowds, loading and unloading the terminals at a constant, steady thumping rate, so regular one could set a watch to the heartbeat of the building. 
Clarke adjusted her bag on her shoulder and tapped the ticket against her thigh as she moved through the security line. The nerves were coming for some reason. That was why she was at the airport three hours before the flight. She was anxious and needed a stiff drink and a few moments to catch her breath. She needed to escape the whirlwind she’d allowed herself to create. 
Carefully, she made her way through the airport, checking the boards and finding her way to a seat in the empty waiting room. Not even an attendant waited at the kiosk. 
Once again, she let herself awkwardly scroll on her phone, learning everything she could about her future date and weekend plans. 
Lexa was nearly non-existent online. She didn’t have any pictures of herself. She rarely posted anything on her personal account, and when she did, it was just a book or a coffee or from a trip. She wasn’t one to enjoy being the center of attention, but when it came to her shop, she made sure to post almost daily, highlighting her employees and their recommendations, she made share to highlight events, she made sure to be as active as possible. 
Anya had already warned Clarke that her sister was devoted to her work. She’d poured all of her effort into being successful and part of the community, and Clarke admired it, she just wished that there was more for her to see. 
And so, once more, she flipped back to the long line of questions they’d filled out before giving up and gazing out the window at the planes coming and going. 
For a moment, she allowed herself to think that she was doing something nice and good. It was an act of charity. It was the shake up Clarke needed and was selfishly trying to package as benevolent. 
“You beat me, and I’m usually the first one here for a flight,” Lexa observed, walking up to Clarke, stealing her from her reverie. 
“I like airports. Just waiting for true love to stroll up and introduce themselves.”
Lexa shoved her hands in her pockets, her bag balanced on her shoulder as she cautiously looked around, surveying the empty terminal slowly. Clarke watched her look around, smiled at the innocence of it. Enjoyed the way she ran her hand through her hair, mussing it up a bit and tossing it to another side. 
“No one likes airports,” Lexa shook her head before taking the seat beside her. 
“I do. They’re romantic.” 
“Romantic?” 
“You can get onto a plane, and a few hours later, you’re hundred of miles away, and it’s different weather, and it’s a different time zone. You can go to sleep in a different state. How can you not be romantic about that.”
“It’s a tin can filled with recycle air.” 
“But there are peanuts.” 
That did it. Lexa cracked a smile to herself and relaxed a little. 
“I was going to be the first one here. Surprise you with coffee, but you beat me to it.” 
“You are quite a good girlfriend. Someone clearly trained you well.” 
Lexa shook her head, somewhat bashful, somewhat reserved. There was always something right there, just below the surface, obfuscated by a kind of resolve to never give anything away, not at any price. Clarke read it between words in their texts and emails, a glaring finality in the simple pixel of a period. 
“Can I get you a coffee? Two creams, two sugar right?”
“You don’t have to--”
“It’s early and I’m trying to be charming. Allow me to somewhat repay you for this whole endeavour.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, darling.” 
With the term of endearment, Lexa nodded, grinning into her chest as she stood and made her way across the terminal in search of sustenance. Clarke watched her take out her phone, texting her sister no doubt. 
Once more, Clarke resumed the digging on her own, scrolling on her own phone at old pictures on Lexa’s profile. She was ready for fun, and she was ready to crack at that facade. 
“I don’t know if this will help,” Lexa sighed as she sat down. “I didn’t sleep a wink last night.” 
“Oh this won’t be good for me either,” Clarke said as she took a sip. “I’m a fairly nervous flyer.”
“And yet you let me get us both coffee.” 
“You made a good point, and I’m prepared to be paid back all weekend.” 
With another grin, Lexa leaned back, her arm going on the back of the chair that Clarke inhabited, naturally, with ease, with a level of comfort. 
“Are you ready to tell me the story?” 
“Which one is that?” Clarke turned to look at her date, returned from an absent moment. 
“How we met.” 
“How we met,” she nodded, her smile bordering on mischievous. “That’s simple. Don’t you remember? It was a very blustery Tuesday, and I was trying to escape the wind and rain. I almost tripped coming into your coffee shop, but you happened to be sweeping, and were kind enough to catch me.”
“You’re severely overestimating my reflexes.” 
“Fine. I ran you over and we both ended up on our asses in the middle of the coffee shop. Coffee everywhere.” 
“Sounds pretty likely.” 
“And I knew right there, I was hooked. Those eyes, all angry and annoyed at me for not looking where I was going, despite my persistent defense that I’d been assaulted by the weather.” 
“Why do I have to be the angry one?” 
“Wouldn’t you be though?” Clarke returned, daring her to be contradicted.
“Maybe,” Lexa agreed over the lid of her cup, fretting with it nervously. 
“So I crashed into you, and you bought be a coffee. I turned up every day after that until I finally asked you out. You took longer than I would have liked to answer me, but I accepted it anyway, and we’ve been madly in love ever since.” 
“And when was this?” 
“About eight months ago.” 
“How’s it going so far?” 
“Splendidly. I’ve already met your sister, who it happens that I work with, which is super convenient for everyone.” 
Quietly, Lexa sat there, going over the story, going over all of the past eight months of apparent bliss in her head. Clarke watched her furrow before softening, her eyes not seeing, but rather looking through the window as a plane took off and another landed. The softening of her features was soon met with a perplexion, a slight, gentle contortion of the brow and the lips, a tightening as a kind of confusion overtook the ease of the entire story. 
“Is it that easy?” Lexa asked quietly, turning her head toward her date. Clarke cocked her head, waiting for more. “Is all of it… just… a wind? Waiting for someone to just ask you out? Is it that easy? Does that happen to people?” 
“It can. How does anything happen in the world? It just… does. The universe is just a series of things happening, all of the time, right?”
“But is it that easy?”
To her credit, Clarke thought about it. She flexed her jaw and took a deep breath before slowing letting it go as she wondered if it really was. 
“I don’t know. Maybe it can be.” 
“How?”
“I guess there has to be a balance to making things happen and letting things happen.” 
“I don’t know if I’m good at either of those things,” Lexa confessed. She sat up straighter a moment later, afraid of her honesty, and surprised more by how easily it came out. 
“I think you can be.”
“That’s probably too kind.” 
“We’ll see.” 
Clarke rubbed Lexa’s shoulder, rubbed the middle of her back between her shoulder blades until she reached the collar of her shirt, where she massaged her neck. She tensed before relaxing, and Clarke didn’t stop, just rubbed there gently, slowly until she knew it was enough and she trailed her palm back toward the seat. 
It was right there, they just didn’t know it.
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ficsnroses · 4 years ago
Text
Different - Keanu Reeves x Reader
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[not my gif]
summary : you attempt to explain social media to your oblivious boyfriend, Keanu, during a cute impromptu evening cuddle session.
warnings : loads of fluff! age difference [not specified], x f! reader.
words : 1.9k. 
notes : slowly working through my requests. this was requested by a lovely anon. lemme know whatcha think! as always, feedback is so so welcome.
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“Hey, babe, you wanna go on a motorcycle ride?” A pondering Keanu wonders, worn out arch hat held in thick fingers. “There’s supposed to be a killer sunset soon.” Long hair outgrown freshly, his shining threads of raven hair had begun to host sporadic specks of silver; managing an appearance all the more handsome.
“Yeah, sure.” You return, eyes focused to the black mirror screen of your phone; inattentive to say the least. Eyes absorbed to the blue screen below, your breathes move slow, deliberate; relaxed. Normally, you weren’t one to centre immense attention to social media, or the raging world at your finger tips. Nonetheless; your feed just happened to be far too fulfilled today, far too many intriguing eye catchers spattered upon your personalized canvas.
“Where did uh-…” You start, eyes still motionless, caged to your device. “Where did you uh…wanna,” Paused, brows thread slight, absorbed. Eyes scrunching with your head shaken slightly, your mind struggles to produce the proper word, momentarily consumed by the images in front of you. “Go.” You blink, snapping; slight emphasis on the word when it finally finds your tongue. “Where did you want to go, baby?” Sparked interest, your tone holds curiosity; attentiveness. All hues you’d hoped Keanu understood you did have in the moment; just momentarily distracted. “You said something about motorcycle…?”
“Yeah, a ride…” Keanu begins again, observing your occupied form situated on the crème couch of his home. Keanu and you were still quite fresh, still adjusting to life together. Merely a firm 4 months into your relationship, you’d figured out one thing quite swift.
You’d keep each other around as long the universe would allow, as long as the skies let. Love is blind, you’d heard; and blind it would stay. The age difference was a factor you’d had to talk out, factor into what had grown. Yet one datum would ring true, triumphant above all.
        You love him, and he loves you.
        It was as simple as could be.
“Yenno, a ride down sunset maybe,” Keanu speaks, distracted to his train of thought when your eyes stay intent to your screen. “Up the hill to our favourite spot and…uh…” Stocky hand ran through his hair, Keanu’s voice retracts, baritone gently higher when he asks aloud. “Hey, babe, are you even listening?”
Breathing a deep inhale, your eyes flutter to your tall, deliciously handsome boyfriend. In blue jeans and a simple black shirt, he miens delectable; soft features with his full beard tamed to a beautiful fresh groom; your heart races by the second. “Of course I’m listening.” You giggle, patting the vacant spot beside your frame. “C’mere.” You smile, cellphone discarded to the fluffed cotton of the opposite pillow. Keanu carefully situates himself down adjacent, sighing with his heavy palms rested to his jean clad thighs.
He smells of pine, and a cigarette smoked hours ago. Lingering, the scent of your special shea shampoo radiates off his mane; you’d been leaving considerably more of your belongings at his place recently.
“Motorcycle ride. Sunset.” You chime, arms wrapping delicately snaked to his neck, with a gentle kiss placed to dark, stubble ridden cheek. “I was indeed listening.” Finishing, your head rests softly just under his neck to the broad of his chest, arms finding refuge wrapped around his toned torso. Keanu sighs, his own arms finding your body when they engulf around your waist, one hand rested to his thigh as his other soothes gentle, caring brushes to your hip.
      His heart thuds gentle, a quiet pacify;
      calm as that first pepper of dew on damp earth, and you sigh,
      similar to the way mother earth gratifies to the feel of fresh rain,
               kissing her roots.
“Gosh I feel old seeing you so…” His voice is full, a heavy drum like the confident sky that brings deep puddles, clear velvet gold. “…fixed on that thing.” He laments, and your hand moves to rest to his chest; offering gentle, tender rubs with the soft pad of your thumb.
“Hmm?” You wonder, gazing up to his chocolate eyes in question. He silences a moment longer, before enduring. “What even is so…interesting about that stuff?” He asks, his own palm moving to rest over yours that stills to his chest. “I mean, I’ve heard about that uh, Instant-gram thing?” He offers, hearing your soft giggle below, against his chest. “And Tweeter, I know Tweeter. Some friends use it.” He justifies, stare locked to the ceiling above. “But what even is the big deal, yenno?”
Quiet, and discreet; your chuckles struggle to contain hearing your boyfriend absolutely butcher the names of rather popular platforms. He’s adorably oblivious, and you feel yourself fall a little harder for him by the second. With a tender squeeze to his arm, you correct. “Instagram, honey. And Twitter, not Tweeter.”
Keanu throws his head back against the couch, a thick smile creeps his lips midst his own blunder. You smile a simper, fingers reaching up to scratch his abrasive beard in a tender stroke. “Also, what do you mean, Ke? It’s just…yenno, social media. It’s fun, keeps me entertained.” You explain, head still rest to his chest with your fingers mindlessly grazing, scratching his cheek. “You know, how you read books when you’ve got time to spare?” You attempt a connection.
His hold on you tightens. “I guess I just don’t get it.” Frowned, his fingers lace with yours toying; gently twining your much softer ones. “I’m too old for this stuff.” He chuckles, head thrown back yet again in a deep sigh.
You recognise Keanu often beats himself up for being older than you, habitually worries he won’t be able to give you the fun, exhilaration, adventure he would have been able to offer easier when he had been a decade fresher; less drear to his timeworn bones, scarcer gray to showered his beard.
Consoling, your grip to his delicate palm firms. “Hey. You know what, lemme show.” Reasoned off your pink stained lips, a soft kiss embeds to his shirt arrayed chest, figure stretching to grab the bulk of your phone. Excited, you open your screen, routinely beginning with Instagram. “Alright.” You enthuse, holding the phone out in between your interwoven bodies. “So, this is my feed. It contains all the accounts I follow, so I can easily see what they’re up to.” You explain, soft padded index scrolling through the stream. “In turn, people who want to see what I post follow me as well. They’re called my followers, see?” You enlighten, showing him your wide compilation of names.
“So you mean like…trackers? These are your trackers?” Keanu’s eyes squint as he gapes the screen, russet eyes struggling to focus on one certain aspect of the screen. It was all much, all new.
Intriguing, but very new.
Already, he’d been struggling to keep up. “No, Ke. That’s weird, and creepy.” You correct. “Followers, okay?” You emphasize, shifting to position your legs up on the couch in a cross seated station. “Anyway, so, I scroll through my feed, and see what people post. I can also give them a like, to show them that I’ve seen it and like it.” His head nods slowly in captivation, although those tender, chocolate eyes still break muddled; wonder dense to his brain. “Alright, and this is my explore page. It has customized posts just for me, complied of all the things I like.” You smile, showing him the screen.
“How does it know what you like?” He genuinely asks, hand raked through his generous, roasty strands. Leaning forward, his figure looms beside you, fully engaged.
“It…it just does. It sees the stuff I usually like and just…does a thing.” You half successfully explain, shifting yet again to get more comfortable.
“Well, sweetheart, that doesn’t sound too safe.” Keanu quietly doubts. “Are you sure this is safe, Y/N?”
Giggling, your arms capture around his bicep, tugging his warm, broad body closer. “Yes, grand dad. It’s safe, the entire world uses it.” Teasing, your eyes scrunch to offer him a bantered, playful expression; a smile vast situated on Keanu’s thin lips in return.
“Alright, here hold it and give it a scroll.” You offer, watching the way your phone appears rather small; dainty in his heavy grip. Keanu grasps the casing with one hand, from the base; similar to the way a middle aged women perhaps would, scrolling very slow through the page with his index finger of his spare hand accompanying.
“Why is the world dissolving?” He timidly, low toned asks, in reference to an Avengers meme. Chuckling, you rub his bicep to a beaming smile of his inability to understand internet culture, allowing his eyes to scan further in.
“Oh! Lemme show you tiktok.” Beaming, your fingers retract the phone, opening the app for him to see. Nonetheless, upon arrival to your home screen, a baffled Keanu gasps, deep baritone questioning in query. “Why are they all screaming?” He ponders, baffled with the device in grip,
and with a raging laugh, your hands exit the screen, leaving your phone to discard to the table below, yet again. “Alright, maybe we’ll save the world of tiktok for another day.”
Sighing, Keanu positions back on the couch, opening his toned arms for you to snuggle into, yet again. Against your cheek, his deep tone rumbles, voice certain with statement. “I still don’t get it.” He confesses, a gentle chuckle apparent to his suave tone. “Hey, sweetheart,” He assures, your hand taken in his. “I’m sorry these things aren’t really what I’m into. I know you like them, and care about them. I’m a little lame.” He jokes, gentle exhale to a rasped chortle.
Awed, your frame moves, just enough to tower over him slight, yet still staying situated in his embrace.
“Well,” poking his chest, you smile. “I think I like you better anyway.” Slow; gentle, your legs drape over his thighs, situating your body to straddle in his lap, arms loomed around his chest, you warmly beam between delicate kisses to his visage.
       “You make me laugh more,” a kiss to his cheek,
       “You keep me company,” a kiss to his forehead,
       “You listen to me when I need you,” a softer one to his nose,
“And, you kill spiders for me.” A final, gentler one to his silken lips; the most luxurious delight you’d ever relish in. “You live in the moment. And that’s pretty freaking cool if you ask me.” Heavy palms place to your hips, his love drunk gaze watching you shower him in nothing but pure, unconditional adoration. And he smiles,
he smiles, wholly. Knowing he had the woman he’d been waiting for, for countless lonesome nights and secluded days.
“You want to take me on a motorcycle ride to see the sunset, because you know it’s my favourite. You really are something else.” You quietly express, awestruck. “Something special grows inside you.” Sincerely, your eyes pierce into his soul, illuminating. Quiet, content, gratified, you pull him closer, whispering; “You’re really something else, Ke.”
Finally, to the sound of his appreciative hum, you soothe, flattening a wrinkle on his shirted chest, grinning. “Now. I believe you owe me a sunset, Reeves.”
And to the sound of your silken tone; fresh as summer flowers and soft running water, Keanu grins, his voice a knowing smile, gentle kiss daubed to your forehead.
        “A thousand sunsets fall nothing compared to you, baby.”
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴
My taglist will be posted in reblogs, let me know if you want to be added or removed! :)
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to-star-lake · 5 years ago
Text
re: untitled [ pt. 3 ]
pairing | jjk x reader genre | ceo!jk, arranged marriage word count | 4.5k rating | M, 18+ pt. 1, pt. 2, end
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You opened your eyes to the blinding light of the sun shining high and bright in the sky, and blinked a few times to adjust yourself to the brightness, rubbing them with your fingertips. 
You took a deep breath and closed your eyes to go back to sleep when your brain began registering your surroundings. You shifted your legs under the sheets and noticed that this was not your bed, and opening your eyes wide, you looked around and realized this was not your room. 
Images of the night before began flashing back to you and you felt your body tense up, remembering everything that happened. Under the sheets, you felt Jungkook shift beside you, and noticed his arm was around your waist and was pulling you backward, your bare skin pressing against his. 
You waited until his movements stopped and turned very slowly, trying not to wake him. You turned to see him, still fast asleep, long strands of his hair falling down over his eyes, his shoulder and the dark patterns and lines of his tattoos exposed over the edge of the blanket. 
Shit.
Despite the ringing hangover in your head, you were able to recollect everything that happened last night. How Jungkook burst into Taehyung’s apartment. How he cornered you in the elevator. How he pulled you into him to pose for photos at the benefit. How the two of you got into a drunken spat at an event full of your clients and colleagues. How Namjoon made both of you leave only for the two of you to continue the fight at home. The fight that led to this. 
Your head spun with all of the thoughts swirling through your mind. You slept with him. Oh god, you slept with him. Was it because both of you were drunk, filled with adrenaline from fighting, and needed an outlet for the pent up frustration you both felt? How did this happen?
Jungkook shifted a little, snuggling his face into the pillow and you felt his arm around your waist pull you closer. You took a long breath in in an attempt to calm yourself, but the lingering scent of the cologne on his skin made your eyes heavy and you remembered in excruciating detail how he touched you, the way he held you, the way he made you feel. How good it felt. 
You reached a hand out slowly, gently brushing a few strands of hair from his eyes. You’d never seen him this close before. Or maybe you have, but you weren’t really looking. You traced your fingertips softly over his brow bone, across his cheeks, your eyes catching the little moles on his nose, under his lower lip, and wondered how long he’s had these, why you’d never noticed them before. 
He stirred at the movement and mumbled something into the pillow and you retracted your hand quickly, not wanting to wake him. Not wanting to face him. 
Slowly and carefully, you slid your body out from under his arm, and slipped out from underneath the covers. You tiptoed quickly from his room, quietly picking up the pieces of your undergarments trailing to the living room. You moved quickly to your side of the penthouse and shut the door quietly behind you. Once the door was closed, you leaned your head back against it, feeling your tense muscles relax as you took a deep breath. 
You stepped into the rain shower in your bathroom, turning the water on as hot as you could tolerate, hoping a little bit of pain might distract you from all the thoughts running through your head. You doused yourself in soap and shampoo, wanting to wash his scent from your body. 
You felt ashamed. Not because you slept with him. You felt ashamed because you were finally registering the few words you exchanged before you drifted into the deepest sleep in his arms. 
I’ve never slept with any of those girls, you know. 
You put a hand up against the marble wall of the shower, trying to hold yourself up but your legs felt like they were giving out under you. You lowered your head and let the hot water spill over your body.
I haven’t slept with any other girl. Not after that night at dinner with our parents. The month before our wedding.
You felt your hand clench into a fist, your cheeks grew hot and you felt a warm liquid building along the bottom of your eyes. 
Because I’ve only ever wanted you.
You slid down to the floor of the shower, curling into a ball, leaning against the marble, tears flying from your eyes. You held your legs close, head buried into your knees, making a concerted effort to focus on taking deep breaths to stop crying. 
After a few moments, you were able to stop the tears flowing and the adrenaline seemed to fade. The steam from the shower helped clear your head, but when you stepped out and wiped the fog from the mirror, you saw how swollen your eyes were from crying. And you saw the darkened patches of clotted blood underneath the skin of your neck and shoulder. You wished you could wash these marks he made away too. 
Think, you thought to yourself, closing your eyes and bracing yourself against the counter. Had he given you any indication that this was how he felt? Why didn’t he say anything earlier? Why didn’t he just tell you how he felt? Why didn’t he, at any point during the engagement, try to reach out and just talk to you? Or anytime during the last two years?
And how could he feel this way? How could he be like this? Sure, you were childhood friends, but you never saw him as more than that. In fact, although he liked to follow you around as a small child, when both of you grew to be teenagers he became increasingly distant and standoffish towards you. 
You tried to shake your thoughts away, taking a seat at the vanity and began dabbing foundation over the marks on your neck. You got dressed, ultimately choosing to tie a silk scarf around your neck because no amount of foundation was going to do any good. 
Carefully opening the door to your bedroom, you peaked out to make sure he hadn’t woken up. You heard no sounds in the living room or kitchen and you silently tiptoed back down the hall to his side of the penthouse and lingered in the open doorway to his room for a moment. He was still blissfully asleep, his dark hair a wavy mess on the pillows. 
You thought of Taehyung on your drive to the office. You remembered that tonight was his art show. That about two months ago he told you that for the first time, he would actually open a gallery and exhibit his work for the public, something you’d been encouraging him to do for a long time. And he wanted you to attend. 
You knew you needed the day to clear your head, and getting some things done at the office would be the perfect distraction. And then tonight, you would call Jungkook, and get to the bottom of how this happened. And you would text Taehyung, and inform him that you can’t make it to his art exhibit after all. You thought you didn’t want to see him, at least for a while, until you have everything figured out. 
You heard a soft, wry laugh from yourself. There was a bit of poetic irony in the events of last night, you thought. That on the night you told your husband you wanted to divorce him (though you didn’t mean it), it was also the night the two of you finally consummated your marriage. 
Miya, your secretary, greeted you at the elevator the way she does every morning with a latte and your calendar for the day to review with you. And as you made your way through the open floor space to your office, she sat down across from you and mentioned that the security team was doing a full sweep of everyone’s hardware storage, and that their remit to everyone in the company is to go through their cloud drive and emails and delete anything that was not needed or should not be saved, even the CEO needed to comply. 
You glanced over your schedule and thanked Miya for the coffee, glad for the mindless task of deleting emails because it would make for a good distraction. As you were flipping through endless pages of emails in your various work and personal mailboxes, you came across one folder in the junk category you didn’t recognize. 
The folder was labeled with only a single dash and you can’t remember if you created this, or if this was a standard folder that the email drive provided. 
You clicked on it, and more than 50 unread emails loaded. You furrowed your brows, confused, but found your eyes opening wide in surprise and confusion when you read the ‘from��� column. The email address that sent you all of these messages was jjk1997, and every email had the same generic subject - 
re: untitled. 
You scrolled through the pages until you found the very first email from this address, simply denoted as ‘untitled.’ And this email had been opened, as opposed to all the others that came after. When the message itself loaded, you saw that it was a photo of Yoongi, your first crush from middle school, kissing one of your friends. 
The memories of how this happened came crashing back to you. 
Years ago, way back in middle school, when the two of you still attended school together, you remember there was an older boy that you had a crush on. You remember revealing who that was to Jungkook and a few of your friends during a game of truth or dare at one of your parents work events; one of those events where all the children of the executives in attendance banded together. 
And you remembered that a week later, Jungkook sent you this photo, without a subject, without an explanation. And you remembered being furious with him for sending it. You didn’t understand it. You supposed his intention was to inform you that you should not go for this guy, because he was making out with one of your friends after school. But you felt so embarrassed that he’d taken action on this personal information he knew about you. You felt exploited. 
And so you had clicked the filter messages like these button at the top of the page. The site had asked you to name the folder you wanted to filter these messages to and in the absence of wanting to give Jungkook’s emails any meaning, you simply typed -. 
That’s why you never saw these, you thought to yourself. Upon receiving any correspondence from Jungkook, your email automatically filed them away into the folder nested under the Junk category. And he’d sent you so many. You scrolled back again through the pages and found that the latest email from him was sent over two years ago. In fact, the date on it was the date of that night with both of your parents when they announced your engagement. 
You clicked on the email to open it, and realized it was part of the same chain that originated with the first message. You took a deep breath and read it. 
‘You didn’t seem too happy about what happened tonight. I’ve known that we were betrothed for a long time, my parents told me about it when I was 7. You looked so taken aback, I can only assume your parents never told you about the arrangement. 
You can tell me if you really don’t want to do this. 
You should know, I’m okay with this. I’ve known about it for a long time. But I guess you must feel differently. If you don’t wanna go through with this, I’ll talk to my parents, I’ll make up something. Im not gonna let our parents to force you into this if it’s not what you want.
But before I do that, I want to see you. There are some things I want to say. 
I’ll be at the cafe on 52nd, a couple blocks up from the restaurant tomorrow at noon.
- JK’
You sat frozen at your desk, eyes glued to the screen, unable to look away. 
Finally, you were able to restore movement to your hand over the mouse and you frantically clicked through the rest of the emails from him and you found the contents to be very similar. They were all mostly photos from his travels. 
Photos of a fishing boat, crossing a wide river in misting rain to a small island in the distance. Below those photos he wrote the word Patagonia. Photos of impressionist paintings from Monet to Seurat, old architecture and towers of petite cakes in candy shops, blue and white ocean waves crashing onto giant rocks, titled Cote d'Azur. Photos of vast, open fields of green, snow capped mountains in the distance, sheep grazing, titled Milford Sound. Aquamarine waters, sailboats, and an ivory city on a plateau that rose above the sea, titled Malta. 
These weren’t just photos of all the places he’d gone. They were also all the places you have always dreamed of visiting if you weren’t so busy and stressed with school, with work. 
You referenced the dates on these, and they began the summer after he was sent away to boarding school, extending through when both of you had gone away to college. 
You leaned back in your chair, stunned. 
He had tried to keep in contact with you all these years. 
You sprung from your chair, grabbing your purse and turned to fly through the doors to your office when you saw Seokjin at Miya’s desk outside, a frantic look in his eye, a stack of papers in his arms. 
He turned, making eye contact with you as you were walking out and you held a hand up, “Not today, Jin, I have to go-”
“Y/N, please, this is urgent,” he said. You examined the panicked expression on his face and turned back toward your office. 
“Ok, let’s make this quick,” you said, holding the door open for Seokjin as he stumbled his way to the chair across from your desk, dropping the stack of papers down with a thud. 
“Okay, well, um-” he mumbled.
“Jin, just, tell me what’s going on, succinctly please.” 
“Well, ok, here,” Jin grabbed a manila folder that sat at the top of the stack and opened it to a long document with a table on it that looked like a bank statement. “Look at this,” he said.
You glanced through the line items, confirming that it was in fact a bank statement from your company’s corporate account, and all the deposits and withdrawals were from your clients, from investors, and out to all the vendors and expenses the company pays. 
“This is just our bank statement, Jin, this is what you wanted me to look at?” you asked, impatient. 
“No, this is what I want you to look at,” he responded, flipping through the pages until somewhere in the middle of the stack, and pointed to a single line item of a transfer of twenty thousand dollars from the company’s corporate account. 
“I don’t recognize this vendor, do you?” he asked, “And I realized, I’ve seen this line item before. At first I thought it must’ve been something to do with when we moved to the new office, the admins might’ve contracted some designers or architects for the office. But transfers to this company have been made regularly, every month, for the same amount, for the last two years. I thought this couldn’t be right.” He looked at you intently, waiting for your response. 
But you had none. You stared down at the line item he pointed to. And at the stack of other bank statements he brought in. The twenty thousand dollar transfer was made to a company called Vante Studios, LLC. 
“Maybe I should bring this to Taehyung instead, surely the CFO knows what’s going with this-” he continued impatiently. 
“No,” you stopped him abruptly. “No, I will look into this personally. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Jin, have you told anyone else about this?” 
He shook his head, a confused expression manifesting on his face. 
“Ok Jin, this is very important, this does not leave this room.” 
“So you do know what this company is?” He inquired. 
“No I don’t, so I will look into it.” you lied through your teeth and motioned for him to leave your office. 
Once Jin left you just sat there, staring down at the sheet of paper. You knew exactly what this company was. Vante Studios was what you and Taehyung always joked he should name his art gallery if he ever opened his own. And now he has. 
“Miya?” you called from your desk. She stood from her desk and poked her head through the opened glass door. 
“Yes?”
“Please call down to the showroom and bring up that black dress and heels I’m wearing to the gallery opening tonight,” you said. Miya nodded and a short 30 minutes later, you had changed into the little silk slip dress and strappy heels, and you were on your way to the gallery. 
You needed to confront Taehyung. 
The gallery was packed when you arrived. Undoubtedly thanks to your contacting all the local journalists and photographers to cover the event ahead of time and help build anticipation for the gallery opening on Taehyung’s behalf. 
Walking through the front door, you looked on in disbelief at the tall concrete walls of the gallery, the exposed piping and brick, the glazed marble floor, the gilded wallpaper accents, the waiters and mixologists in three piece Gucci suits, carrying endless glasses of Moet through the crowd. You knew the money was for this. Because in looking at the way this gallery was designed, there was no way Taehyung afforded this on his own. 
You often wondered but never thought too much on how Taehyung was able to afford his lavish lifestyle - the first edition books on the mahogany bookshelf in his apartment, the authentic Marie Antoinette tea set in his china cabinet, the Van Goghs hanging from the walls. 
You navigated your way through the crowd, finding Taehyung standing before a photograph he’d taken, printed in black and white. He was waving his hand around, steeped in drama, explaining the photo in artistic detail to his audience. You stood at the periphery of the room, observing him. At how he could act like everything was ok. At how he smiled, the smile you thought you adored but now revile. 
You were about to make your way through the crowds to him when you saw a valet open the front door of the gallery and Jungkook walked in. 
You tried to duck away, attempting to blend into the crowds but you couldn’t help glancing over at him as he looked around the groups of people, looking for you. You couldn’t help looking at the long strands of his dark hair, tucked behind one ear, the other side hanging over his cheeks. At his chest and shoulders under a pressed black shirt and black coat, stitched with silver tinsel. At his long legs in a pair of perfectly fitted black trousers. He looked in your direction and your eyes met for a moment. 
You saw the corner of his lips lift in a soft smile, and he moved to walk towards you but you turned, averting his gaze and walked quickly towards the back of the venue, finding an empty storage closet. You quickly shut and locked the door behind you, hoping that in the midst of the crowds of people, he didn’t see where you went. 
You weren’t ready to face him. Not yet. You still needed to confront Taehyung but you knew there would now be two confrontations if you let this go on. So you decided you needed to find a way to leave the venue, and save these confrontations for another day. 
Taking a deep breath, you let out a sharp exhale and turned the doorknob to leave and as you stepped out, bumped directly into someone. 
“Oh, I’m sorry about that-”
An arm reached out and slid down around your waist, and he took a step forward, pushing you back into the supply closet, closing and locking the door behind him. You felt your own breathing become shallow and the air around you grow thin when you smelled the familiar scent of amber and patchouli radiating from the heat of the body in front of you. 
In the dark, tiny, confined space, the only light source was a sliver of orange glow from the crack underneath the door. He pushed your back against the metal shelving on the wall and pushed his lips onto yours, his arm holding onto your waist tightly, crushing your body against his, his other hand gripping onto your jaw, refusing to allow you to move away. 
“JK..” you mumbled weakly against his lips molding into yours, his tongue forcing your mouth open. You felt your cheeks growing flushed, a dull aching building in your core and his hand slid down to your hips, his fingertips digging into your skin. 
You lifted your hands up into small fists against his chest, completely ineffectual in pushing him away with any meaningful force. You thought you couldn’t do this. Not again. Not here. 
But your body refused to stop as his tongue glided over yours, his hands now sliding down to your legs, fingertips brushing softly at the exposed skin under the lace hem of your dress. He kissed at the corner of your mouth, your cheeks, and ducked his head under your chin, clamping down onto your neck, making you gasp as he pushed his thigh between your legs, the pressure making you feel like you would turn into a puddle, melting into him. 
“You left me without a word this morning,” he whispered into your skin, hands brushing the straps of your dress from your shoulders. 
“JK..I, wait..I need to..” you were struggling to obtain enough air to get the words out you needed to, and you could hear his breathing becoming more ragged as he bit at your ear, his breaths hot against your skin. “I need to talk to you,” you managed to choke out as his hand found the lace material of your panties under your dress, hooking his finger underneath the ribbons that held it up. 
He pressed his lips to yours, “Ok, go ahead,” he moaned into you. 
“No...no I can’t talk like this..” you panted. 
“So tell me to stop,” he whined, his tongue rolling into your mouth. 
“I..” you gasped. “I don’t want you to stop..” you reached down to his belt, hastily tugging at it, tearing the zipper open, gliding your fingers underneath the hem of his briefs. 
He tugged at your hips roughly and spun you around, pushing you against the wall. His hands glided up the back of your thighs, and you could feel the soft silk material of the hem of your dress being pulled up over your hips. You arched your back, pressing your ass against him, feeling his hard cock pressing into your drenched panties.
You gasped, clawing your fingertips into the wall as he ran a finger down the soaked material on your clit, massaging you. 
“JK..please..” you begged. 
You felt his fingers pull your panties to the side, and felt the tip of him rubbing against your entrance and you felt like you were melting around him. 
He slid a hand around your neck, pulling at your jaw, pulling your head back to lean against his shoulder. He leaned over and bit at the skin of your neck, and you whined to him, begging for more of him, and he gently pushed only a little more of himself inside you, denying you full satisfaction. You felt yourself trembling against him in need, your wetness dripping down all around him.
“Did you come here to see him tonight?” he growled into your ear. 
“I..” you were completely out of breath, seeing stars behind your closed eyes. 
“You still want him after last night?” he tilted your head back with his hand, forcing his tongue into your mouth. 
“Mmm, no...that’s not..” you couldn’t breathe. “Fuck..JK..what are you doing to me...” you begged as he was grinding against you at an agonizingly slow pace, continuing to deny you the full length of his cock. 
He bit at your lower lip, pushing a little more of himself into you. 
“I’m making sure you never even think about another man again.” And with that, he thrust all of himself deep inside you, his hand moving swiftly over your mouth, covering the scream that escaped your lungs as he pushed into you. 
“No one else can ever make you feel like this, do you understand,” he whispered into your ear, thrusting into you harder, filling you to the absolute brim. He slid a hand over your neck, closing around your throat with the gentlest force and you felt all the muscles in your body begin to tense. 
“JK..I..” you were losing all control as he pushed you to the edge. 
“Go ahead, love,” he commanded, his hot breath against your ear, sliding his arm around you, bracing you tightly against him. “Show me how good I make you feel.” 
“Fuck, JK-” 
Your body shook against him, in little waves at first, then violently as he held you tightly against him, burying himself deep inside you and you could feel his own climax pooling warmly in your core, his hand pressed firmly over your mouth to cover your gasps and screams, and you reached back to cover his. 
His head collapsed onto your shoulder and you fell against the wall, both of you fighting for the little bit of oxygen in the room. He waited for your body to find stillness and pulled himself away gently. He tugged the hem of your dress down, and with gentle hands, guided you to turn to face him. 
He planted soft kisses on your lips and cheeks and your forehead, his hands cupped around your flushed cheeks. 
“Let’s go home,” he whispered, leaning his forehead down to yours. 
You closed your eyes, and as the little stars started fading, you were again being hit by reality. You remembered Taehyung. You remembered you were still at his gallery. 
Jungkook could sense this chaos in your mind and pulled his head back to study you for a moment. But his lips curled into a smile, a little scrunch forming on the bridge of his nose, little lines appearing at the corners of his eyes. You’d never seen him like this before. 
“Come home with me,” he said. 
You took a deep breath in. “I will,” you answered. “Just, not yet. There’s something I have to do first.” 
He looked into your eyes for a moment, confused, but nodded. He leaned down and gave you a long kiss, breathing you in. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
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backtobackbakubabe · 5 years ago
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Stuck in the Middle with You
Bakugo X Reader
Reader is a closet couponer and when word started spreading that there was going to be a mandatory quarantine to fend off a virus you weren't worried. You had enough supplies to last for months. However it wasn't until now that you realized you had no idea how to cook and you relied on take out and fast food for most of your meals. The only person who knew about your crazy couponing habit was Bakugo, so when he called and asked if he could raid your stash you got an idea.
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You scrolled through your phone on your way home. Every headline was about the rising death toll of some crazy new virus making its way across the world. Work had sent everyone home until further notice and you couldn't stop the anxiety from bubbling up in your stomach. Logically you knew you were fine. You were a very clean and healthy person not to mention the fact that you had a secret stash of goods in your basement that you had from couponing.
You didn't tell people about you little hobby because you knew how it looked. Most people think couponers are cheap crazy people who just enjoy hoarding random stuff. Well jokes on them, because now you can go home and not have to risk your life over a roll of toilet paper at the store.
The only person who knew about your hoard was Bakugo. He had stumbled upon it one night when you had hosted movie night for you and all of your friends. You had sworn him to secrecy but naturally he made sure to make fun of you before returning to your friends upstairs. Shortly after that anytime Bakugo would find himself near your office he’d make a point to drop off any coupons he had collected since seeing you last. He always had something mean to say when he dropped them off. But you knew it was just his way to show he cared.
You weren't a hero like the rest of them but you had all gone to UA. You had just taken a different path after graduation. You decided hero work just wasnt for you and went back to school. You had decided to go into forensic psychology instead. Your quirk allowed you to read peoples minds, but only in fragments. Sometimes it was hard to piece together what it all meant, especially if you didn’t know them personally. So you gave up the flashy cape and now work behind a desk.
You went down to the basement to take inventory of your stash of goods and tried to estimate how long it would last. If you were smart about it you could definitely spread it out over a few months. No that you anticipated it would take that long. You were halfway up the steps back to the main level of the house when you stopped short... You had no idea how to cook.... Sure a lot of it was no brainer stuff. Dump it from the can into a bowl, pop it on the stove or microwave and done. But that was only going to get you so far. You had relied way too heavily on fast food the past few years. You had never felt the need to learn how to cook. You guess you could always look up Youtube tutor-
“Burn baby burn! Disco inferno! Burb baby burn!” You phone began to ring a very specific ringtone that was assigned to one very specific person. Disco inferno continued to blare as you got an excellent idea.
“Bakugo! What do I have the pleasure of this phone call?”
You could practically hear him role his eyes at you, “Save it shrink, I need some stuff for this dumbass quarantine but there's no fucking way I’m going to the grocery store. We both know I’d end up blowing something up.”
You tried to hide your giggles at the mental image of Bakugo fighting a middle aged women over bottled water. “So you called me? Why?”
You knew exactly why he was calling. And he knew, that you knew why he was calling. You just wanted to hear him ask nicely for once. He groaned and took a deep breath, “Listen here idiot. I know you have tons of shit in that basement of yours. I also know I personally provided several coupons that contributed to that hoard of yours.”
“So? You think that means you are entitled to some of it then?”
“WHAT?! NO! I’m just... shit y/n I’m just asking if I can come pick up some essentials. I’ll even pay you for it.... please?”
You giggled, “I’m just messing with you Bakugo. Of course you can come get some stuff... but on one condition.”
You heard him sigh and mutter something under his breath, “What do you need?”
Your grin grew from ear to ear, “Oh nothing big... I just need you to teach me how to cook...”
The phone was silent for a few moments, “You don't know how to cook? THEN WHY THE HELL DO YOU STASH ALL OF THOSE GROCERIES?!”
You rolled your eyes, “Can you help me or not?”
He scoffed, “Y/n were supposed to be quarantined... I can’t exactly hang out at your house and teach you how to cook. That is something that takes time.”
“Okay so come get your stuff and in exchange when ever you make something FaceTime me and walk me through it...”
“Are you really that bad of a cook?”
You chewed on your lip, a nasty habit you did when you were stressed out, “YES! okay.. I mean I actually dont know. I’ve never actually tried. I practically live off starbucks, take out, and the cafeteria at my office building...”
“....Fine. I’ll be there in 10 minuets.”
He hung up before you could thank him.
You went ahead and went up to your room to change out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable. You hated the formal attire you were forced to wear and usually stripped down the second the front door was closed behind you. Down to a tank top and leggings you strolled back downstairs just in time to hear a knock at the door.
You pulled the door open to a grumpy looking Bakugo who came prepared with a box to put his supplies in. “Alright let’s get this over with. follow me downstairs.”
He pushed past you, “I don’t need your help thanks. I have enough cash to cover for anything I’ll take. I need go get back home soon before they decide to lock us down.”
You rolled your eyes as you followed him down to the basement, “I already told you, you dont have to pay me. Just make sure I dont starve. And what do you mean lockdown?”
Bakugo placed his box on a table and started loading it up with canned goods, toilet paper, water, and whatever else he needed. “Yeah dumbass lockdown. Have you not been watching the news? They’re considering making it mandatory that everyone stay inside until further notice. No exceptions.”
You bit your lip, “Well surely that doesn’t apply to you right? You’re a hero. You have hero shit to do. There’s no way they’d force you to stay locked up.”
He growled, “Yeah you’d think. But with mandatory lockdown crime will go down. They may need some people to help enforce it but that's more like police work. I think their exact words were, ‘a sick hero isn't good for anything’ or something like that. So unless they really need us they’d prefer us to sit out asses at home and stay healthy.”
You bit your lip even harder. You hadn't known is was that serious. You thought everyone was just trying to be cautious but now it felt... kind of scary. You would be stuck here, all alone, by yourself. No one here but you. No where to go. No one to listen, no one to help. Sure you had practically raised yourself. You had lived off of whatever you could microwave since you were a child. Oh shit you didnt want to think about that. Not now. You had a tendency to spiral when you thought about your childhood. You couldnt do that now, not with Bakugo standing in the same room. Your mind was spinning you didnt even notice Bakugo talking to you.
He would have been irritated but you honestly looked upset, even a little pale if he was being honest. He gently took your elbow in his hand and gave it a good squeeze, “Earth to Y/n. Hello anyone home.”
You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief moment before returning to reality, “I dont even know how to make coffee.”
Bakugo gave you a weird look. He knew you tended to be a worrier by nature but you seemed like you were about to crack. “Well if you hurry up maybe I can show you before I leave. But I’m serious when I say I’m leaving in 10 minutes regardless.”
You followed him back upstairs and into the kitchen in a daze. You could feel the spiral forming. You could feel your head growing fuzzy as your heart thumped in your chest. You made it to the top of the steps when Bakugo’s phone buzzed. He answered it all the while staring at you. He could see something was wrong. You looked like you were about to faint. You knew he was talking to someone but you couldn’t hear what he was saying over the loud thoughts in your head.
You started to slump to the floor and leaned back against the refrigerator. This was it. You were officially having a panic attack. In front of Bakugo of all people. Before you knew it Bakugo was on his knees in front of you. He took your face in his hands. His tone was very soft and comforting, but his words couldn't reach your ears.
His thumb softly wiped the silent tears that were now flowing down your cheeks. You hadn't even known you were crying. Your heart continued to race as your brain did it's best to convince you that you were dying. Finally he leaned in and kissed you. It wasnt passionate or sloppy. Just a hard, firm press of his lips against yours.
Then the clouds started to fade away. You usually never used your quirk on your friends but you couldn’t help it. You were hit with a fragment of his consciousness and all you saw was an article on panic attacks. He had googled this at some point. He had read an article on what to do if someone had a panic attack. Your heart rate slowed and your breathing slowly evened out.
His hands remained cupped around your cheeks as his red eyes bore into your and watched as you came back to yourself. “Y/n nod your head if you can hear me.” You nodded your head and he eyes melted with relief. “Are you okay? I mean duh your not okay but you know what I mean...” You nodded again. He took a huge breath and pulled you to him in a comforting embrace. “Alright dumbass just try to match your breathing to mine... let me know when you're good or whatever.”
He was trying to sound irritated but you knew he was just trying to protect his tough guy reputation. After a few minutes of you leaning into him you started to blush. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I’m mortified.” You pushed him away slightly and leaned back against the wall. “You shouldn’t have had to see me like that. I’m usually better at... you know...” You rubbed your arm nervously and bit into your already sore lip.
He continued to observe you like you were about to shatter, “Well I wasnt going to leave you hyperventilating on the floor. I’m a hero. I’m pretty sure I could lose my license for that.”
You smirked and stood up on wobbly legs. “Well thanks... that was actually the quickest I’ve come out of one of those. Whatever you looked up worked.”
It was now his turn to blush. “How did you know I looked it up?”
You shrugged, “I saw it. Well a piece of it. You know how it is. Bits and pieces... so is that why you uh.... you know?”
Bakugo stood up and collected his phone from where he had dropped it, “Uh yeah... I remembered seeing it on some dumb tv show but I wasnt sure if it was true or not....” He looked with a weird look of concern but also annoyance, “Look you dont have to talk about it... but if you want to.... I'm here for you.”
You stepped closer and gave him a hug, “Thanks. You’re too sweet. But it’s a long story and you should probably head home before you end up stuck here.”
He put his hand on your forehead and pushed you away. “Oi I meant it when I said I was here for you damnit!” He turned around and continued on his quest to make coffee. “Besides I can’t really leave anyways...”
Your eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. “What do you mean you cant leave?”
He kept his back to you as he looked through the cabinets for a coffee maker. “Well you know that phone call I got right before you freaked out. It was my boss letting me know that mandatory lockdown is in place as of now.” When you didn’t answer he turned to look at you, “He also informed me that someone from my apartment building tested positive, so I really cant go home.” 
You nodded at him before going to the cabinet that held your coffee maker that had never even been out of the box. “Okay.”
Bakugo took the box from your hands with a cautious look, “Okay? OKAY! You literally just had a fucking melt down over the fact that we were going into lockdown and now your just..... OKAY!” 
You shrugged as you went to the refrigerator to pull our a bottle of water. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You took a few  gulps of water before returning your attention to his confused face, “Not that yelling at me is helping by the way...”
His cheeks reddened just slightly before he narrowed his eyes, “So we’re stuck together huh?” 
You sighed, “Looks like it....”
He growled, “Fuck my life...”
You crossed your arms over your chest, “I’m not exactly thrilled either alright.” 
He shook his head and started pulling out pots and pans, “How do you like your pancakes?”
Your eyebrows furrowed, “What?”
“Are you def or just stupid. If we’re going to be stuck here then I want breakfast for dinner. So I will ask one more time... How do you like your fucking pancakes?”
You bit your lip, “With chocolate chips please...” 
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cherry3point14 · 4 years ago
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Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 3
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Series Masterlist
Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Meta baby. Pure meta. Word count: 2,100. Chapter Summary: Your google search turns up something unexpected. A/N: No author in this one for... reasons. Also this one is kind of short and lame. A means to an end if you will, but trust me, Ch 4 is a doozy. P.S it’s nearly 3am so Chapter 4 will be up when I wake up, ya dig.
Ao3 if you prefer
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It’s almost funny how dramatic the voice in your head wants to be about those suited criminals and yet it doesn’t care to elaborate on anything important. Like, say, your imminent death. The mention of it was so casual, calm, but a couple of weirdos want to pretend to be insurance adjusters and suddenly it’s all pretty prose and run-on sentences. Flowery language about broad-shouldered men in roaring muscle cars that are going to change your life. She’d kept going while you’d interviewed Maggie Hall. She’d harped on and on about how you couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Of course, you couldn’t stop thinking about them, she wouldn’t shut up about them.
After an entire monologue about the way the paper felt in your hands and could never be replaced by computers—purists are the worst—you finally get to leave. That's when you get some respite. You’re walking out into the late afternoon sun and thanking Maggie for her time and it's bliss. Maggie's story sounds a little off, after years doing this you have this gut instinct for when you should investigate further. Funnily enough, you have drama in your life that you’ll submit a valid claim anyway. Just so you can get this cursed case out of your hair. You might even hurry it through the system before the thing has the chance to kill you.
You’re still not sure how a case could kill you. You’re a pencil pusher at best and the interview with Maggie is an excellent example of the majority of your fieldwork, obviously excluding the criminals at the start. Unless your demise is death by papercut.
For now, you’ve given up trying to fathom out the voice you’re hearing, especially since she's chosen to once again go radio silent. If she won’t say anything useful, like say how not to die, then you were going to have to figure out how to skip ahead on your own. Since she kept talking about the imposters you’d met that day, they seemed to be an excellent place to start.
CNK 80Q3. Ohio plates. That's as much as you know without google.
That evening you set yourself up in the same way you would to work from home. There's a desk in the corner of your dining room with a chair that offers enough lumbar support for the longest of research sessions. Although it’s your personal laptop and there’s not normally a large glass of wine sitting next to you when work.
After it powers on you’re assaulted by the usual pop-ups; windows you forgot to close last time and your emails. Procrastinating is not a new routine, and you’re on a mission, so they all get minimized instead of closed completely. Then you open a new browser window and a stark google homepage stares back at you. A hopeful new beginning.
CNK 80Q3. You’re genuinely surprised that she hasn’t started talking again to describe the change in the air as you type in the plate number. Or some drivel about the way your fingers emphasize each letter and number. It’s all there happening anyway, making the moment foreboding, but your narrator doesn’t seem care.
The first row of results are images. Weirdly its images of the license plate itself. That doesn't strike you as odd at first glance and then you think about it a little more. Why are there so many pictures of this particular license plate? Who is running around taking these pictures? You're pretty sure if you typed in your own plate number there would be no pictures of it. And then you see some shopping results where you can actually buy the plate. While the online shops might explain the images, it only really poses more questions. Why are so many people buying that license plate? What’s so special about it?
You take a sip of your wine before you scroll further, savoring the taste as well as the way it relaxes your shoulders. You don't own any 'fun' novelty coasters that say it but you're inclined to agree with the statement you've heard before. Wine really does make everything better.
You’re not yet into the murky depths of page 2 but you’re far enough down the page now to make it past the sponsored results. These links come thick and fast from websites that all seem to have one word in common. Supernatural.
Then you see your salvation. A page called Supernaturalwiki—the link is simply titled: Impala—and you stop scrolling, a grateful sound slipping past your lips as you do. Wiki, you know that word. Like Wikipedia. Wikipedia has references and moderators', clear and concise explanations. This was the easy way out you were looking for.
That’s what you hope as you click on the link anyway. Your naivety lasts all of twenty seconds before the page loads. With its stock image of a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, and a quote about it being the most important object in the universe.
Or it's the most important object in some books at least.
Further clicking and longer sips of wine reveal it’s a series of books called Supernatural—with the title of the wiki you should have seen that coming. These were story after story of ghosts and demons and angels? There are pages that describe monsters, urban legends, and two men. Sam and Dean Winchester. They each have dedicated pages with their whole lives mapped out.
Sam and Dean are fictional brothers and apparently the heroes. Each of their respective profiles begins with an illustrated image from book covers, and then a series of quotes that contradict those pictures. Then their lives are intricately detailed, or should you say they are chronologically recorded according to each book. You would read their histories in full if it wasn't for how tiny the scroll bar is, indicating that these profile pages are ridiculously long.
You sit back in your chair and take a deep breath in the hopes of it being soothing. Or answering all your questions. It does neither. You have no answers and more stress.
This went beyond two men pretending to do your job now. Those guys were driving around in a car with fictional license plates. What was this? Some weirdly immersive cosplay? Was that something Sam and Dean did in the books?
Even so, those two guys weren’t roleplaying at comic con, they were actually in that woman's home. If you hadn't arrived they could have done anything. They could be doing anything now.
There's a ding from the kitchen which means the frozen meal you’d thrown in the oven is ready. Not that you stop thinking about this while you go and grab it because the more you think the less sense everything makes. Like why is a narrator who, until now, was obsessed with those guys, so very silent all of a sudden?
Back at your desk with hot food, you head back to google to see if you can buy these books anywhere because knowledge is power. Unfortunately, not even Amazon has copies. It’s only when you add the term “ebook” to your search do you find a Tumblr blog with links to download all the files, split into two categories. Published and unpublished. There are a lot of Supernatural books and from the looks of it there’s an equal amount of drama over how the unpublished ones got out.
You start downloading them without consciously making a decision to read them. Downloading kind of happens because your macaroni cheese is too hot for your mouth to handle yet, and your hands still need something to do. Besides you didn’t necessarily need to read all of them, if they were truly terrible you’d delete the files. No harm, no foul. But if this was the only way to get answers then you and your kindle were going to be pretty busy this weekend.
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“Morning Laura.” Nobody likes Mondays, yet you have a little bounce in your step having made your usual green tea, got dressed, and driven to work in complete and utter silence. In fact, you’d heard nothing all weekend. The caveat was that, yes, you’d spent all weekend reading those books.
You liked reading and without discrimination. Trashy romance novels at the airport? You betcha. Fantasy books thicker than your mattress? Sure thing, order a pizza. But a mystery? Well, those were your favorite. Of course, the detective needed some sort of sketchy backstory and there had to be a fishy amount of red herrings. Most importantly there had to be something to solve. It was an elevation of your day to day life and you always get sucked in. In your job, you try to solve the most benign mysteries; people faking insurance claims. More often than not there isn’t even a mystery to solve, someone really did slip and break something. So, a mystery that grabs you out of nowhere is like a promotion for you, a challenge.
That had been how those Supernatural books had dragged you in. Ghosts and ghouls you could take or leave, you might have stopped reading if that’s all there was. Then this Carver Edlund went and put in that damn side plot about their missing father. It was too enticing, addicting. From the cryptic disappearance to the indecipherable journal of clues. John Winchester would be the death of you.
Or case 24-01 would be. The jury was still out on that.
And now it’s Monday. You’ve heard nothing more from the voice in your head—it may have been a low-level case of carbon monoxide poisoning—and the boys are so close to figuring everything out you can taste it. Technically they know John is alive by now, you finished Shadow some point yesterday afternoon and felt yourself choke up at the emotional goodbye with a father they just got back. But they still have no clue what he's up to, which is a hideous funhouse mirror reflection of your own life. Hopefully, by the time they figure out John’s game plan, you'll have your life figured out too. And fingers crossed figuring everything out will involve staying alive as well.
“You look like you’re feeling better this morning.” Laura is her perky self, always a little too happy for this side of 9am.
Oh right, you went home sick on Friday. You should remember things like that. “I think it was a bug or something I ate maybe.”
“Sure, sure. One of those convenient Friday bugs.” She winks at you.
If she accused you of that say, last week, you’d have laughed it off given that's a thing everyone has in common; trying to skip out on work. So, that's what you try to do this side of the weekend. You push out something that hopefully resembles a regular person's laugh like you’re in on the joke. You have to fake it because you’re still thinking about Providence. The book you’d finished that morning instead of watching the news. You’re still wondering if Sam is starting to move on after Jessica. 
Needless to say, you understand now. The many fan blogs and the artwork you’d glanced at before you started reading. All those things that you’d disregarded as an unhealthy fascination for a bunch of books. Now you’re one of them, obsessed. Walking into the office with your kindle tucked in your bag and Salvation just begging to be read.
This goes beyond finding John. That plot got its hooks in you but you’ve known John was alive since Home and you’re still reading. You could also blame this on your general love of reading except it goes beyond that too. Honestly, it’s hard to pick one thing. They’re really great books. Sam and Dean have such turbulent lives but they still have each other. They’re snarky, lost, angry, and caring. They’re both so different but the sibling relationship is so real. And the stories go beyond a new monster every book, there are these huge interesting story arcs that you couldn't stop reading if you tried. John Winchester had been the first example of these addictive plot points, but not the only one.
“Y/N?”
You snap your head up, “sorry, sorry.”
“I was only saying you’re going to be here all day then, lunch?”
Even though Laura must see the decision on your face she still pretends to hope until you start speaking. “Actually I have a lot to catch up on so I’ll probably be working through. Tomorrow?”
She smiles brightly and nods, “sure thing.”
As bad as you feel about lying to Laura she has presented you an opportunity. Everyone thinks you were sick on Friday. They even think you're behind on your work and they don’t know you’ve already conducted the initial interview. Which makes your decision to sit at your desk and prop your kindle up next to your screen even easier. Nobody would notice the difference between you concentrating or reading. If you skip lunch you might be able to get to Bloodlust out of the way too.
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Continue to Chapter 4.
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5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23  Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278​ @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson
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carryonmywaywardwriters · 5 years ago
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One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader
A/N: Part Three! If you’d like to be tagged, please sent an ask or message. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3
PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.
Series Masterlist
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Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Grieving process. Age Gap. Character pregnancy. Unrequited feelings. Online personality problems. Guilt. I believe that is all.
Word Count: Roughly 2,700
“Hi, there,” The woman giggled into the mic as Jensen played up the flirty eyebrow bounce and cheesy smile that would be cast over Tumblr within twenty four hours.
He was finished after that final panel, for the trip. Nothing sounded better than a hot shower and catching some sleep. His mind was still reeling from the news he'd been given that morning, but he couldn't focus on that. So, he buried himself behind that charming persona he'd created.
“Dude, leave her alone...she wants me,” Jared smoothed his thick, long, chestnut locks in a way that caused thirsty cries from all around. He cackled as his friend mock frowned his way; unimpressed at the turn of attention. Earning the familiar high pitched laugh from the crowd in front of them.
It was easy to play into their hands. To take the nerves that came with being shy and put it towards acting like a dork with his best friend. He appreciated the disguise more than he'd ever say. Letting it mask the worry and fear he could feel churning inside of him when it was too quiet for long.
“Actually, my question is for Jensen-”
“Ha!” The mentioned man in question leaned forward at the barked utterance, pretending to gloat. Smugly bouncing his brows at Padalecki.
With a deep, regretful sigh, the taller of the two settled back in his chair; wrapping his arms around the back of it as he sat in reverse, “Okay, I guess.” The over dramatically stated words were coupled with a theatrical sulk that drew forth more giggles.
“I was wondering if Y/N and the kids are enjoying the trip to San Diego,” It was no secret that his family had been flocked around him. Until now, that is. The way he paused at that had every eye present turning towards him.
“Uh, actually...” He forced his lips to stay upright. “They're back home, right now.” Concerned 'awes' filled the air. “No, no. It's okay. They're living it up.” Jared turned his gaze back to the man he'd been brothers with for almost two decades. Not buying into the idea that he was really alright with it. “Last time I checked, they were having some kinda dance party. Again.” The way he clenched his teeth relaxed the fans a bit. An over emphasized grimace always seemed to break the mood. “It was wild. There was pink everywhere and a herd of little girls shouting to music.”
“Odette was leading the charge on the one I got,” The taller man joined in, having received his own recording. “Kicked Zeppelin over to my place for an old fashioned dinosaur night with the boys.” More awes filled the air.
“Y/N sent you something? I thought you two still weren't talking after you tried to drown her?” His brow crooked, finding something he could latch onto. Knowing that his friend had delivered that ammo on purpose. He really did love the moose.
“I can explain!” Jared held up his hand towards the 'ooohs,' and then stopped. “No... no, I can't.” His head dipped in false shame, earning another set of rambunctious chuckles.
“I can.” Jensen easily took over. Turning to better face the crowd now that he'd successfully maneuvered around the original question. “This guy tortures my nanny. She's like the female version of Misha to Jared. It's endless.” The mentioned man's lips screwed up as he nodded proudly, accepting the label that was thrown onto you. “So, we were at a cookout over at his place. I'm flipping burgers and relaxing with a beer. You know...like a normal person.” His words only made his friend shrug. Zero shame in sight. “Next thing I know? She's screeching as he full on tosses her into the pool.”
“She called me old!” The roar that followed was deafening. “See? They get it!” He beamed at the response only serving to make Jensen over-exaggerate the roll of his green eyes. “And, it worked. What did she say after?”
“You're a child.” The admission was straightforward.
“Meaning that I'm young, and that she was wrong.” A round of applause made him get to his feet, and bow as the widower shook his head in mock shame. Cracking his own grin.
The mic was lifted back to Jensen's lips, “Dude...you started a war because she told the truth?” He knew what had been said, but the crowd was eating it up. Keeping him safe for a little while longer.
“That hurts...” A pat to the heart was thrown in. “That hurts me right there.”
“The kids all joined in. It was chaos.” Ackles explained the previous comment to the women, with a few men scattered here and there. “My kids and Y/N versus his herd and him. We needed an ark to get to the tables. They soaked everything.” His hand panned across the people in front of him, emphasizing how far the damage had spread. “Everything. Gen thought they were going to kill each other.” Jared cackled. Remembering the look on his wife's face. “Y'all know how we had to stop pranking each other, right? 'Cause it was so deadly? That's what they should be doing. Instead, she's become this...epic battle partner. I'm thinking they'll start the next apocalypse before this is over.” A proud nod confirmed it. Jared wouldn't give in until the world ended. Or, he had to go back to work. Whichever happened first.
“Do you prank Y/N?” Someone shouted, catching his attention.
“Do I... Do I prank her? Are you kidding? Do I look stupid?” More laughs filled the air as he shuddered something fierce. “Misha? Absolutely. He doesn't fight back.” His fingers tacked off each point. “He doesn't live in my house. Doesn't hang out with my kids. I like not having to worry about her sicking my spawn on me in retaliation. They'd do it in a heart beat, too.” And most importantly, it kept the professional barriers somewhat in place. “Yeah, no, Y/N and I don't....we're not...” Weren't anything other than co-parents, employer and employee, and almost friends in an odd sort of way. How's that for complicated?
“As fun as I am,” Jared finished, saving him, again. Hoping that the fans wouldn't take that last statement as he had started to. He covered his own look of interest before diving back into the panel. “Now, that we went way off topic....who's next?”
“How did the 'mom' thing even start?” You asked in confusion, scrolling through your Instagram notifications. Your feet thrown over the back of the couch as you sprawled. Making yourself quite at home in the Ackles house. The selfie you'd posted while cleaning the damage the girls had caused was packed.
Not that you weren't used to it by that stage. The moment Danneel had tagged you in a post, it had been over. You'd been stalked and fawned over by some. When she passed? You'd been flocked for updates about the Ackles family.
It had taken a year for you to gather the courage to begin posting again. Once you did? The fandom clung to you for offering small pieces of what life was like inside the Ackles' household. Needing to have that sense of closeness to the supernatural family, still, even with a member gone.
The simple image of you with Oscar resting his head on your lap as you sorted the makeup away had garnered the usual 'queen', 'mom', and 'I love yous' mixed with the occasional trash talker. Once Jensen had commented saying he wanted his dog back when he got home? It had grown worse. When you told him that he'd have to fight you for the golden doodle? The post had blown up. The fans demanding to know if you and him had something going on.
Apparently his panel had only cemented the idea, somehow. You hadn't watched it. Leaving you to only wonder what he'd said to garner that response. Sure it had simply been taken out of context.
You scrolled on, determined to find some answers. A few flicks of your fingers and fate intervened. The phone slipped to your face. Making you wince all the while. As if life had directly told you that social media was bad for your health.
With a sigh, you tossed your phone to the couch. Trying to not let the extreme Danneel and Jensen fans get under your skin. Too many 'you'll never be her' comments filled your mind. More than enough 'stop trying to take her place' had you questioning where you stood. You were doing everything you could to get what was needed done while not dancing on your deceased friend's toes.
Did the world really not understand? Were you really any better off than they suggested? The small crush said you weren't.
“No idea,” Genevieve stated seriously, walking towards the grey couch you were occupying with a pile of healthy snacks loaded up. Pulling you from the internal struggle. She'd been extra conscious of what she was putting into her body since she'd discovered the newest pregnancy. “I just kinda...roll with it.”
She and the kiddos were bunking with you. Tag teaming was so much simpler when the baby exhaustion hit. And it gave the both of you some grownup time together when the men were away.
“It's so strange,” You picked up one of the grapes with your fingers before plopping it in your mouth. Giving up on trying to understand the fact that you'd become an icon of sorts- and the ramifications- for simply nannying some, albeit great, kids.
At your friend's next words, you choked, “So...what's the deal with you and Jensen?”
“It's the same as its always been,” Came the broken words as you got back a hold of yourself. Brushing it off. “Why?”
“Just curious,” That wasn't it. The cool, actress's poker face she wore said as much. But, you were too sensitive to call her out on it, just then. Luckily, she changed gears. “I can't believe that this is it...The last season is being filmed this year.”
The CW had finally pulled the plug on the Winchesters once it had hit adulthood. The boys had found out in a meeting that morning. They'd known it was coming. Had even agreed to it. And yet? Hearing the finality of it? Was another nail in the coffin.
“Eighteen seasons...It's crazy.” Your hand ran through your hair as you looked at the old episode on screen. Sister Jo stood off against Michael!Dean. The tension in the scene was palpable. It didn't hurt to watch it, anymore. Instead, you focused on the fact that she'd been doing what she loved with the man she'd been head over heels for. “How's Jared holding up?”
“He's zeroed in on the kids. Telling himself that it's going to be good for us in the end.” Her hand rubbed over her still flat stomach. “But, he's definitely feeling it. He's been Sam for so long... Saying goodbye is hard.”
“That it is,” You agreed, frowning at the screen. Wondering how Jensen was taking the day.
He hadn't said a thing to you when he'd checked in. Simply had asked for an update on the household before he crashed. Dean had become his crutch. Without the Winchester in his life, you weren't quite sure what he'd do with himself.
Ackles had a passion for directing and acting. There was no doubt about it. But, Supernatural had become everything when his life had turned upside down. It had given him the consistency he'd needed to get through. And while things had been okay for a time? It would be just another major thing he was losing.
Your socked foot rubbed over the soft fur of Icarus. The cockapoo was up there in age. He'd been diagnosed with congestive heart failure at sixteen years old. The white, fifteen pounds of floof didn't let it deter him, though. A couple of pills a day kept him comfortable and loved for as long as he could be. But, it had gotten under Jensen's skin, too.
It made your stomach churn to think about how fast the negative could pile up on already weakened shoulders. And yet, he wanted you to step back. Having time away from him had cleared your head. Allowed you to see his side of things. Maybe it was time to give him some room to breathe. To let him process everything on his own. After all, you were just the nanny...
“Dad!” Three voices shouted in unison when the door opened. Ditching their place at the table as Jensen stumbled in with a wide smile on his face. Each kid got a big hug, and a kiss on the cheek.
When they tried to talk over each other, he slowed them down, gently with a, “One at a time.” And, miraculously? It worked. He was informed of everything he'd already had reported to him. Only this time? In child perspective. Which made it dramatic. Completely over the top. Just the way he liked it.
A nod your way was all you received as you slipped past the scene; lifting his bag for him so that no one tripped over it. Including the bumbling dog that was trying to get a kiss in, himself. Oscar had missed his human while he'd been gone.
The dog had been with Danneel's brother during her last pregnancy. She'd been too sick to handle the energetic buffoon while Jensen had been away, filming the show. Gino had fallen in love with the pup. Keeping him...until he thought Jensen needed him more. Returning him back to the Ackles' home solemnly. Oscar had, once again, latched back onto the head of the house with a fierce loyalty that most wouldn't expect from a fluffed up mixed breed. The affection was mutual. Jensen's hand stilled the squirming beast with a simple pet to the top of his curled head as you left the chaos.
Jensen's room was clean. A feat that wouldn't last long once he started unpacking. Bed made up, clothes lined nice and neat, with just a hint of his cologne still lingering in the air from before he'd left. You dropped the duffle on the mattress and turned away. Only to catch sight of the image beside his pillow. It held the dogs, his wife, and the kids all surrounding him. Everything he loved in one picture. His family.
Slowly, you slid the door shut and returned back to the reunion, “Dinner's ready if you're hungry.” You smiled softly at the way he ensured each kid knew that they were loved before climbing back up to his feet. Lumbering after you to get the food while it was still hot.
“Spaghetti,” The actor rumbled in excitement, sniffing the air as he approached the table. His lips smacked hungrily. He was a sucker for a pasta with a good meat sauce. “The wardrobe ladies are gonna be mad at me, later, but I'm piling it up.” He hadn't exaggerated. The flight had left him hungry. “God, this is good.” Came the Dean-like groan as he chowed down. Forgetting that he didn't have to eat like a man who had lived off of nothing more than pizza and beer.
“Dad!” The tiny, disapproving tone left J.J with ease. “You're not supposed to talk with your mouth full.”
He gulped down the food, and smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, J-bird.”
“It's okay. Just try to remember,” The words were so Danneel that you couldn't help but to smile gently at them. She was going to be trouble as she continued to age. But, you had faith she'd be pretty great in the end. Hell, they all would if the night was any indication.
If he was upset about the show ending, he didn't show it. Even after the kids retired for the night and he helped clean up, he didn't say a word. The only thing you got was a pat on the back and a low “goodnight” that made your skin prickle before you returned your own.
Part Four
ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord​​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @ima-be-a-mongoose​ @briagallen​
Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​
Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​​ @supernaturalginger​​ @lilulo-12​​​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​​ @malfoysqueen14​​​  @michealneedssomemilk
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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years ago
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What Might Have Been - 17
@goodomenscelebration - Theme Prompts
Continuing to post as many as possible in one evening!
If you missed a chapter, they are all available on AO3!
CW for briefly described but very bad injuries; and for creepy abandoned towns
For those who need a reminder: “Crowley” is our Crowley, while his “mirror image” is the Alternate Universe version. “Aziraphale” (or the “Guardian of Humanity”) is the Alternate Universe angel, while “Kasbeel” is ours, in disguise.
I apologize for that being confusing.
Holiday
“Tell me about the angel.”
Crowley’s mirror image slumped against the wall, looking blankly at the space between them.
It was the only thing he ever asked. He never spoke of his own Aziraphale.
At first, Crowley had thought it was a trick. He’d kept his responses vague, evasive. What do you want me to say? Smug bastard with white wings. The mirror image had simply nodded.
Over time, Crowley started telling stories from their past, short ones, ones he thought over carefully, to ensure they wouldn’t reveal too much.
He likes oysters, way too much. Just. Salty, briny disgusting oysters, and he’ll eat a dozen of them in one sitting. Slurps them, too.
He can’t stand Charles Dickens. No idea why. Might just be that his customers are always asking for him, but I think they met once.
He’s been trying to learn to pull a coin from someone’s ear for over a century. Still drops the damn thing half the time. Isn’t it only supposed to take ten thousand hours to learn a skill? He’s coming up on a hundred thousand hours I think, and he still can’t get the fingers right.
And then, somewhere along the way, he stopped even guarding himself that much.
“He helps people,” Crowley said, turning his leg, which was still stiff and sore from the last torture session. The floor around him was black with demonic blood. “Even…when it’s really not worth it, even when there’s something way more important going on. One time, we were at this little restaurant in Italy. I turn my back for a minute, and there he goes, off washing dishes. He hates doing that sort of stuff, you know, always leaves them in the sink until I take care of it. But the girl in the back had been sick, and he sent her home and took over the job himself. Didn’t even use miracles, by the way, and couldn’t figure out how the machine worked, so he did it all by hand.”
“What…” the mirror image asked. “What was the more important thing?”
“Oh, uh, I’d been planning to ask him something. Not important what. We picked up the conversation later, but, um, he really ruined my first attempt.”
--
A hundred and forty miles to London.
Alone, Kasbeel could fly the distance in just under five hours. He would be exhausted, but he’d had a lot of practice the last few years.
He was not alone.
A Roman legion could walk twenty miles a day, setting up camp every night and breaking it in the morning. They could have made it in a week. Harold Godwinson had crossed from Yorkshire to Sussex in a little more than that.
But Kasbeel wasn’t leading an army.
He was leading nearly three hundred tired, hungry humans, most of them young, through enemy territory. Where they could be spotted at any moment and taken from him.
He took a deep breath, and walked through the crowd.
“Patrick, how’s the leg? Healing well? Ollie, make sure you hold onto Jennifer’s hand. Mrs. Sherwood, that’s not too many children? Please let Mrs. Kumar know if you need help. Amiyah, why don’t you move up to the front where we can see you? Alex, please, stay with your group, I don’t want to ask you again.” He greeted as many as he could, clasping shoulders, grasping hands.
When he reached the front, Lyla was waiting. She’d arranged her hair to hide the Mark on her cheekbone, as many did if they could. He bit his tongue and didn’t say anything. It was her choice.
“Are we ready to go?” she asked, tilting her head towards the highway, cutting south towards London.
“I believe so.” He glanced at the sky, black, filled with stars once more. It was comforting, and frightening. What else would change? “Let’s get as far as we can before sunrise.”
--
Ishliah had never seen the world before the apocalypse. Just barracks and training until the day the war started, then fighting, and fighting and fighting.
What spread before her now was almost incomprehensible. Little short plants growing everywhere from the ground, a vibrant, impossible green. And the taller ones – the trees – reaching almost to the top of the wall, branches spreading thick with fruit. Little animals sat in the branches, singing, not as varied or interesting as the singing of angels, but music nonetheless.
All that, and the sky above, brilliant blue again – it was almost enough to bring tears to her eyes.
“Ishliah of the Seventh Battalion. Welcome to New Eden.”
She turned, and her heart stopped in her chest. That face – she knew him, would never forget it, though now he was in uniform, flaming sword in hand. But the pale curls – the round face – the blue-grey eyes…
“You…” she managed, weakly.
“That would be the confirmation I need.” He stepped closer, still smiling. “I am Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, Principality of Earth and Guardian of Humanity. I believe you met someone claiming to be me, three years ago, according to your report.”
“That…it really was…you?” Her hands began to tremble, and she wondered if this was what fear felt like. She never felt it on the battlefield, but this was much, much worse.
Ishliah had lied in that report.
“No, it was not.” He patted her on the shoulder. “And I don’t believe many others understand what you truly witnessed. I don’t fully understand it myself, but I mean to. Now. You said this angel…” a screen appeared in his hand and he scrolled down, lips pursed as he read. “Here it is. He took you into a hidden room and tortured you for information? Is this true?”
“Yes?” She cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes. There was a great deal of pain and…he asked me questions…”
Something caught her eye down in the garden. A group of humans, being led to a smaller walled area not far away. The human in the lead was shouting, and they all seemed to be bound together on some sort of chain.
“Even here we have our troublemakers,” Aziraphale said, with something like regret. “Sometimes the children don’t grow obediently as we’d hoped, and sometimes the Retrieval teams make mistakes when identifying the Elect. Not often, but we have been very busy lately.” He nodded towards the smaller walled section. “The holding pen is their last chance. Gabriel will arrive in a week to deliver the final Judgement on them.”
“And…if they’re found wanting…?”
“They’re cast out, of course. Far from here. The Eastern Gate, you understand, is purely ceremonial.” He gestured to the outer wall beside them.
Ishliah glanced down to see, not quite directly below them, a single stone missing from the completely smooth face of the wall. It hardly looked large enough for even a young human to slip through. She checked the inside curve of the wall. No breaks there – the missing stone didn’t even reach all the way.
She looked up again to find the Guardian scrolling through her report with pursed lips. “Ishliah. I wonder if, perhaps, you weren’t completely honest in what you said?”
She clenched her jaw, the fear suddenly reaching a height she had never suspected. Was this why traitors deserted? She would do anything not to feel this way again…
But the Guardian merely smiled, stepping close, lowering his voice. “My dear. Do not worry. What you witnessed was…truly extraordinary, and of course you thought no one would believe you. But this is no longer an isolated incident. There have been…other reports, curious ones, and yours doesn’t quite line up. But if you tell me the truth now, all will be forgiven.”
Her eyes slid again to the holding pen. “All?”
He rested a hand on her back, turning her away, until she faced him and only him. “Now, Ishliah. Tell me about the angel.”
--
“Tell me about the angel.”
Crowley tried to sit up straighter. His leg had healed, but now there was some great gaping gash across his stomach, and the way his manacled arm hung kept stretching the wound.
“He’s a complete hedonist. Foods. Wines. He goes to the barber every month. His hair doesn’t grow, he’s never had a beard, and he never even changes his look. I have no idea why he does it, except to have someone wash his hair and buff his nails. But he always comes out smiling, like he’s found the secret to peace on earth.”
“Nh,” the mirror image said. Crowley looked up to find he had a hand pressed to the bleeding wound on his neck. But it hadn’t sounded like a noise of pain. “I…uh, yeah. I know the look.”
“He likes to spoil me, too, when he has a chance. Trying to cheer me up, I think. I don’t tell him when it works, though. I’ve got a reputation to maintain. One time in Rome, there was this place with oysters—”
“Stop.”
Crowley looked across the cell, but his mirror image might as well have lost interest, tugging himself towards the corner to sleep.
--
After three days of travel they reached Burton-upon-Trent.
The gang of wanderers divided into teams to explore, looking for supplies: food, medicine, clothing, shoes, anything that could be used as a weapon. Kasbeel and Lyla walked together with Squad A down the empty street, hot with the kind of blistering heat that only comes on a sunny day. Barricades were put up here and there, signs of the Marked painted on the walls, but no one came out to challenge them.
“I don’t like this,” Lyla muttered. “I don’t want to fight, but…where is everyone?”
All of the villages they’d passed had been abandoned. Apart from the angelic patrols, England was apparently empty.
Kasbeel shook his head. “The Sainsbury’s should be up ahead. Why don’t you…” he trailed off, looking at a few unbroken windows up the side of the street. “Why don’t you go on ahead? I have something to investigate here.”
Two hours later, Squad A emerged with four shopping trollies loaded with cans of soup, vegetables, powdered milk – everything they thought might still be edible after seven years. Lyla doubted it would last them more than a day or two.
No sooner had she stepped into the overly-bright day – she’d forgotten how painful the sun could be – then she heard a shriek, a high-pitched scream of a small child.
She spun, grabbing a can of food, ready to throw it at whatever angel, demon or human threatened her people –
The wanderers had gathered in the parking lot of the carwash across the street, and jets of water filled the air. She could still hear the children shrieking, but everyone else looked relaxed, calm, many of them smiling.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, prepared to push her way through the crowd, but they parted, pressing her forward until she saw the set up.
Four chairs, padded and high-backed, stood in a line across the parking lot. In each one, a child sat, dripping wet, while behind them the adults scrubbed and combed their hair, snipping with delicate scissors. They passed a hose up and down the line of chairs, rinsing the children off.
On one side, Alex had mastery of a single hose, waiting until a chair was free. “Next!” Ollie ran up, bouncing eagerly for his turn. Alex turned on the hose and drenched him, from head to toe, while the little boy shrieked, jumping up and down in the water. “Alright, you’re clean, go get your hair cut.”
On the other side, Kasbeel had set up a small table with two chairs. He sat on one side, and delicately rubbed at Mickey’s nails with an emery board, a pair of glasses she’d never seen before perched on his nose. “Ah, Lyla, you’re back. Join the queue, but be careful, many of the older customers are finding Alex’s methods a little intense.”
“What are you doing?” Lyla shoved at the table, causing little bottles of nail varnish to rattle. “You could have been helping us find food, and instead you’re – you’re wasting time!”
“I most certainly am not. Time is a precious commodity, you know, and ought never to be wasted.” He put down the emery board. “Do you want a color, Mickey? I think the pale pink would look wonderful.”
And Mickey – tough, stoic Mickey, veteran of five battles in the demonic army, Mark emblazoned on his brow for all to see – asked, “Can I try the gold? I like the way it shines.”
“Of course. A wonderful choice.”
“Look at me!” Lyla slammed her hand onto the table again. “What is wrong with you? We need to get everyone ready to move, we’re still weeks away from London. We don’t need—”
“My dear, you most certainly do need.” Kasbeel pulled off the glasses, brows snapping down. “Look at our people. They’ve been living in the mountains, in the dirt, covered in their own filth. It isn’t right.”
“So what? Who cares how we look? Humans lived like that for thousands of years. Our ancestors didn’t need to be pampered, they survived with the bare minimum—”
“Oh, no, who told you that?” Kasbeel shook a jar of nail varnish and began applying the first coat to Mickey’s nails. “I was there, and I can tell you. People bathed. People spent hours on their hair, and their eyebrows, and their nails, and elaborate henna tattoos, although I wasn’t able to find any supplies for that. It isn’t about wanting to look good, or to impress anyone. It’s about taking care of yourselves.” He blew a breath across Mickey’s nails, encouraging them to dry. “Being clean, being groomed, it makes humans feel human again.”
Lyla’s lip curled in disgust. But she looked back at the crowd, the smiling faces, the way the kids splashed in the puddles with bare feet, the way the adults laughed behind the stolen salon chairs, passing the hose back and forth. The teenagers all tugged at each other’s newly-short hair, running their fingers through it, marveling in how light it felt on a hot day.
She hadn’t seen her people like this. Hadn’t seen anyone like this. Not in so very long.
“Fine. If that’s what you want. And since we’re clearly going to spend the rest of the day here, I might as well look for a place to sleep. Something that’s actually necessary.”
She stormed up the street, past the shattered windows of the salons and nail parlors, past the Sainsbury’s again, and around the corner. She kept walking until the sounds of the crowd at the carwash were long gone, then just stood, quietly, in the street.
She wanted to scream, until the knot in her stomach was gone. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, and she couldn’t find the voice for it. So, she just stood there, in the street, fists clenched.
Until Kasbeel’s hand landed on her shoulder. “Would you like to talk about it, my dear?”
“Talk about what? I told you – I’m – I’m looking for a place for us to stay.”
“There were plenty of townhouses in the other direction, you know. And I’ve already sent a team to explore them. Unless you think a, er, door stripping establishment would make a better place to spend the night.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m mad, I feel like I don’t have any control over my mind. I’m just – I have a million thoughts racing in my head and I can’t even slow down long enough to actually think any of them, I just know we have to keep moving.”
“You’re afraid,” he told her. “You’re stressed, and although I forget it sometimes, you are still very young. I shouldn’t ask so much of you.”
“I can handle it!”
“Yes, you can. You handle it very well, taking care of the others, taking care of your brother before that. But, you know,” his hand rested under her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “It’s perfectly alright to take care of yourself, too. Indulge a little. Let yourself be happy. They deserve it. You deserve it. And it will make you feel better.”
“I just…I’m not sure I can relax anymore. What if they come for us while we’re all standing around, or—”
“If they do, I will be ready. I promise. I have not let my guard down for an instant.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, rubbed her back like a child. “That fear you feel. You know if the angels come back, there’s nothing you can do, but you want to be ready anyway. Your mind is telling you to find a solution that doesn’t exist. I’m sorry. But there is something you can do, I think.”
“What’s that?”
“There are many of my former colleagues who believe that anything which makes humans happy is a sin. I believe it is always worth indulging, just a little, to show them how little you care.”
--
“Oh. And one other thing.” Gabriel wasn’t happy. He often wasn’t happy these days. Bringing about the end of the world, it seemed, was more complicated than anyone had expected.
Aziraphale kept his face carefully blank.
“We have reports of a gang of hundreds of humans moving south, but the scouts can’t seem to get near it. Vanishes every time they try. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”
“Yes. I’ve been following up on these rumors for some time. The circumstances appear to me, well, nearly incomprehensible.” He hesitated, but only for a second. “It would appear these humans are being led by a rogue angel, posing as a scout or a messenger.”
“Rogue? You mean a deserter?” A brief flash of anger in Gabriel’s eyes, but it quickly vanished, smoothed over by something calm and patient. “Well. At least my best agent is already on this. Glad you took the initiative. Now. Tell me about the angel.”
--
The mirror image didn’t say anything today. He wasn’t a mirror image, either. He’d angered the angels who had come in earlier, refusing to cry out as they hurt him. Shoftiel had left him as a serpent, coiled mutely on the ground, and then they’d turned to Crowley.
“I can tell you about the angel,” Crowley offered. His throat was still raw from the screaming. They hadn’t even asked any questions, simply given him back his wings and broken every bone in them. It hurt, worse than almost anything else in the last three years. He wondered if it would ever stop hurting.
The serpent lifted his head, then let it fall heavily.
“He…he…” Crowley closed his eyes. It was so hard to think of a story. Not just the pain. His mind longed to be blank. “He is so soft. Like a cloud, like a warm blanket, like a pile of feathers. And that’s all most people ever see of him. A fool and a pushover and a – a – a lazy pleasure seeker who likes his books and his chair and his food. It’s what he wants, though. He wants to be soft.”
He closed his eyes and tilted back his head, ignoring the way his wings felt like a thousand pieces of shattered glass.
Far away, an angel led a troop of humans down the motorway. He laughed as he walked, carrying one of the youngest on his back. In the week of travel, they’d grown dirty again, their nails had lost their color, their clothes become faded and stained. But they still smiled, still tossed their heads, running fingers through their hair. The young woman beside him had hers cropped almost completely off, exposing the Mark on her cheekbone.
Suddenly, the angel stopped walking, his eyes locked on the sky above. None of the others had heard or sensed anything, but he knew what was coming. Three hundred humans gathered close in the shelter of his wide white wings, and his eyes took on the color of steel.
“But then…when he needs it…when the things he cares for are threatened…he isn’t soft at all.”
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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 years ago
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Witness : 6
The Day After
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moodboard created by @chuuulip
Character(s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too
Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.
Summary: The reader finds it hard to adjust after her first night with Bucky.
Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)
You weren’t sure of the time when Bucky left you. You didn’t move as his weight left the bed for the last time. Didn’t look to see the time. You couldn’t even recall what he had said when he left. Had he said anything? You were too shattered to listen. You just lay on the bed, sprawled in the position he had last broken you in, breathing but nothing more. You lingered on the other option.  Maybe death was better than this. Feeling so violated, languishing in your debasement. You couldn’t see that the void beyond could offer any such self-loathing. If you told him you had changed your mind, would he kill you now?After the hours he had spent relishing in your torment, you knew it was too late for that. He would use you until you outlived your usefulness. He had said as much upon your first real meeting.
Slowly, you moved one leg, then the other, and crawled across the bed and onto the floor. Your knees shook as you stood but you kept yourself upright. Your ass was sore, thighs too, your core thrumming from the abuse. You stared at the blankets, tangled across the mattress, your stomach recoiled. You turned and stumbled, reaching out desperately for balance as you lumbered into the washroom. Your guts spilled into the sink, mostly bile. You turned on the faucet and washed it away. You let yourself slump to the tile, leaning against the side of clawfoot tub. Your breath picked up but you couldn’t cry. Not anymore. It was a peculiar sensation. You felt numb yet agonized. It was a pain you couldn’t quite grasp. You hung your head and sat until the frosted glass lightened, signalling that day was close.
You sat in the shower, scrubbing at your skin, slowly at first but then your need to cleanse yourself grew frantic. You emerged with raw flesh and dressed in a pair off baggy sweatpants and an aged sweater with holes in the cuffs. You dumped the clothing from your hamper and ripped the sheets and blankets from atop your bed, shoving them deep within the tall basket.  You sat on the machine in the common laundry room as it shook with swirl of your bed clothing. Your fingers bent over the edge of the white metal, the subtle tumbling almost calming. You changed the load over and repeated your vigil.
You tossed the bedding down the garbage chute when they were done.
The sun was fully risen when you returned to your apartment, refusing to enter the bedroom and acknowledge your barren mattress.  Your phone vibrated, drawing your attention as you carefully set up a pot of coffee to brew. You waited to fill your mug before you dug the phone from your purse, the screen lighting up as another message arrived. ‘You up for a sleepover?’ Allie followed the invitation with a winky emoji. You didn’t know how to answer. You definitely didn’t want to sleep in your own bed but you were afraid that Bucky would return that night and think you fled.
Your phone shook again, this time an unknown number. You opened the window and read, the fear creeping up your neck like spider legs. ‘In case you think of trying to run again’. It was easy to guess who had sent the text, easier with the photos that followed. Images more chilling than the scene in the parking garage. Pictures of your mother in front of her house, watering her flowers, accompanied by a wall of text including her name, birth date, social security number...everything about her.
‘Sorry, I can’t,’ You replied to Allie. You were pitiful. Too afraid to have a life so that you can sit and await your bane. A call came through, unknown number. You pressed answer as your heart raced. “Y/N,” Bucky’s voice greeted but you couldn’t speak. “Come on, what did I say about answering me.”
“What do you want?” You rasped, walking over to your window, looking out along the skyline. Could he see you then?
“You can go to the sleepover. I won’t be over tonight.” You could hear the smirk in his voice.
“W-what?” You sputtered, trying to search him out. “You can see my texts?”
“I see everything. I told you. Now, go ahead and have some fun. You deserve it after last night.” You were sickened by his tone. You reached up and drew the curtains shut. “I’m out of town right now but I’ll be back on Tuesday. This time I expect you to be on time.”
“I have to work,” You lied.
“Not that late. 10-6. Not a bad shift. Enough time after to have some fun.” Your hand was trembling uncontrollably. “I expect you’ll be home before seven.”
“Y-yes,” You stuttered, your throat constricting.
“Well, I should let you go. I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” He was signing off as if this was a perfectly casual conversation. “Oh, and one thing before I go, Y/N. Don’t try to lie to me again. When I return, you will be punished for breaking the rules. No passes this time. Understood?”
You choked, “Yes,” You whispered into the speaker, “Yes, I understand.”
“Good.” He was smirking, you could hear it. “Have fun at your sleepover.” The line went dead and you pulled your phone away from your ear. You scrolled through your contacts, returning to your conversation with Allie. ‘Actually, a sleepover sounds great.’
You crossed your arms as you waited for Allie to answer her damn buzzer. The speaker crackled and you heard her rustling in the background. “Y/N?” This always happened. She was always in the middle of something else when you turned up. You would have laughed if your body would have allowed it.
“Yeah, it’s me,” You called back, “Come on. Let me in. I’m soaked.” It had rained again but you hadn’t really noticed until you entered the lobby. The door rang and you pulled on it as it unlocked. You stood in front of the elevator, waiting for it to descend. You were jealous of Allie’s building; it was new enough that its amenities worked. At your building, you couldn’t trust the elevator. The old cage door and the several residents who reported hours spent waiting to be freed from its grips by maintenance. With your luck, you didn’t tempt fate.
It was a smooth ride up and you waited once more before Allie’s door. She slid free the chain free and let you in. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her face green with an herbal smelling mask. “Just in time,” She chimed as she welcomed you in. “Shit, Y/N, you look fucking ragged. Good thing I have an extra mask.”
I don’t think a mask will do the trick, you thought as your eyebrows twitched. “Ha, yeah,” You laughed halfheartedly, “I brought wine.”
“You look like you need it,” She smiled but her eyes caught yours and she stopped. Usually she was hard to shut up. She’d keep going enough for the both of you so you never needed to worry about lively conversation. “Are you okay?”
You shook your head, trying to free yourself from the chains which only grew tighter around your limbs. “Fine,” You lied, forcing a bigger smile. She hesitated but backed off, allowing you the fib. She was always understanding. Whatever you needed, she would give. If that meant space, she’d give you a mile, but when the time came she was right by your side.
“Let me uncork that wine,” She took the large bottle from you, weighing it as the golden nectar swished against the glass, “Wow, you went all out.”
“Last time you drank it all,” You kidded. Still the smile was not real. You were relieved to be away from your apartment, to have Allie nearby, but you just couldn’t feel...normal. You hung your jacket and slipped out of your boots, following her down the hallway. Her apartment always amused you as it looked like Barbie herself could live here.  Allie was a great host. She filled the largest wine glasses and set them on the low coffee table.
“Go rinse your face and I’ll put the mask on.” You did as she said, splashing your face and returning to her, closing your eyes as she smoothed the thick mask over your skin. “Ha, let me get my phone.” She stood as she finished, washing her hand in the kitchen sink and retrieving her phone as she sat back down. “I’m going to send this to everyone. You look so funny.”
“You’re one to talk,” You rolled your eyes. Her own mask was dried and starting to flake. She looked like a swamp monster.
“Shit, I gotta get this off!” She jumped up again and raced to the bathroom. When she came back she was giggling and touching her rosy cheeks, the rest of her face just as red.
“How long is this suppose to be on?” You asked anxiously.
“Ten minutes. But I may have left mine on a little longer,” She grinned, baring her teeth awkwardly.
“Right, I’m just going to take mine off now.” You passed her and swiftly cleaned your face as you felt tingling along your forehead. You were thankfully soft and without shine, your skin much brighter than before.
“So,” Allie handed you your wine as you say, “What are we going to watch tonight? Or do you wanna play a game? I got the new Mario.”
“Hmm? So many options,” You leaned back, sipping deep from your wine. “You choose. I’ll do whatever.” Whatever could distract you from the impending doom which stood over you so constantly. You drank again from you wine, setting down the glass with only a mouthful left.
“Take it easy, Y/N,” Allie looked up as she switched on her console, “We have all night and only one bottle.”
“Won’t be that long a night if I drink enough,” You muffled a belch into your palm and she laughed.
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it,” She sat beside you on the couch and handed you a controller, “But I think you’ll need your wits for this game. I might just kick your ass.”
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yeet-or-be-hawed · 6 years ago
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“Happy Ending” Healthy!Arthur Morgan x Reader
I will always be upset about the fact that Arthur doesn’t get a happy ending, because he deserves it more than any other character in the game so here’s the happy ending I wrote for him! Fluff
With your help, Arthur escapes gang life with the money that had been promised to him for so long. Now the two of you can live out the rest of your lives on the open plains of the West. 
Your heart was pounding as the adrenaline rushed through your veins. You were running through the caves behind Arthur who had the big sack of cash thrown across his shoulder. “What’s the plan?” You called to him. 
“The plan is,” he called over his shoulder.” To get the hell outta here alive.” He had just passed the threshold of the cave and out into the night. His head was turned towards you and he didn’t see Micah until he was on top of him. 
“You couldn’t keep away could ya, cow polk?” Micah sneered down at Arthur as he began to strangle him. “You made a big mistake comin’ back here all alone.”
Arthur struggled under him and clawed at Micah’s filthy hands. “I ain’t alone.” He coughed. 
“Hey asshole.” 
Micah looked up at you just in time to catch your bullet right between his eyes. He fell limp on top of Arthur. He pushed the corpse off him in disgust and you helped him up. You looked down at Micah’s bloody face and spat right in it. “Been lookin’ forward to doin’ that for a long time, cow polk.” 
Arthur picked up the sack and squeezed your shoulder. “Let’s go.” 
There was the small click of a pistol behind you, “Not so fast.” You drew your pistol as you turned. 
“Dutch.” Your voice was seething in hatred. He had a gun in each hand, one pointed at you and the other at Arthur. 
Arthur drew his pistol reluctantly, and the three of you stood there in silence, a dead standoff. Dutch was the first to speak. “Give me the money boy, you’re makin’ a big mistake.” 
“All them years, Dutch for what? For you to throw us away like trash for some rat?” Arthur’s voice was angry, his heart was breaking from the betrayal of the man he called a father for so many years. He tried to deny it for so long, tried to tell himself Dutch ain’t like that, but now with Dutch’s pistol facing him and his eyes cold as ice the evidence was irrefutable. 
Dutch aimed his gun right at Arthur’s head. His voice was cold and threatening. “I’ll only say it one more time. Bring me the money, now.” 
“Not a chance in hell!” Arthur shouted. 
In that moment, Dutch’s gaze shifted completely towards Arthur and he pointed both guns toward him. Time slowed around you as you lined up your shot, your bullets riddled through him before he could pull the trigger. 
Guilt and self hatred ran through you like ice water. You approached the man that you once considered a father figure. Even though you knew the man who raised you wasn’t the same as the man who laid dead in front of you, tears still welled in your eyes as you looked down at his bleeding body. You cursed the tears as they ran down your cheeks, Dutch would not shed the same tears for you had you been in the same position and you knew that. Arthur pulled his arms around you and stroked your hair softly. “Shhh, it’s okay.” He whispered in your ear. “You had to do what you had to do.” He gripped your arms and looked you in the eye. “We have to go now before the others find us. Can you ride?” 
You wiped the tears from your eyes and sniffled. “Yes.” 
Arthur gave you a quick reassuring kiss. “Come on.”
You nodded and followed him towards your horses. He loaded the sack of money onto his horse and bolted off into the night. You followed close behind him. The night was pitch black, all you could see was the white sheen off Arthur’s horse. It reminded you of the Count. Memories flooded back of riding behind Dutch, always behind Dutch and beside Arthur. In a matter of months your family had been shot, tortured, and torn apart in front of your very eyes. Men you considered to be brothers turned on you quicker than leaves turn in the fall. You felt the tears come back and you blinked them away. You had to stay sharp and focused if you were going to make it out of here alive, you had to keep pushing. 
A year later, and you and Arthur had completely different lives. Finally, he was back west where he longed to be for so long, and to make it better, he was living a normal life. After you escaped that night, you rode west and stayed far away from the public eye. Using a chunk of your fortune you paid off both of your bounties, allowing the two of you to live freely without the fear of being hunted by lawmen and bounty hunters. The next thing you did was purchase a large piece of property, just between Armadillo and Tumbleweed. Together you built a beautiful cabin atop a plateau that overlooked the valley where the main road cut through the desert. Arthur forgot how beautiful the deep reds and rich browns of the west were and now he could enjoy them with you by his side. 
Arthur woke early one morning, before the sun had rose. He looked your large bedroom; the fireplace was dimly lit only the embers remaining, they illuminated the big bear rug that was sprawled on the floor in front of the fire. It seemed like a lifetime ago when he and Hosea hunted that bear. He wondered what Hosea thought of the events that had unfolded since his death. He thought about Hosea watching them from heaven, making his sassy remarks and snorting at Dutch’s haywire plans. With a smile, he also thought of what Hosea would think of him now. He knew Hosea would be proud, he always wanted this life for Arthur. Hosea’s voice whispered in the back of Arthur’s head. “She’s gonna make one hell of a wife one day.” 
Arthur looked over at you, curled up in his side with your head resting on his chest. Your face was peaceful, deep in sleep. Your hair was wild, strands sticking out in every direction, Arthur found it painfully cute. He shifted out from under you carefully and pulled on his clothes for the day quietly. You were a heavy sleeper, so you weren’t disturbed in the slightest by his movements. He went down the stairs to the kitchen and began making his morning coffee over the stove. He looked out the window and sighed in content. He never thought in his wildest dreams he would have this. A woman in his bed who loved him and treasured him dearly, a roof over his head to keep them safe, and the security of knowing you won’t be hunted down in the night. He finally felt like a real man, the man you deserved. He put a roof over your head, he could make you breakfast in the mornings, discuss your dreams and your daily plans at the breakfast table. He finally felt like he could make a good husband. He poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed his journal. He ripped out a piece of paper and began to write: 
Y/N,
I stepped out to make a trip to town. You were fast asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you. I may be back before you wake, but if I don’t I wanted you to know I was safe and will be returning to you soon. As always, I’ll carry you with me in my heart through my travels. I look forward to coming home to see your shining face. 
Yours always, Arthur
He folded the piece of paper and climbed back up the steps. He opened the bedroom door slowly and placed the piece of paper on your night stand. He placed a small kiss on your forehead before turning and leaving. 
You woke slowly and reached for Arthur. Your eyes flew open when your hands felt nothing but the cold sheets beside you. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach as you shot up. “Arthur?” You called. “Arthur!”
Before you could stop it your brain began throwing images at you. Arthur, returning to camp half dead after being kidnapped. Arthur, lying where Lenny lied cold and dead in the streets of Saint Denis blood pooling around him. Arthur’s body grossly beheaded, his head sitting in his hands as his body is brought to camp on his horse just like Kieran. With a deep breath you calm yourself and look around the empty room. Your nerves ease as you spot the small piece of paper folded on your night stand. You picked it up and read it, your heart growing fuller with each word. Arthur’s beautiful handwriting scrolled across the paper, and your fingers grazes where it said, “yours always.” 
With a smile, you opened the bottom drawer of your night stand and pulled out a tin box. Inside was every love letter, drawing, and little side note like this one Arthur had ever given you. This box held the story of your relationship, and it was your dearest treasure. You slipped the note into the box and returned it to its home in the drawer. With a yawn, you put on your clothes and got ready for the day. 
It was afternoon when you saw Arthur coming up the dusty trail towards your home together. It still filled your heart with joy to be reunited with him, even if it was only for a few hours. You ran outside to meet him as he hitched his horse. 
“Welcome home, my love.” You whispered as you threw your arms around him.
He gripped you tightly, “Thanks darlin’.” He released you and took your hand. You looked so happy as you led him in the house, it made his heart feel like it was about to burst. 
“I want to take you out today.” He announced as you entered the house together. 
You smiled up at him. “Really? Whatcha thinkin’?”
“It’s a surprise. But its a fancy surprise, so I want ya to go put on somethin’ nice.”
“What I got on ain’t nice enough?” You joked. 
He smiled down at you, his eyes were full of affection. “You always look nice, but I want this to be special.” 
The love in his voice made you melt, you nodded and ran upstairs to your room. You dug through your wardrobe until you found the perfect dress. It was powder blue with small white flowers. It was Arthur’s favorite, which in turn made it your favorite as well. 
Arthur changed quickly while you did your hair and makeup. Before your new life, you never primped yourself like this, and even though Arthur still found you breathtaking in your natural beauty, he still couldn’t get over the way you looked when you got all dolled up. It still made a lump rise into his throat and made him feel flustered when you looked at him, hair pulled into a beautiful updo and your makeup done with flawless precision. He couldn’t help the knots turning in his stomach as he waited anxiously for you to finish getting ready, he tried to fight them off as not to make you suspicious. 
When you finished, Arthur took you by the arm and led you to his horse. He helped you up carefully, trying to keep you as clean as possible. He sat behind you and wrapped his arms around you tightly as the horse took off. 
The ride was long, he headed east and the warm reds and browns turned into cool greens and grays. 
Your curiosity got the better of you. “Where are we goin’ Arthur?” 
“I told you, it’s a surprise.”
You groaned in impatience and he laughed. “Don’t worry darlin’ we’re almost there.” 
After a few minutes of silence, Arthur led his horse off the trail and into a thicket. This confused you, but you knew Arthur wouldn’t give up his secrets until they were there. The trees opened up to reveal a small meadow with a stream cutting right through it. Wild flowers littered the ground in every color. The sunlight cut through the trees and drenched the meadow in a golden light. Arthur took your hand and gently pulled you off the horse. He kept your hand and led you to the center of the meadow, right beside the stream. You looked around in awe. “Oh Arthur,” you whispered. “This is beautiful.” 
He smiled down at you, “not as beautiful as you.” He cleared his throat and you caught the nervous look in his eye. He took both hands in his and turned towards you. His eyes darted quickly to the side then back to you. “Meetin’ you was the best thing to ever happen to me. Before you, I never thought I would find love, because I never really thought I deserved it. You showed me how to love again, and how to love myself. I don’t feel like a miserable ugly wretch anymore, I feel like a man, a man who can take your love and give it back to you with my whole heart.” His eyes darted back to the side one more time before he knelt down and picked up a mahogany box that had been hidden in the tall grass behind him. “I know this isn’t as traditional as a ring but,” your hand came to your mouth as you realized what was happening. He propped himself up on one knee and opened the box to reveal two beautiful Mauser pistols; one was black with white engravings and a stag on the handle. The other was white with black engravings, a doe in the same spot. You recognized them immediately, they were just like Arthur’s. “I figured these would be more your style. Y/N, would you do me the honor of being my wife?” His eyes were swimming with nervousness and anticipation. You nodded your head yes as tears of happiness ran down your cheeks. “Yes,” you croaked as you threw yourself into his arms, knocking him backwards into the grass. His own tears of happiness began to fall as he wrapped his arms around you tightly, laughing and kissing your shoulder as he buried his face into you. 
“Perfect, absolutely stunning!” You looked up in surprise to see no other than Albert Mason poking his head out of a bush in the direction Arthur kept glancing. Arthur wiped the tears from his face and helped you to your feet. As you approached, you saw the lens of his camera just barely poking out from the bush. You looked up at Arthur stunned, “Did you know he was going to be here?” 
“Of course! He asked me to be here, my dear. He wanted me to capture this very special moment for him.” Albert said as he clumsily pulled himself from the bushes. He stumbled clumsily, but Arthur caught him and put an arm around his shoulder. “Thank you, my old friend. I can’t thank you enough for bein’ here today.” 
Albert patted him on the back, “Why it was my pleasure!” He turned to you, “this fine man has saved my sorry skin more times than I can count. I owe him my life.” 
You beamed at the funny man, “I can say the same thing.”
Albert set up his camera, “I may not be able to pay you for saving my life, but I can do a lovely engagement photoshoot for the lovely couple! It’ll be my treat, an engagement gift as you will.” 
Arthur tried to argue, he wanted to pay his friend for his services but he wouldn’t have it. “Go stand with your lovely fiance and let me photograph you before something tries to eat us all!” Albert joked. 
“Alright, alright.” Arthur joined you beside the stream, he never had his photos taken before and it was much funner than he anticipated. 
The day of your wedding came quickly, and it was a small ceremony. You were able to contact a few remaining old friends; John and his family attended along with Charles and Sadie. Charles stood in front of you and Arthur, he was more than happy to wed you and neither you nor Arthur could think of anyone better to do it. Arthur was a sight to behold in his suit, his beard trimmed neatly and his hair slicked back with pomade. He would’ve said the same about you, a vision of white and hair pinned back with the veil draping your face. Arthur could barely wait for Charles to say “you may kiss the bride” before he pushed the veil back and kissed you with the most passion he could muster. This was the happiest day of your life. 
Years passed blissfully, married life suited the two of you, and calling you his wife sent Arthur over the moon. You were sitting across the table from one another on a summer afternoon, Arthur drew in a new journal as you sorted through the mail. You smiled as you looked down at the parchment in front of you. It was from Abigail and John; you opened it to reveal a wedding invitation. “Oh my God, it looks like John finally got the nerve to ask Abigail to marry him.” You said. 
Arthur looked up at you, “I thought they was already married?” 
You shook your head. “She took his name a coupla years ago but they never made it official. Who woulda thought, John a family man.” 
Arthur laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day.” 
You took his hand, “You musta rubbed off on him.” 
The Marston’s ranch wasn’t far from your own home which made the travel on you easier. Uncle and Charles had been staying with the Marston family, and you were happy to see Sadie again. Abigail was beaming through the entire ceremony, and she reminded you of how happy you were the day you married Arthur. Likes yours, the ceremony was small and short. As the sun began to set, John brought out a huge crate of whiskey. Everyone cheersed to him and Abigail, and you hated having to practice self discipline as you looked longingly at the whiskey. It didn’t take long for Abigail to notice you weren’t drinking. She stumbled to you holding a bottle. “Y/N, you haven’t even had a drink yet!” 
You laughed nervously, “Yeah, I guess my stomach just can’t handle liquor anymore.” You hoped she didn’t see through your lie, but she was already quite inebriated. She just eyed you suspiciously, “Okay, then.” And with that she turned and headed back to John’s side. 
Arthur had hit the whiskey hard, as usual, and it made for an entertaining show. Arthur was always a funny drunk, but when he was reunited with his old friends, it made your heart happy to see him so carefree. The party went on late into the night, and you and Arthur stayed the night at the ranch.
Morning came early and your stomach churned uneasily. You got up quietly as to not wake Arthur and headed straight for the door. You leaned over the railing of the porch and vomited violently. You prayed no one heard you, you weren’t quite ready to tell anyone yet and you certainly didn’t want to steal Abigail’s thunder. You wiped the bile from the corners of your mouth and snuck back into the house undetected. To your relief, Arthur was still fast asleep on the floor and you curled up next to him. 
He woke a few hours later, and the two of you had breakfast with the family before heading back to your own home. The ride back was quiet, but it was a nice quiet. You and Arthur were close enough that the silences between you didn’t feel heavy or awkward. 
When you finally made it back, you flopped down on the bed, your body was exhausted from the travel. Arthur followed behind you, still quiet. You closed your eyes and crawled back into your bed. When Arthur didn’t join, you opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was looking at you wearily from across the room. You opened your arms and beckoned him. “What’s wrong, Arthur?” 
He finally moved towards you and sat on the edge of the bed beside you. His eyes were full of concern. “Are you okay?” 
You looked up at him confused, “I’m fine, why do you ask?”
He rubbed his neck nervously, “I noticed you didn’t drink last night. I’ve never known you to turn down whiskey. And this morning, I heard you getting sick. I need to know if something’s wrong, I want to take care of you.” He put a hand on your forehead, feeling for a fever. You grabbed his hand and held it in yours. 
“I wasn’t plannin’ on tellin’ you yet, but I ain’t sick.”
“What is it?” 
You placed his hand on your belly and smiled. “I’m with child.”
He looked at you in disbelief and sputtered, “You, you mean-are you sure?” 
You nodded, “I went to the doctor last week, I’m sure.” You hand cupped his cheek. “You’re going to be a father, Arthur.” 
He smiled and he felt tears of happiness well up in his eyes. No words ever put more excitement and joy in his heart. He kissed your stomach and then kissed you on the lips. “This is the best day of my life!” He almost shouted. 
He was full of excitement, and you knew he would make a wonderful father. Before Arthur, you never even wanted kids, but watching him with Jack throughout the years, and hearing him talk about his desires for family changed your mind, and this was the moment everything led up to. Arthur joined you in the bed and pulled you into his arms tightly. 
This was it, this was pure happiness. Arthur had everything he had ever dreamed of, for the first time in his life, he felt whole.
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sad-sweet-cowboah · 6 years ago
Text
The Hidden Truth
For the nonny who wanted Arthur finding out his pixelated origins!
Summary: Arthur accidentally discovers the Red Dead Redemption 2 game and has some questions.
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Modern!Reader
Warnings: Angst, cursing
It was a rainy morning, stuck inside as it stormed outside, with nothing but the sound of the rain splattering against your windows and the thunder that rumbled in the distance. The TV was on, set at a low volume. You weren’t really paying attention anyway, you sat curled up on your couch as your kitten lay dozing in your lap. You pet her slowly as you scrolled through your phone with your free hand.
The peace was interrupted when a loud crash pierced the air, originating from the kitchen. You jumped as your cat was up in a split second, a puffball on your legs as her claws dug into your flesh in surprise. You gave a small yelp of pain as you jumped up and the poor kitten went falling to the ground.
“Arthur?” You called out.
A moment later, a sandy blonde head appeared through the kitchen doorway, a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry, Y/N. I dropped a bowl on the floor…kinda a mess now.”
You sighed. “How bad is it? Are you hurt?”
He shook his head. “Nah, just need to clean it up. Spilled some cereal, though…”
“Broom’s in the closet,” you gestured to the door next to the front entrance. “You gave Artemis and I a heart attack, ya know.”
He chuckled slightly, walking to the closet. “Sorry again.”
You didn’t respond as you sat down on the couch once again, diving deep into the bowels of social media to entertain yourself. You heard him open the door and rummage through a couple of things, knowing that you’d hastily thrown in random items in there at some point, you kind of felt bad that you didn’t organize them properly. Oh well, a chore for another time.
It’d fallen silent for a few seconds. You peered over your phone to see Arthur had backed out from the closet with something other than the broom.
Your heart sank when you recognized the unmistakable red cover.
“Wha-“
You’d never moved so fast as you did in just that moment, launching yourself across the room at what felt like hyper-speed to snatch it out of his hands. He looked at you in surprise.
“That has my name on it,” he stated, his eyes wide. “What is it?”
“Nothing you need to be concerned about!” You blurted out, speaking quickly. “Just get that broom okay?”
The look on his face told you that he didn’t believe you. He narrowed his eyes in thought and suspicion. “Y/N, is there somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me?”
“Nothing at all!” You exclaimed, tucking the game under your arm. “Come on, I don’t want to get ants-“
“Y/N.” His voice was hard, almost dominating. “Please. If you hide it, I’m gonna find it.”
You held his gaze, saying nothing. You knew he was right, and now that it was out, nothing was going to stop him from finding out more. After a long minute, you sighed. “I figured this would happen sooner or later,” You gestured toward the couch. You both walked toward it and sat down, him watching you with curious eyes. “Just don’t freak out.”
You placed the game on the coffee table, reading the name to yourself. The drawing of Arthur stood stark. The game that started it all. He reached out and flipped it over, observing the description and images. You watched as his brow furrowed and his lips turned into a slight frown, the confusion only growing as he read on.
“I’m…I…what is this?” He asked, giving you the most lost look ever.
You sighed again, your hands wringing in your lap. “It’s…well, a video game.”
“A video game,” he repeated slowly. “Like what you showed me on your…uh, smart phone?”
You nodded. “Except this one is for my PlayStation- er, a completely different system,” you explained. “And the reason why your name is on it is, well, because you’re from it.”
He stared at you. “What do you mean?”
You bit your lip. “Arthur, you technically aren’t a real person. You’re from this made up world in this game.”
“Of course I’m real!” He exclaimed. “I’m flesh and blood, same as you!”
You winced at his outburst. “Yes, now you are, for some unknown reason. But the night before you appeared, I was just playing AS you on this game. A fictional character in a fictional world.”
“Playing as me?” He repeated. “I still don’t understand, Y/N. How could I be from that…game…if I’m right here?”
“I don’t know, Arthur,” you slumped forward, placing your chin on your hands in thought. “It’s like the day I told you when you showed up. I don’t know why you’re here or how you even got here. If I knew the answer, I would have told you a long time ago.”
He huffed and stood up, beginning to pace as he ran his fingers through his hair in thought. “Nothin’ makes sense anymore…” he grumbled.
You’re telling me. You thought, watching him silently. “Arthur…” you mumbled, trying to think of anything to say that could remedy this situation.
He paused and turned to you. “This ain’t some joke, right?” When you shook your head, he continued. “I swear if it is-“
“You’ll what, leave and get yourself lost in this world that you don’t know the first thing about?” You interrupted with a fierceness in your voice. You stood up as well. “Look, I promise you I’m not tricking you, okay? Now please, calm down.”
He gave you an incredulous look, his lips parted although he said nothing. Giving another huff, he folded his arms. “Alright, I’m calm. Just…explain to me, please.”
You bit your lip, unsure how to even go about this. You’ve explained what you knew and didn’t know, so you decided to start from the beginning. “This game, Red Dead Redemption 2, I bought it a little while back. The way it plays…it’s kind of like a book. You follow a storyline. It begins with when you find Colter, then the O’Driscoll camp ambush, the Cornwall train heist, to Horseshoe Overlook, Valentine, Strawberry and so on. When I last played, you were still in Saint Denis with-“
“Dutch and John,” he finished. “After gettin’ Jack back.”
You nodded slowly. “You’d just left Bronte’s mansion at that point when I stopped for the night.”
“That’s one of the last things the last thing I remember, before passin’ out at some point” he murmured, tilting his head down, a trait he acquired to hide his eyes behind the brim of his hat, even though he wasn’t wearing it at the moment. “Christ, you know every single detail then?”
“Yes, Arthur. Because I become you when I play the game. It’s like when you immerse yourself in a good story, except you can control the character. The way you dress, the guns you carry, the horses you ride, the white Arabian-that’s all me, it’s been me.”
He didn’t look at you, instead turning away as if to hide. You however had caught the expression on his face, the absolute bewilderment and a twinge of sadness. “So…I’m just…an empty shell? A puppet for someone else’s control?”
You realized with a jolt of regret that it was probably the wrong way to explain it. “Of course not, Arthur,” you said gently, reaching out for his hand, but he pulled it away. “The life you’ve lead-“ or programmed, “has been your own up until Colter. I may have influenced your decisions, but you still have your own self.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” He whispered, still refusing to look at you.
“You’re speaking to me, aren’t you?” You replied. “A puppet can’t speak for itself, not even have a personality.”
He turned his head ever so slightly, peering at you from the corner of his eye.
“A puppet can’t feel anything. No joy, sorrow, or anger,” You continued. “Yet you stand here feeling confused.”
He made a low noise and turned to look at you fully.
“A puppet also can’t make me feel the things I’ve felt…for you…” you whispered, reaching out for his hands, glad he didn’t shy from your touch this time. “And the way you’ve made me feel, both physically and emotionally.”
You could see the faintest blush form on his stubbled cheeks as he cast his eyes away briefly, and a hint of a smile played at the edge of his lips. “I ‘spose you got me there…”
You smiled as well. “I know it’s a lot to take in, Arthur. And quite frankly, no one’s issues are as unique as yours.”
“Sure as hell got that right,” he snorted without humor. “Does that mean… Dutch and the others…they don’t exist?”
“Well, that’s a good question,” you remembered thinking about the Van der Linde gang a few times, why it had been only Arthur and not any of the others that appeared to you. “I don’t know if they’re still in the game or if they’re in the same situation as you somewhere else.”
He glanced at the game, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Can…we look?”
And there was the question. With the Arthur from your game standing right in front of you, you had no idea if the game would even work at this point. But there was only one way to find out. You reluctantly crossed to the closet, reaching up to grab your console from the top shelf. Arthur watched you silently as you set it up, hooking the cables and wires in the correct places. Grabbing the controller, you turned the PlayStation on and waited for it to boot up. Greeted by the welcoming music, you logged onto your account and popped the CD in.
Glancing at Arthur, who stared patiently at the screen, you took a deep breath and started the game.
It felt like eons for it to load, wondering if the console detected a big loss in the game’s programming. Yet the unmistakable title appeared before the menu took its place. You held your breath as you chose to continue your gameplay, still waiting for the imminent crash.
Yet nothing happened. You stared in complete shock as the screen displayed the smokey atmosphere of Saint Denis, people bustling about, and Arthur himself standing, waiting to be moved.
Your jaw dropped.
“That…that’s me!” Arthur gawked. “That’s really me!”
“Holy…fucking…shit!” You gasped, and moved the joystick. He moved, no glitching or crashing. “What the actual…how?!”
Your gazes met, both with matching expressions of utter shock. There was no way this should happen. There was no way both Arthurs should exist. The one that stood before you was your Arthur. You knew it immediately from the moment you laid eyes on him. Yet there he was in the game still.
You paused the game and dropped the controller, unable to control the tornado that ran through your mind. You fell back to the couch, holding your head as you failed to even comprehend what was going on. He reached for the controller slowly, his eyes never leaving the screen. He began to press random buttons. Your hand shot out immediately, grabbing his arm. “Arthur-don’t fuck with it-“
“I just wanna-“ he started.
“No.” You said sternly. “If you start playing as yourself right now, I’m going to die from a stroke when my brain breaks.”
He didn’t question as to what that meant, instead he sighed and placed the controller on the coffee table, and took a seat next to you. “So…what does this mean, then?”
You let out a long sigh, unsure how to even answer that question. “Well, I guess it means you’re officially a real person.” You gave him a shrug, grabbing the controller and turning your PS4 off.
You two sat in silence for a few minutes, your mind abuzz with what just occurred and his no doubt the same. You weren’t sure what to do next, should you continue as normal? Let him play the game out of curiosity? Or let it go back to its hiding place and never speak of it again?
He grunted as he shifted, standing up once again. “I should probably clean up that cereal now.”
You were almost thankful for the subject change. “Good idea.”
He once again made his way to the closet, finally digging out the broom from its home. He quietly made his way back to the kitchen when he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you. “Hey…two means there was another Red Dead Redemption before?”
Surprised by the question, you nodded.
“Am I in it?”
You shook your head. You couldn’t exactly explain that his game was a prequel without making it complicated. “Unfortunately no, John’s the main character in that one.”
“Huh,” he murmured in thought. “Marston? Who woulda thought…” he disappeared into the kitchen, mumbling something about raccoons.
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murkrees · 5 years ago
Text
call me, maybe; johnny seo ft. yuta & jaehyun
summary: “i’m scared to walk home alone in the dark and every one of my contacts are either busy or not answering so my desperate ass googled up call boy numbers and you answered but I have to explain to you that I don’t want sex I just want to talk to somebody!”
pairing: johnny x reader
genre: office! au, call boy! au, fluff
You walked through the halls of the office, papers in one hand and a cup of steaming coffee in another. You sent warm smiles to the few amount of people who passed by you, who nodded in return. Arriving in front of a door with the name “Seo Youngho” engraved on a plaque, you set the files down and knocked.
“Come in,” a muffled voice sounded from inside. You opened the door and peeked inside, finding your boss hunched over his desk, focused on doing paperwork. His circular specs were almost falling off his nose, but he made no move to push it back up.
“The papers you asked photocopied for the meeting tomorrow morning and your coffee, sir,” you said, not too loud in fear of disturbing his focus. He waved a hand to his desk dismissively.
Stepping outside once more to grab the files you had put down, you used your back to push open the door and readjusted the heavy load to ease the discomfort on both your forearm and hip. Walking forward, you tentatively set down his coffee on his desk and the files beside his paperwork.
“Thank you, (Y/N).”
You hummed, waiting a little until he finished signing something. Noticing you were still there, he looked up at you from under his glasses in question.
“Did you need something?”
“Um, with all due respect, sir,” you fiddled with the ends of your shirt nervously, “It’s getting quite late and I still have chores to do at home...”
You trailed off. He got the message, eyes trailing to the clock on the wall.
“Ah,” he rubbed the back of his nape in slight embarrassment, “You’re free to go, then.”
Nodding, you turned around and exited his office with a small “Have a nice day, sir.” You walked down the now nearly empty hall, spotting a few cubicles still alive with the sound of crunching keyboards and light filtering under office doors. Shaking your head, you continued down the hall and grabbed your bags, shrugging on your bomber jacket over your white blouse and pink skirt. You fished your phone out of your pocket, clicking the home button and frowning at the time. 9:42 PM.  
You passed by the front desk, the receptionist already snoring softly. Chuckling softly to yourself, you walked out through the spinning doors and stepped onto the streets outside. The night wind was chilly, the moon covered by the cloudy sky. Suppressing a shiver, you unlocked your phone and called the number of your best friend.
“I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is currently out of reach. Please try again lat-“ you ended the call before the it could finish. Furrowing your brows, you scrolled down your contacts and tried calling your brother instead. It rang thrice before the automated voice greeted you once more. You let out a frustrated sigh.
You spent a good fifteen minutes in front of the office, dialing different numbers of your friends and either receiving no answer or quick, hushed explanations that they were busy and hanging up before you could even get a word in. Your parents were no option, either—they were abroad enjoying the vacation of their lives. It was expensive, and plus, you didn’t want to disturb them. Running a hand through your hair distractedly, you bit your lip and considered your choices.
Your house was just barely within walking distance, but it would still take you a good amount of time. Before you started working at the office, you were convinced that you could walk or take a bus home, but you certainly weren’t expecting to come home at this ungodly hour. Unfortunately, the nearest station that entertained 24-hour buses was a four-mile walk. You clicked your tongue in annoyance at your misfortune.
It wasn’t that you were scared of the dark or anything, but walking home alone at night wasn’t exactly the safest thing for a woman. You tightened your jacket around yourself, remembering the stories your mother had told you about the dangers of the streets after the sun had set. They were just stories until one of the girls at your campus was stalked and mugged after walking home at night alone. That was when you made it a habit to call someone every time you were doing so – they may not be there with you, but their voices calmed your nerves. Plus, you read online that if you were being stalked, you could inform the person at the other end of your whereabouts and situation updates. It was a foolproof plan; if only people had the time for it.
An idea struck your head. Not a good one, but it was an idea nonetheless. You took a few minutes to contemplate it, but then realized the longer you took the time to think, the darker and more dangerous it was going to be for you.
“I’m really out of my mind,” you groaned, chiding yourself mentally. But you don’t get anywhere being sane, right? A small voice responded in your head. You sighed. She had a point.
Mind made up, you opened your browser anyways and turned on incognito mode. You didn’t want anyone snooping through your history seeing what you were going to do today. Cheeks blushing, you searched up ‘call boy numbers’. Within seconds, an array of results popped up. Ignoring their provocative titles, your fingers tapped the first website that showed up on your screen. The red tint of your cheeks deepened as the webpage loaded; the titles and advertisements were far too vulgar for your taste. Your eyes averted over the images, wisely choosing to pretend that they did not exist.
You scrolled down to find a list of names and individual phone numbers. You read over them, finding one name that snagged your eye. Johnny, it read. The name sounded American—maybe calling a foreigner would bring less shame to your family. Bonus points if he didn’t understand a lick of what you were saying.  
With a deep inhale, you clicked on the green call button. Your screen darkened and you tentatively brought it up to your ear. After a couple of seconds of ringing, it stopped. Your heart felt like it was going to leap out of its chest —a quick glance at the screen showed that you were connected.
“H-Hello?” You started hesitantly, “Johnny-ssi?”
“That’s me,” a deep voice responded, and you felt a shiver run down your spine,  “What would you like me to do, babygirl? Do you like it when I call you that?”
Your cheeks were on fire, “A-Actually, I was wondering if you could just stay on the line instead of coming over? I’ll still pay your company, of course, just without the sex part?”
Your voice had dropped to a whisper, and you looked around to see if anyone was watching you. No one was in sight, fortunately. You heard a chuckle from the other end.
“If that’s what you want, babygirl. You don’t want daddy to see you pleasuring yourself, do you?” There was a sharp intake of breath from the phone, “You’re such a bad girl. Should daddy punish you?”
At this point, you were as red as a beet, “I don’t—oh my god, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this—Johnny-ssi, can we talk normally? Please?”
There was silence for a few moments. Afraid that you pissed him off, you were about to launch into an apologetic spiel, but he beat you to it.  
“Yeah, sure, what’s up?” His tone was casual now, almost relaxed. You were taken aback at the sudden change and difference in his voice, but you recomposed yourself.
“It’s just that, um,” you started, “I’ve just finished work at this hour and I’m terrified at walking home alone, but all of my friends were either too busy or didn’t pick up so in my desperation I had the stupidest idea to, I don’t know, google up call boy numbers and call one—Johnny-ssi, are you there?”
You pulled your phone away and stared at the screen for a quick second, showing that you were still connected.
“Yeah, I’m still here. Continue,” he prompted. You sighed softly.
“So will you talk to me while I walk back home? Just for peace of mind, you know?” You asked, cringing at yourself as you imagined all the possible ways he could reject you, “Plus, someone needs to know if I got murdered or not.”
It was silent for a few seconds. Just after you thought he hung up on you, you heard, “Are you serious?”
“Yes!” You were almost reaching the point of begging, “Please! It’s just until I get home, I promise. If you don’t want to hear from me ever again I’ll never even look at your number. At least it makes for a good story to tell, right? Will you do it?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, sure,” he cleared his throat, “Is it a long walk to your house?”
“No, it usually takes fifteen to twenty minutes,” you bit your lip hesitantly, “So, Johnny-ssi—it’s okay if I call you that, right? Do you have another name that you prefer to be called with?”
“No, no, Johnny’s fine,” he chuckled.
“Well, um, Johnny-ssi, what are your hobbies and interests?”
With that, you began your walk home. You didn’t know if it was the call boy charms or pure charisma, but conversation was light and easy between you two. He even made you laugh a couple of times, especially with his corny jokes.
“Enough with embarrassing me,” you could hear his smile from the other end of the line, “What about you? I’ve never had a client quite as interesting as you with their requests.”
“What is this, twenty questions?” You laughed lightly, but then mulled it over, “On second thought, that’s actually not that bad of an idea. Should we play it?”
“If you want to. I’ll go first, then; ever had a pet?”
“Sadly, no,” you sighed, “I’ve always wanted one but my mom’s allergic to fur. I had a goldfish once as a kid, though; Concrete didn’t last very long.”
“You named your goldfish Concrete?” You heard his flabbergasted tone and let out a small laugh.
“I wasn’t very creative as a kid,” another bout of laughter pealed out of your lips, “How about you?”
You heard his chuckle from the other end of the line, “That’s something we have in common. I had a dog named Flower before I moved away.”
You let out another giggle before you could stop yourself, “Good to know I’m not alone in this world, then. Speaking of pets, do you happen to have any pet peeves, Johnny-ssi?”
Surprisingly, Johnny and you had more in common than you thought. The both of you talked about everything there was to talk about. Your opinions that contrasted, though, made for good conversation topics—the both of you spent a good chunk of your walk debating whether or not water was wet.
By the time you turned the corner to your street, you found yourself more than a little disappointed. You had to admit, there were times that you found yourself walking slower than usual just to prolong the conversation you had with him. The house that before seemed far away was just a few strides away now.
“Hey, Johnny-ssi? I’ve arrived in front of my house,” you rummaged your bag for your keys, and once you found them, held them tightly in your grip before inserting them to the door, “Thanks for accompanying me all the way back. Well, on the other side of the line, anyway. I really appreciate you not hanging up the moment I told you this, um, honestly less-than-bright idea. As promised, I wouldn’t bother you again, right?”  
“The pleasure was all mine,” he replied. You felt your stomach drop slightly. A second of silence passed before he spoke up again, “For the record, I wouldn’t mind in the slightest if you wanted to bother me again. You know my number, don’t you?”
“I—Yes, I do?” It came out more as a question than an answer. You were surprised, to say the least. He chuckled.
“Well, it’s getting late—you should get some sleep. Make sure to sleep well.”
Still flustered, you managed a flimsy reply, “G-Good night, Johnny-ssi.”
“Good night to you, too. Dream of me, will you?”
You heard him laugh before you hung up on the call, face lighting up like a christmas tree. Call boy charms indeed.
                                                                -
You sighed, bringing the cup of steaming coffee to your lips as you leaned on the countertop of the pantry. You relished the feeling of the warmth flowing from your mouth to your throat, warming up your stomach.  The cold air nipped at your bare arms, biting all the way to your bones. Not only was it freezing, the office was practically abandoned.
“Oh? (Y/N), you aren’t going home yet?” Nakamoto Yuta walked in, blazer off and only clad in black slacks and a white dress shirt. His usually neat hair seemed messy, almost like he had run his hands in it multiple times. You couldn’t blame him, though—working in this particular company could be stressful at times.
“Nah,” you shrugged, looking at the clock carefully positioned on the wall from under your lashes. You brought the cup of coffee down, “Youngho-ssi likes to work late.”
“It’s almost eleven, though. Want me to walk you home?” He winked before walking over to make his own cup of coffee. You simply let out a small snort, which he chuckled at.
Yuta, although stationed at one of the higher-ranking positions in the office, had a reputation of flirting with the new interns. You had been here long enough to be immune to it.
“Seriously, though,” he frowned, but the twinkle didn’t disappear from his eye, “It’s really late. Are you sure you’ll be fine? Just because Youngho works late doesn’t mean you should, too.”
“S’alright—It probably gets lonely for him. And you practically live on the other side of the city.”
“You’re right,” he chuckled, walking back to the door and putting a hand on your shoulder, “Don’t hesitate to knock on my office if you need me.”
With another wink, he breezed out of the pantry. You brought the coffee cup once again to your lips and tilted it upwards, only to find that it was already empty. You let out an irked sound and pushed yourself off the counter, throwing the paper cup to the trash can before walking to the coffee machine to make another cup for your boss.
You swiped the Americano from the coffee machine, pouring half a packet of creamer into it and quarter a packet of sugar, just how he liked it. Mindlessly, you started to hum to I’m Yours by Jason Mraz. It had been stuck in your head all day—your brother had been having his own concert during his hour-long showers and you just so happened to have overheard him singing the song. You grabbed a spoon and started to stir the cup of coffee, eyes glancing at the clock on the wall. To be fair, it was a good hour or two later than your usual late hours.
You took the spoon out and left it on the sink, turning around only to be faced with a broad chest. You let out a little scream of shock, nearly dropping the mug. Your boss’s face stared down at you, eyebrows up in question at your panicked attitude. His hair was disheveled and tie undone, giving him an unkempt look uncharacteristic of him.
“You should go home, (Y/N). It’s really late.” He said, and you took a moment to calm yourself before nodding.
“Yes, yes, I—right,” you held out the cup of coffee to him, “Your coffee, sir. Have a nice day—night. Remaining time left of the day.”
You cleared your throat awkwardly. He took it from your hands, and you diverted your eyes to the floor before slinking beside his frame to exit the pantry. That was embarrassing.
“Make sure to get home safely, (Y/N)!” You heard him call out as you walked away.
You made sure to mutter a “Thank you!” before grabbing your bag and shrugging on your jacket. Before the day could get any later, you made your way out of the building into the cold night. The sound of your phone ringing the other side of the line was a welcome buzz to your ears.  It’s been a month or two since you started regularly calling Johnny, and the time you spent walking back to your house has, admittedly, become the favourite part of your otherwise routine day.
“Hello?”
“Hey. I was starting to wonder when you’d call,” came the familiar voice. You smiled, heart lightening already. “You’re going home a bit later than usual, don’t you think? They better be paying you overtime.”
“It’s fine—well, kinda,” you snorted softly, “It is a bit closer to midnight. S’alright, though. How’s your day been?”
“Pretty uneventful. You have anything going on for you?”
“You wanna hear all the boring stuff?”
“Of course. I love listening to you talk,” he purred. You sputtered, cheeks flaming up as he laughed. “Are you blushing yet?”
“Oh, shut up, you,” you walked leisurely under the street lamps, “I started off the day kind of late. Got to the office, had a couple of meetings, worked on this one partnership proposal my boss is having a hard time approving. Ah, I don’t know. I’m definitely going to work on it again once I get home. What else? The weather’s getting colder, and it’s not helping that the office heaters are either broken or constantly on low heat. I’m not very good with the cold, if you can’t tell. My brother has been obsessed with I’m Yours by Jason Mraz and I think it’s infecting me, too. I’ve been trying to get it out of my head by humming but it’s just not working. And I think I’m rambling again. Sorry about that. Johnny?”
There was silence, then a rustling sound. “Hello?”
“Oh. Sorry. You… got cut off for a bit there,” he cleared his throat, voice underlined with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “By I’m Yours, you mean the one that goes…”
You listened to him sing, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah, that’s the one. You never told me you sang, Johnny.”
“What can I say, I’m a man of many talents,” you rolled your eyes. “But I’m curious about your office life.”
“I’ll tell you about it if you do that parrot impersonation one more time.”
“You’re gonna record it!”
“Only for research purposes!”
                                                               -
“Are you done with the partnership files, Jaehyun-ssi?”
“Hmm?” Your coworker looked up from packing his documents to his briefcase, blanking out for a split second before his mind returned to his head. “Oh! The papers! One second—it’s here somewhere…”
He looked around his desk, flipping through some piles of paper and upturning others. He eventually grasped a thick bundle held together by a binder clip at the bottom of his messes, pulling them out and handing them to you.
“Thanks. Make sure you get home safely, Jaehyun-ssi.” You knocked twice on his cubicle wall, turning around with a wave.
You heard him call out “You too!” as you walked down the quiet hallway, making your way to your desk. Lately, you’ve found the office more bearable—heaters all around the floor had been turned up, and someone had even put in a maintenance request for the broken ones. A small smile turned up on your lips at that.
You settled down on your desk, ready to finish up on a report. Not even five minutes had passed before someone broke your concentration.
“Knock-knock,” you let out a small yelp, turning your head to the side to see your boss leaning against the wall beside your desk, eyes glimmering with an emotion you couldn’t decipher. His tie was loose, strands of hair escaping his usual neat hairstyle. “Earth to (Y/N).”
You blushed, embarrassed, “R-Right! What is it, sir?”
“There’s not much to do tomorrow,” he licked his lips, shoving a hand in his pant pocket, “You should wrap up and get back.”
A glance at the clock instantly made you understand why he was worried. “Right. Okay. Thank you. Are you sure you can...”
“I’m sure. Make sure you get home safely, (Y/N). And stay warm,” his eyes followed you as you shoved your laptop into your bag, grabbed your phone before standing up, “Do you need a ride?”
“I’m fine! It’s walking distance, but thank you,” you brushed yourself off and handed him the partnership files, “They’re from Jaehyun-ssi. Make sure you get home safely too, sir. Good night.”
He waved goodbye to you, and you made your way to the lobby. It took a while for your cheeks to regain their original color. Although you had been working under Seo Youngho for quite a while, you didn’t fail to notice how attentive he was starting to be. Of course, how incredibly attractive he was didn’t escape your radar, either. As his secretary, though, it was absolutely important for you to keep up your professionalism—even if he was really hot.
You rummaged through your bag to find your jacket, only to realize you had completely forgotten it by your coat hanger. Drat. You cursed yourself for your own stupidity. Oh well.
The moment you took a step outside, the wind instantly nipped at your exposed arms. You withheld a shiver, looking at the sky. It wasn’t that late yet, and the street lamps illuminated the sidewalk quite brightly. Just for tonight, you were going to walk alone.
Despite having a lot of fun with Johnny, you didn’t want to impose on his work too much. Plus, he had been acting a little oddly as of late. It wouldn’t kill you to be a bit more independent for a couple of nights. You huffed, gripping your phone tightly in your hands as you walked down the streets.
Not a lot of people were out and about, and you could spot a couple a ways up ahead and a guy walking on the opposite side of the street. It calmed your heart a little, at least. It was quiet for a while, the wind biting your arms and swaying the trees. As you walked through a reflective store display, though, you spotted somebody walking a bit behind you.
Wait, wasn’t that the guy who was walking in the opposite direction before? Your brows furrowed. No. He probably went the wrong direction. It’s alright. He’s just trying to get home, like me.
Despite you trying to convince yourself, your heart started to beat a bit faster. You walked a bit faster, but also heard his footsteps speed up to match your pace. The couple who had walked in front of you had long disappeared. You gripped your phone tighter.
Before turning the corner, you stopped. Your heartbeat was in your ears, and you made a show to open your phone and open google maps before looking up at the street sign. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the man stop and stare at you. After a solid three minutes and no sign of him moving, you started to feel your blood rush and curses fly through your head. He was wearing a hoodie and a cap, swaying slightly in the wind—obviously intoxicated. You swore under your breath, shaky fingers opening your contacts as you took a step forward. He did the same.
You scrolled wildly for Johnny, clicking the call button at once and putting it to your ear as you speed walked. Your breathing was labored, mind already in overdrive.
Pick up, pick up, pick up! You begged. Please!
“Hello?”
“Johnny!” You breathed out, voice small, “Please call somebody—Gwangmyeong sam-dong, hurry!”
“Are you okay? Are you safe? What’s happening?”
“Please!”
“Stay on the line with me—do not end the call. That is an order. What’s happening?”
“There’s someone following me. He’s—he’s right behind me. I can’t talk too loud. Please. I’m going to make a run for it.”
You heard crackling sounds on the other side, “Is your house far?”
“A bit more. I have to—” you gulped, “I have to unlock the door with the keys.”
“Wait—”
You heard the footsteps behind you gaining speed. You braved a look, and the man smiled eerily at you, causing you to walk faster and faster until you were sprinting.
“Johnny!” You cried out, but you felt a hand grab your arm and pull you back roughly. Their nails were caked and dirty, hand grimy from filth. You screamed, dropping your phone.
Before you could look up to see their face, something forcefully ripped him away. His nails scratched your arm, but you could barely register the pain. You heard a loud crack and a thud, and you shut your eyes in hopes that everything would just go away.
When you opened your eyes, you saw the stalker sprinting away back in the direction you came from and the back of a man clad in a black blazer and pants. He was panting heavily, hair messy. His figure was familiar, and it wasn’t until he turned to you did you realize who he was.
“(Y/N)!” Before you could even register what was happening, he was already embracing you, pulling back to inspect you and make sure you didn’t have any injuries. “Are you alright? What did he do to you?”
“Youngho-ssi?”
“Your arm—you’re bleeding, (Y/N), let’s—”
You drop wordlessly, your arm still linked with his. Your breathing was still heavy, the thump-thump of your heart and blood rushing loud in your ears. Out of a sudden, you felt a heavy weight on your back and shoulders, heat engulfing you. You look up to see your boss squatting in front of you, only wearing his pants and crinkled button-up.
“I thought I told you to stay warm,” he chided, adjusting his blazer over your shoulders to make sure it blocked out the wind. He placed something on your hand, and you looked down to see it was your phone—albeit with a crack on it. “You should probably end that call.”
The line was still connected to Johnny, and you stared at it for a moment before bringing it up to your ears.
“J-Johnny?”
“Here,” your head snapped up to see your boss with his phone beside his ear, voice both audible in front of you and through the phone speaker. “(Y/N)?”
You drop your phone once more, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. Youngho’s face twists into a mix of surprise and panic, clearly at a loss of what to do.
“Oh my god—(Y/N), why are you crying? Please stop crying. I didn’t mean to—that guy is gone. Oh no, please stop crying.”
He brings you up to engulf you in a hug once more, rocking you slightly. You wrap your arms around him, tears wetting his shirt.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Johnny, Youngho-ssi, whoever you are,” you wail, “I can’t believe you’re my hot boss. Why are you my hot boss? You could have been literally anyone else, and I’m so embarrassed and it’s all your fault. I’m sorry—I just really, really like you and—oh my god, please let the ground swallow me up whole.”
“Yes! Yes, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Please stop crying, (Y/N). I’m also really glad you think I’m hot, and I really, really like you too, but—oh no, I made it worse. I’ll do anything, I promise. I’ll walk you home every day after work, and I won’t ask you to make me coffee anymore, I’ve even quit my side job ever since you started calling me. Please feel better.”
“You quit your side job?”
“That’s not the point here, (Y/N). Really,” he stared you down, eyes softening, “I promised myself I wouldn’t make you cry. I’ll do anything to make up for it, okay?”
“Even the parrot impersonation?” You manage between sniffles, already letting out a small laugh as you pull back to wipe your cheeks.
He grabbed your hands, cupping your face and wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “Even the parrot impersonation.”
He leant down and gave you a chaste kiss, pulling back so your foreheads and noses were touching. He kissed your tear marks away, pulling you into another embrace once he was finished.
“Please kiss me a bit more. Then we’ll call it even.”
“Fair enough,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss you once more.
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raendown · 6 years ago
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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Chapter: 4/7 Word count: 1785 Summary: Now attending the university here in their hometown as he begins his Master’s, Tobirama develops a problem with falling asleep in the strangest of places. Madara, poor innocent never-deserved-any-of-this Madara, gets mistaken for a mattress one too many times. All he wanted to do was focus on his career but instead he finds himself forcibly tasked with herding his secret crush towards better sleep habits. It’s driving him up the wall.
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
KO-FI in the blog header!
Chapter 3: Special Delivery
Madara had never slept so well and so frequently in his entire life. Every time he passed a mirror he was startled all over again to see how much the bags under his eyes had faded. He still asked himself each time he woke up if the emotional turmoil was really worth all this wonderful rest, though he had yet to come up with a satisfactory answer.
He had tried to tell Tobirama they needed to stop this, of course, and he’d actually been sort of proud of himself for coming up with a couple of legitimate sounding reasons and communicating them without swearing once. The problem was that Tobirama didn’t care to listen to any of his reasons, letting him go on with a solemn expression until he had ranted himself out of breath and then casually asking when he would be coming over that night.
Sometimes he thought about requesting a transfer back to the night shift so he would only be available for sleeping while Tobirama was still in class. That plan was foiled before it could get off the ground by his absolute bone-deep hatred of the night shift.
After a couple of weeks it merely became a pattern much like any other and Madara eventually gave in to idea that he would continue to be used as a sleep aid, possibly until Tobirama was finished with his schooling. Which, he realized, could be quite some time if he planned on going for his PhD after finishing his master’s. He had asked but Tobirama hadn’t really made up his mind on that yet. So at this point there was no telling when this beautiful torture would end and he might as well enjoy what parts of it that he could until it was all over.
It could have been worse, he consoled himself. They could have actually been sleeping in a bed together and that one slight change in location would have made it all feel so much more intimate. But they continued to sleep on the couch so often that Hashirama had begun to avoid sitting there in case his brother and his best friend showed up for another snooze session. Mito, on the other hand, continued to sit wherever she pleased. The one time Tobirama had tried to drag Madara on to the couch when Mito was already sitting there they ended up cramped in to one corner with Madara sitting upright and Tobirama curled atop his lap, Hashirama staring at them with all the visible signs of mental screaming.
Honestly, Madara had agreed more than he had been offended by the staring.
Although at first he was granted a reprieve every so often when Tobirama pulled all-nighters to study or complete one of his endless projects, after a while Hashirama began to whine at him about it. As though it were at all his job to make sure Tobirama slept! It only took a couple days of Hashirama showing up on his lunch hour to hit him with those big puppy eyes for Madara to give in and hand over the last of his sanity. He was doomed to sleep every night on the Senju household couch, dashing home for a change of clothes every morning and then back in to work before going through the madness all over again.
Packing up his things at the end of the day a couple of months after this all began, Madara avoided lifting his head from the files he had been poring over. If he did then he knew he would find Shisui staring at him over the divider separating their desks. His cousin found a great deal of amusement in his situation, always ready with some kind of smart joke on hand.
“I am not in the mood today,” Madara warned him.
“Oh come on! I thought of a really great pun.”
“Go tell it to Sakura,” he growled. “I’m sure your girlfriend is getting her share of laughter out of this too. She’s always hated me.”
“Probably because you guys have too much in common,” Shisui said, no longer bothering to deny his relationship with the she-devil. Madara really hated it when other people got their lives together so quickly. His cousin paused and frowned, visibly trying to shake off the mental image of the comparison he’d just made.
Seeing his opening, Madara took the opportunity to slip away while the other man was distracted. He snatched up his phone, hit a button to redirect his desk calls, and made a bee-line for the exit. It was Thursday and he’d always liked to grab groceries on Thursday’s so that he could enjoy Friday to himself and not worry for the weekend. With how often he ate dinner over at Hashirama’s place maybe he should have given half his grocery bill to them but they hadn’t asked and Madara knew exactly how much cash they were rolling in. They could afford to feed him.
He zoomed over to the store closest to his own home and rushed through the aisles as fast as he could, running on autopilot and sense memory to find all the items on the list he’d scrawled out on a scrap of paper that morning. Usually he wrote up a whole list using the notes app on his phone but usually he didn’t sleep in on Hashirama’s couch and wake up a half hour before shift to Tobirama squirming and demanding to be released so he could make it to class on time. When Madara handed over the other man’s backpack this morning he’d noticed it was much lighter than usual. He was starting to wonder if Tobirama was lying about the amount of projects he always had just to guilt Madara in to helping him sleep better.
Once he had everything he needed in the cart he fell in to the shortest check-out line he could find and resisted the urge to bounce impatiently on the balls of his feet until finally he was loading up his car with plastic bags and heading off towards home. If he didn’t plan anything too complicated he might even have time to cook his own dinner before getting any ‘where are you’ texts calling him in for mattress duty.
That plan went out the window just like his groceries went sprawling out across the floor when he opened the apartment door to find a very familiar looking couch sitting crooked under the archway between kitchen and living room. Perched in the center of it with two different binders open in his lap, Tobirama barely even twitched at all the ruckus.
“Mito sends her regards,” he said. “She also says not to call before noon.”
“It’s seven pm.”
“Oh. Is it?” he asked mildly. Then his nose was back in whatever he happened to be working on and Madara rethought his theory about faking all the homework.
Looking forward to the day this man graduated and returned to the real world, Madara decided his best friend’s harpy of a wife could at least wait until there wasn’t a carton of ice cream melting on his already discolored kitchen tiles. He watched Tobirama from the corner of one eye as he picked everything up and sorted it all in to the proper spots. It wasn’t surprising to get no further reaction than the scratching of a mechanical pencil no matter how much noise he continued to make.
After everything was put away and the screaming in his head sounded less like the siren on top of his squad car, Madara dug out his cellphone and scrolled through the contacts for Mito’s number. She picked up on the second ring.
“I see you received my package.”
“What the hell, you witch?” Madara growled, turning away from Tobirama and retreating in to the bedroom where he could watch the back of the man’s head from afar.
“Keep them both there and don’t come back,” she commanded. “It has been much too long since my husband and I were able to sit down alone and enjoy an evening together. We can buy a new couch; just keep whatever it is the two of you are doing over there and out of my living room.”
“There is nothing inappropriate going on here,” Madara screeched, holding the phone right in front of his face for maximum volume. Too late he froze and realized that was definitely loud enough to be overheard.
Mito, unsurprisingly, had no sympathy for his plight. “Well whatever is going on can go on without an audience.”
She hung up while he was in the middle of hissing some unflattering comments about her possible birth parents. Which, he realized in retrospect, was probably a good thing. Mito was not the kindest person to those who had wronged her and not even Tobirama was stupid enough to ignore the fear of her revenge techniques. A shaven head was less than the least of what she would do to him if she’d heard him insulting her beloved family.
Fuming from both ears Madara punched the end call button, sorely missing the satisfying snap he used to get from ending a call on a flip phone, then stormed a few circles around his bedroom to calm down before heading back out in to the living room. Tobirama had situated himself directly in the center of the couch that used to sit in his brother’s home, both spaces to either side of him left thoughtfully clear. Without anything else to do Madara wandered over and flopped down beside him. He could have gone and sat on his own couch but it just seemed like the thing to do, joining the man already there.
Almost like a magnet to a lode stone, without really seeming to notice he was doing so, Tobirama leaned over to nestle himself up against Madara’s side. It would have been much more charming if Madara weren’t aware the man was likely just seeking a bit of extra warmth.
They sat in silence for a while until the rumbling in his stomach drove Madara back up to make dinner. He was able to tempt his guest away from studying long enough to wolf down a couple plates of stir fry and then they both collapsed on to the couch again and closed their eyes, ready to sleep after a long day. It felt a little strange to sleep there when his actual bed was only a room away but he had to set some boundaries, of course.
It had absolutely nothing to do with how hard it would be to let Tobirama go once he saw the man in his own bed.
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floralseokjin · 7 years ago
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;lostmyhead (m)
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You’re happy in your new relationship with Yoongi, wouldn’t change things for the world. But after one late night message from Seokjin, the guy you’d previously hooked up with (for months), there’s something niggling in the back of your mind. Despite everything, frustratingly that draw is still very much there. What happens when you find yourself caving? And what happens when your boyfriend doesn’t seem to mind?
or, alternatively; You have a threesome with Yoongi and Seokjin. (In poor Namjoon’s bedroom.) 
pairing; kim seokjin x reader x min yoongi genre/warnings; dicks with photo filters, smut; semi intoxicated sex, threesome, oral sex (m + f receiving), deep throating, vaginal fingering, double vaginal fingering, minor ass stuff, dirty talk, filming of sexual acts, spit roast, multiple orgasms, facial  words; 16,388
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(01:12am) Seokjerk: Guess who’s missing you………….. ;)  [Image loading] 
You weren’t expecting a message from Seokjin (or Seokjerk according to your contacts…) when you heard your phone ping beside you.  Your heart feeling a little funny when you read his name on the screen. You hadn’t spoken since things had ended – or you had ended them. Falling for Yoongi had been completely unexpected to say the least, but life liked to throw in little surprises to make things interesting. Life was so much different now and it wasn’t even two months later. You’d gone from hooking up with Seokjin to dating Yoongi in the blink of an eye. 
You opened up Seokjin’s message, reading it with mild confusion as you waited for the image to load. When it did, it was his dick. His dick taking up the entire screen, painfully erect and in his fist. Your stomach jumped, a mix of emotions battling it out before you settled on just one. Horror. 
(01:13am) You:  what  the  fuck  is  wrong  with  you  🤯
You typed dramatically and strategically, desperate to get the image off your screen before Yoongi came back from the bathroom. Your heart thudded inside your chest as if you could get caught at any moment – as if you’d done something wrong! You hadn’t. Seokjin was the culprit here. 
(01:15am) Seokjerk:  😂😂😂😂😂😂 Haha you don’t like it? Don’t lie to yourself bby 
(01:15am) You: Pls don’t call me bby ever again 
What was up with him? Was he drunk? Why was he messaging you after so much silence? It wasn’t like you’d been expecting him keep in touch, you could never be friends after everything, especially because you were with Yoongi now, but the Seokjin filled hole in your life at first had taken a little bit of getting used to. To go from everything to nothing was weird, even with your new relationship to distract you. You’d only just forgetting about him, memories a blur, feelings (on the whole situation, not for him,) gone, getting used to his absence, and now he was messaging you late at night, sending you pics of his dick. You were annoyed to say the least, mad at him, even though if you had to explain why, you wouldn’t be able to. 
(01:16am) Seokjerk: Why  Is that what min yoongo calls u 
You grew angrier. Was Seokjin really so bitter you’d left him for an upgrade? You thought about telling him that but couldn’t bring yourself to type it. You were under the impression he didn’t care. He probably didn’t. He was just bored and horny, thinking he could get you with the snap of his fingers – or the snap of his dick… 
He couldn’t. 
You were with Yoongi now and things were going great. You’d never been in a relationship like this before. It had to be perfect, or at least what you imagined as perfect. You weren’t giving that up for anything. Your time with Seokjin had been fun, but it was only ever supposed to be that. A bit of fun. 
(01:16am) You: Yoongi  his name is Yoongi  and no actually  he doesn’t i just don’t want u calling me it  same as i don’t want to see ur ugly dick on my screen 
(01:17am) Seokjerk: Me and you both know my dick isn’t igly 
You giggled at his typo, knowing full well you’d annoyed him with that insult, about to reply something witty when you heard Yoongi leaving the bathroom. He padded over to the bed and you quickly switched to Twitter, beginning to scroll through your feed casually. You tried not to feel guilty. It wasn’t as if you purposely lying to him. Your conversation with Seokjin meant nothing, you and no interest in him anymore. That had been proven when you’d ended things with him as soon as you had realised you had feelings for Yoongi. 
You didn’t tell Yoongi about the unsolicited dick pic because you didn’t want to cause unnecessary trouble or drama. It meant nothing. Seokjin was 1000% bored and messing around.
“Are you sleeping soon?” Yoongi asked, his voice already thick and slow with drowsiness. 
You hummed as you thought. “Ten more minutes.” You were almost wide awake now. 
Your phone pinged again. Three consecutive pings. Yoongi didn’t bat an eyelid, already burrowed under the covers, his back to you. You took a moment to think. Should you ignore Seokjin or humour him? The latter shouldn’t have won, but it did.  
(01:22am) Seokjerk: Fine If it’s so ugly I’ll make it prettier for u  [Image loading] 
Another image. You nearly choked out loud. Not expecting to see what you did. Of course you were going to see a dick, your conscience had accepted that, but you hadn’t expected to see it edited with a collection of filters! There on your screen was Seokjin’s cock decorated with tiny pink hearts and bunny rabbits, a speech bubble coming from the tip to tell you he it missed you… 
You were horrified, but strangely enough you couldn’t look away. Too entranced. This was definitely new for him… He had to be drunk. 
(01:23am) You: ur actually super weird  wtf why did I ever think hooking up with you was a good idea 
(01:24am) Seokjerk: We did more than hook up  It was more than good  We should do it again sometime Cmon I know u want to 
You couldn’t believe his gall. Shameless! While yes, the sex had been great – you’d be the first to admit that – he knew you were with Yoongi. Yet here he was sending you very bizarre pictures of his penis. He’d always sucked at sexting, why were you even surprised?
(01:25am) You:  Wrong!  now leave me alone  I already got lucky tonight 
You didn’t mean to hand out such a low blow, even though you doubted Seokjin would be butthurt over it, you just needed to put that distance between you both again. This was why you couldn’t try to be friends after everything. A friendship would never work out because this is what you and Seokjin boiled down to. Sex. Without it you both couldn’t function as normal friends. He could never be a friend. Without sex you didn’t function at all. 
While with Yoongi things were different. You had a relationship, one that didn’t revolve around getting naked 24/7. There was a comfort that Yoongi gave you that Seokjin never could. It was a comfort you didn’t even want from Seokjin because you two weren’t about that. 
You glanced at your boyfriend, feeling guilty now. You hadn’t done anything but the guilt was still there. You shouldn’t be talking to Seokjin right now. You should just put your phone on silent and place it on your nightstand—Ping!
(01:27am) Seokjerk: Fuck No fair  You just made me harder fuckk Imahining u getting fucked I wanna see 
You froze. What was with him? This was how “old” Seokjin used to act. The one right at the beginning when you used to fuck in his car because you had no place to go, getting leg cramp and a bad back. Or maybe you had just been blinded with affection for him in the later days. Maybe he’d stayed the same throughout, you’d just gotten used to it… Who knew. But what you did know was that you shouldn’t be still having this conversation with him.  
(01:28am) You: ur such a pervert  go away  stop messaging me it’s harassment 
You still typed away though, as if you couldn’t stop. You still joked around with him, indulged him while your boyfriend laid asleep next to you…
He took a while to reply this time. It started to make you think. Unwanted images of what he may or may not be doing right now as you waited for his response. Jerking himself off, his pretty hands wrapped around that pretty dick of his – because of course you’d been lying when you’d called it ugly earlier. There was nothing ugly about Seokjin. Knowing that you’d turned him on enough that he was potentially pleasuring himself made your insides feel weird. Were you proud? Did you want to gloat? Did you love it? You had no idea what you were thinking right now. 
(01:33am) Seokjerk: If you don’t like it why don’t u block me  Oh  I forgot  U love it really 
He did though. Of course he knew what you were thinking. He still knew you like the back of his hand. Some things took a while to forget, or sometimes they just never disappeared…
Yoongi shifted beside you and you startled, putting your phone face down next to you. He lifted his head, too sleepy to turn and look at you despite the question he directed your way. 
“Aren’t you asleep yet?”
“I’m just turning off my alarm,” you lied on the spot. Guilt back instantly. 
Satisfied, Yoongi grunted and got cosy again. All you were able to see were the blonde tufts of his hair. You needed to stop. You were probably delirious from lack of sleep, even though you’d had a full 8 hours last night, but shut up. You weren’t acting like yourself right now. Come tomorrow you’d be back to your senses, deleting Seokjin’s messages and maybe even his number too. 
(01:35am) You: Thanks for giving me the idea !!  oh  and for the record  i hate it  BYE BBY 
Like you couldn’t help it, you made one last playful remark before turning your phone on silent and getting it away from you. Away from the temptation. You didn’t block him of course. For some reason the idea was absurd, but you didn’t feel like psychoanalysing yourself at nearly two in the morning. That could be for tomorrow. You had a list by now. 
You turned to Yoongi, outstretching your left arm to throw over him as you curled against his body. He was warm and smelt good. It relaxed you instantly. Only… there was another kind of warmth you felt, under the covers, between your legs. You realised it’d been there since you’d began messaging Seokjin and that just made you hate yourself. 
You tried to think of anything to distract yourself, willing sleep to come but it was impossible. Instead you made sure to concentrate on Yoongi. Thinking of him turning around and giving it to you good. That wasn’t so bad. You could tell yourself your shorts were stuck to you now because of that. Because of Yoongi. 
You even thought about waking him up, whining until he gave in and fucked you, just to be able to stop thinking about Seokjin, but that wasn’t going to happen. You didn’t have sex as frequently as you did with…with the guy you shouldn’t be thinking of right now. It was fine, you weren’t complaining at all, you still had sex – hell, you hadn’t been lying when you’d told Seokjin you’d already gotten lucky tonight. You weren’t complaining at all. Being in a relationship was more than sex, you’d already made that clear, it was a weird thing to get used to at first…
Seokjin’s libido was…well, it matched yours. Not that you really had a crazy sex drive before him, but you’d gotten used to it – and you reiterate, because all you and Seokjin were was SEX. Yoongi was different. The first few weeks after making it official he couldn’t keep his hands off you and you loved it, but gradually that had stopped, until you were maybe getting lucky once or twice a week. Granted, Yoongi was pretty busy, most nights filled up with basketball practice, but still… You shouldn’t really have to give yourself an orgasm while your boyfriend napped in your bed… 
God, you were a bitch. 
This was so trivial. Who cared how many times you had sex? Your relationship was the most important thing, and it was going well. Yes, it was still new, but everything was good. This had been something you’d been dreaming of since high school, so why the hell were you letting yourself get distracted by Seokjin again?
You clenched your eyes closed, willing sleep… 
.
.
When you woke up the next morning Yoongi had already left for his early class. He was always so considerate when it came to things like that and you smiled to yourself as you stretched, automatically reaching for your phone like you did every morning. There was nothing like a little social media scroll to help you wake up, maybe you’d even play a quick game or two of Uno, your latest stupid mobile game obsession that Yoongi teased you over. 
Only lighting up your screen you were suddenly reminded of last night, a million and one messages waiting for you from none other than Seokjin. How could you have forgotten? You’d spent the best part of an hour trying to get to sleep, desperate to just stop thinking. 
Just delete them. Delete his number and be done. He’d soon get the message. 
You tried to listen to your rationality. You really did, but not a minute later you were clicking on a notification, holding your breath as you braced yourself. You had a bad feeling about this… 
(01:35am) Seokjerk:  Hey  No wait …….......... LOL My messages are still being received u didn’t block me  See u love it 
(01:38am) Seokjerk: Are u ignoring me or sleeping? I don’t mind I’ll give you something nice to wake up to [Image sent]  Look how hard u made me  (I made my dick prettier btw)  It wants you…. :(
This time you didn’t laugh when you saw Seokjin’s dick with more filters on it. You should, because it was outrageous; his erection displayed on four mini screens, framed with a heart, but you didn’t have it in you. Seokjin must’ve been the only guy in this world who could use filters on his dick and get away with it. You hated it. 
(01:45am) Seokjerk: This is so unfair  I have to resort to jerking off as I imagine u  I wanna fuck u so badddd One last time 
Your mouth was dry. You swallowed a couple of times, your heart thudding against your rib cage. This might’ve been a reach, but in a roundabout way Seokjin was trying to tell you he missed you, right? Or, like you’d already thought last night, he was bored and horny. Maybe he’d been stood up, blue balled. That made you feel funny, images of Seokjin with other girls. You shook your head, telling yourself to shut up and scrolled some more. 
Fuck. You wished you hadn’t. 
(01:56am) Seokjerk: Goodnight ;)  Sweet dreams  [Image sent]  or should I say good morning by the time u see this…….
There was no filter in sight. Seokjin’s half hard dick was lying flat against his abs and white spots of his cum splattered the toned flesh. This was bad. This was really, really bad. The heat between your legs back, your head whirring. You imagined his dark hair stuck against his forehead, lips parted as he moaned lightly to himself, naked on his bed. You knew that sight well. You’d never forget it. 
You needed to ignore this, and determined this time, you deleted the message history. 
You didn’t, however, delete his number. The thought enough to make you unexplainably sad. 
Only ignoring him lasted all of day. Not even a day because it wasn’t 24 hours, it wasn’t even twelve. It was eight. 8 fricking hours, and despite deleting the evidence, getting rid of the reminder, it was you who messaged him this time. You couldn’t stop yourself. 
(10:35pm) You: u know it’s kinda sad u were home alone last night jerking your dick to memories of me 😪
The minutes ticked by pretty painfully as you waited for his reply. Maybe he wouldn’t at all. You were right, he’d been bored last night and now he was done playing with you. You were just beginning to regret your message, a little embarrassed when finally your phone pinged to life. You rushed to open it. 
(10:45pm) Seokjerk:  U know its kinda sad ur texting me when you have a bf 
That stumped you for a moment, feeling a little called out. You knew he was only teasing you, just liked you’d teased him, but he was right. He was totally right. You should’ve known it was coming. 
What were you doing?
You were going to mess everything up. If Yoongi ever found out about this he’d be mad. You knew if it was the other way around you would be. While technically you hadn’t done anything wrong, the implication was there. You shouldn’t be messaging Seokjin at all. All of that was in the past. 
You started to recall the last time you’d met up and had sex. It would be nearly two months soon, felt like a lifetime ago yet at the same time just last week. You’d already been casually dating Yoongi at the time, on your fifth or sixth date, maybe the same amount of kisses. You weren’t really sure when the shift happened. When you’d grown bored of Seokjin and had fallen for Yoongi. It had just sort of sprung up on you. You still couldn’t explain it now. 
How sex with Seokjin had become almost unenjoyable in the end, your mind too preoccupied, too busy worrying that you were messing Yoongi around. The last time had been painfully awkward, so much so Seokjin had brought it up, almost as if he couldn’t ignore it any longer. 
“I can eat you out if you want?” He offered when you hadn’t cum during the deed. 
You shook your head, grabbing for your clothes to rush them on. Yoongi had asked you to hang out tonight and you’d made up some excuse. The guilt was eating you up. You needed to make a decision and you needed to make it now. Tonight. 
“What’s up with you?” Seokjin sighed, finally reaching for his clothes too. “It was like I was fucking a statue or something. You haven’t been into it at all lately.” 
“I have,” you insisted, although you didn’t know why. You were just digging yourself a deeper hole. In a way Seokjin was giving you a way out. 
“Really?” Seokjin did not believe you at all. “We hardly see one another anymore. You always find some excuse. I’m surprised you came over tonight actually.” 
You were silent, unsure what to say. Unsure how to explain yourself. You’d agreed to see him tonight because you’d told yourself you would end things straight away. Yet somehow you’d found yourself naked, your body tangled in his. It was funny, yes, you weren’t into it anymore, but yet there was still a part of you that wanted him. It was just strange to let go after everything. You knew all good things had to come to an end one day, but you would’ve never have guessed it was because you’d fallen for someone. You’d always thought Seokjin would’ve been the one who’d ended things. Maybe you were used to men letting you down… 
“I’m sorry,” you began, your mind falling to Yoongi. You could never imagine Yoongi letting you down. He was just so sweet and attentive. He wasn’t like any of the others you’d dated before. He was one of the good ones. “I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” 
“Wanna talk about it?” 
That made you feel guilty. Guilt from all angles. You watched as he slipped his underwear back on, averting your gaze a little. You didn’t know why. 
It was now or never. You’d made your decision. You owed this to Yoongi. If you wanted to try and make things work this was the only way. It was time to let go. It was time to let go of Seokjin. 
“Do you remember when that guy asked me out on a date a few weeks ago?”
Seokjin nodded, his own gaze lowering. He scratched his knee. “The one who was going to take you to McDonald’s.” 
You let out a breathy chuckle, remembering a past conversation. “He didn’t take me to McDonald’s.” You also remembered more, about how Seokjin would take you to the zoo. He’d never. Maybe that was your fault. You hadn’t brought it up again. In fact, you’d blown him off that weekend to hang out with Yoongi… 
“I like him.” Your voice sounded weird. All serious. You were never this serious around Seokjin. You tried again. “I like the guy a lot and I think it could be serious if I let it.”
You waited for his response, more than nervous. 
“So,” he hummed quietly. Your heart was beating rapidly. “You want to end this because you’ve fallen in love with some random dude?”
“I’m not in love,” you argued, scoffing. “I just want to see how things go, and well, I can’t do that when—
“When you’re still fucking me,” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly, looking down. 
Seokjin grabbed his sweatshirt from the end of his bed, throwing it on. Was he expecting you to say something? You didn’t know what. He was exactly right. But no, he spoke again straight after. “That’s a shame, but you do you.” 
Speechless that he’d taken it so well and accepted it immediately you didn’t know where to go from there. What had you been expecting exactly? You didn’t know.  “So… That’s it? It’s over?” 
“I guess so,” he shrugged. 
Still sat on his bed, you didn’t know what to do. “Okay. So I guess I’ll get going then.” 
“Wait, wait, wait. Not so fast.” He rushed, taking your hand to stop you from standing. You froze, stomach flipping. What was it? “Before you go, tell me how good a fuck I was this entire time.” 
You made a shocked sound, nonplussed. “Seokjin, I’m not going to do that. Stroke your ego another way.” 
“Oh come on, give me this one last thing.”
“Stop.” You whined weakly. 
“Say ‘Seokjin, I’ll miss you. Thank you for the greatest sex I’ve ever had and will ever have.’”
“I’m not fucking saying that,” you rejected, rolling your eyes. 
“Say it or I’ll tell Yoongi that we were still hooking up while you two were dating – or whatever it is you’ve been doing.” 
Huh? He knew it was Yoongi? How? You’d never said anything to him. How long had he known for? You knew he would never actually tell the other guy, he was just teasing but it still made you feel guilty. You hadn’t told Yoongi anything. It was something you probably should have by now but in your defence, you’d only been on a handful of dates. It wasn’t as if Yoongi and confessed how much he liked you yet, asked you for something more serious. That’s why you were ended things with Seokjin now. So you and Yoongi could move forward. 
“Fine,” you gave in, not about to ask how he knew it was Yoongi you liked. You didn’t even know he knew of Yoongi. “Seokjin, thank you for the greatest sex I’ve ever had.” 
Seokjin’s eyes narrowed before he shrugged. “Hm, close enough.” He knew that your expressionless voice and half-hearted enthusiasm was all he was going to get. 
You collected the rest of your things and slipped your shoes on. That was it? After all these months it was over just like that? It was easier than you’d expected, now unsure why’d you’d ever been nervous to end things in the first place. Yet you still feel a little weird. Sad? It was the end of an era after all. 
“Just remember,” Seokjin spoke as you grabbed your car keys from his dresser. You froze. “You always know where I am if you miss me, because I think you will...” 
He was just messing around, or at least, you thought he was at the time. Now, those words were coming back to haunt you. 
It was a Wednesday night, you were home alone, bored and possibly a little lonely. Raking up the past like you had nothing better to do. As if you were weak minded. You should be messaging Yoongi instead, but then again, it was nearly 11. He was probably asleep by now. Seokjin didn’t go to sleep until about two, sometimes later, even on a weekday. 
(10:50pm) Seokjerk: Not that I mind of course  I knew you’d come back 
You’d taken so long to reply Seokjin had grown impatient. Why did that incite something inside of you? You didn’t know what, it was just nice to know he wanted to talk to you. That he hadn’t been just bored last night. Nice to know you weren’t just any girl to him. He was talking shit, granted, but that was okay. 
(10:50pm) You: no I was jus t wondering if u were home alone doing it again 
(10:51pm) Seokjerk:  Now that IS interesting……….
Damn it. You’d really put your foot in it. Now it looked like you were into it. You weren’t. You weren’t at all. That wasn’t why you were you messaging him right now. Thinking about it, why were you messaging him? You weren’t ever going to get a casual conversation, not when he’d sent you a string of lewd texts last night. 
(10:51pm) You:  that’s NOT what i meant !! 
Seokjin ignored you. 
(10:52pm) Seokjerk: Thursdaysare my day off  No jerking on leg day I’m in too much pain after the gym  Unless……u want to come around and help me with a massage Any type I’m not fussy 
(10:52pm) You: in ur dreams ahole 
You waited for his reply but nothing came. Maybe you’d been too harsh. Nah, he was used to you. Maybe he had something better to do. Maybe he was with someone right now… While you were here alone pathetically waiting for his reply like you had nothing better to do. 
(11:10pm) Seokjerk: You know me too well Are you going to Hoseok and Nam’s sat? They’re having a party everyone’s invited 
When he did reply, twenty minutes later, you were surprised to see he’d pretty much changed the subject completely. What had you been expecting exactly? A round two? The sudden thought had your belly flipping. You ignored it. 
(11:11pm) You: I don’t know maybe 
You watched [Seokjerk is typing…] appear and disappear off the screen for a few seconds, wondering what the hell he was trying to say.  
(11:12pm) Seokjerk: I’d love to see you  You can even bring Yoongo with u 
You rolled your eyes at his purposeful typo, but yet it was his first message you were fixated on. Was that what he’d been stuck typing? Rethinking? Rephrasing? You hadn’t seen him in so long, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t miss him. It was only natural. It would be nice to just see him, hear his voice, familiarise yourself with his smell. No, that sounded bad. Too intimate. 
(11:13pm) You:  wow that’s kind of you to give permission 
Two minutes later you were replying again. Giving in almost. 
(11:15pm) You: I’ll come if I don’t have plans 
(11:16pm) Seokjerk: Yay 😆 See u then 
You chewed on your bottom lip, feeling a little stuck. There was no way you could carry on the conversation without making it weird. What else could you possibly say? Ask him how he’d been, what he’d been up to? You very nearly did but got second thoughts. No good would come of it. You’d already pretty much decided to go to a party because he’d kind of invited you. Besides, Seokjin didn’t do small talk – or at least not with you now anyway. After everything. 
Instead you decided to have an early night, hoping this time your brain would switch off successfully. 
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Saturday rolled around quickly. Even though you knew nothing good would come of attending the house party you still found yourself asking Lina if she wanted to go with you. She didn’t. She had work early the next morning. Next was Yumi, but it was her Mom’s birthday. You didn’t really have no one else to ask, no close friends you usually partied with anyway, so Yoongi was chosen by default. Not that you weren’t going to ask him at all, you were, it was just going to be a more casual ‘You bring your friends, I bring mine’ thing. Not ‘Let’s go together.’ He said yes to your surprise. Once you’d made some lie up about bumping into Hoseok at the mall. You didn’t know why you’d made up such a lie to explain yourself, you just knew Yoongi couldn’t find out it was Seokjin who had let you know. 
There was no issue between the two men per se, but just like Seokjin had surprisingly known about your dates with Yoongi, Yoongi had known about your hook ups with Seokjin. Bringing it up the night you’d first had sex. You’d been an idiot, unsure why you’d hidden it from him in the first place, but thankfully he’d been understanding. As long as he knew you and Seokjin were over, he was fine with it. It was in the past, he was your future. But even though there was no “beef” you knew Yoongi wouldn’t like it if he knew Seokjin had been the one to tell you about the party. Plus he could be mad. He would definitely be mad if he ever saw those messages…
You already felt guilty enough just being at the party. You were weirdly eager to catch a glance of Seokjin, it had been too long now, seeing as summer break had started and there was no longer a chance to see him around campus. Not that you were walking around hoping for a chance. 
Hoseok and Namjoon’s house was pretty packed for such a small place, so for the first half an hour of your arrival you didn’t see him at all, despite being on high alert. Seokjin hadn’t messaged you again since Wednesday night and once again you were left wondering if he’d just been bored that night he’d sent you that dick pic. Why else would radio silence follow? Then again, you’d been the one to not reply after the party invite – not that he’d given you much to reply with. How could you add on from ‘See u then’? A simple ‘Same.’ Sounded lame. 
When you finally spotted him in the yard through the window in the kitchen, your gut started to churn. Excitement mixed with disgust at yourself. Why the fuck were you feeling like that? So giddy? Seokjin had cut his hair since you’d last seen him, the guy didn’t really do social media so you rarely saw up to date photos of him. It was shorter in the back, longer in the front, casually falling in his eyes as he stood outside, a beer in one hand, the other in his pocket, laughing and joking with Namjoon. Something hit you then, as you watched him: You missed him. 
It was a sudden realisation, one that you didn’t like, and you quickly dropped your gaze, making a beeline for the table to find something for you and Yoongi to drink. You grabbed a beer for Yoongi, pouring yourself a vodka and coke. You didn’t even like vodka. 
Just before you were about to leave, you felt a breeze, the door opening, and even though you knew you shouldn’t look in its direction, you did. You met Seokjin’s eyes instantly through the crowd, he almost looked shocked at seeing you. You forced yourself to give him a little smile, feeling rooted at the spot and he blinked, almost returning it before you felt an arm around your waist and a kiss on your cheek. “There you are.” 
It was Yoongi. You turned to face him instantly, forcing a grin. “Sorry, there was too much choice.” You felt a little skittish, like you’d been caught. You hadn’t done anything wrong, you didn’t even think Yoongi knew that Seokjin was a few feet away. How could he? The tiny kitchen was packed. 
“Thought you’d gotten lost,” Yoongi chuckled.
You shook your head, not wanting to say much else. “Beer okay?” You asked, holding it out to him. 
“Perfect.” His free hand took yours, helping lead you out of the kitchen and back into the living room. “Kihyun’s here with the boys. Let’s go and say hi.” 
Yay, you thought to yourself. Boring basketball talk all night, how fun! As if you couldn’t help it, you looked back, searching for Seokjin. You found him at the fridge, his back towards you now. You felt unexplainably disheartened. 
.
.
You spent the next near two hours sat beside Yoongi on a sofa, half-heartedly joining in the conversation with his friends when you could. This sucked. Why had you been so insistent on coming? To see Seokjin? Laughable. You’d only seen him that once, not that you hadn’t tried to make it more. Every time you offered to go and some more drinks for everyone either one of Yoongi’s friends said they’d do it, or Yoongi himself. And no matter how much you looked around the room, Seokjin didn’t seem to want to step foot in here. The kitchen must be where all the fun was, unless he was somewhere else by now. Maybe he’d hooked up. Maybe he was upstairs right now making some girl feel good. 
You wanted to go home. You were on your third vodka and coke, and instead of feeling drunk you were just feeling plain old miserable. 
Your phone pinged, vibrations against your side, and you fished it out of your dress pocket with a strange kind of haste. It was the name you wanted to see. 
(11:31pm) Seokjin:  You came
Yes, you’d changed his name back. You didn’t know why. You couldn’t even remember when or why you’d even changed it to jerk again. That had been what you’d called him right at the beginning. When he annoyed you and you were mad at yourself for sleeping with him, mad at yourself for coming back for more… 
Looking in Yoongi’s direction next to you, you made sure he wasn’t looking as you replied, too busy chatting away, his arm slung around your shoulders. Your heart pounded for no explainable reason as you typed. Or maybe you just didn’t want to explain it… 
(11:32pm) You:  I did 
You watched the screen, waiting for his reply but got nothing. He’d seen you two hours ago so why hadn’t he messaged you then? Why now? And was that all he was going to say? You couldn’t leave it be. 
(11:34pm) You:  it’s pretty boring here though
That got him, he began typing again. 
(11:35pm) Seokjin: You find every party boring lol  You think you’d learn by now not to go to any 
You found yourself smiling. He knew you well. How couldn’t he after all that time together? Yes, you hadn’t been dating in the traditional sense but you’d been just as close. You went to reply, not really thinking as you typed until you were done, reading it back before you hit send. You invited me though. 
Not only did that sound incriminating, technically it wasn’t true. He’d asked if you were going, not would you go. You deleted and tried again. 
(11:35pm) You: you asked if i was coming though 
It still sounded just as desperate. The feeling of Yoongi removing his arm from your shoulder caught your attention and quickly you looked at him, seeing he was still talking to Kihyun. You shrunk back into the couch, waiting for Seokjin. He was probably laughing at you right now. 
(11:36pm) Seokjin: I did 
Or not. 
He was repeating what you’d said. Simple words, that didn’t imply much, yet they seemed to speak something more, something deeper. 
You watched him begin to type again, it took a minute or so. What did he want to say? 
(11:37pm) Seokjin:  Do you want to talk in person? Catch up?  You’re right this is boring I’m bored
You stared down at your phone, rereading his messages certain you were understanding wrong. You took it he agreed the party was boring, but if you read between the lines it could mean something else…
(11:37pm) You: since when do you like talking to me?
You didn’t want to answer outright. You couldn’t go and talk to him? It wasn’t right. Did he miss you too?
(11:37pm) Seokjin: I always liked talking to you
You knew it was just a text, but you took it as sincere and it had you speechless. 
(11:38pm) Seokjin: Come upstairs  If you can
You made your screen black, clutching it in your hands. Your palms were sweaty. Looking to the side of you, you found Yoongi looking your way. You heart dropped. He hadn’t seen anything, had he? 
“What’s up?” He asked, tilting his head. 
Your nerves calmed. You didn’t think he had. “Oh, nothing,” you shook your head, motioning to your phone. “Just Lina wondering how this party is.” Liar. You were such a liar.
Yoongi stared your way, nodding his head slowly, as if he’d decided something. Then he smiled slightly, taking a swig of his beer. 
“Um,” you found yourself starting. It was urge you couldn’t stop. “I’m going to go and find a toilet.” More lies. You rushed up before you could feel the guilt. “I’ll be right back, okay?” You were gone before Yoongi could reply. 
You stopped on the stairs, messaging Seokjin quickly to ask where he was. You didn’t know why you felt so shady. You were only catching up. It was innocent. You could be friends with him if you wanted. This friendship thing could work if you opened yourselves up to it. Seokjin replied in an instant and you made your way to the bedroom with the blue door, slipping inside as if you were seconds away from being caught. You left the door ajar though, anything to ease your growing guilt. 
“Hey,” Seokjin smiled gently. He was sat to the side on a desk chair. Who’s room was this, Namjoon’s or Hoseok’s? You thought about asking but then that didn’t really matter, did it?
“Why are you up here all alone?” That did. Seokjin alone at a party didn’t make sense. 
He chuckled quietly, running a hand through his hair. “Needed some silence. Had one too many Jägerbombs.” 
You laughed, a little awkwardly to tell the truth. Why had you come up here? You needed to leave and get back to Yoongi. No good would come of this. Seokjin stood, making his way over to you. You panicked. “I… I shouldn’t really be here.” 
Seokjin’s face fell instantly. “Then why are you?”
You were shocked by the sudden attitude. You were only stating the obvious. “Because you—
“Don’t blame it on me. You didn’t have to come find me.” 
“I’m not blaming it on you,” you exclaimed, confused and upset by the sudden attack. “You are the one who messaged me though.” You weren’t having this. If he hadn’t started his shitty games that night you wouldn’t be here right now. You wouldn’t even be at this party. Maybe you were blaming him. He had a way of getting into your head. 
Seokjin laughed incredulously. “You messaged me back!”
“Was I just supposed to ignore you?”
“If you didn’t like it, yeah,” he muttered, not making eye contact with you. 
Was he embarrassed? You were so confused. You thought he’d wanted to “catch up” not start an argument.  You softened your voice, trying a new approach. “What is with you lately?” 
He just scoffed. “Haven’t I always been like this?”
“No,” you told him straight. The Seokjin you knew had always respected your wishes. He would’ve respected your decision to end things to be with Yoongi, and he had, for a number of weeks, until now. What had changed?  “I’m not saying you’re like anything. It’s just… You know I’m with Yoongi now.” You spoke slowly. Despite everything, despite your risky interest with those messages, you needed to tell him. You needed to tell yourself. “So you sending me pictures of your dick is kind of inappropriate.” 
Seokjin looked at you, something changing in his expression. He looked almost sad, dejected. You waited for his response. It wasn’t what you were expecting. “Just one last time?” He sounded almost pleading. 
You froze in disbelief. “You’re drunk.” It was the only explanation. 
“I’m not,” he insisted. “Besides, don’t they say that drunk people speak the truth?” He took a step closer. “Me and you. Us. We were good together.” 
“Yeah but it’s in the past now.” You couldn’t deny what he was saying, but it didn’t matter anymore. It was over. Had been for a while. 
“Don’t I know it,” he muttered under his breath.
You instantly grew annoyed. So what, after all these weeks he was choosing now to have a problem with it? You weren’t going to stand for it. “Did you just invite me up here to try and fuck me?”
He shrugged impassively, unbothered. “Maybe.”
You wanted to yell but held it together. “I have a boyfriend.” 
“Who’s right here.” 
The sound of Yoongi’s voice horrified you and you whipped your head around in time to see your boyfriend pushing the door open to walk inside. He closed it behind him. You opened your mouth to say something – anything, but found it took at least three tries before sound was actually leaving you. “Yoongi,” you gasped. “It’s not what it looks like—I-I…” You trailed off. What did it look like exactly? 
You heard Seokjin mutter a curse behind you, stepping forward, beside you now as he tried to pacify the situation. “Yeah man, it’s not what it looks like. It’s not her fault at all. I’m just being an ass.”
Well, at least he could freely admit that. 
Yoongi ignored him, looking straight at you, expression unreadable. Was he mad? Upset? Unbothered? You didn’t know. “I saw your messages, didn’t know what I was expecting to find.” 
Oh what an idiot you’d been, sure he’d been too busy talking to his friends to even notice you on your phone. That meant he knew you lied about Lina. That meant he’d followed you upstairs and had heard your conversation with Seokjin…
Seokjin tried again. “We were just talking—
“She can answer for herself,” Yoongi cut him, voice thick with irritation. He looked at you again, waiting your response. You still couldn’t work out what he was thinking, although it couldn’t have been good. 
“I’m sorry,” you told him quietly. What more could you say? You’d lied to him. Regardless of your intentions, you’d still lied. You wouldn’t blame him if he broke up with you right here on the spot. He opened his mouth, your heart was in your stomach as you waited. 
“Do you want to fuck him?”
That you hadn’t been expecting. Your mouth fell open, eyes wide as you tried to make sense of it. “Yoongi,” you gasped, feeling mortified for some reason. Seokjin’s presence beside you had never been so obvious. You couldn’t dare look at him. 
“Answer the question. It’s a simple question.” 
No. That’s what you should answer straight away. It was a simple answer, yet for the life of you, you couldn’t form the word. Instead, you found another way. “I’m with you.” 
You had chosen Yoongi. Despite this stupid situation, despite this mistake you’d made, you were and always would be a loyal person. You weren’t a cheat. You’d been cheated on before, not that long ago actually and you would never put another person through that. You would’ve never had sex with Seokjin. You were with Yoongi. 
Seokjin sighed. “Listen, this is just stupid. It’s not her fault. I was the one who asked her up her. I said I wanted to talk.” 
Why was he sticking up for you? Not ten minutes pervious he’d been acting like a first class jerk, picking an argument with you. It didn’t make sense. 
Yoongi ignored him again, still watching you, eyes dark, although they didn’t look angry. It confused you. His jaw tightened. “He’s been sending you pictures of his dick?” 
You could see Seokjin fidget awkwardly next to you. “Yes, a few nights ago.” You replied honestly. If you wanted him to understand, to potentially forgive you, you needed to be truthful. 
“Did you like it? Did you enjoy it?”
You felt your stomach knot. Had you? That was still up in the air, and you hated that he was asking you this in front of Seokjin. Couldn’t he ask him to leave? It was like Yoongi wanted him there, liked watching him squirm. 
“I don’t know.” Honest. You needed to be honest. “I think I enjoyed knowing he was still thinking about me.” There. You weren’t a cheat no, but that for sure crossed some lines. It was a grey area, and that’s why you’d been racked with guilt ever since Tuesday night. 
Yoongi’s emotions remained hidden. It didn’t help that you’d never seen him angry before so you had no clue what to look out for. This room felt like it was closing in on you now, the air stuffy. Seokjin and Yoongi both felt so close. It made you feel funny. 
“I was drunk and I feel really bad about it,” Seokjin interjected, once again trying to take the fall. Ah, so he had been drunk…
“You wanted to have sex with her not two minutes ago,” Yoongi bit, finally acknowledging him. The tension was suffocating. Something felt like it was about to happen and you preyed it wasn’t a fight. 
“I was just talking shit. I know she’s with you,” Seokjin insisted. “She really likes you, man.” Hearing that made you feel funny. You didn’t know why. Didn’t really have time to ponder it. Yoongi was rendering you speechless once again. 
“She can still like me and fuck you too. She’s done it before.”
Silence. 
What did that mean? Yoongi definitely didn’t sound mad. His voice was thick with something, you just couldn’t place what. You stared at him, desperate to understand. Beside you Seokjin chuckled. “I see.” 
He did? How come he got it and you didn’t? Yoongi’s attention turned to the other guy. They stared one another down, waiting for something – deciding something?
Finally it was Seokjin that spoke again, looking back and forth at you and Yoongi as he spoke – suggested something. “Maybe she can fuck both of us?”
Between your legs clenched despite the shock you felt. You stared at Yoongi, noticing his dark eyes again. Oh. You understood then. Instantly. They weren’t hard or black with anger. They were hard and black with lust. He’d been turned on this entire time. Maybe mad too, but that was probably because he couldn’t understand nor explain his emotions. 
“Do you want to?” He asked, voice gentle like you were used to. He sounded more like the Yoongi you knew, the one you’d fallen for. 
You needed a moment to think. Not to decide, but more so prepare yourself. You were getting hotter by the moment, the air around you heavy. It made sense now, you saw now, you had been drowning in sexual tension. You nodded slowly. Seokjin, waiting your answer too, inched in closer. You wanted to ask Now? But that seemed like a stupid question. Of course it was now. It was now or never. 
Seokjin’s hands took you by the hips, spinning you to face him and you soundlessly gasped. Just feeling him touch you again was earth shattering. You hesitated though, looking back at Yoongi who simply nodded his head, giving you his permission. He was giving you his permission to fuck another man. He wanted you to fuck another man. This was too surreal. 
You turned back to Seokjin. Not ten minutes prior you’d been mad at him, now your insides bubbled with something else… Your gaze fell to his mouth. His plump lips that seemed to crease with concern for a moment. “Only if you’re really sure?” He murmured. You blinked up at him, hunger becoming hard to ignore. You could smell him, that scent you were so familiar with, the scent that reminded you of all those months spent exploring one another’s bodies. There was nothing wrong with this. Not when you all wanted the same thing. 
“I’m sure,” you replied, giving him a confident smile. If Yoongi was okay with this then there was no problem. If Yoongi wanted this, then it was fine. Your unclear emotions were almost justified. 
Seokjin couldn’t wait a second longer to get his mouth on you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him consume you. You’d missed Seokjin’s mouth so much. The kiss was quick and intense, like he was desperate for the sensation and he wasted no time in pushing his tongue inside your mouth. You moaned without realising, clashing your muscle against his eagerly. You’d been under the impression this would never happen again, but here you were, making out with him shamelessly in front of Yoongi. Seokjin grunted, one of his hands reaching behind you to give your ass a rub. You pressed up into him, liking it when you felt his growing erection. You always had made him hard so easily. Nothing had changed. 
Pulling away eventually, needing some air, you looked Yoongi’s way immediately. Embarrassment washed over you for a moment, you’d almost forgotten he was there. His eyes were still hard, pinned on you. “Yoongi?” You asked cautiously. Was he getting second thoughts? 
“He’s fine,” Seokjin husked against you ear, pulling you closer. “Aren’t you?” He directed at Yoongi. You couldn’t see his reply, Seokjin in your way now, distracting you as he nipped at your earlobe. Your knees grew weak. “He likes it.” You let out a shaky breath. You didn’t know whether it was the admission or the way Seokjin’s tongue traced down your neck. “You do too.” His words rumbled against your throat, and once again you were able to glance across at your boyfriend. 
His eyes were darting everywhere now; Seokjin’s mouth on your skin, his hand on your ass, but mostly he liked where your two bodies met, right in the middle. You felt relieved. You felt free, and you smiled, rubbing against Seokjin purposely. “So do you. You’re hard.” 
He chuckled. “Busted.” He rolled the flesh of your ass in both hands now, grinding you against the tent in his black jeans. “I’m always fucking hard because of you.”  
You managed to look at Yoongi once more before Seokjin was kissing you again, stealing your attention and your sanity. This was like some sort of forbidden fantasy. Who knew you’d be into something like this? Not you. You vaguely remembered Seokjin bringing it up once, definitely talking shit, so turned on every thought was driving him wild. It had been fantasy then, now it was real. Or, at least it would be real soon enough. 
You felt electric as Seokjin slid a hand up your dress, gripping the flesh of your ass for real now. He pinged your thong and you moaned loudly. You knew you were already growing wet, you could feel the heaviness of your arousal. You needed him. It had been way too long. Just knowing Yoongi was watching you fuelled you even further. You wondered what he was thinking, if he liked what he saw. His girlfriend getting felt up by another guy right in front of his eyes. Was he hard too? You wanted to find out. You wanted both of them.
Pulling away Seokjin looked in Yoongi’s direction. “Lock the door.” Your stomach dipped, Seokjin kissing you once again, and you heard the sound of Yoongi’s boots across the wooden floor, the click of the lock. This was really happening. You were going to fuck both of them. 
Yoongi’s footsteps came closer and Seokjin abruptly twisted you around. You gasped as you found yourself in Yoongi’s arms now, his fingers gripping into your waist as his dark eyes found yours. “Yoongi—
He cut you off with a kiss. It was just as urgent as Seokjin’s, but harder. A lot harder. He hadn’t kissed you this rough before. It took your breath away. It was as if he was overcome with lust and he needed you now. He needed this now. You could taste the beer on him, reminding you that all three of you were pretty intoxicated right now. You weren’t drunk by any means, but the alcohol you’d consumed had definitely eased you up tonight. Likewise for Yoongi and Seokjin too. 
Yoongi grunted as he kissed you, tongue thrashing against yours as he tried to taste you everywhere. He was touching the roof of your mouth, licking against your teeth, sucking your tongue inside his mouth, taking over you effectively. You clung to him in the end, needing to be rooted. 
When he pulled back you instantly tried for more, but he stopped you, taking one of your hands instead to wrap it around his erection. “Looks like you’re magic,” he smirked. 
That smirk was the first positive reaction you’d gotten. Something concrete that showed his enjoyment. He was breathing loudly, the kiss having taken it out of him. You thought you were out of breath too but you felt so alive.  
Yoongi and you had never really talked about sexual fantasies yet, it hadn’t come up. Actually, in comparison your sex life was completely different to what you and Seokjin once had, but you’d already thought this, already knew this. Seeing Yoongi act like this was hot. It was sexy. It was unbelievable. 
He gripped the back of your head to smash your lips together again, his eyes on Seokjin as the other guy took a seat on the edge of the bed. Breaking away, Yoongi took your hand and marched you over to him, to which you gladly obeyed, leaning over his body to kiss him again. Seokjin widened his legs, falling back to let you slot inside and wrapped his arms around your middle. 
“Seeing as you missed her so much,” Yoongi taunted, standing over you both as he watched. Seokjin took no notice. He either didn’t care or wasn’t even paying attention in the first place. 
Knowing Yoongi was deriving pleasure from this only doubled yours and not long after that you were pulling apart from Seokjin’s lips, a panting mess, to reach for the buttons on his jeans. You dropped to your knees and he sat up, watching you, mouth open as he breathed heavily. 
“Sucking my dick already?” He teased.  
You ignored him, too desperate now as you fought with the fabric. It was stretched so tight over his thighs you had a hard time freeing his dick, but you won, finally feeling the smooth, hard flesh of his cock in your hand. 
As you ran your fist up and down him steadily, warming up, you heard Yoongi chuckle. “So the rumours are true. Impressive.” 
You looked up at Seokjin, curious for his reaction. He laughed back. “Of course they are. Although, it’s only impressive if you know how to use it.” He paused, looking down at you. “I do. Ask your girlfriend.” Between your legs pulsed, memories stirring. 
Yoongi scoffed but other than that said nothing, and eager, you lowered your head, really, really wanting to suck dick. Seokjin’s dick. It twitched in your palm as he gave you an enthusiastic grunt, taking hold of your shoulder as you took him into your mouth. “Fuck,” he hissed, watching you pull off to swirl your tongue around the sensitive head, digging the tip of the muscle into the slit, knowing it made his thighs tremble. Said thighs were hard with tension, his boxers and jeans digging a line into the skin. You took him back inside, pushing as far as you could get before gagging. He arched his back swallowing down a yelp. You guessed he wanted to look cool, calm and collected in front of Yoongi. Cute. 
You moaned enthusiastically around him, wanting him to react more. You made sure to jerk your fist against the flesh you couldn’t reach, making your mouth wetter, making your actions louder. You looked up at him, making eye contact. He buckled. “Ah, f-fuck.” He started knocking his hips to the rhythm, you let him fuck your mouth shallowly. 
Extending an arm behind you, you reached for Yoongi, coming into contact with his leg, and you gripped it tightly. He stepped closer. 
“Don’t worry, he’s still here,” Seokjin said, eyes looking up and behind you. “He’s enjoying the show. Likes watching you choking on big dick.” You moaned, unable to stop yourself. 
That was when Yoongi suddenly crouched beside you, hand reaching to stroke your hair attentively before he was gripping the back of your neck, stilling you, lodging Seokjin’s dick inside your mouth. 
“Yeah,” he husked. “I’m enjoying myself.” He kissed your temple gently, as if to reassure you. God, you were so turned on. You needed to get touched before you burst. 
“Can you take him deeper? I fail to believe you never have.” 
Fuck. Yoongi had never spoken to you like this before. He wasn’t really a lover of dirty talk, but this was more than that. It was real, raw. He meant every word and he wanted this. His grip eased up on your neck, letting you pull off Seokjin’s cock to prepare a breath. When you took him inside again, you pushed deeper, just to satisfy Yoongi – and Seokjin in the process of course. When you audibly choked Yoongi growled with pleasure. 
“Fuuck,” Seokjin cursed as you came up for air. Not really having much of a moment to compose himself before Yoongi was helping to guide your head down again. This time you got to the base of Seokjin’s cock, jaw aching as you concentrated on breathing out of your nose and not on the word ‘gag’. With watery eyes you looked at Seokjin and forced yourself to swallow around his girth. He jerked up, crying out. “—Swallow—h–holy fuck, I forgot how good your throat felt—mother fuck—”
This time as you tried to repeat you gagged, a loud retching noise tearing from your throat and Yoongi let go of you, letting you come up for air, panting loudly. Some of your saliva slid from the corner of your mouth and you wiped it away quickly, ignoring the burn in your jaw. Some had even collected in the little hairs that covered his groin. They shone in the overhead lighting. 
“Baby, I think he’s close already,” Yoongi chuckled, taking a look at Seokjin, highly amused. 
Seokjin’s thighs were so tense the muscle looked almost aggressive, patches of red littering the flesh. It travelled up his neck too, flushed his face as he tried for breath. It was good to know you still had the same effect on him. 
However, distracted he shot a look your way. “I thought you said he didn’t call you baby.” You just shrugged. 
“I can call her whatever I want,” Yoongi informed the other guy. “She’s my girlfriend.” He stood you up, body in front of yours as he watched Seokjin on the bed.  “My girlfriend,” he repeated, running his hand up and down your back. You glanced at him, despite his loving action his eyes were still dark, a fire you’d never seen in them before. “I’m the one giving you permission to get your dick sucked by her.” 
Seokjin just chuckled quietly, uncaring that his dick was still out, drenched in your spit. In fact, he began to run his own fist along the length now. You found yourself staring. “Thanks for being so kind. Can I fuck her too?”
Please. Your body pretty much ached for his dick. You wondered if you could still take him. You thought you could. It hadn’t been that long, and besides, you’d always been a pro when it came to that. 
“Not yet,” Yoongi dismissed. “It’s my turn first.” He pushed gently at your shoulders, signalling for you to drop in front of him. You listened, your face meeting his crotch. 
“Fair is fair,” Seokjin breezed. 
Yoongi’s dick was a lot more manageable. You held onto his thighs as you let him thrust in and out of your mouth, curling your tongue along the underside of the flesh as he did so, swirling it around the tip – making a show of it. 
“Mhm, fuck,” he muttered, running his fingers through your hair before holding your head still, lodging his cock all the way inside your mouth. He held you close, the tip of your nose pressing into the hem of his t-shirt as you forced yourself to swallow around him. 
Okay, yes Yoongi’s dick was smaller than Seokjin’s but that didn’t mean you weren’t struggling to deepthroat him. His hips bucked into you once when he felt you choke, and he eased away quickly after that, his face shiny as he remained breathless. 
He bent to ran a finger along your lips, wiping away some of your spit that had collected in the corner. “You’re dribbling you love cock so much.” 
You had no doubt by now that you were drenched down below. You could  feel the way your thong stuck to you as you shuffled on your knees, pressing your thighs together as you moaned and tugged his boxers down lower. You took him in your palm, spreading your spit into his length as you moved closer. Aware that Seokjin was watching, you dipped your head and took one of Yoongi’s balls into your mouth, sucking the soft flesh gently as you looked up at your boyfriend innocently. His mouth had fallen open, brows creasing together, face crinkled up as he moaned softly. You smiled mischievously around him, a twinkle in your eyes and he loved it. You thought Seokjin did too, hearing him fidget around on the bed. You pulled back, tongue pointing as you traced patterns against the sensitive skin. 
That was it. Yoongi had to stop you with shaky hands. “Fuck, okay, stop,” he chuckled almost bashfully, running a hand through his blonde hair that had fallen in his eyes. You smiled as you stood, that was the Yoongi you knew. 
“Now who’s close to coming,” Seokjin taunted. 
“You’re both like putty in my hands,” you grinned, looking back and forth between them. They both wanted you. It made you feel powerful. 
“Then let’s change that up,” Seokjin suggested. “We pleasure you.”
You liked the sound of that. Yoongi did too. He pulled his boxers and jeans up, leaving them undone as he came up behind you, slinking his hands around your waist. “What do you have in mind?” He asked Seokjin. 
He shrugged. “What’s Yoongi good at?” 
You didn’t even need to think about it. It was obvious, you’d told Yoongi himself so many times before. “Eating me out.” 
Yoongi lived for the act, which was great because oral was your favourite. He knew how to make you cum in minutes, which was pretty insane. From the first ever time his tongue had met your clit you knew that’s where it belonged. You’d gladly get eaten out right now. Seokjin could follow suit if he liked. The more the merrier. 
“Then let me watch,” Seokjin smirked. 
Yoongi immediately began scooting you to the bed, eager to get started, and you kicked off your shoes, Yoongi copying. His erection pressed into your ass and instantly you searched for Seokjin’s, but just like Yoongi he’d put it away. He’d kicked off his sneakers and jeans though, just in his boxers and white long sleeved top. He moved to the top of the bed, throwing a plushie of a character that was vaguely familiar to you on the floor as he did so. Luckily he landed face first, saved from any further debauchery. The poor thing had already had an eyeful. You crawled into the middle, Yoongi following. Like you couldn’t help it you reached for Seokjin, connecting your lips. He was ready, tongue snaking with yours, his hands travelling down your back and over your ass. Behind you, Yoongi put his hand up the skirt of your dress, rubbing your heat over your panties. 
“You’re so fucking wet,” he gasped. “What the fuck.” You were swamped, the cotton stuck to your flesh, and if you listened carefully you could hear yourself squelching. 
Seokjin broke apart from you, interest piqued. “Let me feel. Turn around.” You didn’t quite understand what he wanted so you let him direct you around, sitting you on your butt as he shuffled forward, pressing your back into his chest. 
Yoongi helped hike up your dress before sliding down the bed on his knees, ready for action. You spread your legs, letting Seokjin loop his arm around so his hand could travel down your body. He slid it straight inside your underwear, dipping his fingers into your arousal before spreading it up to your clit, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with the tip of his forefinger. You moaned sweetly, pushing back into him. He tsked. “Namjoon’s going to wonder why his sheets are soaked through…”
Fuck. It was Namjoon’s bed. He was too nice for this to happen to him. Thinking about it, how the hell were you here again, hooking up at a party? You kept swearing this would never happen again and again and yet… You blamed Seokjin. It was always Seokjin. 
“Don’t ruin the moment,” you groaned, attempting to look up at him. He kissed you again, laughing as he did so, his other hand cupping a breast. 
Yoongi’s impatient hands rubbed at your thighs and you moaned again. You loved having all these hands on you. It felt unbelievable. Eagerly he started to pull your thong down, getting you out of it completely as Seokjin continued to tease between your legs. He eventually stopped, his sticky fingers making their way to your mouth, pressing one inside. You cleaned it up, looking in his eyes the entire time. After he was done, he took the second in his mouth, obviously enjoying yourself. You guessed Yoongi was into it too because with a grunt he was on top of you, kissing you hungrily, tasting your arousal on your lips. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, caged between both men. You could feel Seokjin’s erection against your back, Yoongi’s digging into your thigh.  
“Yoongiii,” you whined, pulling away, lips surely swollen by now. “What’s a girl gotta do to get eaten out around here.”
“Patience,” he smirked, but he made his way back down your body, placing your feet to the bed as you bent your legs at the knee, spreading them wider. You watched as he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, wetting it, his face etched with concentration before he dived in. 
He went straight for your clit, sucking with fervour before pulling back slightly to flick the tip of his tongue repeatedly. You groaned, arching your back instantly. Seokjin awed against your ear, holding your waist, his chin on your shoulder as he watched Yoongi at work. This was crazy, but so, so hot. 
“Literally have the best fucking view right now,” Seokjin half moaned, pulling the skirt of your dress up further, a peek of your stomach on show, tensing erratically with the pleasure. “You honest to god love getting eaten out.” You moaned in response, agreeing wholeheartedly. “Is he better than me?” He asked, messing around.
You laughed breathlessly. “Maybe.” 
Seokjin nipped at your neck lightly as Yoongi dragged his tongue up your whole heat, grunting in pleasure. You were honestly so wet, it clung to the inside of your thighs, run down your ass. Yoongi was just making things messier, eating you out like it was his last meal. The tip of tongue dug against your clit and you gasped out, hole clenching around nothingness, desperate to be filled up. 
“I haven’t fucked you yet—then you’ll remember what you’re missing.” Seokjin whispered in your ear, continuing his conversation. 
Yoongi heard, although you doubted Seokjin was purposely trying to stay quiet. “We’ll see,” he mused, pulling away to flash a look Seokjin’s way just as he pushed two of his fingers inside your soaking entrance. 
You cried out, head falling back against Seokjin’s shoulder. He grunted at the sight, watching Yoongi fuck you with his fingers as you kept on moaning. You took his digits easily and greedily, so aroused you didn’t even need a warmup. As if he couldn’t stop it Seokjin crashed his lips against yours, swallowing the noises you made just as Yoongi went back to going down on you. 
Haphazardly, Seokjin began to free the buttons down the bodice of your dress. “Let’s see your body,” he spoke through swipes of his tongue, freeing your torso, your bra the only thing you had left on now, as your own hands tore at the buttons on the skirt. Your dress feel apart, stuck under your sweaty back. His tongue was everywhere, similar to Yoongi’s earlier; flicking against your teeth, roof of your mouth, your lips… It was messy and eager. Fully uncontrolled. 
“Can’t believe we’re doing this right now,” he murmured, mouth now at your ear. You squirmed, sensory overload, shaky moans all you gave him in response. You were going to cum if this kept up. 
Yoongi’s fingers curled against your g-spot with intent, stopping his ministrations for a moment to chuckle. “Hey, if it’s what I have to do to get you off her ass, then I’ll do it – and I’ll enjoy myself in the process,” he added, smirking, still fingering you. 
Fuck. This wasn’t your Yoongi. The Yoongi you were used to. The way he was speaking, the way he was acting, it was doing things to you. You felt like you were going to explode, pleasure building up. “Yoongi,” you begged, gasping for breath as he spread his fingers inside of you, stretching you open. “Please make me cum.” 
“Why should I let you?” He teased, cocking an eyebrow as he kissed up your shaky thigh. “Do you deserve it? You were messaging another guy after all…” 
“That was totally my fault,” Seokjin said, his voice strained he was so turned on. “Make her cum.” He wanted to see it. 
Yoongi connected his mouth to your clit again, sucking it, his fingers straightening as he fucked you with them harshly. You tensed up, moaning, begging for release. You could cry it was so close. Seokjin kissed your neck like crazy, sucking red marks on the skin.  
“I’m gon—mhm, oh fuck—fuck,” you tumbled out, unable to be coherent as you threw your head forward, clutching at Seokjin’s body behind you. You watched Yoongi as your orgasm hit, seeing spots, head dizzy. He slowed his motions, bringing you down gradually, dragging your pleasure out to the last millisecond. 
He placed one last kiss to your core before beginning to travel up your body instead, kissing your stomach, your chest, staining you, humming against your trembling skin. Seokjin kissed your mouth again, Yoongi at your neck soon after, licking strips up the column before nibbling your ear. You felt as if you were sinking into the bed. You moaned softly, Seokjin pulling away, perfect timing for Yoongi to steal you instead, tongue pushing into your mouth, tasting yourself as Seokjin’s hand moved down your body. 
You arched your back when you felt him push a finger inside of you, exploring your wet and warm insides before he added a second. Your heart jumped when you felt another hand between your legs too and you pulled away from Yoongi’s mouth to look down, seeing one of his fingers pushing inside your entrance too. He grinned when he noticed your reaction and you gave up, setting your head on Seokjin’s shoulder as they both tried to finger you at the same time. It was messy and off beat. If you were being honest, more uncomfortable than pleasurable, but just the visual seemed to do the trick. The thought of being able to fit both their dicks inside you at the same time flew into your head, and you had to stop yourself, knowing you were getting a little too crazy. You were losing your head. Maybe you already had.
“Fuck,” Yoongi exclaimed. “This is… This is so hot.” You moaned with what you hoped was enthusiasm, still exhausted from your orgasm. “You’re dirty,” your boyfriend gleed, voice an excited whisper. 
“She’s always been dirty,” Seokjin stated matter-of-factly. 
“How so,” Yoongi asked, highly curious, head tilted. He removed his finger, choosing instead to rub your thigh, enjoying the sight of Seokjin’s fingers inside his girlfriend’s pussy… God, you’d totally lost it. Throwing around the P word like it didn’t make you cringe. 
“She almost let me fuck her in the ass once.” 
“Why almost?” 
Hearing them speak about you like you weren’t there was hot and it only turned you on even more. You shuffled, wedged between their bodies, desperate for more. If they could get to fucking you that would be great. 
“Well,” Seokjin shrugged, “you came along and she broke up with me.” 
Broke up with him? What an odd way of putting it. You wondered if he’d been way more bothered than he let on when you’d ended things? No, don’t be stupid. This was all talk between two guys. Same as all that talk about ass fucking was to rile Seokjin up when you’d been hooking up. It wasn’t real. You weren’t going to let him fuck you in the ass. 
“Keep dreaming, Kim,” you sang to which he laughed loudly. 
Yoongi sat up, looking at you both. “I think she wants you to fuck her now.” Your heart started to thud loudly in anticipation. 
“Is that true?” Seokjin asked, slipping his fingers from you. 
You nodded quickly, a smirk on your face as you looked at him. “Get on with it before I change my mind.”  
“Please,” he scoffed, as if you ever could. 
Yoongi moved to the head of the bed now, back against the headboard as Seokjin lied you down, kneeling over you to pry apart your legs, but you keep upright on your elbows, wanting to get a good view as your hand run over his chest and torso, tugging at his top. 
“Off,” you motioned with your head and he obliged, ripping it over his head, revealing his toned torso.  “Fuck,” you uttered, running your fingers across the hard skin. 
He smirked. “Missed me?” 
“Just your body,” you deadpanned, a glint in your eyes that told him you were only teasing. 
He chuckled, pulling down his boxers, his cock bouncing out. He jerked it a couple of times before leaning forward, a hand against the mattress. He paused, looking at you. “Wait. Are we using a condom because I don’t have any.” 
Oh. You hadn’t thought about that. You were so used to having sex with Seokjin without any it had slipped your mind. “I mean,” you turned your head to glance at Yoongi, checking to see if he had any concerns. He seemed fine so you looked back at Seokjin. “Is it safe?” 
He knew what you meant. Had he fucked anyone else unprotected since you? He nodded his head. “Yeah. I haven’t…” He trailed off with a shrug, glancing at Yoongi himself, checking for his permission. Your boyfriend didn’t say anything so you guessed he was okay with it. You were a little distracted though. Seokjin hadn’t what? Fucked anyone raw since, or fucked anyone at all since? You were more than positive it was the former, and once again you felt a little weird imagining him getting in on with other people. It was stupid, definitely hypocritical and you would never admit to it, but you felt it. 
“Come on, we don’t have all night,” Yoongi pressed from behind you, pulling you out of your thoughts. “What if this Namjoon dude wants his room back?” 
Seokjin scowled, not liking being bossed about. “You can’t rush a good thing. I know you’re eager to watch your girlfriend get fucked by another guy but patience is key.” 
Your heat pulsed as you listened to them bicker. It was kind of hot in a fucked up way. Yoongi breathed out a laugh, ignoring him. You held your breath when you felt the head of Seokjin’s dick against your entrance, unable to stop clenching in anticipation. 
“It takes patience to take a dick this big,” he continued, not looking at Yoongi despite his words being directed at him. You would disagree though. You could take Seokjin’s dick easily, despite size, he was just trying to goad Yoongi. 
Although, as he began to push inside you, your walls swallowing the tip, the sting became apparent. Your mouth opened in a silent moan as he sunk further, your eyes on Seokjin the entire time, his expression matching yours. You almost forgot Yoongi was there watching you until you felt him move, the mattress squeaking as he shuffled closer to your body, intent on getting a better look. He laid his legs to the side of you, slotting in behind your back and you rested your shoulders and head halfway between his stomach and crotch, letting the pressure ease off your elbows as Seokjin started to thrust his way fully inside. Stretching you out inch by inch until you finally had him whole. 
“Unggh,” you moaned, pushing yourself into Yoongi. He gently pushed your hair out of your eyes, looking down at you. His eyes glistened with excitement. He really was enjoying this. 
Impatient, unable to pace himself now that he was finally inside you again – like he’d wanted – Seokjin began to fuck you faster, thrusting with a grunt each time, hands now gripping your hips, knees pressing into the mattress. “Have you missed this?” He got out. “Me fucking you. I bet you imagined it a couple of times, right?”
“In your dreams,” Yoongi scoffed above you. 
Seokjin shot him a glare. “You’d never know anyway. It’s not something she’d admit to.” 
Men, you thought, inwardly rolling your eyes, so competitive. You looked up at Yoongi, trying to watch his expression as Seokjin fucked you. The fingers of one hand tugged at his bottom lip, the apples of his cheeks flushed. He was breathing quite loudly. His cock dug into your neck, still as hard as ever – harder in fact – his eyes glazed over as he watched Seokjin’s cock thrust in and out of you. 
“This okay?” Seokjin asked you, feeling his hands grip the back of knees as he started to push them up, trying to fold your legs into your body, wanting to hit deeper. You nodded rapidly, a moan tearing your throat. 
Yoongi gave a helping hand, pulling you upright by the armpits before deciding to drag you up the bed a little further, wanting to use the headboard as a rest. Seokjin shuffled awkwardly along with you both, still half inside you, still gripping your thighs loosely. You guessed threesomes in real life weren’t as easy nor glamourous. 
Yoongi sat you between his legs somehow, your body now pressing into his chest as Seokjin got your legs up higher, hooking them over his shoulders, and he held your thighs, started to fuck you again, finding his rhythm, a mess of throaty groans. You moaned loudly, the bass of the music downstairs thudding in your ears. You were squashed between both men again. It felt so good. 
“Is that good, baby?” Yoongi hummed in your ear and you nodded madly, trying to get words out but all you could manage was a few huffs of breath, a strangled whine. Yoongi’s fingertips traced ever so lightly around your stomach, making you shudder, before they worked their way down to your pelvis. He few seconds later he pinched your clit. You cried out, jutting your hips into Seokjin. 
Your legs were shaking now, despite being propped up by Seokjin’s shoulders, you couldn’t take anymore. You nudged him with one of your feet, holding back his thrusts to drop a leg down. It was still bent at the knee and you were still cramped between the guys but at least you weren’t trembling like jelly anymore. One leg stayed hooked around the broadness of his shoulders though. You’d missed that feeling. 
“I think you should cum,” Yoongi carried on, voice low. “Give him something to remember. One last time.” 
Seokjin snickered. “I have a lot of memories. I’ll add it to the collection.” 
You moaned at that, loving the thought of Seokjin thinking about all the times you’d fucked. Yoongi started to rub your clit with the flats of his index and middle fingers, getting them all juicy. “Oh, god,” you sighed, feeling weak. 
“Yeah, be a good girl and cum for us,” Seokjin smirked down at you, reminding you of all the times he’d goaded you like that before. Cocky fucker. 
You let it affect you though, concentrating on the pleasure both men were giving you, watching Seokjin’s cock thrust in and out of you, Yoongi’s deft fingers stimulating you something addictive. Squelch, squelch, squelch. That’s how you went. 
“Seokjin,” you moaned, looking up at him now, mouth agape. His hips stuttered, a groan leaving him. He better not cum before you. 
“Shit,” Yoongi cursed, voice thick as he watched you start to lose it. “I can’t wait to fuck you too. My dick’s about to burst.” You moaned louder, hearing him speak like that driving you crazier. Your head was spinning, unable to focus on everything at once. 
Seokjin drilled you harder, expression determined. “You look so hot like this,” he panted.
“Gonna cum?” Yoongi pressed, feeling the way your clit was pulsing against his fingers. Seokjin could feel you squeezing around his cock. You nodded, an exerted cry trapping in your throat. “That’s my girl.” 
Yoongi’s praise set your body alight, and he tilted your head back to look directly at Seokjin. “Watch him and moan his name, because it’s the last time he’ll ever hear it.” 
“Ouch,” Jin feigned, chuckling slightly, but you were already too busy moaning his name to really pay attention. It fell from you easily, like it always had. You rolled into his thrusts, cramped and sweaty but it didn’t matter. Not when you finally fell over the edge, your orgasm tearing through your body. You came all over his cock, Yoongi’s fingers, crying out. Immediately Yoongi dropped his hand, but you weren’t done yet. Nuh uh, no way. 
“Jesus fucking christ, you’re so fucking horny,” he exclaimed in disbelief, laughing, in awe of the way you continued to chase Seokjin’s cock, fucked out yet still so desperate. Yet to your disappointment Seokjin pulled out, gripping the base of his dick with a grunt. 
“What you doing?” You demanded. You’d wanted him to finish too. To cum inside you. 
Seokjin caught his breath, letting your leg down gently as he moved back, tugging up his underwear. “I wanna watch him fuck you before I cum.” 
Your gut squeezed, watching him make his way around you, swapping places with Yoongi as your boyfriend sat you forward before crawling in front of you, cupping your face to kiss you enthusiastically. He pulled away and grinned at Seokjin. “I get it, you’re a masochist.” You couldn’t see Seokjin’s reaction, but whatever it was, it amused Yoongi. 
Eyes full of lust he turned back to you. “Turn around so you’re facing him.”
You jumped to it, bouncing down on your knees to see Seokjin already sat comfy against the headboard. He cocked an eyebrow. “You like fucking her doggy too?” 
Yoongi scoffed but otherwise ignored his jab. Getting behind you, you heard him push his jeans and boxers down, his hands massaging your ass, spreading it to get a good look at your – there it was that word again – pussy. There was a pause, like he was absorbing the view, you almost started to feel a little self-conscious, exposed as you waited, and then you heard him take an intake of breath, knocking the wind out of you as he shoved his cock inside you whole. All in on go. 
You flew forward, crying out, but he started thrusting immediately, just making you moan harder, louder. “Ah—Yoongi! Fuck, oh my god.” The bed shook with his movements. You gripped the bedsheets between your fingers. 
Seokjin groaned, eyes soaked in everything. “I knew this would be good.” 
Yoongi spanked your ass and you squealed playfully, looking into Seokjin’s eyes now, a grin on your face. He was entranced, mouth open, mimicking your moans silently, as if he couldn’t help it. You noticed him rub his dick through his boxers, and you reached over to give him a helping hand. He pulsed from your touch, even above the fabric. 
“Shit,” he mumbled, hesitating before he reaching for something by the side of you. Your cell phone. It must have fallen out of the pocket of your dress. “Let me do something…” 
“What?” You managed to ask, still getting fucked pretty hard by Yoongi. You watched him unlock your phone – passcode still the same. “You’re not taking any pictures.” You told him, automatically realising what he was playing at. 
“A video,” he smirked. He watched your mouth open in shock. “You’ve let me take pictures before. It’s on your phone, you can delete it at any time.” He was determined to persuade you. He tried one last time. “I want you to see how hot you look.” 
“Fine,” you gave in. You wouldn’t say no to that. 
His face lit up. “Yeah?” 
“Thirty seconds tops,” you told him. 
“Of course,” he agreed, eyes flickering to Yoongi behind you. You guessed he was looking for his consent too. Your boyfriend didn’t object, so Seokjin scrolled across the screen until he hit video and pressed start. He knelt up to get a good angle, your face fully in the camera, the sounds of Yoongi thrusting into you and grunting filling the speakers. “How do you feel?” He asked playfully. 
You looked straight into the lens, grinning. “I feel great. Can’t you tell?” On cue, Yoongi gave you another smack. You yelped. 
“I bet you do,” Seokjin husked, filming you for a few seconds longer, pulling back to get your body in the shot as Yoongi continued to fuck you like a machine. Where had he got all this drive from? You were struggling to keep yourself up. 
“You’re out of this world.” Seokjin mused, a click as he ended the recording. That made your heart flutter. You couldn’t explain it. Was it the admiration in his voice? The look on his face as he said it? You didn’t know. 
“I’m a lucky guy, right?” Yoongi bragged, interrupting your momentary confusion. 
“You are,” you teased, laugh strained as you felt Yoongi pull your ass cheeks apart, rubbing the meat with his palms. 
It caught Seokjin’s attention as he tilted his head to the side and watched. “You know if you really want her to go wild you should put that thumb to good use.” His eyes fell to yours, a small smirk spreading before he looked at Yoongi, 
“Thanks,” Yoongi replied icily, thrusts slowing down. “But I don’t need your input on how to make my girl feel good.” 
Seokjin laughed, genuinely amused, but now you were thinking again. You hoped Yoongi would listen. He was dragging his dick inside of you now, painfully deliberate. Ever so carefully, much to your delight, you felt his thumb inch closer to the spot that now ached for him. You jerked when he made contact, rubbing the sensitive hole with the pad. 
“Wet it,” Seokjin whispered, watching intently. You could tell he was pleased Yoongi had listened. 
Yoongi brought his thumb to your clit, getting it wet but also giving it an appreciative rub in the process. He spread you apart again, thumb at the crack of your ass soon after, now wet and sticky as he rubbed, applying more pressure, getting confident. “Is this okay?” He asked gently, and you gave him a little moan, a yes following soon after. 
“Oh, fuck!” You gasped when you felt him enter you, slowly popping inside as he continued to drag his cock against your cushioned walls. 
“You like my thumb in your ass?” He asked, definitely confident now, and your belly began doing crazy somersaults. 
“Mmhm,” you moaned. “It feels so good, Yoongi.” The extra stimulation you needed. 
Seokjin got in front of your face, sweeping hair away from your eyes, locking it behind your ear before you lunged at him, desperate for his mouth. You were greedy for both men. You kissed him without restrain, licking, moaning into his mouth until he couldn’t take much more, panting as he pulled away. “Wanna suck my dick again?” 
“Yeah,” you breathed. God, you really did. “Please.” He was kneeling up straight away, pulling his cock from his underwear once again. He started jerking himself off and you opened your mouth, curling your tongue out to catch the tip, purposely teasing him. Seokjin chuckled, trying to evade your movements so he could get the head in your mouth. 
You gave in soon enough, sucking him inside, putting on a show, lashes weighted as you stared up at him. He always did love that and he moaned on cue, pushing further into your mouth. He held the back of your head, beginning to fuck your mouth carefully, in rhythm with Yoongi’s thrusts. It felt amazing. To be full of both men. You moaned around Seokjin’s cock just from the thought. Yoongi loved that, pressing a foot into the bed to fuck you deeper – harder. 
Gurgling, mouth stuffed, you attempted to cry out, your knees instantly trembling from the force. “Fuck,” Seokjin breathed, hips stuttering as he looked behind you, watching Yoongi go. 
“I’m close,” Yoongi breathed, yet the snap of his hips didn’t slow. “You can cum again, baby, surely? One last time for me.” Yoongi encouraged. He’d never beg. You clenched around his cock, body instantly agreeing. 
“She can no problem,” Seokjin grinned, although it was strained, teeth bared almost. He was close too. He knew your body well. Knew you well. 
You were so turned on you couldn’t think straight, the pleasure coursing through your body, your veins. You wanted their cum. You moaned loudly around Seokjin’s cock, vibrations making him buck into your mouth faster, chasing his relief. 
“Want me to cum on your face?” He got out between a sharp intake of breath. You nodded your head, another moan because replying was pretty impossible with your mouth full of his dick. “Yoongi?” Seokjin asked, looking across at your boyfriend, an eyebrow raised. “Do you want me to cum on your girlfriend’s face?”
You heard him chuckle. “If you’re trying to make me jealous it won’t work. Go for it.” At his words, he circled his thumb softly in your ass, the pleasure tingling up your spine. You were so fricking sensitive. You felt so good. 
Belly doing flips, Seokjin tore from your mouth, jerking his length with intent, aiming directly for your face.  You moaned his name, looking him straight in the eyes , helping him along  as his breathing shook – helping yourself along because as he let out a gasp, the first shot of warm cum landing on your cheek, you came too, clamping around Yoongi’s dick as you cried out. 
“Shit, shit,” Yoongi panted, his thrusts getting messy instantly as he prepared to cum. “Keep on squeezing like that baby—fuuuck,” he whined, thumb dislodging from your ass as he became overwhelmed, gripping your hips tightly, ramming himself inside you tight as he filled you up.  
Seokjin groaned as he got every last drop of his cum on your face, aiming it mostly on your cheeks and mouth, a hand threaded through your hair and just before he was spent, you took him back in your mouth, sucking the tip dry, until he was hissing, sensitive and unable to handle it. He lazily rubbed the head across your lips, smearing his cum on purpose, enjoying the sight with a tiny smile. 
Behind you Yoongi slid out of you, giving your clit a quick rub with the flats of his fingers for good measure. You jerked forward with a squeal, hearing Yoongi know pull up his pants and zip up his jeans. “Fuck,” he rasped, stumbling over to you. The bed dipped and bounced with his weight. “Let me see your face.” 
Seokjin tugged his boxers up, sitting back against the headboard as he caught his breath. He watched you both idly, but you were too distracted by Yoongi’s reaction. He loved it, a noise tearing from his throat at the sight of you. You laughed, exhausted, wanting nothing more than to roll over and pass out. You couldn’t though. For a host of reasons. 
“Here,” Seokjin said, a hand holding a tissue appearing in front of your face. Yes, his cum had been one of the main reasons. You sat up and took it, wiping yourself clean as Yoongi collected your dress. 
“Oh fuck,” you cursed as you dropped the tissue onto the bed cum-side down. “I got cum on Namjoon’s bed.” 
Seokjin laughed and shrugged. “Don’t worry, he won’t notice. Probably think it’s his own.” 
You wrinkled your nose in disgust, immediately trying to wipe it off and to your surprise Yoongi laughed along. You were bemused for a moment, the two guys laughing together an alien concept. 
Seokjin took the tissue from your hand and stood up, throwing it in the trashcan. “You can’t just leave it there like that,” you exclaimed. 
“Relax,” he told you. “No way will he notice.” You watched him start to get dressed, and still a little dazed you copied, searching for your underwear. You felt weirdly awkward now that it was all over, which was probably expected. This wasn’t exactly a normal situation. There was no small talk to fill the silence that followed. Even Yoongi who was sat next to you stayed quiet, probably waiting for Seokjin to leave. 
And a few minutes later he did, grabbing his phone left on the desk, scratching the back of his head – a nervous tick he had. “I should probably get going.” 
“Okay,” you smiled slightly, standing up, stumped for what else to say. “Um…”
“Yeah,” he chuckled, obviously feeling just as awkward. “I’ll see you around?”
You nodded. “Yeah, maybe when school starts… See you.” 
Seokjin nodded, agreeing silently and unlocked the door. You opened your mouth to say something else – you didn’t know what, but Yoongi beat you to it. “Jin,” he called. Seokjin turned back. “You won’t tell anybody, right?”
Seokjin scoffed, a dig slipping from his tongue. “Of course not. Your secrets safe with me.” And then he was gone. You stood there for a moment, staring at the door. A secret. He was correct though, you couldn’t see yourself telling anybody – not even Lina (for obvious reasons…) and you couldn’t imagine Yoongi ever spilling it. Thinking about it, why had Yoongi even agreed to it in the first place? Asking him seemed wrong, too invasive. 
Yoongi got up and locked the door again, turning back to you with a gentle smile. You instantly felt better. Of course you did, it was Yoongi. You didn’t need to know why he’d agreed because you didn’t know why you had either. 
“Hey,” he murmured, stepping closer, throwing his arms around your middle to hold you. You leaned in, rubbing your nose against his. 
“Hey,” you smiled back, reaching to kiss his mouth. He kissed you slowly, kindly, asking if you were okay when he pulled away. “Yup.” Of course you were okay when he held you. “I mean, that was pretty…crazy, but I… Are you?” You hesitated, wondering if you should apologise to him. You had lied to him after all, and he had overheard your conversation with Seokjin… Had found out about the messages… Yet, he didn’t seem mad. He didn’t seem upset, and yeah, he was fine. His reply told you just that. 
“Yeah,” he chuckled quietly. “That was…hot.” His looked like he wanted to say more but chose not to continue. 
“It was very hot,” you agreed, cheeks heating up with your confession. You didn’t need to feel embarrassed though. Yoongi reached for you, kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue licking yours. You were a little distracted though, a little anxious about still being upstairs. “Maybe we should go?” 
“Yeah, okay.” He laughed. “Let’s get out of here.” 
Your eyes caught something yellow to the side of you – Namjoon’s plush, and you ran to pick it up. “I’m putting him back. Just in case.” You didn’t want anything looking suspicious or out of place. You’d already left a small cum stain on the sheets, Seokjin a cum tissue in the damn trashcan. You were going to hell. 
“Poor guy,” Yoongi sighed, looking at the plush sadly. “He must be traumatised.” 
“Shut up,” you whined, but laughed too, and that’s when you saw your phone on the nightstand where Seokjin must have left it. 
Oh. The video he’d taken. You suddenly remembered. You told yourself you’d delete it immediately when you got home. You wouldn’t even watch it. As much as tonight had been enjoyable, you didn’t need the reminder. You doubted Yoongi did too. 
It had been a one off, a spur of the moment kind of thing. You didn’t need to watch the video, you didn’t even need to think of the video. It was done. 
You and Seokjin were done. 
Tonight had been the end and you were both okay with that. 
You grabbed your phone and made your way back to Yoongi, smiling at him as you took his hand. “Let’s go.”  
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 Written 2018. Reworked/Edited 2020 Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2020
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hunkjasontodd · 6 years ago
Text
Call In to Talk?
I revisited @pichiba’s blog and was scrolling through the radio!au tag when I realised I hadn’t written much about them in a while and it was bugging me so... 
Prompt: Ryan’s down with the flu, and is feeling down because nobody’s paying attention to the show. Shane steps in to help. 
Sequel to this!
Also available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321384
Ryan stares at the control panel, a little lost. 
Let’s rewind, yeah?
Ryan, the kind soul he was, was persuaded (more like peer pressured, but he’s not going to be that mean) to take over his best friend Steven’s radio show so that he could return home and spend time with family. Unawares of the traps, Film student Ryan went on to set up a show talking about unsolved mysteries. 
While most listeners had their fun, pitching in ideas and other possible theories, two of them decided to be a pain in his side and tear apart his theories with even more possible science, leaving him flustered and a little embarrassed. Well, one of them dropped off the face of the world, rest in peace, Brent, but the other one, an even more annoying man named Shane, decided to wreck havoc in his little haven by having Ryan play into his little game. 
Shane truly knew how to smooth talk his way to the results, and Ryan hated it. He hated it because he’d thought that Shane would just be a casual listener, but it turns out that his new “friend” decided to become one of his most loyal listeners. Every session, every fucking morning at 3, Shane would be there, live-tweeting how he thinks the weird theories are all whacky and supporting scientific theories with evidence and proof. At the half-hour mark, he’d call in to argue with Ryan for a solid five to seven minutes, leaving the Film student gasping for breath and bubbling with irritation. Then, as the show comes to an end, Shane would haughtily tweet out “seems like the Boogaras are losing, again.” 
They’ve gotten to a point where people have begun taking Shane’s side, and more and more people are converting. It took the fun away from being a supernatural radio show host. It was tiring to talk, now. Shane would always be there, armed with his stupid science, ready to rip apart everything Ryan built. 
Long story short, Ryan doesn’t like Shane very much. 
Just his godforsaken luck. 
The last day of Unsolved, and he gets a cold. Great. 
Ryan sniffles miserably, eyes and nose red and stuffy, leaking gross liquid. Steven had come back to the States a week ago and told him that Worth It would be back on air in about three days, leaving Ryan with the final Saturday, 3 AM slot. 
Then, he had to fall ill. Fantastic. 
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Steven asks, handing him a paper towel and wincing at the noise that escapes Ryan’s nose. He nods, hoarsely replying, ‘I’ll be okay.’ 
‘You don’t have to force yourself, dude,’ his best friend reprimands lightly, smoothing circles into his back, ‘I can take over. We’re done with the scripts and stuff.’ 
Ryan shakes his head, glaring at the lunch table, ‘no, no. I can do this.’ I need to do this. ‘Worth It doesn’t deserve to get the worst slot ever.’ Steven levels him with a glare, aggressively stabbing his bowl of noodles with chopsticks, ‘my best friend doesn’t deserve to overwork himself when he’s not feeling well and has a test to study for.’ They both stare at each other, until the other breaks. ‘Really, Ryan, you don’t have to.’ 
‘I want to,’ he whispers, softly, ‘I- I got attached.’ Steven’s eyes widen by a fraction, yellow noodles slipping off his chopsticks, ‘I need to say goodbye.’ He knows he must look pathetic, clinging to something as dumb as a supernatural radio show. But, it was his baby. He loved interacting with the live-feed, the preparation, the recording, the whole routine and mood. 
They sit in silence for a long while, a dark cloud over their heads. 
Steven lets out a slow breath, grip tightening on his utensil, ‘okay.’ 
Ryan startles, ‘okay?’ 
‘Okay. You get to do a last slot for Unsolved.’ The Chem student drums his free hand on the table, ‘but, if you feel terrible, I’m not letting you enter the studio.’ The underlying threat of something horrific eases into his tone a little too easily, but Ryan lets it slide in favour of thanking Steven.
‘You’re the best,’ he chokes, tears blinding his vision. 
Which brings him back to the current setting: he’s in the studio, Steven and Adam, alongside TJ, on the other side of the glass, ensuring that everything’s alright and things are running smoothly online. Steven has a perpetual frown on his face, worry lines creasing his forehead. 
‘Ryan, what’s going on?’ Steven’s voice rings in his headphones. The Twitter live-feed was full of “get well soon”s and other minor insults/concerns about how he shouldn’t be on air if he was feeling unwell. 
They weren’t talking about the show at all. 
A twinge of hurt strikes in his chest. He sniffles, ignoring Steven’s concerned shouting and TJ’s attempts to fill the silence. He can’t even end Unsolved the way he wants to. Just grand. 
‘Incoming call,’ Adam’s soft voice pulls him out of his stupor, urging him to pick it up. Ryan does so, albeit slowly, ‘hey, wha--’ He’s abruptly cut off by a familiar voice, one that’s so used to mocking him.
‘Are you saying that something happened at the Sallie House and nobody in their right minds filmed it? Are we really going to trust some probable hallucinations?’ Shane’s annoying voice leaves him stumped.
‘Huh?’ He wasn’t expecting anyone to talk about the case at all. ‘You heard me, Ryan,’ Shane replies, ‘wait let me get on Twitter and just-- okay. Check the feed, dude.’ Ryan does so, adjusting the brightness to see that Shane’s posted several photos of diagrams and heat signature readings. There’s a rustling sound on the other line, ‘you see it, right?’
‘Well, I’m definitely seeing something, alright,’ he fires back automatically, confusion and rage fueling him. ‘Good, good,’ Shane murmurs, the rustling continues, then another tweet loads. It’s more pictures, this time, hand-drawn. Ryan expands all the images, eyes going back and forth. 
Shane clears his throat, ‘right, so, I’m drawing out the setting of the so-called “incident” and sent you images of the heat signatures of the area during that day, as well as the insides of the flashlight. It could very likely be possible that the light turned off and on due to the irregularities of the surrounding temperatures.’
Ryan sputters, scrambling for a counter attack, ‘but- it happened more than thrice, when they were demanding the demon turn it on!’ Shane hums, as if mulling over it seriously, ‘have you ever considered the fact that when they talked in close proximity to the light, they were actually releasing heat, which could cause it to turn on and off?’ 
It leaves him stumped, for a few microseconds. 
Shane prattles on, listing out all the possible situations and scenarios for the light to have been acting weird, tweeting out even more pictures and diagrams to help facilitate his point. Ryan slowly gets the point, and comes up with a few more arguments, talking about how some rooms in the house had stable heat signatures but experienced the same things. 
At this point, the live-feed has shifted from talking about Ryan to talking about the case. 
‘User @boo-gara-fan made a good point: it can’t be possible that the light acted weird on command, but then stabilise itself again for the rest of the incident. It’s almost too coincidental.’ Ryan wants to applaud himself for being able to stand up for his own point, glad that there were people on his side. 
Steven has been strangely quiet, he glances up to see if his friend was still around. Sure enough, there he was. A big, broad smile on his face, eyes glimmering in relief and pride. Huh? 
Before he gets a chance to ask, more people chime in with their own opinions, and the show is back on track. 
‘--and this has been Ryan Bergara! Thank you guys for being such awesome listeners these past two months! It’s been a blast, hosting Unsolved. I had my good and bad moments, but I hope I was a good host and provided the entertainment you were seeking. Thank you, and farewell!’ Ryan cuts the recording, ignoring the tears sliding down his cheeks and the tremble in his voice. 
He was done. Unsolved is over.
The crew start to move in, clearing up the area and helping him one final time in shutting the studio’s power off. Before the live-feed is cut off, he sees a final tweet flash on the screen: 
Shane Madej @shanealexmadej
Take care of yourself. I hate hearing you sound sick. It’s been fun. 
Ryan chokes back all the tears he’s been holding back. Sliding down against the control table, he finally lets his sobs out, lamenting how the end of something he loved had finally come.
Forty minutes later, Ryan locks up the room for the last time. He stares at the door. Studio 13, it says, painted in bright orange. He takes a deep breath, walking towards the front desk. He signs his name on the checkout sheet, turns his Crew ID in, and drops off the keys in the pink box for the last time. 
‘Ryan!’ Steven yells from across the field, running to him at full speed. ‘I’ve got news for ya, buddy!’ Ryan is about to ask what happened when Steven crushes him into a hug. 
‘Unsolved is back.’ Steven whispers, a grin in his words. 
‘What?!’ The words have yet to settle in when Steven drags a tall, lanky man in front of him. ‘He’s been pressuring the studio to give your show back to you, and they finally relented! On three conditions, though: you get the prime slot, and have to do supernatural and crime.’ 
‘What? Where’s the third?’
The other man smiles at him, genuine and relaxed. ‘Nice to meet you, I’m Shane Madej, your new co-host.’
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