#It was a cool twist and really fun to and infuriating to look back on

[aaaaaagayghost]

HOLEEEEEEEEEE SHIT 

MY ANIMATIC IS DONE YIPEEE GO WATCH

[starsenha]

DUET - lemme kms (chapter 3)

You stood in the middle of the dance studio, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared at Jay, who was leaning against the mirrored wall with that infuriating smirk on his face. It was the only time you had to reherase the duet for regionals. Just a couple of hours four times a week. That was it.

"Alright, let’s get this over with,’’ you huffed, tossing your water bottle aside. ‘’We need to Strat with the basics. What kind of vibe are we going for?’"

Jay raised an eyebrow, pushing off the wall and strolling over to you with an easy and confident walk. "Hip hop obviously. Something cool and fun would be good."

"Cool and fun?" your tone was skeptical. "We're supposed to impress the judges though, not make them laugh."

Jay rolled his eyes, hands on his hips. "You're taking this too seriously, sunshine."

Your eyes narrowed at the nickname. He had been calling you that ever since you got paired up, and it was driving you crazy. "Don't call me that," you snapped, your voice cold. "And this is serious, we don't have time to mess around."

"Relax, sunshine," he repeated with a grin, clearly enjoying how much it irked you. "We'll figure it out; we've got weeks to perfect this."

"Weeks that'll fly by if we don't start working on the choreo right now," you walked over to the sound system, scrolling through your playlist.

Jay followed you, leaning in closer than necessary as he looked at your phone screen. You could feel his breath on your neck, and you had to resist the urge to shove him away. “How about this one?” you suggested, pointing to a bass-heavy track with a strong beat.

Jay made a face. “Too slow. We need something that’ll really get the crowd going. What about this?” He reached over and selected a fast-paced, aggressive track.

You frowned. “That’s too fast. The judges won’t even be able to see the moves with a beat that fast.”

“That’s because you can’t keep up,” Jay teased, nudging your shoulder.

You shot him a glare. “I can keep up just fine, and you know it. But it’s not about speed, it’s about precision.”

“Speed and precision,” Jay countered, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “We can do both.”

You rolled your eyes and finally gave in. “Fine. We’ll try it your way, but if it doesn’t work, we’re going with my song.”

“Deal.” Jay grinned as if he’d won some great victory.

You spent the next hour trying to choreograph the first few sections of the routine, but it quickly became apparent that you were getting nowhere. You wanted clean, sharp movements that emphasized control and technique. Jay, on the other hand, was all about flair and big, showy moves, like he usually was. Every time you suggested something, Jay had a counter-suggestion, and it always ended in bickering.

“Your arms need to be straighter,” You said, demonstrating the move for the hundredth time. “Like this.”

Jay imitated you with an exaggerated motion, a mocking smile on his lips. “Like this, sunshine? Or should I be even stiffer?”

Your jaw clenched. “Stop fucking calling me that! And no, it’s not about being stiff. It’s about being precise.”

“Well, you’re starting to sound like we're in the military or something. Loosen up a bit.” He leaned in closer, his smirk widening. “Or is little Miss Perfect scared of not being perfect for once?”

“That’s not—” You started, but Jay was already moving into the next part of the routine, adding a flourish that completely threw off the timing.

“See? Like this!” Jay said, his tone teasing as he twisted the move into something flashy.

“No, no, no!” You exclaimed, stepping forward to stop him. “You’re totally ruining the flow. We need to keep it tight.”

Jay laughed, clearly not taking you seriously. “You’re such a control freak, sunshine. Maybe that’s why you can’t handle a little improvisation.”

You could feel your patience wearing thin. “And maybe you’re just incapable of sticking to a plan.”

“Plans are boring. Dance is supposed to be fun, not robotic.”

“It’s not robotic if it’s done right! It’s called being disciplined, something you clearly know nothing about," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jay’s grin faded slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should try stepping out of your comfort zone for once. Might do you some good.”

You opened her mouth to retort, but the words stuck in your throat. As much as you hated to admit it, Jay had a point—you were always focused on being perfect, and it frustrated you that he could be so relaxed about something so important. But there was no way you were going to let him know that. Instead, you just called a 5minutes break and walked over to your water bottle. You two spent the next 5 minutes without exchanging a single word, and honestly, it was relieving you.

When you went back to practice, the sun had dipped below the horizons already. The overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the polished wooden floor, reflecting the tension between the two dancers. You were sweating from exertion and frustration as you tried one last time to get through to Jay.

“Jay, can we please just focus?” you snapped, your patience hanging by a thread. You were standing in the middle of the studio, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “We’re not getting anywhere because you won’t stop messing around!”

Jay, who had been spinning lazily on one foot with a smug grin on his face, stopped and faced you. “I’m not messing around, sunshine. I’m trying to keep things light. You’re the one who’s being all tense and uptight.”

“There you go again!” Your voice was sharp, echoing off the walls of the empty studio. “You keep calling me that like it’s some kind of joke. I’m done with this, Jay. I’m done with you not taking anything seriously!”

Jay’s expression hardened, but he couldn’t resist getting in one last jab. “Maybe if you didn’t take everything so seriously, you wouldn’t be so miserable right now.”

Your eyes flashed with anger. “I’m miserable because you’re impossible to work with!”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.” Jay crossed his arms over his chest, his posture defiant. “Maybe we’re just not meant to do this together.”

“For once, I actually agree with you,” you shot back, grabbing your water bottle and towel from the floor. You were fuming, your entire body tense with irritation. “I’m done for tonight. I can’t stand another minute of this,” you said, taking your bag and belongings and heading towards the door.

Jay shrugged as if your words didn’t bother him, but you caught the slight flicker of something in his eyes—something that almost looked like regret. “Fine. We’ll pick it up wednesday, sunshine.”

You didn't even respond this time. You just turned on your heel and stromed out of the studio, the door slamming shut behind you. As you walked down the hallway, you tried to calm your racing heart. You hated how easily Jay could rile you up.

When you reached the exit of the building, you found Chaeryeong and Sunghoon waiting for you in the lobby. Chaeryeong was scrolling through her phone, but Sunghoon immediately looked up when he heard your footsteps. His eyes narrowed as he took in your flushed face and the tight line of your mouth.

“Hey, what happened?” Sunghoon asked, his voice laced with concern. He stepped closer, his protective instincts kicking in as he studied your expression.

You shook her head, trying to brush it off. “Nothing. Just a frustrating practice.”

Chaeryeong looked up from her phone and raised an eyebrow. “Frustrating? You look like you’re ready to kill someone.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing that someone’s name starts with a ‘J’ and ends with an ‘ay’,” Sunghoon said, his tone darkening. “What did he do this time?”

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair due to the sweat. “He just kept… I don’t know, he kept pushing my buttons. He wouldn’t stop calling me ‘sunshine’ and acting like none of this matters. It’s like he enjoys fucking with me.”

Sunghoon’s jaw tightened, and his eyes flashed with anger. “He called you that again? I’m gonna have a word with him.”

“Sunghoon, it’s fine,” you said quickly, grabbing his arm before he could march back into the studio. “It’s just Jay being Jay. He knows how to get under my skin, and I let him. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to,” Sunghoon replied, his voice softer but still edged with protectiveness. “You’re working your ass off, and he’s just… messing with you? That’s not okay.”

“Hoon's right,” Chaeryeong chimed in, slipping her phone into her pocket. “Jay’s always been a bit of a pain, but if he’s making this harder for you, we’ll back you up. You don’t have to deal with him alone.”

You smiled faintly, grateful for your friends’ support. “Thanks, guys. But really, it’s okay. I’m just tired and frustrated. I’ll figure it out.”

Sunghoon wasn’t convinced. “If he keeps this up, I’m not going to just stand by. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you replied softly, reassuringly squeezing his arm. “But I can handle Jay. He’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Sunghoon’s expression softened slightly, but you could still see the protectiveness in his eyes. “Just remember, you don’t have to handle everything on your own.”

Chaeryeong nodded in agreement. “We’ve got your back, babes. Always.”

Your heart warmed at their words, the frustration from the practice starting to ebb away. “I know. And I appreciate it. Now, can we get out of here, please? I need to clear my head.”

“Absolutely,” Chaeryeong said, looping her arm through yours. “Let’s get you some food and forget about annoying dance partners for a while.”

Sunghoon lingered for a moment, glancing back at the studio doors with a frown. “If he tries anything else, you tell me. Got it?”

“Got it,” you promised, giving him a small smile.

As the three of you walked out into the cool night air, you couldn’t help but feel a little better. The tension from the practice was still there, simmering under the surface, but with Chaeryeong and Sunghoon by your side, it didn’t feel quite as overwhelming.

previous / m.list / next

taglist: @sincerely-sunny @realrintaro @onlyhyunjin @mari-oclock @jooniesbears-blog

[sarahjswift]

Truth or Dare - RWARB fic

Hi everyone! This meme from @shelovesniallhoran:

[at a party]

nora: i dare you to kiss the next person that walks in here

alex: what? no.

*henry walks in*

alex: fine i’ll do it, rules are rules, you know.

came up on my FYP this morning and I felt inspired to write a fic about it! I tweaked a few details but I think it's true to the prompt! Also I made this really fast so sorry for any grammar errors or bad quality! I'm a little rusty(I haven't really sat down to write a fic in a couple months!)

word count: 974

warnings: slight language

enjoy!! <33

Alex

“Truth or dare?”

Alex grinned at his best friend, Nora Holleran, student at MIT and walking computer. She was sitting in a circle with her closest friends, acquaintances, and connections. There were over a dozen hot young women present, yet all of his sexual energy had channeled into anger and hate toward one specific man present.

Of course his huge-hearted sister, June, just had to invite Alex’s mortal enemy and biggest school competition, Henry Fox. After their not-so-stellar meeting two years ago, Alex had hated the guy. Henry was the only one in the class with a higher grade than him, and they were constantly being compared by their teachers. It didn’t help that the guy was extremely handsome - hell, he looked like he was from a James Bond movie - and the girls in the class had organized themselves into two teams; Team Alex and Team Henry. 

Most of those girls were in attendance tonight. Team Alex(which was obviously superior) clustered around him, sipping from Cokes and braiding each other’s hair. Team Henry(a bunch of boring, bleached-blond white girls - like Henry) were excitedly talking with him, making dramatic gestures with their hands. Henry was listening with that infuriating expression on his face, the disinterested one where his piercing blue eyes wandered. Now, they rested on Alex from a brief moment, and he felt a jolt of electricity. 

Instead of looking away as usual, Henry raised his golden brows as if in a challenge. Alex smirked, and answered his best friend. “Dare, of course.”

The circle whooped. Nora wiggled her black brows and June, head in Nora’s lap, rolled her Diaz eyes. “Be nice, Nora,” she chided, frowning slightly. “He can’t be too messed up for the test on Monday.”

“I’ll be good,” Nora promised, but the evil expression on her face suggested otherwise. She sipped her beer, eyes surveying the room over the rim of the Solo cup. One of the OGs of Team Alex, Rachel, shoved his shoulder playfully. 

“You should dare him to kiss me, Nor!” she piped up, and the room dissolved into laughter and hoots. Rachel fluttered her mascara-clumped lashes at him, and he grinned back. 

“That would not be a bad prank - not at all,” he said, and everyone screamed with delight. Rachel squealed and inched closer to him. Alex looked over the adoring group, eyes landing on Henry briefly. Instead of being annoyed Alex was winning their unspoken lady competition, Henry had a heart stricken expression on his face. Before Alex could do a double take, Henry snapped out of it and the cool look was fixed back on.

“Well, it’s no fun if you want to do it,” Nora argued, bringing him back. “I don’t hate the kissing idea though…hmm, who should kiss Alex?”

Team Alex screamed, thrusting their hands into the air while Team Henry watched with delight. Alex grinned, cocking a brow. “Hmm, Nora…any of these eligible bachelorettes sound great.”

“Nah,” Nora said casually, an evil grin lighting up her face. “That’s no fun. Alex, here’s your dare - kiss your mortal enemy. Kiss Henry.”

Henry

Henry couldn’t believe his ears. It was like Nora was making his happiest dream and nightmare become a reality. He felt his heart start to hammer, then break as Alex’s face paled and twisted in disgust. 

He doesn’t want you, Henry’s devil thought. He never will, he never will…

He had enough sense to fix a mask on his face, trying to mirror Alex’s expression. He forced his mouth into a grimace. 

“What? No way!” Alex squawked, eyes bulging.

Nora shrugged. “Alright, then. Your reputation as the Dare King will be gone.”

“What?”

“This breaks your streak. Either kiss Henry, or become known for your failure.” Nora adjusted her golden earring. “That will mean Henry becomes the new Dare King.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “Fine.” 

Henry couldn’t believe his ears, and he felt his breath come in sharp pants. His every dream, his every hope, was now about to come true. His heart began in double time as the man of his dreams advanced slowly across the circle to him. 

Bathed in the dim light of the living room, Alex could easily be the hottest man alive. His hair was like a model’s, eyelashes that could kill a man, mouth that could bring women to their knees. But his eyes. His damned eyes. They were deeper than a river, a river that Henry drowned in often. 

He finally reached Henry, and Henry subtly breathed in his cinnamon scent. Alex’s voice was pitched low enough it made Henry want to emit some noises as he hissed; “I’m just doing this for the title. Don’t think I like you, or whatever.”

Henry nodded weakly. “Noted,” he coughed, before Alex leaned in. 

It was everything everything everything

Alex’s lips were soft soft soft

Henry swept his hand through his perfect curls curls

Then then then

Alex’s tongue claimed his and his taste filled Henry’s mouth

He couldn’t remember his own name 

And and and…

Ah.

Alex

Alex wasn’t really sure what he was doing. Then again, he couldn’t really think through the haze as he had the best kiss of his life from his mortal enemy, who happened to be a man. All he knew was that Henry’s hair was soft and he was a good fucking kisser. 

All too soon, Henry pulled away. Alex was pleased to see he looked as shaken as he was, hair a mess, mouth a vivid red, panting, eyes wild. Alex couldn’t stop staring at him, but he heard the absence of sound, before screams of disbelief and glee filled the room. 

Just as he pulled Henry’s head down for another kiss - Alex’s hand was on Henry’s neck, after all - he distantly heard Nora chuckle; “I told you so.”, and June’s laugh in return.

[krikeymate]

if i ever lost you i would lose myself - chapter 9/10

Chapter 9.

Tara loves Sam more than anything, she really does, but she’s been getting on her last never for a while now. Why can’t she see that Tara’s not a little girl anymore, that she doesn’t need protecting? What will it take for her to see that she can make her own decisions? One little stabbing doesn’t just erase the fact that Tara’s spent five years looking after herself, over five years even.

She just wants to be normal for once, to go out with her friends to a party and meet new people and have fun and live in a world where she wasn’t almost brutally murdered by her best friend.

And then Sam comes in all guns blazing and making a scene.

There goes Tara’s normal college experience!

One small public ball tasing and a “holy shit, it’s that psycho girl” and Tara knows she’s never living that night down.  Everyone will look at her and see psycho girl’s sister, they’ll see that girl who got sliced up in California.

They won’t just see Tara anymore; it will be Tara: The Victim.

She wants to be more than just some victim.

Tara storms her way home, growling at the sound of the others whispering to one another behind her. They’re staying back – as they should! – giving her space to cool down. To talk about her without her hearing them.

They’re always whispering about her these days. She’s sick of it.

By the time she’s reached the doors to the apartment complex, the chill October air and her anger have successfully burned away her buzz, sobriety and guilt setting in.

Maybe she was too harsh.

Sam’s “because you’re not dealing with what happened to us!” echoes through her mind.

Tara scoffs.

Sam’s the one not dealing with her problems.

Ok. So maybe she’s still a little fucked up from everything that happened last year. 

Do you blame her?

She’s not apologising. No matter how many sad puppy-dog eyes her sister throws her way. No matter how much it twists her up inside. Tara’s not a helpless child and Sam can’t keep treating her like one!

Or at least, that’s what she’d intended.

It’s a little hard to remember why she’s being so stubborn when they’re both crouched behind a bodega shelf and there’s a maniac with a shotgun hunting them.

Tara’s shaking and crying, and Sam’s there holding her hand and guiding her through this, the ever-steady presence she had promised her she would be. Like she has been since she came back into her life.

It’s so infuriating in a way, that Sam can be so perfect while Tara’s such a mess.

She wants to be like Sam, wants to be getting on with her life and moving forward.

She thought that’s what she’d been doing.

She hates that it’s not working.

Fuck, she owes Sam an apology.

Ok. So maybe she’s still a little fucked up from everything that happened last year.

Do you blame her?

They’re standing in a murder shrine, surrounded by 27 years of bloody death-filled history, and Tara wonders how this became her life.

It wasn’t perfect, it was a broken mess, sure. But a lot of people came from broken homes. That was normal in a way.

This could never be normal. She doesn’t want this to be normal.

The way Sam stares into the display, zoned out and in her own head… Tara’s never felt so distant from her, not even when they were miles apart.

The lost look her sister gives her makes something in her snap.

Everyone’s talking about Stab and movies and Woodsboro, and it’s all too much. She can’t breathe. She can’t think. She can’t do this.

She doesn’t know how to do this, to be like Sam, to be near Sam.

It’s just a reminder of all that she isn’t.

Tara feels changed.

When I recovered… I got mad.

She doesn’t know how.

I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life being afraid of monsters.

But it feels like she can finally breathe.

I wanted the monsters to be afraid of me.

Like she finally understands.

She lets the anger in.

Tara sighs and closes her eyes, head bowing down until it reaches Sam’s uninjured shoulder. Without hesitation, an arm wraps around her, pulling her in tightly, careful to avoid Tara’s own injured arm.

“You okay?” Sam whispers.

Despite the bustle of the busy hospital corridor they’ve been perched in while Police and Doctors (and Danny) argue over what to do with them, her sister is the only thing Tara can hear.

She’s the only thing she wants to hear.

Now that the adrenaline’s faded, Tara’s left exhausted and in pain, and reality has begun to set in. She wants to block it all out, to let it all go, fall asleep and pretend none of it ever really happened. Just another nightmare, like last year.

But she can’t, can she? She’d promised.

Besides, she can’t leave Sam alone to deal with it all. They’re in this together. She wants to be together.

“I will be,” she replies, hand finding its way to Sam’s leg. The warmth beneath her fingertips leaves her feeling grounded in a way she hasn’t felt for so so long.

Inexplicably, she finds herself recalling the feeling of blood running over her fingers, splashing on her face, dripping down down down. The night flashes before her; Quinn’s manic smile, Ethan’s slimy expression, Bailey, begging on his knees. Oh thank you, thank you, thank yo–

Her eyes spring open, catching sight of her own blood-stained hand. It’s everywhere. Under her nails, soaking her sleeve, on Sam, on herself.

There was so much of it.

She thinks she should feel sick. She should be horrified, shouldn’t she? But instead… she just feels relief. Comfort.

She feels safe.

It’s odd.

Tara frowns as she realises just how much she doesn’t care about what happened. No, that’s not quite right. She was frightened – terrified, angry – furious, calm – pleased… in control.

She’d felt in control in the end, and it felt good. Fuck, it felt so fucking good, to no longer be this helpless little target, to be dangled bait used to entice her sister. She’d made the decision to fall, she’d protected herself, she had been the one to make Sam put on the mask.

Nobody else. Just her.

Sam had willingly put on the mask for her, had worn her legacy – put on the nightmare that haunts her – all because Tara had suggested it. She’d dropped it, left it behind, for her. She did it all for her.

She feels–

“Sam!”

Tara leans back, looking up, filled with a sudden overwhelming desperation. She needed to see her. Needed to tell her, needed to tell her… to tell her–

“Tara?”

The concern in Sam’s eyes makes her own fill with tears, words that had just a moment ago been desperate to tumble out, vanishing.

“I love you,” is all she’s left with.

Sam’s expression softens, gaze searching hers. “I love you too,” she murmurs, hand slipping from behind her to graze her cheek instead.

Tara’s heart races. It doesn’t feel enough, her tongue in knots. There’s so much she needs to say, but she doesn’t know how.

“I need you to know,” she tries, leaning into Sam’s touch, “just how much I love you.”

Sam smiles.

“I know.”

She knows.

[altschmerzes]

book club with gav! book 2: reputation

reputation by sarah vaughan

i picked this one up from the bookstore because i recognized the author, having watched and..... decently enjoyed the netflix limited series 'anatomy of a scandal' which was adapted out of another of her books. i didn't want to just read anatomy of a scandal because i'd watched the series, and i wanted to enjoy a New Story. i liked the look of it, it seemed to be dealing with some elements that i find really compelling - courtroom drama, political drama, social and journalism media, etc. reputation on the whole is something i'm a little obsessed with. thought all that sounded cool.

OVERALL IMPRESSION: gang it is not good. this is not a good book. the writing style was in DESPERATE need of an editor, with details that seemed irrelevant peppered all over, overstuffed bloated sentences that confused what was being described and why, etc. it also had a habit of utilizing a narrative trick that i think can be very fun if it's used effectively and sparingly. (i've used it myself actually, and i try to apply the same approach - use it sparingly, and make sure that it works enough to justify it.) it's this sort of like- there's probably an actual literary term for this, but it's like. retrospective narrative commentary on what's happening, 'i.e. i wouldn't know until later how bad of an idea that was, it was naive of me to trust him, at the time i believed him, this would come back to bite me when, etc'. this book used this so fucking often that it didn't just foreshadow future events including twists, it just. flat out told you what they were all going to be, leaving you able to predict beat for beat what was going on like 75% of the time. the povs were ineffectively deployed, and half of them didn't need to exist. the timeline jumping was fun for me but i can see that it would be hard to track if you weren't specifically watching it like i was. i didn't like the characters. any of them. the protagonist was infuriating and not in a fun way. and the overall promised thing that was the most compelling about the dust jacket - the way it stated the protagonist "is a liar" played out in the most boring way possible. the most interesting information came at the very, very end in the last, extremely short portion of the book that was effectively an epilogue, and it wasn't set up well.

now. in order to contextualize my thoughts about this book it is necessary to like..... go into a plot synopsis. it’s an EXTENDED plot synopsis. so that and my thoughts will be below the cut. general cw for this book that it's a murder mystery, so there's that, and this discussion of it will include brief and nondescriptive references to a mentioned suicide (we don't even know the character, he's related to a very small side character), revenge porn and nonconsensual nude pictures that are nonconsensually distributed, and some discussion of sexual assault/predatory relationships.

plot summary! so the plot of the book can be summarized this way: protagonist, emma webster, is a member of british parliament. she's a labour mp. she's an advocate for women's rights and feminist issues specifically, and has a current agenda about an anti-revenge porn bill. because of her advocacy, she sees a LOT of online harassment and threats of a truly vile nature, and some twitter threads and social media posts are included in the book. i love this sort of thing (the media threads), but i wish they'd done more with it. she is divorced and has a 14 year old daughter. her ex-husband is remarried to a former friend of hers from when she was a teacher. she is working with a specific journalist on this revenge porn bill. she lives part time in a home in her constituency, and part time in a home she shares with two other female mps close to parliament in london. events go down as follows, though i'm not 100% clear on the timeline, because this book had 45 plots. - protagonist is getting threats, she thinks her daughter is unaware of them, is mostly brushing them off while also being super intensely freaked out about them - daughter is having trouble at school: she's being bullied by an ex-friend who among other things has an instagram making fun of her - protagonist has a particularly angry and frightening interaction with a scary man from her constituency who's mostly mad he thinks she doesn't care about veterans issues because she doesn't talk about or campaign on them - threats she's receiving amp up, she starts to get texts direct to her mobile - she is freaking out constantly about her security and whether she’s safe at home. thinks every man she sees is going to throw acid in her face, which is both reasonable as a fear (genuine heightened threat to female politicians) and unreasonable as a fear (white women who consume too much true crime and think every single person in the universe is personally trying to serial kill them specifically complex). - she fucks the journalist and then immediately is like hm i should not have fucked that journalist, immediately ends the relationship and basically ghosts him, they don't even work together professionally after that. - the morning after she fucks the journalist she finds out daughter has taken secret nudie pics of her ex friend in order to teach that ex friend a lesson about...... being a bully and also too proud of her body? i guess???? and sent it to the boy her ex friend likes. the police are involved. it could be a child porn charge bc both girls are 14. the boy is 16. - this is gonna be really fucking bad for the protag and for daughter if it gets out to the news, especially given protag is campaigning against revenge porn and uh... well... this is similar enough it's gonna be hugely bad. - protagonist is obsessed and anxious to pieces about the possibility of this leaking - the daughter isn't actually charged, she just sort of gets suspended from school and then sent to another unit in the school for problem studentsTM. literally this is all of the consequences the daughter sees for her behaviour. that’s the whole thing. - threatening texts are persisting, protagonist thinks Angry Man Constituent is stalking her, bc he is, we see this in... his pov for some fucking reason - journalist lets protagonist know that he's been tipped off about a story involving the daughter that they can't print for legal reasons but if she works with them, they can spin it well - protagonist flips shit - she then concludes journalist is also stalking her. his paper posts pictures of her taking the trash out and is like She Seems Stressed! she takes this as an indication that he personally and specifically is stalking her and hates her and wants to take her down and ruin her daughter’s life, thinks there is a coded message in the article about her daughter. - journalist turns up dead (he's badly hurt in her home, dies in hospital) - protagonist goes on trial for his death - she initially tells the cops and her friends and Everyone that she came home and found him at the bottom of the stairs. turns out this was a lie. she pushed him. trial is basically on whether it was murder or self defense. - trial occurs, she is acquitted, important detail we learn is that the journalist got a message from a FB account he thought was her inviting him to the house. big part of the trial was that he was just There when she got home and she thought he was there to like. attack her or smth. - things we learn after the trial in the last like, 40-ish pages of the book: - the angry man constituent comes to the trial and yells at her when she's acquitted that his son (a vet) has died by suicide, and is then arrested and given a non-contact order - the threatening texts were not coming from him, they were coming from her daughter's ex-friend now-bully's mom? i guess? - her daughter is the one who sent the message inviting the journalist to the house in her mom's name. she wanted to talk to him, convince him not to run the story because she figured it was on her to handle the situation for some reason. - journalist got "x-rated" photos from a former university lecture section tutor of protagonist from when she was like 19 and in a sexual relationship with him (a pretty predatory one it seems) that will destroy the former tutor now-professor and political pundit's reputation (which would be a good thing, he sucks). this will also be devastating for protagonist (bad, yikes, bro, no). he wants to offer to protagonist that if she will work with them on that story, which will also prop up the point they're making together about her anti revenge porn bill, he will bury the thing with the daughter entirely. - this is what he was coming to talk to her about that day, and this is why she pushed him down the stairs. because she did. it's made clear in the last bit that she very much did Panic And Murder Him. - the reason the daughter didn't get there in time to be there first, why the protagonist got there first and this all happened, and there was so much confusion over who invited him there and why and all that, is that her train was delayed bc of. the constituent's son's suicide. whoof. - the step-mom knows what the daughter did. - none of this....... ever comes out i guess? it all kind of fizzles. that's it that's the book.

oKAY. now for: my thoughts.

fuck this book sucked so bad.

it was so distracted. it could not decide what it wanted the plot to be, or what it wanted the twists to be, or what they wanted to focus on, and it made all of its contents so much more muddled because of that. i was so thrown by the angry man constituent because literally the only relevance he actually ended up having to the story was as a direct case representation of the way the protagonist was being harassed and stalked and that his son's suicide was what delayed the daughter from getting there before the protagonist got home and found the journalist there. WE GOT HIM AS A POV CHARACTER. WHY? WHY DID WE NEED THAT???? all the stuff with the daughter was so unclear too? everyone here is an unreliable narrator which is fine but the way that they were unreliable was so like....... confused and muddled and nonspecific. did the daughter and the protagonist drop the ex-bff when protag got elected and ice her out? did ex-bff stop talking to the daughter for no reason and then get mean to her For No Reason? i have genuinely, honestly, really no fucking idea. and it's all like this. two characters will have wildly different perceptions of an event or a string of events, and there is NO clarity on which of them is right. which like, i'm struggling to articulate my issue with this, because that's a narrative choice you can make, but i think it does a disservice when we just... all of them are like this? they're all the same amount of unreliable, which makes it completely impossible to tell who actually IS unreliable, and there's just no way to know what actually fucking happened in this fucking book. i like an unreliable narrator. i don't like not knowing what the hell happened in a book like. On The Whole. there's no follow-through. there's no contextualization. there's no way to anchor any of it to reality. it made me nuts.

the protagonist was self-centred, sanctimonious, boring, and non-committal. there was nothing likable about her, either as a person or as a protagonist. she took so little action in her own life, and there was like... the lying that i was promised in the dust jacket didn't pan out in any kind of interesting way. she lied about finding the journalist at the bottom of the stairs when really she pushed him, but this is revealed so fast it barely matters, and the rest of the book has two small instances of what seems to be her misremembering minor interactions with other characters and saying something didn't happen when it did, and then being Seen As A Liar because she. lied about the initial finding the journalist. and then i guess not disclosing the things with the pics of her and her ex-tutor but... it just. didn't pan out in a way that was at all interesting. everyone else also sucked but it was never clear how much? the daughter's step-mom was like everyone thinks of me as the Other Woman and it's not fair 😠 and the journalist was doing some shitty journalism things though nowhere near as much as protagonist thought and the daughter did some shitty things too and never had any kind of sympathetic impression to me.

there was what i referred to often as like, milquetoast girlboss feminism all over this book. it was STEEPED in it. the whole thing was like, a thesis on how dangerous it is to be a female politician, which, yes! this is SO true! but it had nothing to say about that reality except that it exists, and there was also like... idk it felt very like, this is a perspective and landscaped shaped by White Girl True Crime in a lot of ways? she was obsessed with her own risk and this was never examined in any way. a lot of it was legitimate and real and a lot of it wasn't. she thinks every single person she interacts with is out to get her- specifically every man, which okay, i can get that. but also like... it caused her to lash out at everyone she knows, freak her daughter out, be unreasonable and cruel to her roommates. she had a simultaneous need to think she was two seconds from being murdered at all times and also to act to everyone around her like everything was fine, while also expecting them to take every concern she had immediately seriously at defcon 1. this was never unpacked. she wore a well behaved women rarely make history shirt in the second paragraph, talked about The Trolls all the time, and the book quoted harry potter in the daughter's section. it made weird and uncomfortable choices with race, when it engaged with race at all. just. overall hm.

here is an example of the way that race is dealt with here, in a section where the protagonist is about to be cross-examined by the crown prosecutor.

lot going on HERE huh! and it is all completely unexamined. yikes!

and then there’s this - the only other time when a character is identified as a person of colour. it’s a very uncomfortable thread where the like. it girl, most popular kid in school who the protagonist's daughter's friend abandoned her to suck up to is the only other identified character of colour in this book aside from this prosecutor and the daughter is repeatedly - REPEATEDLY - referred to as, and i’m directly quoting here, “an english rose.” she’s just so pale and thin you see. that’s why she’s so bullied, you see. because she’s so so so white. and so so so sooooooo thin. qualities well known to cause bullying in high school students- anyways. here’s the description of the most popular girl in school. who the daughter’s friends abandoned her for.

once again! YIKES! LOT going ON here! let’s unpack some of it shall we! (putting aside some of the... cringeworthy attempts at a grownass woman trying to emulate the slang of current day 14 year olds. i know it’s been eleven years since i was 14 but “bae-girl” is Nothing and im embarrassed for her just reading it. a lot of her Teen Talk has sounded good and natural but this is NOT it and her texting slang was atrocious.)

anyways. so. idk how it plays off to have your protagonist’s redheaded extremely pale skinned “english rose” daughter set up to be the target of social ostracism and bullying because her friends all chose trying to get close to the school’s super popular It Girl, who is described Like That. i think Not Good! not that there are never school hierarchies that fall down these lines but way these descriptions are presented and the language around them plus the whole “you an author are making up the social landscape here and are making some questionable choices villainizing a “confident, mean, hard” brown girl in contrast to the sensitive and delicate extremely pale white girl”” thing is like……. there are choices being made and i don’t like them.

and then there’s the ex best friend herself. who the daughter took the creepshot of and sent it to the boy the exbff likes. who is described like this (content warning for some SURPRISE! fatphobia as well!)

Flora hated her for this. She hated her for being so comfortable with her body. Despite her rounded tummy and the fat bulging over her bra, she liked herself enough to parade around the changing room, her double-Ds shoved up, her head tilted to one side.

i would like to remind the court at this time that this is the same ex-bff who is apparently basing a large part of her bullying campaign on how So So So THIN this girl is. because you know. the fat girl bullying the thin girl for how thin she is - another famously common high school social dynamic. you know how fat girls rule the school and thin girls are just so- sorry i can’t even stick the landing on that sarcastically lmao. again. not that things never shake out this way but 1. this is an author making choices and doing zero critical engagement with them, 2. this is playing into some bad shit and i hate it.

there are so many other things i could get into here. i have so many examples of sentences that were written so, so badly. i have so many specific moments that sucked ass. but i would keep going forever if i didn’t stop, i just want to leave on one last note: it’s not that the protagonist was a shitty person. it’s not that bad things happened and no one saw proper consequences. it’s that like- it’s that none of it was intentional. she sucked and i don’t think she was supposed to, at least not that much. i was promised a protagonist who was a liar. that was not what i got. i got ONE lie and two instances where she seemed to either mildly misrepresent or misremember a specific conversation she had. i got Poor Protagonist, She Told One Little Panic Lie And Now EVERYONE Thinks She’s A LIAR! Poor Baby! i got milquetoast girlboss white girl feminism that was completely uncritically presented. i got ‘everyone is out to get me all the time’ and this was given as a perfectly reasonable thing to believe and act on not ‘the real danger she faces has warped her worldview and she either needs some serious help or to find another career, as it is causing her excessive amounts of distress and she is lashing out at everyone in her life without consideration for their feelings or experiences or fears. ugh.

anyways. forthcoming are the two (2) shining lights from this book aka moments that were so fucking ludicrous they made me laugh hysterically. but that’s a separate post that i’ll make in a moment.

[thexgrayxlady]

What I Read in July and August

Jade City by Fonda Lee - 4.25/5.0 I'm hooked. The characters were complex and fascinating to follow. I genuinely enjoyed that there was so much gray morality and watching the world evolving around the characters and how they react to it is fascinating. And while I was devastated by the scene at the docks, the fall out and the way it impacted everything else was incredible, doubly so because it wasn't supposed to happen that way. Watching Hilo suddenly shoved into a role that he isn't suited to and Shae coming into a role that she is very suited to, but isn't ready for yet, and the mistakes they make in the process, was great. On top of this, the magic system is just so. so cool. I can't wait to read Jade War.

Empire of Gold by S.A. Chakraborty - 4.75/5.0 I love this series so much and I don't know why I waited so long to read this book. I think I just didn't want it to end. Nahri is such an interesting and nuanced character and I really loved reading from her perspective. Her and Ali are so cute and I love them so much. Manizheh is an amazing antagonist. Like, the definition of, "cool motive, still genocide." Dara remains The Worst (derogatory), but he's awful in a way that's very believable. I still couldn't wait for his chapters to be over and I honestly would have liked to learn about what's going on in Daevabad from another perspective just so that I didn't have to read quite so much, "Oh woe is me. I put the leopards eating faces party in power and now they are eating faces I didn't think they'd eat." I think the book was paced very well, with sections that felt very fast and others that moved at an appropriately languid pace, and it did not feel eight hundred pages long. However, I think that the very end of a very long book is the absolute wrong time to bring in the animal sidekick and I wish the Peris came up more in the earlier books. Still, I love it so much.

The Kaiju Preservation Society by John Scalzi - 4.0/5.0 This book very earnestly just wants to be a good time and it is. It is a very good time. The characters are all likeable, if prone leaning on the fourth wall in a way that sometimes feels a little too marvel for my taste. The plot is not terribly deep, but it's not trying to be. And I can't find it in myself to fault the author for just wanting to write a fun book. The only thing I found myself really wanting more of was more thorough descriptions of the Kaiju. Like, even after spending so much time on page with her, I'm still not sure what Bella looks like and I think that was a missed opportunity.

Fatal Enquiry by Will Thomas - 0.5/5.0 This book is so thoroughly unenjoyable I don't think that I want to send it back to the book box whence it came. If you want an iteration of Holmes and Watson wherein Watson is genuinely stupid and Holmes is an unrepentant jackass, and a deeply stupid mystery that gets solved off page, this is for you. If not for the fact that A Discovery of Witches is so damn long, it would be the worst thing I've read this year.

Shadowblack by Sebastien de Castell - 3.5/5.0 This was a fun little adventure. I like how the main character uses the little magic he has in creative ways. I like that this is mostly self contained, but doesn't waste a lot of time reiterating the world building from the previous book.

Monsterous Heart by Claire McKenna - 2.25/5.0 This book has a fantastic setting with airships and lighthouses and kraken and plesiosaurs and blood magic and it's wasted on a bland romance. There's some really good, well written, atmospheric bits in this book and that just makes the rest of it infuriating in it's mediocrity.

Velocity Weapon by Megan E. O'Keefe - 3.75/5.0 This book is a blast. There was some kind of fun twist in every chapter and it kept me wanting to come back for more. The frequent plot developments that recontextualized the characters we thought we knew and understood, for the most part, felt natural and a part of a greater whole. The characters themselves were enjoyable and while I wasn't sold on the romance at first, it grew on me. I think the fast pace and frequent twists would have been a little frustrating if I hadn't been reading it in half hour increments on my lunch break, but as it was it was a really good time. I really hope I find more of the series at the used book store, but if I don't I'm considering putting an order in at Thrift Books.

Dark Star Rising by Bennet S. Coles - 2.0/5.0 This series has asked the question, "what if treasure planet was kind of boring?" I don't think it takes enough advantage of the sci-fi portion of the setting, which is disappointing because sci-fi sailing ships in space has a lot of potential. Instead, you could replace the names of the different planets with places on earth and it would change nothing. While the characters are serviceable, most of the minor ones blend together in a mush that made me have to go back and reread portions to remember who they were talking to. I could have done without the very quickly resolved love triangle subplot. Or the romance subplot altogether. Like, it's just too bland for me to even properly dislike it.

The Dark Griffin by K.J. Taylor - 2.5/5.0 On the one hand, this was a very generic fantasy read. On the other, you know that scene from Dragon Age Origins where the Warden is pestering Wynne about whether or not a story has griffins? That's pretty much me in every fantasy novel. The griffins are great. The main character doesn't have much, if any character. There are more than a few plot moments that feel like the author panicked trying to figure out how to get the characters from point A to point B. However, the ending was interesting enough that I find the next book in the series at the library or used book super store, I'd probably continue it.

[arginnit]

@qhostlybee @tuva-404

WEll i want to preface this by saying that this game is infinitely fun for me. i highly value exploration in videogames and totk delivers on that above all else, that being said i feel like all my enjoyment as been from that exploration factor while the story delivered disappointment after disappoinment.

i finished the regional fenomena and the Hyrule castle crisis today so spoilers below

after 4 lackluster Dungeons all featuring the boring divine beast "four terminals to fight the boss" structure i went back to purah and headed to Hyrule castle.

i was really excited to finally find out tf was going on with Zelda, and the whole puppet thing was a welcomed twist! i loved the cutscene leading up to it too with the repaired sanctum and Zelda's disorienting movement.

i was really hoping that we'd get to fight her here, it wouldn't be the first time Nintendo made us fight a possessed/Zelda Puppet (it's actually happened 2 times if I'm not mistaken, Twilight princess and spirit tracks)

but it would have been such a cool battle! we know she's been partially responsible for all the trouble around Hyrule and getting to fight her after all of that would have been a perfect capping for that plot point!

what does the game do instead?

it makes you fight like 8 phantom ganons all at once.

it's not a challenging fight either, they removed his gloom effect for this one so hes just A very slow very annoying to fight enemie.

to say i was disappointed would be an understatement.

still, i fought them, beat them, whatever. the sages show up out of nowhere, idk how but I'm not too bothered by that cus at least i get to see my son tulin again

this left a massive sour taste in my mouth and combined with how terribly boring the water and fire temples where (wind temple too but the colgera fight literally saves it for me) it made me once again miss the old linear stories and worlds.

i mentioned the dungeons before so I'll go over then one by one in the order i did them.

i started with the wind one, desperate to get anything close to revalis gale (that tulin delivered btw, we love him in this house)

the dungeon itself was.. inoffensive. the climb there was cool, the puzzles where those shitty one room shrine looking ass all puzzles but they where fine and the boss absolutely stole the show. colgera upped my expectations for this games music and boss battle Game that i should have known was unrealistic. it was such a bombastic cinematic battle i loved every minute of it and immediately listened to the soundtrack again once i was done.

next was the water dungeon, again desperate to get anything like miphas grace. which i didn't get! Sidon's sage ability is so terribly useless outside it's dungeon and his avatar is so big i ended up turning him off almost immediately.

the dungeon was atrocious too, it's open design failed completely to evoque anything but the tutorial sky island for me, this only made it's disconnected puzzles all the more infuriating to deal with. this one was SO BAD i stopped doing it midway through and just went to the gerudo one. i did finish it later tho and the boss was another disappointment. it felt like a comedic mini boss in a good Zelda dungeon. it literally reminded me the deku toad in twilight princess lakebed temple (and made me miss when Minibosses where a thing)

the gerudo one was fine, i love riju her ability is decently useful although annoying to activate and the dungeon was the more traditional feeling one out of the bunch which is good. the boss was fine i guess ,nothing standout, altho i liked how you awake it at the start and fight it at the end that was cool.

fire now! i never cared about the goron quest cus i don't really like yunobo but the whole Zelda selling them crack thing was really intriguing so iwas decently hyped up for it, yunobo says "goro" a bit too much, no other goron does this it's just him and it makes him really obnoxious. the exterior of the dungeon really set my hopes high for it but the rail travel gimmick got old really fast and i ended up climbing up most walls and completely ignoring most of the puzzles

the boss was just a gloryfied talus idk how you where supposed to use yunobo on that fight but i didn't use him at all.

i talk alot of shit about the puzzles here and for one reason specifically. they where clearly created with the same mentality that shrine puzzles where designed with WHICH IS BAD FOR A LONG FORM STRUCTURE LIKE A DUNGEON!!!

anddd it's also bad cus i hate shrines now. having played botw fairly recently ( with two games between which just so happened to be ocarina of time and Majora's mask) i got tired of shrines pretty quickly. I've marked and activated plenty of shrines for tp spots but I've barely done a third of them. I've got shrine fatigue and it doesn't help that i never found them to interesting to begin with.

I've been running around with the bare minimum of hearts i can bare and 2 stamina upgrades

and all of this hurts me to say cus I've been playing this game nonstop since it came out!

don't even get me started on how the Zelda story is done , the memory stuff all over again is so lazy. but whatever

does it show I'm a twilight princess girlie?

I've been having lots of fun with tears of the kingdom but if i dare speak my true thoughts in this game i will surely be burned and killed

[silversatoru]

can you please do a gojo x reader from when gojo is a second year? the reader would be a really powerful sorcerer and everyone, including him, is super in love with her bc she’s basically the female version of him (except not an asshole) and he starts to realize he’s starting to catch feelings as they become friends but he knows that he has too much on his hands and doesn’t want to ruin things with her so he never does anything about it and instead goes on meaningless dates to have fun (pls make it angsty!!!) and she’s a strong person so she tries to not make it look like it gets to her!!! you can add anything else (:

denial

gojo satoru x f!reader

synopsis: you and satoru were destined for each other, but he fucked up one too many times

tags/warnings: angst, student gojo is a complete whore, that’s it lmao

a/n: i have been craving some straight up angst, thank u <3

you and satoru have always gone head to head — rivals since you became a student here at tokyo metropolitan curse technical college. he was born with the admired six eyes, enhancing his already spectacular abilities he inherited from the gojo bloodline. and you were the one born to challenge him, the one responsible for keeping his massive ego in check.

your jujutsu technique wasn’t quite as flashy as his — and you didn’t get cool icy blue eyes that were so bright they could practically glow in the dark — but you were incredibly powerful, and that’s what mattered. you’ve made satoru question himself since the day you met, and because of that you often resided inside his head even when he didn’t want you there. satoru didn’t like when his title as “the strongest student” was disputed, but there was something about your ability to threaten him that lead to an infatuation.

the day he realized he loved you was the worst day of his life, because as much as he wanted to obey his feelings, it was in both of your best interest for him to ignore them. satoru had a target on his back, and if he drug you into the mess that was his life of responsibility, it would ruin the friendship you two already had. he promised himself that he’d be content with staying friends — that he’d protect you even if it cost him his heart.

so, he filled the void with other girls — girls who were sorcerers and girls who weren’t, he really wasn’t picky. the way that his dorm room had quickly turned into a revolving door of new girls disgusted you, but you stood no position to question him. the two of you never dated, never even considered dating, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t some tension.

you’ve loved satoru for far too long, and for a while you were convinced that he felt the same way. it wasn’t until he started seeing practically every girl in tokyo that you realized he didn’t. he was selfish, he was an asshole, and he had a massive ego — you were dumb to think that he’d ever feel that way for you. you both carried the same burden, and you thought that made you special, but it didn’t.

except for that it did. in satoru’s eyes, you were the most special thing he’d ever seen. these girls were just a distraction — he really didn’t want them, he wanted you. he wanted you more than anything, but you were off limits; he refused to drag you into his world.

being next in line after satoru in terms of power meant that you were reasonably popular yourself. people are drawn to power — that’s why they love satoru and that’s why they love you. maybe that’s why suguru asked you to lunch one day — or maybe he actually liked you, you weren’t quite sure. it was always so hard to tell.

but the lunch went well; suguru was sweet and treated you with complete kindness. it was the utter opposite of talking to satoru, who was cocky and horribly over-confident. you enjoyed it, you really did, but you felt nothing but guilt when you looked at suguru and wished that satoru was sitting in his place. it was unfair to make false promises to the dark-haired boy — promises that you didn’t mean and couldn’t fulfill, so you didn’t.

sorry, suguru, i just don’t think i’m looking for this kind of thing right now.

is it satoru? is that why?

no, i-

it’s okay, i see the way you look him, it’s the same way he looks at you — like you’re both behind glass, unable to reach each other.

and that was that.

but satoru didn’t catch wind of your rejection, he’d just heard you were in the city with suguru — on a date. it infuriated him, knowing that his best friend was stealing the girl of his dreams, but it’s not like he’d ever been honest about his feelings either. no one knew his genuine feelings towards you; honestly sometimes even he forgot about them. in fact, he was forgetting about them right now as he drowned himself in another girl’s soft lips and flowery perfume.

the taste of her tongue against his was stale, and he imagined that yours would taste much better — in fact sometimes he actually liked to imagine that it was you. but he had to remind himself that things were better this way for you; suguru would treat you better than someone like him ever could.

so you could imagine his surprise when you showed up at his door that night, angry tears leaking from your furious eyes.

“i’m in love with you, satoru,” you stated matter-of-factly as soon as he opened the door; but it was more of a threat and less of a statement.

it felt good to get it off your chest, to finally make your feelings known and feel the weight melt off your shoulders. you’d been confining it all within yourself for much too long.

“you’re what?” his expression was one of bewilderment; “weren’t you just out with suguru?” 

“yeah,” you sighed, demeanor falling to the floor as you relived the guilt of turning him down, “he’s sweet, but when i looked at him, all i wanted to see was you”. 

it pained your heart to admit that — part of you wished that you would have fallen for suguru instead, things would certainly be easier. 

satoru held his tongue, which he doesn’t do very often, and really mulled over what he would say to you next. he decided that maybe things could work out between the two of you — maybe he could love you and keep you safe all at once. maybe, just maybe, the two of you could thrive more together than you ever did on your own. maybe he was ignorant to ever think differently.

“i love you t-,” the words fell from his tongue so easily, like they were meant to be there all along — he was stepping forward, arm outstretched, ready to hold your face in his hand like he’d always dreamed of doing.

“satoru, who the hell-,” a female voice interrupted, his cracked door swinging open and revealing a girl you’d never seen before.

he was so stupid, so stupidly wrapped up in his own world that he’d forgotten about the other girl who was waiting in his room. and now he was frozen in time, inches from kissing you, holding you, enveloping you in his arms for the first time.

your face twisted in disgust, hot tears watering in your eyes as your last shred of hope shattered to the floor. he was so full of himself that he was willing to confess his love to you while another girl sat inside his room. gojo satoru was a piece of shit.

if only he’d known how much he’d destroy your friendship by trying to ‘save’ it. if only he’d known how much he’d miss you once you were gone. if only he’d taken the chance and loved you the way you deserved to be loved, when you deserved it.

the two of you were destined for each other, but he fucked up one too many times.

[ditttiii]

gold rush. || kth {m}

⇢ summary: kim taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. all narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is everyone’s dream. after months of sharing an elevator with the man who makes your heart race until you can scarcely breathe when the chance finally comes; are you willing to risk it all for his touch? 

⇢ genre: porn with feelings, soft smut, angst, is unresolved tension and feelings a genre?

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

⇢ word count: 4.4k

⇢ rating: explicit / 18+

⇢ theme: strangers to lovers, s2l!au

⇢warning/s: public/elevator sex, exhibitionism, fingering, cunnilingus/oral (female receiving), lots of kissing, hickeys, unprotected sex? reader’s on the pill, swearing, tension and so much of it, unresolved-repressed feelings, taehyung is a certified dingus & reader is hopelessly smitten. 

⇢ a/n: betaed by @yeojaa​ who owns my heart and is the most precious bean ever. 

also have all my virtual, socially distanced cuddles @btsmosphere​ @papillonsgf​ @birbdae​ & @unoriginal-username15432​. if it weren’t for their support this wouldn’t be out today. my gratitude knows no bounds ♡ also big thanks to taylor for the fic title.

banner by @chillingkoo​ & moodboard by @today-we-will-survive​​ their art breathed life into this fic ♡ a belated birthday fic for one mr.kim taehyung & the beautiful @kerikaaria​.  this fic is also my submission for @thebtswritersclub​ january monthly project. 

lastly, i had a lot of fun writing this so i hope you guys enjoy it x 2021 here v go ♡

You wonder when the shame stopped making you hide behind a curtain of messy bed hair. When the smell of a man's cologne on you and a fruity fragrance on him started to feel normal; routine.

 The elevator closes with a 'ping', and your eyes track the numbers as they descend, the warmth of another human, the soft puffs of his breath, warming your shivering, scantily dressed body.

 "What happened to ‘she’s too old for me?’ " You grunt, slipping off your six inches of agony inducing footwear and pushing them to a corner.

 "What happened to you not being jealous?" You can feel his smirk, oozing of self-assured nonchalance and smugness that would seem ugly on anyone but fits like a well-tailored suit on him. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he leans back, hands resting on the metal railing while his tall, lean body slouches lazily, almost invitingly, and you have to force your eyes away from tracing the curves of his pecs. It's a tempting sight, but you aren't about to give him any more ammo to goad you with. As it is, he already knows too much, is far too keen. 

 "Of your sugar mama? I don't think so."

 Taehyung hums but doesn't refute the statement and the silence between you two stretches on. A burning ball of jealousy in your stomach continues to eat away at your peace, and with a clenched jaw, you allow your head to rest against the cool metal of the elevator and pretend that the proximity doesn't affect you. 

 It's always the same between you two, a constant game of tug and war, where one pulls too firmly, and then the other comes tumbling close until one of you comes back to your senses and then it's back to square one. Back to bickering and recounting the previous night’s escapades of half-truths and lies told from kiss-swollen lips and hooded gazes as you try your best to rile the other one up.

 It's stupid. You are in your twenties and this isn't like you. The lying, the pretence that you are still seeing your ex-boyfriend and biting and sucking your own lip until it swells; until you look properly ravished; none of this is you.

 You should have known the day he first stumbled into the elevator with a half-buttoned shirt and bite marks painted over the pale skin of his neck, a satisfied smirk curled on his dark pink lips, that he wasn't good for you. But no, like the absolute fool that you are, you fell for him. Fell knowing full well he wasn't yours to have, that back then you weren't his to have.

 The elevator comes to a stop with a shudder. Your eyes, closed sometime during the descent, snap open and your feet pause when the sight of the closed doors grace you.

 "You stopped the elevator." It's not a question, not when his hand is still hovering over the stop button, head tilted as his eyes stay trained on you.

 "I did." He admits to a question you never asked.

 Biting back a hiss at his insistence on being difficult, you twist on your heels, lips pulled into a smile whose edges sting like shards of a broken glass and parry, "And why did you do that, pray tell?"

 He doesn't answer, just looks at you with that half-lidded gaze and his silence only infuriates you more, makes the back of your neck feel heated as an angry flush rises from your chest all the way up to your cheeks and with a few angry stomps you’re in Taehyung's space, barely a few inches left between you two.

 "God!" You start, and the anger, the jealousy, the ugly ball of insecurity and lust and something you haven't quite found a name for yet all coagulate and rise up your throat, burning your heart in their wake until you are hurting and seething. “I don’t get you, nor do I want to anymore!" The words tumble out, one after another and half thought out but your chest still burns and the ugly ball still feels scorching hot in your throat and you can't bring yourself to stop, to shut up and think. "Stop doing this. Stop flirting with me and stop looking at me with those hooded eyes of yours and for the love of god, do you really need to lick your lip that often? Why don't you carry a lip balm if your lips are that dry, huh?"

 The cross of your eyes is almost painful, but you have started and fuelled by anger and unreciprocated feelings there’s no stopping your steam. "And now this! Stopping the elevator! What the hell is this supposed to mean?" His lips part as if to answer but without waiting for his response, you plow on, "What! Do you actually have an answer? Really? Let's face it; you think I’m some sort of challenge that needs to be conquered. Another notch on your bedpost. You and your stupid smirks and half-lidded eyes and that damn mole on your nose and god, can you just not—"

 The soft pad of his finger on your lips pauses your rant, leaves them parted and your heart hammering while unsaid words clutter the hollow spaces in your throat, tighten around your vocal cords like a noose until they become their own nemesis. 

 "I broke up with her last night," Taehyung says, and from where you are standing so close to him, his breath on your neck, cheeks, lips is too enchanting, too much like something you had hoped and begged and prayed for far too long now. Breathing out harshly you blink yourself back to reality because you must be hearing him wrong. 

  "Huh?"

 His hand slowly comes up to hold your chin, thumb running over your lower lip with a feather-like touch, "I broke up with her last night, went home and came back early because I didn't want to miss you." He says, and your chest feels tight, palms numb and it's only when his hand gently settles over the nape of your neck and you inhale painfully that you realise that you had stopped breathing.

 "Why?" You rasp out. 

  Don't hope. This means nothing. Do not hope. 

 Something twists in your belly, a thread tightens around your heart, and you know, despite it all, that you are hoping. 

 "Why do you think?" He asks instead, and you stifle the sudden desire to bash his head into a wall. 

 "Don't play games with me." 

 A sigh, his breath dancing on your lips and you barely suppress the tingles that burn down your spine, "I'm not. I don't want to, not anymore." The hand resting around your neck curls, fingers caressing the soft skin behind your ear.

 "What do you want then?" Your words are quiet, hope and longing laced into every syllable that you desperately hope to hide but fail. 

 Your heart hammers into your ribs with so much force you are half afraid it will leave them cracked; splintered just like your love for the man who is touching you, holding your entire heart in the palm of his hands while you wait for it to be crushed. Because it will, it's inevitable. Kim Taehyung is a walking heartbreak waiting to happen. All narrow eyes and long nose and devilish smirks, he is too good. Too good for the woman he was with and certainly too good for you. You would be happy if you looked half as good on your wedding day as he regularly does because he is that gorgeous. And unreal, and pretty and it hurts. 

 It hurts because you can never have him and any second now he will push you away and ridicule you for getting flustered so easily and he will never understand, and god it cuts. It tears at you because despite knowing better, you long for him, his touch, his warmth.

 Maybe even his love. But that is one hope you refuse to acknowledge out loud. 

 Your breaths mingle from where you two are standing so close, and part of you aches to reach out, to pull him closer and wrap yourself around him until you can sync the beat of your heart to his, to nestle your face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in, drown in the scent of that spicy cologne that you associate with him and nobody else. Because it's tempting, oh so inviting and he is so so close.

 You could touch his chest, caress the skin peeking from in between the dip of his low neck shirt and it would be easy, he would let you, you know that too but what about after? How do you come back from holding someone your soul is in love with and then pretend that being with them for one night was enough? How does your hope keep living on in the name of that fragment of love? His arms your shelter for one night and then you are back to being strangers, sharing elevators and bumping into each other at the grocery store, pretending all the while that you do not yearn to visit that one night you spent together whenever your head hits the pillow? 

 "I..." Taehyung struggles, chews the words before his lips form them because this is his last chance and if he loses you now, it's over; he knows that too. The pair of you are done playing cat and mouse. 

 "I know my words don't hold a whole lot of value. I could promise you things, but you won't believe me and that's fair. I get it." He admits, another hand coming up until your face is cradled in his open palms, fingers slipping behind the edges of your ears and you will yourself to not drop your gaze, to look into his eyes and search for...love? Honesty? You wish you could say you know what it is that you are hunting for, but held so close all you can think about is the chestnut brown of his eyes, the black that rims them, the high arched brows and the thin, smooth lips and that mole; that mole that you can only see when you are pressed close, a hair's breadth of space between you two. 

 "But...?" You ask, pray, and yet again, against your better judgement hope.

 "But I love you." He confesses, voice forever rich and deep and you feel the hum of his baritone from where your chest is still pulled tight to his. "My love for you is unlike any I have ever known, and it scared me; it still scares me because I don't know. I don't know what I will do if I ever lose you. I care too much, I—" His grip on you tightens and instinctively your hands snake around his waist, clenching the soft cotton of his shirt, nails biting into your skin as his words thread your hopelessly lovesick heart back together; piece by piece.

 "I love you too much." Taehyung whispers and the ice around your heart thaws, his raw confession lighting a fire in your nerves until you are left buzzing from the high of his admission. "Trust me. Just this once. Please." He is vulnerable in his plea, and for the first time you wonder if you had characterised him wrong. Boxed and stored him like a gift on a shelf without bothering to look underneath the paper wrapping.

 Taehyung doesn't have to beg, he doesn't have to try and persuade anyone, and for all the gibes you threw his way, all the daggered words about him dating only for money, you didn't truly believe any of them. Sure, the woman he had been with for the last few months was older (a voice in your head whispers wiser), but that wasn't because she was, as you would often insist, his 'sugar mama', but instead because their interests aligned. Kim Taehyung is a man of taste, whether it be his fondness for a violin's trill, fascination with modern art, or his love for jazz music. He is an enigma and with no small amount of embarrassment you think back to all the times you have bought a book after he made a passing comment on it, searched the pages and the characters to find some semblance of him.

 Maybe you are pathetic, perhaps you are far too infatuated with this man for it to be healthy. Just maybe...

 "No," Taehyung commands, his voice so determined you’re snapped back to the present, head thrown out of the haze your wandering thoughts had created.

 Seeing your obscure expression and strayed eyes (look away because you can't acknowledge how much he matters), he pushes, one hand sliding down to grip your chin and urge you to look him in the eye. "Don't." 

 Maybe he sees something in your eyes, spots your hidden insecurities, reads you like an open book and dog-ears the pages that hold your weakness. 

 "Don't what?" You deflect, gaze drifting away again as you pretend to not know what he means but secretly long for him to keep pushing, to keep trying—your denial’s a facade to hide all your pleas. 

 "Don't do this to me. To us."  

 "You'll hurt me." You protest, a half-hearted attempt at trying to protect your already doomed heart even as your fingers clench tighter, pull him closer.

 "No, I won't." He speaks with certainty that you don't wholly believe but fuelled by far too much love and longing, you don't protest any further and instead toe closer, rise higher, and breathe in the shaky exhale he lets out when your lips skim the sharp curve of his jaw. 

 "I've wanted this for so long." Unadulterated desire courses through your veins at his admission. Even if Taehyung is lying, even if he leaves you stranded after today, you'll live. You'll live on the high of this moment, the memory of his skin under your touch, the crisp of the cotton draped over his lean torso. 

 It's easier to let go and surrender yourself, easier to lay yourself bare because you have already come too far and there is no protecting yourself anymore—your heart is now his to do with.

 Your hands twine around his waist, slide over the vast expanse of his back like he is yours; as though if you try hard enough, you'll leave an imprint, a sign that he belongs to you. Mark him for the rest of eternity and brand him with your name on his heart. 

 Kissing him is easy, the slight ache of staying on your tippy-toes going by unregistered as you get lost in the sensation of his lips, his sighs on your chin, the tickle of his lashes against the high curve of your cheek. 

 The cradle of his palms around your face is gentle, almost careful, as though you are a porcelain doll and he is afraid one harsh move will leave you splintered. Chest tight, you push down the last remaining traces of hesitation clinging inside your throat and twist to catch his lips instead, licking a long strip from the soft cleft of his chin over to his parted lips, dip into the hollow of his mouth and slide over the soft flesh on the inside before you catch his upper lip in between yours and suck.

 His responding groan has you clenching your thighs and you break the kiss, breathing in to replenish the oxygen that doesn't seem as important when his lips are on yours. When your gaze catches his, for once you don't look away, don't force yourself to stop from swimming in the beautiful, clear pool of his eyes.

 "I love you too." Your admission is quiet, more a careful whisper than anything else, as though any louder and you'll break this spell and things will go back to the way they were. He will come to his senses and realise he doesn't love you after all and then you'll go back to being a pining, lovesick fool, only this time with a broken heart and no hope to cling to.

 His eyes grow soft—gentle in the curve of two crescent moons, and you smile your first real smile, the edges twitching and pulling into a gentle grin before you can bite it down and the answering smile that Taehyung rewards you with has your heart squeezing almost painfully inside your chest.

 "Yeah?" He asks as though he already knows the answer but just wants to hear you say it again, profess your love for him again and you do. You say it again and again, press your lips over every inch of his face and emboss the words onto the smooth, unblemished skin.

 Taking in a shuddering breath, you answer from around the suspended ball of disbelief and love in your throat. "Yeah." 

 When the clothes start coming off it’s a gentle, slow affair, the spaces in between filled with tender touches curious to explore the skin that they had desired for so long and open-mouthed kisses pressing promises of forever and happily ever after onto the naked expanse, leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

 Legs twined around his waist like ivy, you arch off the floor. A tug of your hand and his shirt slips low, and then your mouth is pressing warm, wet, kisses, tongue slipping out and desperately tasting his skin, his sweat— him. You lean back and then he's on you, low, low, low until his lips are close enough to skim the edges of your panties and you buckle, arch and push without meaning to as you ache for relief only he can provide. 

 "You are beautiful. So so beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen." 

 His words are rough, less speech and more growl as he pushes his head closer to your soaking heat and inhales. "Fuck." 

 Breathes turning to hitches, words into gasps, you can scarcely keep your eyes open when he runs a long, slim finger through your folds and circles your wet opening before your walls are pulsing around him, sucking and pulling the finger in as deep as it will go. One and two then three, your cunt can't have enough of his fingers, his heat and him and oh— 

 His lips are velvet against your clit, your body a molten mass of gold moulding itself around his fingers, your sanity and restraint slipping and dripping down onto the carpeted floor from in between the spaces. With the last left strength, you prop yourself onto your elbows and the sight of Taehyung's mouth on your sex is almost enough to send you slipping back down again. His tongue laves across your folds with the desperation of a man parched, caressing every fold, greedily licking away your dripping arousal and moaning out obscenities too vulgar for how early the day is. 

 When you come, it's with a cry that sounds too animalistic to be yours. One that comes from your chest and leaves your back arched like the ends of a boomerang. "Good?" He asks with glistening lips, and you wanna scream, hysterical in your pitch— good? Is there anything better that exists in this world than his lips on you making you come? Again and again, until you can no longer stand the sensitivity? 

 But instead of screaming, or shaking him by his shoulders until it gets through his head, you reply with a spent nod and let your elbows slip. This is what being eaten out by Kim Taehyung feels like. The pleasure coursing through your veins is something far more potent than any you have ever felt before. The blood in your veins thrumming, almost sizzling under the thin layer of your skin. 

 He presses his forehead to yours, rests to catch his breath and with every shuddery inhale you breathe your arousal in, a swipe of your tongue across his glistening lips, and then you can taste it too. It tastes of nothing and yet everything. Coming from his lips, it tastes of what your dreams are built from, like liquified recklessness and yearning and above all —Taehyung. 

 It tastes of him and his smirks and all the kisses you couldn't have and all the kisses you now hope for. 

 His fingers are gentle when they tuck your hair, eyes bright behind the curtain of messy, ink-black strands, "There's a law somewhere that says when you love someone with all your heart, you are unavoidably loved by them as well. Amor ch'a null'amato amar perdona." 

 Your eyes search his, frantically rove all over his face, search the lines under his eyes, pause at the small mole on his nose, and then stop at the sight of the one on his lower lip, the one that your eyes would always drift to every time he'd smirk or grin in the past. Now he's smiling, lips stretched into a soft boxy curve, the mole evident against the edge and you raise a trembling hand, run your thumb across it. Cup his face with both your hands until your vision blurs and then your lips are on his. Locking and licking and your mouth is a leaking faucet of I love you's, hands working to the back of his head and getting lost in those perfectly long, wavy strands. 

 You hope this is the real thing when you wildly take off your dress, rip off his shirt unmindful of the last few buttons that clatter to the floor and undress until the both of you are as bare as you were the day you were born.

 The steel railing is startlingly cold against your rear but before you can wince Taehyung's large hands are on your waist, pulling you closer until all that's on your mind is the feel of him, hard and hot against your dripping heat. His mouth is on your breast, lips sucking marks into the flesh and tying you to him, leaving traces of his presence behind until you can no longer differentiate the ache in your heart from the burn in your belly. 

 Somehow through the haze of want and compulsive need, you collect yourself enough to tell him you're on the pill when he remembers the lack of protection in his wallet, and then he's inside you. The thrust inside is fluid, and you are moaning, keening at your wetness, at how long he is, at how unbearably, entirely full you are. 

 Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, like the last words of a man dying an untimely death, desperate and hurried and like if he takes a second too long he might never get the chance again. The scratch of your nails against his back must hurt, the grip of your heels around his sides must be painful, and still you can't bring yourself to let up; to let go. 

 The air inside becomes humid, reeks of sex and sweat and everything that shouldn't seem so right, and yet does. 

 You come first, hit your peak and crash through it like a ship in a torrential sea, hot and volatile and like something vital that you'll retain even in the afterlife. Taehyung–sweet, sweet Taehyung – helps you ride it out, makes your body sing with the honed practice of a pianist who has spent more decades playing than he can recall. His tongue is on your neck, stroking that one sensitive spot in the hollow of your clavicle while his hand brushes your clit, builds the pleasure and lets it drift, unhurried and soft until you are crying from the overwhelming rightness of it. 

 With a shudder, you finally push his hand away from your quivering heat and bring it to your lips, kiss the bony knuckles and let it rest on your thigh from where he wraps it tight around your waist and drives to chase his own high. 

 Sated you watch Taehyung, catalogue all the features that you had never seen before but up close can. Just in case—just. File them all in a part of your heart where only he resides, a piece you will always come back to, regardless of if the man in your arms chooses to stay or not. You will be selfish with these memories, hoard and treasure them in secrecy until the day you can look back upon them with nothing more than nostalgic fondness. 

 The appearance of a deep furrow on his forehead, between those long arched brows and the breaking rhythm of his thrusts, alerts you to how close he is and you clench. Clench with all the love and devotion you nurture in your heart and hope that somehow it will be enough. If not forever, then at least until you can have your fill, until you can love him for a life's worth and live off on those memories. Live on them like a late mother's half-finished perfume bottle that you take out and sniff on your sorriest days, a push strong enough to keep you going. 

 One more day, then one more and then just one more until you can finally meet him in the afterlife, old and having done all that you had been sent to do. Except for love. You doubt you can ever love like this again. 

 Kissing him after feels like the best kind of heartbreak because you know, somewhere deep in your gut where you house your intuition and insecurities, you know this won't last. 

 Yet you wouldn't take back anything. Your lips form words on Taehyung's shoulder 'i love you so much. i always will', and you tighten your arms around his waist. Anchor him to the present and pray that the defence will be strong enough to keep him with you for a little while more. 

 Just a little.

a/n: the end is up to your interpretation, you are free to imagine whatever end you’d have liked to see. If you enjoyed reading this please let me know through comments, reblogs, tags or asks. the feedback makes me insanely happy and i love hearing from you guys ♡

[hrina]

Be Sweet, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M (minors dni!) WORD COUNT: 6k

hey everyone! here's part one of my new enemies-to-lovers series :) this fic will be five parts in total, but i'm only posting the first part on tumblr. you'll be able to read the rest of it on patreon if you wanna sign up!

as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated. i love hearing your thoughts! enjoy.

~*~

August 27th, 2021

“Who’s opening tomorrow?”

Ella scrubs a wet rag across the table closest to the door. You cast a furtive glance up at her, flipping absentmindedly through the jumble of papers on the counter in front of you. Nick’s messy scrawl catches your eye, and you pause, reading the haphazard comment written at the bottom of the page.

Customer requested a very specific shade of pink trim. See back for details.

You flip the order, scoffing at the Pantone strip taped to the other side. The square labelled Quartz Pink has been singled out, encircled in bright red. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alice and Olly, I think,” you say, shoving the form to the bottom of the pile.

“That’s good,” Ella grunts, returning the napkin holder and the sugar dispenser back to their spots on the table. “And you’ll swing by sometime during the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” you say, drumming your fingers over the papers. “I’m gonna help Olly in the back. You know how much he hates dealing with fondant.”

“How could I forget?” Ella rolls her eyes, smiling to herself. You grimace when she tosses the damp cloth in your direction. It lands on the counter with a loud splat! You nudge it away with your elbow, shaking your head.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Ella says.

“I’m lovely,” you reply. She grins.

“Where’s Alex taking you tonight?” you ask, changing the subject. Her eyes light up instantly, and she clasps her hands together against her chest.

“It’s a surprise,” she says, giggling girlishly.

You groan. “I hate surprises.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend, then, isn’t it?” she retorts. You snicker, and she continues: “He told me we should stop off at home to change, though, so I’m guessing that wherever it is, there’s a dress code.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” She twists her wrist, peeking at her watch. “He should have been here by now. It’s already a quarter past seven.”

“The hospital is just down the street,” you remind her, organising the mountain of orders into a neat stack. “Give him another five minutes.”

She nods. You spin on your heel and push through the door leading to the backroom of the bakery. The large space is split into two sections: on your right, there’s a wall of ovens, and a cluster of metal racks filled with pale, unprocessed dough. On your left, tables and counters lined with all sorts of decorating necessities—piping bags, spatulas, scrapers, turntables. You make your way toward the small cabinet perched against the nearest wall and pull out the top drawer, sliding the orders inside. Olly should have no trouble locating them tomorrow morning.

When you return to the front of the shop, Ella is locked in a passionate embrace with a gangly, dark-haired man. You recognise him immediately.

“Doctor Dao,” you call out, resting your elbows on the counter. “Did you at least wash your hands before putting them all over my best friend?”

Alex and Ella break apart swiftly, but he keeps one arm wrapped around her waist. “Hey, cookie,” he says, flashing you an apologetic grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

You arch one brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. “I’ll say.”

Only then do you catch sight of the other man lingering by the door, and your smile quickly morphs into an irritated frown. Harry is watching you with twinkling eyes, like he knows the effect his presence has on you. How could he not? You don’t try to hide your disdain, especially when it comes to him.

“Harry,” you say curtly, lifting your chin in stubborn acknowledgement.

He brings two fingers to his temple—a mock-salute. “Sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. God, he makes your blood boil. Rather than responding, you turn back to Alex, who is now smoothing his palms over Ella’s silky brown hair. “You’re late,” you tell him. “You were supposed to be here when we closed.”

“Sorry, cookie,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it. “My last surgery of the day had a few…complications.”

You purse your lips as the annoyance melts away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blowing out a heavy breath. He looks tired. “We figured it out.”

“That’s good.”

Alex directs his attention back to Ella, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Cool,” he says. “You don’t mind if we drop Harry off at his place, right? His car is fucked, apparently.”

Ella’s grey eyes widen. She peers over her boyfriend’s shoulder at Harry. “What happened?”

Harry waves away her concerns, chuckling quietly. He tugs on the collar of his blue scrubs, and you can’t stop your gaze from trailing across the plethora of tattoos inked into his arm. Your nose wrinkles at the sight. He looks ridiculous. What kind of doctor would agree to don such outrageous body art?

“He’s being dramatic,” Harry says, shooting Alex a pointed glare. “My car’s at the shop right now, but I’ll have it back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Oh.” Ella relaxes. “Okay, that’s great. Babe—” She turns to Alex. “—when are our reservations?”

“Eight-thirty,” Alex says. “Plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” she chirps. She scurries around the counter and playfully bumps her hip against yours. “My purse is in the back. Give me one second.”

And then she’s gone.

You stare at Alex, fighting a clever smile. “Tonight’s the night, huh?” you murmur, quiet enough so that there’s no chance of Ella overhearing.

He beams, shouldering his knapsack and dragging his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt. His scrubs are a light purple, you note. The shade compliments his dark skin.

“Yeah,” he replies, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. “She’ll say yes, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Of course she will.”

Just then, Ella bursts through the door, her leather purse swinging wildly against her waist. “Alright!” She claps once, striding over to you and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto your cheek. “I’m off.”

“Bye,” you say, wiping her saliva from your face with the back of your hand. “Have fun.”

Alex waves at you as she tugs him out of the bakery. “See you later, cookie.”

You wink. “See you.”

Harry is the last one to leave. He glances at you momentarily, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smug smile. The look makes you bristle. He’s absolutely infuriating.

“Got any leftover almond croissants?” he asks. Silent laughter taints every word.

You point to the exit. “Get out.”

He bows his chin in farewell, approaching the door. “Sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” you reply flatly. Now that your friends are out of earshot, you’re under no obligation to tolerate him. Sometimes, you find yourself actually craving his company, just so you can drop the pretence and really give him a piece of your mind. You’re a mature adult, and you won’t ruin a social gathering because of one presumptuous dickhead, but everyone has their limits. You don’t owe him shit.

Harry chuckles to himself, and you clench your fists at your sides. He shoots you one last maddening smirk before disappearing out the door. You rush forward, latching it swiftly and ensuring that the sign against the glass reads ‘CLOSED’. Once you’ve successfully locked up, you march into the back of the shop, plucking your own purse off one of the metal counters and tugging it over your shoulder. You shut the light and return to the front, scanning the clean tables, the empty display cases, the shades drawn over the windows. Shards of the sunset stream through the cracks in the blinds, casting orange stripes along the floor.

All clear, a voice in your head whispers, and you sigh.

Finally—you can go home.

August 28th, 2021

Quick, frantic knocking rouses you from your sleep. Blearily, you sit up on the mattress, knuckling at your puffy eyes. The hardwood floor is cold against the soles of your feet when you climb out of bed. You shiver.

The insistent clamour continues as you pad down the hallway. You tug at the hem of your worn, baggy t-shirt, concealing your midriff. Ella wastes no time after you open the front door, surging past the threshold and vaulting herself into your arms.

“He proposed!” she squeals as the two of you stagger backward. You freeze, remembering Alex’s plans from the day before. His apprehension, too—the way he wiped his clammy palms against his scrubs and anxiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Shock ebbs and flows through your veins for a fraction of a second, but then you’re sweeping Ella into a tight hug, rocking your bodies from side to side.

“Oh my God,” you say. Excitement festers beneath the murky exhaustion clouding your mind. “He did it.”

Ella steps back, brows knitting together in bewilderment. “You knew?” When you nod, she scoffs, aiming a half-hearted swat at your bicep. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” you retort, rolling your eyes at the demand. “Come on. Let’s see it.”

A bright grin stretches across her lips, and she holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers keenly. You spy the ring resting on the fourth digit: a simple platinum band topped with a large, clear diamond. Grey morning light bounces off the gemstone, and it winks at you as if it knows something that you don’t.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, gripping Ella’s wrist to bring her hand closer. You scrutinize the ring carefully, smiling to yourself. “He’s got good taste.”

“Doesn’t he?” she gushes, beaming like an idiot. You beckon her into the kitchen, and she collapses onto one of the tall stools positioned in front of the marble island. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove reveals that it’s only eight in the morning. You groan, rubbing gentle circles against your temples.

“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in today,” you say, lips curling into a wry smirk.

Ella shoots you a sheepish, apologetic smile, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, cookie. I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m just kidding,” you tell her, floating around the room to prepare a pot of coffee. “So…how did he do it?”

She launches into a frenzied retelling of the night before. Alex brought her to the same restaurant they’d visited four years ago on their first date. They ordered their food and made conversation. Things proceeded as usual until the end of the meal, at which point Alex set his napkin down on the table and excused himself to the restroom. Two minutes later, the waiter arrived with the bill. Ella accepted it graciously, scanning the thin paper and pausing at the question scrawled at the very bottom of the slip. When she snapped her head up, searching for her boyfriend in the crowded dining area, she found him kneeling a few feet away from her chair, a small velvet box nestled securely in his steady hands.

“I started crying immediately,” she tells you, groaning at the memory. “I couldn’t keep it together. It was so embarrassing.”

You toss your head back and laugh. Despite the crimson blush staining her cheeks, she joins in. The coffeemaker beeps, signalling that the pot is ready. You fetch two mugs from the cupboard and fill them with dark liquid. Ella accepts her drink eagerly, blowing cool air across its surface. You grimace as she takes a tentative sip—you’ve never understood her penchant for unsweetened black coffee. Sugar and cream are a must.

“I’m so happy for you, El,” you tell her, stirring a small spoon around your mug. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Her eyes grow damp. You snicker quietly, reaching across the island and swiping your thumb beneath her bottom lashes. She catches your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, clearing her throat.

“Will you—?” She releases a shuddering breath. “Will you be my maid of honour?”

You stiffen at her request. Her gaze rakes over your face, like she’s searching for any clue as to how you might respond. At last, your shoulders sag in relief, and an ecstatic smile splits across your cheeks.

“Of course,” you say, voice thick. Tears gather in your own eyes, but you blink them back furiously. “I would love nothing more.”

She sets her coffee down and skirts around the counter, yanking you into another bone-crushing hug. You grin as she presses a handful of sloppy kisses to the side of your head. Her elbow knocks against your abandoned mug, and a few drops of coffee spill down the side of the cup. You laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling back and sweeping your hands over her silky hair.

“It’s probably way too soon, but have you guys started discussing anything?” you ask, arching one eyebrow.

Ella flushes pink, averting her gaze. “Um…when we got home, there wasn’t really much of a discussion going on.”

You cackle, poking at her ribs. “Oh, he gave it to you good, didn’t he? It’s a miracle that you’re not limping right now.”

“Be quiet,” she yelps, stamping her eyes shut.

You lift your hands and shoot her a teasing smirk. “I’m not judging, okay? If anything, I’m living vicariously through your various sexual conquests. It’s been months since I last got any action.”

“Maybe that should change,” Ella says, folding her arms over her chest. “You and Harry could probably fuck out your frustrations. His dick is huge, apparently.”

You balk. “Ella!”

She shrugs, grey eyes widening comically. “What? Alex told me!”

You snort, but say nothing. She watches you cautiously, examining your features for any signs of acquiescence. Any indication that you might actually be considering her lewd suggestion. You almost gag.

“Why do you hate him so much, anyway?” Ella asks, flicking an invisible speck of lint off her shoulder. “You’re not still hung up on that fiasco with the almond croissant, are you?”

“I’m not doing this with you again,” you say, and she sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But can you at least try to be civil while we plan the wedding? For my sake.”

After mulling over her words, you slouch in defeat. “Fine. But only for you,” you say, throwing a stern finger in her face.

She beams. “Thank you.” Something dirty flashes behind her pale eyes. “And if you do end up sleeping with him, I want all the details.”

You shove her gently and scoff. She laughs.

“Honestly,” you start, shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter how huge his dick is. I’d rather walk across hot coals than let somebody like him climb into my bed.”

“What makes you think it wouldn’t be the other way around?” Ella snickers. You glare at her, but she just steps back, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Have it your way. But I’m expecting you to find someone in time for the big day. Don’t let your plus-one go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. “Noted.”

September 2nd, 2021

“Olly!” you call, sticking your head into the backroom. “Ella and I are going on our lunch break, but Leyla will be here in, like, twenty minutes. You going to be okay by yourself until then?”

Olly doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, too busy piping little flowers along the sides of the rectangular cake laid out in front of him. He lifts one hand, waving away your concerns before running his palm over his short blue hair. He buzzed and dyed it just last week after claiming that he couldn’t stand how the long brown curls stuck to the nape of his neck. It took a few days to get used to the change, but now that the initial shock has faded, you have to admit that he looks great.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Olly says, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He sets his piping bag down and turns toward you, wiping his palms against his red apron. His left ear bears a swirl of shiny silver piercings. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a small smile. He returns it, and then you’re spinning on your heel and letting the door swing shut behind you.

You find Ella waiting outside the bakery. She urges you along, and you squawk at her impatience.

“What’s the rush?” you ask, falling into step with her as you both amble down the sidewalk. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“I don’t want Alex’s sandwich to get cold,” she explains, holding up the small paper bag clutched in her right hand. You snort.

The two of you make it to Ridgefield Hospital in record time, mostly because Ella grips your arm and gives it a forceful tug whenever you start lagging behind. You walk through the automatic doors, ignoring the row of ambulances parked outside. The secretaries sitting at the front desk shoot you a few distracted smiles—they’ve all grown accustomed to your frequent visits by now.

Ella babbles endlessly as you enter the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor and waiting as the metal doors slide shut.

“I want to ask Alice and Leyla to be part of the bridal party, but I’m scared the guys will feel bad if Alex doesn’t choose them as his groomsmen. Like, I think they’d understand, considering I work with the girls and we’re all pretty close, but I don’t know.” She nudges you with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever the fuck you want,” you tell her, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. And I don’t think Olly, Marcus, or Nick will mind if they’re not part of the bridal party. Olly doesn’t care about that stuff, and Marcus and Nick already have their hands full with their jobs at the bakery. Plus, they know Alex has his own friends—not just the ones he’s met through you.”

Ella nibbles on her bottom lip, her head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You lay a placid hand on her shoulder. “You’re already overthinking this. You’ve only been engaged for a week. Enjoy it.”

She shoots you a grateful smile just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open, and the two of you step out onto the hospital’s paediatric floor. It’s a stark contrast to the other sections of the building. Instead of barren white walls, these ones are painted with all sorts of pretty, colourful decorations—flowers, rainbows, sunsets, animals. A massive sign in front of you denotes the different divisions on the floor and where to find them: the ICU, the operating rooms, the palliative unit, the psychiatry wing, and the oncology department. You and Ella turn right, making the familiar trek to Alex’s office.

“He should be on his lunch break, too,” she says. “Unless they paged him for another emergency surgery.”

You hum in response.

Sure enough, you find Alex at his desk, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he pores over the stack of papers in front of him. Ella knocks gently against the open door, and his face lights up when he spies her standing in the threshold. He moves quickly, crossing the room in five long strides, and plants a searing kiss onto her lips. You look away, rocking awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs after he and Ella break apart. That’s when he notices you behind her. “Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” you reply. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just going to—you know, the usual.”

He nods.

The last thing you see before you turn around is Ella holding up the brown paper bag, and Alex’s face splitting into a bright, easy smile.

You meander through the halls, trailing your fingers over the rich artwork covering the walls. The end of the corridor cleaves in two; you turn left and enter a large atrium. The ceiling is high and peppered with skylights. A small cafeteria sits off to the side, clusters of families chatting and laughing together as they eat. Children sprint around the space, their arms outstretched. Some of them are dressed in normal clothes—others don pale hospital gowns, their skinny legs bared for all to see. You wrench your attention away from them, fixing it instead on the far wall.

Slowly, you cross the room, surveying the vibrant handprints stamped against the plaster. There has to be hundreds of them, you think. They vary in size—some are so tiny you could cry. Colour becomes scarcer the higher you go—the youngest children are too short to reach those levels, obviously—but still. The sight takes your breath away. You visit this mural every time you find yourself at the hospital, and every time, you unearth a new detail that you hadn’t noticed before.

You walk along the length of the wall, dragging your fingertips across the dry, smooth paint. Purples and pinks and oranges and blues. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Each handprint is a person—a pair of little feet that scuffled over this very floor, a blank story that had yet to unfold. Briefly, you wonder how many survived whatever illnesses plagued them, and how many succumbed to their conditions. The thought makes your throat grow tight with emotion, so you quickly shove it aside.

Ten minutes pass before you’re leaving the mural behind and heading back the way you came. You’ve just rounded the corner when a strong, solid body barrels into you. You grunt at the impact, smacking one palm against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, lifting your head to meet the stranger’s gaze. “I wasn’t paying—oh.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes glittering with mirth once he recognises you. You purse your lips, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Harry,” you say, nodding stiffly.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart.”

His brown hair is tousled, and his biceps strain against the white button-up adorning his torso. Black slacks cover his legs, and he’s wearing a pair of pristine leather shoes, ones that look like they might’ve cost a month’s worth of rent. Your teeth grate together noisily. The sound echoes in your ears.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, as though the two of you are old friends. You want to scoff—you’d rather stick your hand in an oven than make idle conversation with him.

“Visiting Alex,” you say tightly, stepping back. “Ella brought him lunch.”

At that, Harry straightens. “Ella’s here?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d run into her,” he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You throw him a scowl. “Asshole.”

Harry cocks one eyebrow, tilting his chin haughtily. “Forgive me if I prefer her company to yours. At least she doesn’t treat me like I’m some insufferable bastard.”

“Maybe if you stopped being such an insufferable bastard, I wouldn’t treat you like one,” you shoot back, planting your hands on your hips. You tense as Harry’s gaze rakes down your body—head to toe, like he’s sizing up an opponent. His nose wrinkles in disdain, and you fight the urge to deliver a sharp, backhanded slap across that pretty, perfect face.

Harry opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for whatever retort he has prepared. What comes out is nothing overtly nasty, but it is enough to make you want to shrink away and curl into yourself until you wink out of existence.

“You smell like yeast,” he says, and tosses in a derisive sniff just for the added effect.

You recoil as the words slam into you, blinking in shock.

Asshole. Rude, arrogant, condescending asshole.

“I own a bakery,” you grit out. Harry shrugs, but says nothing else. Your lips flap wordlessly as he pushes past you, his shoulder bumping against yours. You watch him go, massaging the tender spot on your arm with shaky fingers. Your eyes fall to his ass for only a moment before skittering away, and a hollow laugh catches in your throat.

What a fucking prick.

September 17th, 2021

“Attention, everyone!” Ella stands at the head of the table, clinking her fork delicately against her glass. “I wanted to make a little toast.”

The conversation around you tapers off into silence. You sit back in your chair, focussing on your best friend. She looks splendid in her pretty blue dress, her dark hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She peers around the room, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. When her gaze locks with yours, you grant her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She beams, her next words imbued with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our engagement with us.” She holds out her hand, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “We’re so grateful to be sharing this milestone with such a wonderful group of people.”

You inspect the other guests gathered around the table. To your right sit Alice and Leyla, the first employees you hired when you were trying to get your business up off the ground. It’s odd seeing them like this—poised and elegant, looking nothing at all like they do during the long, arduous shifts at the bakery. Alice’s blond hair has been fashioned into an intricate braid, and Leyla’s brown eyes are lined with dark kohl and smoky eyeshadow. They clean up nice, you must admit.

Next to Leyla: Ella’s older sister, Hillary. They have the same piercing grey eyes, though Hillary’s hair is a shade lighter. You didn’t miss the sour expression that trundled across her face when you waltzed into Alex and Ella’s condo. She’s jealous, you think. Jealous that Ella chose you as her maid of honour instead of her. You’ve been ignoring her resentful glares for the better half of the night, letting her bitterness pass over you like a cloud. Whatever her problem is, it’s clear that the issue lies between her and her sister. You’re not getting in the middle of that.

It doesn’t help that she’s been fawning over Harry all evening. Upon witnessing her coquettish behaviour, you glanced at Ella, brows raised, but your best friend just rolled her eyes and yielded a helpless shrug of her shoulders. At least the attraction didn’t appear to be one-sided—that would have been humiliating, you think—because Harry gave as good as he got, chuckling sincerely and flirting right back. You had to suppress the urge to retch, and sent out a quiet prayer of gratitude when Ella and Alex sat them as far away from each other as possible at the beginning of the meal.

On the opposite side of the table: Alex’s groomsmen—Milo, Sasha, and Connor. You’ve been in their company a few times, mainly on birthdays and other special occasions. According to Alex, they all met when Milo accidentally vomited during their very first anatomy lesson at medical school. Milo insists that the putrid smell of the cadavers was simply too awful to bear, but everyone else claims that he just couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to a dead body. No matter the truth, the story always makes you giggle. The four of them have been good friends ever since.

The five of them, you remind yourself as your gaze settles on Harry, who is lounging in the chair directly across from you.

Harry—Alex’s best friend. Harry—Alex’s best man.

You wanted to rip your hair from your scalp when Ella broke the news. Several images flashed through your head all at once. You and Harry inching rigidly down the aisle, arms linked. You and Harry donning the same colours, your gown complimenting the spry flower pinned to the lapel of his suit. You and Harry flanking Ella and Alex while they recite their vows, glaring daggers at each other behind your friends’ backs. Even now, the mere thought of it has you biting down on an exasperated groan.

You don’t realise that you’ve zoned out until the faint quirk of Harry’s mouth catches your eye. You blink once to yank yourself from your daze, and clench your jaw when you find him staring at you with an amused look on his face. He places his elbows against the arms of the chair and clasps his hands together. Unmistakable smugness emanates from him, as if he somehow managed to crawl inside your mind and saw exactly what you were envisioning. Your nostrils flare, and you fix your attention back on Ella, who has reached the end of her speech.

“Cheers,” she says, holding up her glass. The champagne inside sloshes and fizzles temptingly. Would she allow you to chug the entire bottle, if you asked?

Everyone around the table mirrors her movements, raising their own drinks and touching them together lightly. Quiet, delicate clanking fills the room, and the friendly chatter resumes. You nudge Ella with your elbow, shooting her a proud smile. “That was great, El.”

She beams. “Thanks, cookie.” She then picks up her fork and motions to the plate in front of her, piled high with seasoned chicken and steaming, roasted vegetables. “Let’s eat.”

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got him?” Alex asks Sasha, gesturing to the very inebriated Connor wobbling at his side.

Sasha wraps one arm around their friend, letting Connor rest his full weight against him. He bares two rows of perfect ivory teeth, flashing a wicked grin. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him back for the shit he pulled at the barbecue last month. There’s a Sharpie in my car.”

“You’re going to draw a dick on his face, aren’t you?” Alex muses.

“Obviously.”

With that, Alex bids them both farewell, shutting the door and heaving a dramatic sigh. Ella approaches him after a moment, hooking her chin over his shoulder and murmuring something indiscernible into his ear. He chuckles softly.

“Didn’t peg you as the voyeur type, sweetheart,” a low voice says from behind you.

You jump, whirling around and coming face-to-face with Harry. He’s got a green washcloth slung over his left shoulder—the shade brings out his eyes, a traitorous voice in your head whispers—and his arms are folded neatly across his chest. Your gaze falls to the collar of his black button-up, where he’s undone the first two discs, leaving his sternum exposed. Tendrils of ink peek out from beneath the dark material.

You frown and take a step back, putting distance between your bodies. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So I’ve heard.” His lips twitch, and he rolls up his sleeves. “Now, if you’re done ogling them like a lovestruck puppy, I could use some help in the kitchen.”

You grit your teeth, but follow him into the other room. Harry grabs the rag hanging over his shoulder and holds it out for you. You snatch it from his fingers without a word, and the two of you take up residence in front of the sink. Harry plunges his hands into the soapy water, rinsing the dishes thoroughly before passing them to you. You stand as far away from him as possible while you dry each plate, your movements stiff and choppy. This is not how you wanted to finish off the night, but Alex and Ella spent the entire day preparing the food, and it was delicious. The least you can do is spare them the hassle of tidying up.

The tense silence eats at you, until you feel like you might explode. Unable to bear it any longer, you hastily blurt, “Saw you getting pretty cozy with Hillary before dinner.”

Immediately, you want to kick yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

Harry snorts, shrugging coolly. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s nothing serious.” He shoots you a mischievous grin. “You jealous?”

“Of Hillary?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. The woman’s standards are practically underground. Why else would she be interested in someone like you?”

Harry scowls, and hot satisfaction surges through your veins. Yes, the taunt was mean, but no, you don’t care. “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” he says.

You flash him a petty, insincere smile. “Only to you.”

He squeezes the yellow sponge nestled in his right hand, scrubbing it forcefully across a dirty plate. “Maybe you should find someone to hook up with. It might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I have better things to do,” you sneer, narrowing your eyes.

“Better than sex?” He chokes on a derisive laugh.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…things!” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists. “I run my own business, for God’s sake. And I’m going to make Ella’s wedding cake.” You announce the last part proudly, hauling your chin into the air.

Harry, however, looks unimpressed. He shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Uh-oh.”

You pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs again, but you detect a hint of malice behind the action. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way you decorate cakes. Ella might be better off going elsewhere—you know, to an actual professional.”

Son of a—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you say, motioning to the mismatched tattoos littered across his arm. “What would you know about professionalism? It looks like you let a preschooler doodle all over you.”

Harry bares his teeth in a feral grin. “Deflection. I’m not surprised.”

You bristle at his words. “Asshole.”

“You’ll need to get a bit more creative with the insults, sweetheart. I’m growing bored.”

“Is that so?” you say. “I think ‘asshole’ suits you just fine. Maybe you should have become a proctologist instead of a paediatrician.”

“At least I pursued something I was good at. I’m not sure if you can say the same.”

“You fucking—”

“Everything okay in here?” Ella asks, floating into the kitchen. You spin around to conceal your anger, placing your hands against the counter and inhaling deeply. You roll your shoulders back and slap an artificial smile onto your face before turning once more.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, and fake a yawn, covering your mouth with your palm. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m exhausted.”

Ella’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Her red lipstick has faded, leaving only a stain of scarlet in its wake. On cue, Alex walks into the kitchen behind her, setting a steady hand on her hip and cocking his head to the side. “Hey. Everything okay in here?”

You nearly snort. Fucking soulmates.

“All good,” you tell him, nodding brusquely. “I’m just going to finish up with the dishes and head home.”

“Okay.” Alex presses a soft kiss to Ella’s temple, murmuring something about needing to get out of his stuffy clothes. You whirl, drying the last of the plates with frantic, shaky fingers. In your peripheral vision, you spy Harry watching you, but the stupid bastard must possess some scrap of self-preservation, because he keeps his mouth shut. You say nothing else as you whack the rag down onto the counter and stride out of the room.

You don’t miss Alex and Ella’s hushed whispers at the other end of the hall, but a little voice in your head tells you not to interrupt them. You halt at the front door, snatching your purse off one of the metal hooks mounted on the wall. You’re in the middle of putting on your shoes when you hear it:

“I was hoping we could arrange a truce, you know.”

You twist around, palm flying to your chest. Harry is standing a few feet away, his hands still wet with the water from the sink. He clasps them together and ducks his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was ashamed.

Something vile bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You gnaw on the flesh of your cheek, trying to reel your emotions back in. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of witnessing another outburst.

“Keep your fucking truce,” you spit, and wrench open the door. You shoot him one last withering look before stepping out of the condo and slamming it shut.

[hotwings0203]

i’m thinking abt Police officer reader arresting scummy smexy Touya. Like he smirks when she arrests him and cuffs his hands to his back. I want him in me fr 😍‼️

Tw:none really, maybe sexual harassment and implied noncon

“Officer 776, we got a black sedan coming up your way on I-10. Do you copy?”

You sign and turn your music off before reaching for your walkie talkie and responding, “Yes, I copy.”

And sure enough, the only car that zooms by at 2 am on a Saturday night is a black sedan. It’s a shame, really, you were enjoying the city view by yourself without anyone to keep an eye on. You’re usually posted for ticket duty, but this time you got promoted for night watch.

You would’ve liked to continue leaning back in your seat and watch the only sky slowly dust with stars, but duty calls as the blue custom headlights go streaking past you.

Begrudgingly, you pull your driving handle back and start going after him, turning your lights on in the process and raising the siren.

You’re not even surprised when it takes some slight honking and almost a two mile mini-chase to get the car to pull over at the side of the gravelly road.

The car in front of you stalls, and you observe the status of the car itself. It’s hard to make out the look of the vehicle in the dark even with your headlights blaring in front of it, but you guess it’s a Mazda sedan or something of the sort just like how your higher-up said.

You take a deep breath and gather your flashlight as you open your door and swing outside.

On the short walk to the driver’s side you notice darker marks on the car…almost like they were scorch marks.

That’s strange.

The window is tinted and up. You roll your eyes in annoyance and give three sharp raps to the glass.

“Open the window and keep your hands on the steering wheel after.”

You wait a moment. It doesn’t budge.

A crease appears in your eyebrows and you quickly glance around. It’s completely deserted, just you and the perpetrator.

“I’m gonna have to ask you once more. Open the window otherwise-“

You cut off as the black glass slowly rolls down, revealing a man with ivory hair and black tips at the ends, his face scarred but astonishingly handsome. His mouth, eyebags, lower half of his face and ears are laced with silver piercings…stitches? Maybe, but whatever. Focus on the task at hand.

“What can I help you with meter maid?” Comes his sleazy, gravelly voice.

You lean down and rest an elbow on his lowered window, squinting at his smug face. His eyes are crinkled with the slight upturn of his lips, imitating a crude smirk.

No ones in the car with him, but you can faintly smell some kind of skunk aroma, and alarm bells go off in your head.

“Sir, do you know how fast you were driving?”

“Fast enough apparently, if I copped a sexy thing like you all for myself.”

He props his chin on his scarred hand and rests his elbow right next to yours, mocking your petulant expression.

You grimace and move your hand away from his. He pouts as you continue berating him.

“It’s 2am on a weekend, sir. Where were you headed off to that you had to be there in such a rush?”

The man sighs loudly and lets his head fall back against his leather seat, lips puffing out and fingers moving to drum against his steering wheel.

“Oh you know, the usual. Fucking bitches, getting money, anything a no-good handsome bastard like me does on the regular. Not like I’d expect you to know, meter maid.” He smirks showing his white canines and slowly looks you up and down.

When you scowl he raises his hands innocently and shrugs.

“Just kidding sweetheart. I was actually on my way to burn a few bodies, I’m a hit man y’know. Very much on the wanted list. I’m good at what I do…if you ever need a man, or a body,just call me.” He winks and his infuriating grin doesn’t falter as you yank open the door and practically throw his lanky figure out of the car.

He doesn’t put up any effort of resistance, just lets you push him down by the neck onto the hood of his car, his body bent as you begin searching him.

You know you smell some type of drug in the car but you’re not actually rooting through his pockets looking for gold. You just want a little bit of saving-face from his sleazy mouth.

He exhales and laughs as his cheek smushes against the black steel, his breath puffing up condensation on the hood while you pat his sides down.

“Put your hands on the car sir, and don’t move unless you want to be taken into a cell overnight.” You mutter as you feel his studded belt, his white tee revealing a toned yet sharp body underneath.

The man sighs in faux annoyance. “What’s with the attitude babe? If you’re feeling me up you might as well lose that cold shoulder. The name’s Touya by the way, I would’ve given it to you sooner if I knew you just wanted to get under my pants.”

You freeze as his words register right when you pay down his inner thighs for any suspicious substance-just following protocol.

Nevertheless, you instinctively shoot your hands to your side and sputter indignantly.

“You-you can’t talk to an officer like that! Are you drunk? Count to 100 for me.” You try to divert the conversations to where you have the upper hand, but you should’ve known Touya wasn’t gonna let it be that easy.

“Sure thing meter maid. It’s 1-800-*******.”

“What?”

“That’s my number. Be grateful, I don’t usually give opps my digits that easily, but you’re giving me a fun time so why not?” He cranes his head toward you and licks his lips seductively.

You’re thankful for the darkness of the night, for you can surely feel the best rise to your cheeks at his blatant…flirting?

“Shut up. Just let me do my job asshole.”

The walkie talkie crackles with static as your supervisor calls in to check on how you’re doing, but before you can speak into it Touya cries out suddenly.

“Help! Oh, help me officer! This meter maid is touching all over my little willy! She has ulterior motives I swear it!” He moans loudly and you snap the device shut before turning to him.

“Are you fucking crazy? Do you want me to get fired?” You hiss, but all you get in return is a maniacal grin.

“Sure, ‘means you can fuck around without any protocol then, right?” The man starts arching his hips up in a perverse manner and shoves his ass back into your torso.

You snarl and reach over his back, grabbing both of his hands and slapping a pair of cuffs on him before manhandling him the other way, his face finally aligned with yours, back against the cool steel.

“Oh, so you like it rough, huh?”

You ignore him and drop to a squat, taking his combat boots off less-than-gently and shaking them out for any real baggie.

“Shoulda’ told me sooner doll, we could’ve gotten this along wayyyy sooner.”

You slowly raise your eyes up and take in an eyeful of his thrusting hips mere inches from your eyes.

He’s looking down at you with one eyebrow raised and his usual smirk adorning his features.

Your blood rushes through your body like you just ran a marathon, and you abruptly stand before him, making sure your shoulder checks his straining bulge on your way up.

He yelps and doubles over, unable to clutch his prized possession.

This time when he straightens up with a twisted scowl, you’re the one grinning at him instead.

“Yeah, you’re right, actually. If you’re gonna get me fired anyways might as well do what I want, right?”

You open his passenger door and give him an innocent smile as he watches you warily.

After about 10 minutes of looting through his car and trunk, sure enough you produce a couple of large ziploc bags filled with white powder and copious amounts of cash under thinly concealed pockets in the back.

You hold all of these findings up, and each one of the revelations are either met with a mocking pout or a careless shrug.

Your skin starts to get hotter despite the chill of the night as none of your efforts to match his energy are met with any fruition. In fact, it seems to rile him up more.

“Looks like you’re getting tired hon. Why not use all that energy on this dick?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re not very good at this job, huh? You’d be better as some kind of stripper. Actually, nah, that’s too good of a job for you, maybe a prostitute stuck in my bed would satisfy you.”

On and on he goes as you practically raid his car, even throwing out belongings that aren’t in any way questionable.

Eventually you reach your tipping point. You make sure he’s watching you as you walk around back towards him and plant your feet squarely in front of him, taking your stance.

You reach into your pocket to produce your walkie, cock your arm back, and throw it as far as you can into the surrounding field.

“Where’s that smile now Touya? You scared you can’t defend yourself without anyone on the other side listening in?”

The ivory haired man shakes his head and sighs as if dealing with a grace loss. Your own brows furrowed as he looks up at you with a sorrowful expression, one that doesn’t quite scream sincere when the car lights reflect an excited gleam in his cerulean eyes.

“Nah, sweetheart. I’m actually more worried for you.”

And with a sound as soft as bell chimes, the tugs his hands at the back for a moment and brings his arms forward, palms spread and showing you cuff-less palms of blue hellfire.

He thinks you look pretty when the blue light reflects pure terror on your shadowed face.

“That was a stupid move, throwing your only hope of salvation away. I wasn’t lying, y’know. I really am a hit man. But I’ll take my own offer.”

As you turn to begin to sprint away he smiles again, this one more earnestly remorseful.

“I’ll be a hit man and a body you need for tonight.”

[parvulous-writings]

Not on My Watch // Jesse McCree x F!Reader

Request:   Howdy! Perhaps another Mccree fic? 👀 Mccree and fem S/o decides to have a chill leisure and some dude catcalled s/o and Mccree witnessed it? what do he do? 😳🤠 (loved the previous fic you did for me im still reading it til this day!!)

Requested by: @fragolaaaaaaa​

Summary: McCree takes you out, and you get cat-called.

Warnings: catcalling, alcohol, explicit language.

Words: 1.2K

Notes:  Howdy! I had quite a bit of fun with this one! I’m happy to hear you’re still reading my other fic for you! Makes me smile! My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

It was one of McCree’s rare days off, and he had insisted on taking you out for the evening to one of his old local haunts, an old bar in the middle of Deadlock Grange. The entire town may have had some less than savoury memories, but he was hoping that spending some time there with you would clear those away or at least push them to the side.  All he wanted was to share a drink with you on a day off, hear you laugh and see you smile at something stupid he’s said. That was his plan- share drinks with you (preferably something involving whisky for himself), maybe get a little less sober and have some real quality time together, away from the buzz of the Overwatch complex. 

That was his plan. Initially, things had gone really well- you were now a couple of drinks in, and absolutely loving your time together. You personally couldn’t see why Deadlock Grange was so bad, even after all the tales you had been told. Jesse had gone to get the third round for the pair of you, more than happy to be paying for all of these drinks.  Whilst he was gone, someone else saddled up on the stool behind you. You didn’t think anything of it at first, anyone in the facility had right to sit at the bar, rather than at at table. It was when he started speaking to you that the problems started to arise. 

“Well, hey there, doll,” He greeted, leaning closer to you- so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath; practically taste it as you turned to give him a distasteful look, to try and show him you were not in any way interested. However, he seemed to take this as the exact opposite of what you had intended. He shuffled so that he sat on the edge of his seat, his face mere inches from your own.  “Haven’t seen you round here before... You new?”  “Not exactly, could you please-”  “Show you around? Sure thing... I’d love to...” He gave you a lopsided grin, brushing some of his greasy, auburn locks from his forehead, clearly trying to make himself appear more attractive. It didn’t work very well at all.  “No, that’s not what I was going to say.” You reply, giving him another disgusted look. He seemed to pout a little bit at your words, but you did not cave in to those green faux puppy eyes.  “Shame...” He half laments. “I could’ve shown you my place.. Real special, I think you’d like it. ‘Specially the bedroom.” He gave you a sly wink that made your skin crawl. 

You move to turn away from him again, but he puts his hand on your shoulder and pulls you back. “Oh come on, now, doll.” He coos. “Don’t be that way, I was being so nice to you, weren’t I?” He pauses, quirking his brow. “Or did you want something more?” He started to grin- but not the kind of grin you would have wanted to see on someone’s face. This one was sick, and twisted, and outright vile. He used his hand on your shoulder to slowly but surely pull you closer to him, till you were practically sitting on his lap. His arms were like the coils of a constrictor as they slowly wrapped themselves around you, holding you in place and preventing your plan of escape. 

You heard someone clearing their throat near McCree’s seat- sure enough, it was the gunslinger himself. “’Scuse me, sir.” The needless honourific was drenched in Southern venom, a poison you hadn’t heard him use often at all. This kind of tone was used for people like Reyes or O’Deorain- people who had wronged him substantially, and caused his blood to boil even to this day.  The man turned his eyes to Jesse, giving an unsavoury look in his direction. “Can I help you?” He quipped back, and though your eyes were fixed on McCree, you could hear the snarl on your aggressor’s face.  “Yeah, actually.” Jesse put the tray of drinks- two pints and some shots- on the surface of the bar. They landed with a clank, and it was surprising that they didn’t topple over or break with the force of the landing. “That’s my girl,” He gestured to you as he spoke. The man just scoffed.  “Yeah I don’t think that she is.” He replied with a roll of his eyes. This just infuriated Jesse; you didn’t think you’d ever seen such fire flash behind those earthy irises of his. 

His hands started to ball into fists by his sides as he tried desperately to keep his nerve. “I suggest that you step away from ‘er, right now.” He warned, his tone dark and dangerous. You could just tell he was seconds from snapping, and you’d never even seen him this angry before.  “And what if I don’t, huh? What’re you gonna do?” The man challenged, “I could give you a new one of those, real easy.” He gestured to McCree’s metal arm. “You can’t do shit, cowboy.” The man slowly got to his feet, flicking the brim of Jesse’s hat as he finished his sentence. 

It was then that McCree snapped. He grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt and yanked him away from you- with such a force that it caused Jesse’s victim to yelp, and not quietly either. It caused close tables to stop their conversation, as McCree started to drag the man who tried to woo his girl, his sugarcube outside. It was something he simply could not accept, something that could not go unpunished. Once he had gotten the man onto the dusty road outside the bar, he tossed him to the ground face first.  “You stay the fuck away from her!” He growled, kicking the man back down when he tried to get up. The man’s auburn hair stuck to his face and got in his eyes as he groaned.  “I didn’t even do anything!” He protested weakly.  “You tried, and that’s what I’m angry about. You leave her the fuck alone, or you’ll be gettin’ more than some bruises, I promise ya that!” He vowed, and even this stranger seemed to get the memo. Finally. 

With that final threat, Jesse returned to you- taking off his hat and placing it on the bar as he sat beside you. “Sorry about that, sugarcube....” He apologised, seeming genuinely remorseful that he had left you alone, even for a moment. “And for losin’ my cool...” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. You placed a hand on his, showing him some affection to comfort him.  “It’s fine Jesse... I liked it, really.” You chuckled, brushing some of his deep brown locks from his brow. “It shows you care... And it was pretty damn sexy.”  McCree looked at you for a moment, slightly baffled, before he began to smile, reaching for one of the drinks still on the tray. “Well, if that’s the case... I’m mighty relieved I could be of assistance to ya...” He took a small sip of his drink, before he felt your warm lips against the stubble on his cheek.  “You know, cowboy, I meant it when I said that was sexy...” You whisper to him. He seems to get your hint, and starts to chuckle.  “Finish your drink off, pumpkin.” He tells you, “Then maybe I’ll give you a lil’ something’.” He winked at you- and his wink was one you genuinely adored; it sent shivers down your spine and made butterflies flutter in your stomach.  “Alright, cowboy...” You smirk, picking up your drink, starting to sip at it. It will be a fun night indeed.. 

[yeojaa]

stay gold.

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  blond!jk being a good boy?  idk.  that’s literally it.  wc. 3k.  beta reader.  @hobi-gif​, ofc.  author note.  this was meant to be pwp but i cannot shut up so here is this mess that is neither pwp nor something with a legit plotline. 🤠 blame blondie.

Having a content creator boyfriend is fun.  Usually.

You get to go on cool trips, he gives you all of the random shit his sponsors send him, and you get to preen like a cat that ate the canary when his DMs blow up with hundreds of messages.  

Sure, there are the downsides.  All his stupid pranks - the ones that piss you off when you’re trying to do your makeup, the ones that have him dunking ice cubes on you while you’re in the middle of a shower - and his perpetual recording, camera glued to his hand and if not that, then his phone.  There are the rude comments - the oh, that’s his girlfriend? He could do better was a common one - and the long hours he spends editing, holed away in his office;  the beyond inappropriate packages he gets in the mail, thongs and other things that he immediately tosses away with a reassuring tilt of his pretty head.

You don’t mind it though.  He enjoys it, thrives on it, and you’re there to support him.

But you’d never expected this.

This Adonis standing in the doorway, freshly styled strands pushed back from his forehead, glimmering gold falling across his eyes.  He looks, for lack of a better word, unreal.

(You’re not often speechless.  Can’t be, when you’re dating someone like Jeon Jungkook and everything he does either makes you laugh or infuriates you.  Boring isn’t a part of his vocabulary and you’ve learnt to keep up with his antics over the years.)

(Still, this comes close, stealing all the air from your lungs.)

“Hey, baby.”  It’s his usual greeting, offered without hesitation as he crosses the threshold and tosses his keys into the catch-all by the door.  Kicks off his chunky sneakers and peels his sweater over his head, effectively tousling the tawny threads.

He’s so handsome it’s outright disgusting, leaving you gaping up at him from your post on the couch.  Gives you very little to work with as he shimmies down the hall, grabs an apple off the kitchen island, and then not-so-gracefully plops himself down beside you.  

You still haven’t found your words by the time he takes two gigantic bites, flesh crunching between his teeth, big doe eyes sparkling like he’s stepped right out of a Disney film.

“D’you like it?”  

Did you?  Well, obviously.

You’ve never imagined Jungkook blond.  He’d gone through a phase in college, colours of the rainbow rotating through the ends of his hair.  Brown, red, orange, blue.  You’d loved each hue but this was something else entirely.  (Different even from the two months he’d spent as full-on ginger, committing far too hard to his Haikyuu!! Halloween costume.)

This version of him is steeped in some twisted fantasy, a dream crafted by years of bedtime stories and happily ever afters.  It screams Prince Charming and has you reaching for him before you know what you’re doing, threading fingers through the surprisingly soft silk that curls over his ears and looks so lovely next to the silver of his piercings.  

You mean to be gentle, to comb delicately through flax but fuck.  He looks so good you want to devour him.  (You can only imagine your face - a lovesick puppy brought home from the pound.)

There’s still apple in his mouth, juice tracking down his chin because you’re really making it quite hard for him to chew when you’ve got him like this, two hands on either side of his face, holding him in place.  Inspecting him like a piece of meat as he peers at you, deceptively innocent and amused.  “That’s a yes?”  

An answer comes in the form of a kiss, of limbs rearranging and settling directly into his lap.  Knees wide, chest to chest, you can’t even be bothered by the sickly sticky feel of his skin, the way his hands are too cold to be creeping up beneath the hem of your - his - shirt.

(Where had he put the apple?  You know it’s not finished, two bites in and left to roll all over the rug.  You’ll give him shit for that later, when you’re not so distracted.)

“You look like Barbie,”  you mumble against his lips, into the warmth of his mouth.  You ignore the way he laughs, swallowing it down with a pass of your tongue and too much spit swapped, a string of saliva caught between you when you come up for air. 

Somehow, you’re still lightheaded, all your thoughts framed into the familiar silhouette of the boy beneath you.  Cherry red lips - your fault, from all your biting and teasing and the balm you’d applied earlier - and blond hair.  Who would’ve known that was your weakness?

(Deep down, you know Jungkook as a whole is the issue.  That it’s your stupid handsome boyfriend with his lopsided smile and bunny teeth, dimples and that scar on his cheek.  This is just a new layer to be explored, another reason you love him added to the Jungkook Best Boy jar that sits front and centre in your mind’s eye.)

“Don’t say that,”  he groans, equal parts reproach and affection, palms resting where they belong, nestled over your spine.  Long fingers toy with the soft cotton of your thong, brushing over the seamless material with small repetitive motions. 

You realise then his hands aren’t the only things heating up.

The two of you have an understanding, an abiding awareness of the boundaries of your relationship and the roles you take on.  Best friend, occasional sucker for the sake of a TikTok, lover.

He knows how much you hate your dirty laundry being aired - does his very best to never post anything that might be misconstrued, ensures he only ever portrays you in a good light because the internet could be cruel.  (Even if he argued with you in the quiet of your home, he’d keep you safe outside of the four walls.)  

You know how he needs his quiet time but that sometimes, a night out was unavoidable, a part of his life he - and by extension you - couldn’t always say no to.  (Even if you were achy and tired by midnight, glaring down at your phone as he made his rounds, exchanged contact details and rambled about shit that meant nothing.)

He’s learnt to make your eggs the way you love them:  soft in the centre, covered with too much pepper.  He never washes your clothes in hot water (not after The Great Sweater debacle) and he always makes sure not to use your special memory foam pillow.  

You kiss him goodnight without fail and play with his hair until he falls asleep;  you bury your face against his chest when he’s had a long day, signing your love with the felt-tip of your lips.  You bring him fresh cut fruit when he’s been working for more than three hours and wash his hair when he’s stressed. 

Knowing each other was easy;  loving each other was like breathing.

This, though, is different.  New.  Special.  

He’s never been like this before, glazed over in the eyes, patience wearing thin.  Sat so well, picture perfect beneath you and cornsilk crown lighting his entire expression up like a halo, he’s ethereal. 

“Baby,”  he whines, grits through his teeth as you roll your hips that much slower, the glide impossibly smooth thanks to the lychee watermelon lube he’d received to his PO box.  (One of the items you hadn’t thrown away from that package, together with a handful of other toys that’d come in handy over the months.)

You’re shameless, soothing a hand across his cheek, thumb slipping past his lips.  (You ignore the noise of indignation, meet it with a twinkling laugh of your own.)  It sweeps over his tongue, pressing down in tandem with the second sound - one that echoes out of his chest, a growl that pitches into a whine and makes your ears buzz.  “Hi, baby.”

“Stop teasing.”  It’s practically begging - or as close to it as Jungkook will get.  It draws a smile and another pass of your thumb, gliding across his gums to slot against the interior of his cheek.  You’ve got him fishhooked, immobile, even as he glares up at you.

(He’s so, so handsome.  Looks utterly out of it even as he tries to harden his gaze, coerce you into doing what he wants with that stare that makes your heart lurch pathetically in your chest.)

“You don’t like this?”

You know he does - that he loves being pampered.  That he’ll rarely ask, instead pouting at you from wherever he sits until you turn to putty under his gaze and smother him in all the love you have to offer.

“I do.  I just—”  The rest of his words don’t come, stolen by a gasp when you grind against him, swollen head of his cock bumping against your clit.  He’s making a mess of you both, back arching, hips rising, hands fisted into the sheets even as he chases friction like a dog does its tail.  The warmth between your legs is so close he looks as if he’ll lose his mind, rutting against your cunt like just the right angle might get him what he wants.  “Fuck, baby.”

“I’m trying,”  you retort, mouthful of teasing that only earns you another glare, some poor semblance of one as he bites into the webbing of your hand, bucks up impatiently.

“Please.”  He tries again, a different tactic this time, all sugar-spun sweetness.  Strawberry shortcake rather than sour cherry pie, so eager to get what he wants that he’s not above pulling out all the stops.  A hand risen from the sheets, digits decorated in ink swimming over your skin, sinking into the meat of your thigh.

(He doesn’t push though.  Knows you’ll pull the moment he does.)

“Please?”  An echo chamber, endlessly teasing, and a ducked head, lips finding the sweat-slick column of his throat.  Just one drag of your tongue has him crumbling further, careful composure slipping with each swivel of your hips, the edge of your teeth.  There’s nothing but desperation radiating off him, demand choked back when you drift lower, tracing over his chest, teasing him in the ways you know best.  

It’s all so unnecessary, drawing out what he wants until he’s a goner, three seconds from combusting beneath you.  You’d give him anything he ever asked for - offer it all up on a silver plate, a meal fit for a king.  This is just fun, different and exciting. 

You relent with a minor adjustment, settling yourself against him, face dropped into the crook of his neck.  “Slowly.”

He repeats after you, uncertain and hopeful;  his hand falls further, warmth descending to pull you close, hold you still.   As much as he needs this - needs you - he loves the slow burn just as much.  The stutter of his pulse gives him away, erratic beneath your touch.  He’s a thousand miles above the clouds, floating on cloud nine;  every second passed is another tingle of his toes, a tightening of the coil in his stomach.

When he aligns himself against your core, pre-cum pearling over his tip, he does exactly as you’ve asked.  Sinks into you at such a leisurely pace you wonder if you might be the one who splinters apart, shatters into a million tiny pieces at the way he splits you open.  

“Good?”  Jungkook asks so nicely it’s impossible for you to say no, to deny him this tiny bit of reassurance.  

(Maybe it’s the way he looks, crowned in glittering gold, painted by Fra Angelico.  Or maybe it’s how his smile spills like sunshine, a peachy pink horizon dragging over the apples of his cheeks, burnt red like their namesake.)

(Whatever it is, it’s everything you want, packed perfectly and pouting.)

“Good boy,”  you purr, breath hitching once he’s sheathed to the hilt, seated so deeply within that you swear you can feel him in your throat.

You’ve never felt so full before - close to overflow, taunted and taxed by ridges and veins, each flex of his hips that drives him somehow further within your fluttering walls.  So full you might burst, that you can’t possibly hold yourself together when he begins to move, fucking you tenderly, as if he can feel the weight of the moment.  

There’s something happening.  A shift in the air, in the axis of your planet that revolves around him.  It falls on its side, spins wildly out of control, and you’re emotional.  It’s not just his hair - that gilded crown he wears, heavy heavy heavy like aureate coin - or the impossible dark of his eyes - blown out, an entire galaxy devoured by the supermassive black hole that is his pupils.  It’s the things you can’t see, the pieces beneath skin, soft and jammy, the tongue-tart sweetness.

(The thing with Jungkook is that he doesn’t let go, refuses to fully submit, always so careful to regulate his voice when things get to be too much.  He’ll blink back his tears, stifle a sob, even as his breath disappears from nothing but a delicate brush of his chest.)

You take his vulnerability as a treasure, hold it close and craft a chest for its home, promise to keep it safe even while you're the one who poses the most danger.  When it’s your teeth and tongue that eviscerates the soft of his flesh, makes him keen and gasp, heart pounding like hooves, beat imprinted against, under, into your palms.

When he begs you to move - manages the request in a broken articulation that makes you giggle - you give, swivel your hips in a figure eight, an infinity of motion that never ends.  

You take all he has to offer and sing your praise into the wet of his mouth.  Lick over teeth and gums and trade spit for love;  know there’s only more where that came from, that the fountain begs to overflow as he finally - finally - breaks that much more, gripping your hips gentle as can be.  Hands soothe up and down, an unspoken plea in how he thumbs your hip bones, taps hopefully over the small of your lower back.

He doesn’t need to speak for you to hear him. 

It’s more than a kiss forming against your skin.  It’s a confession of adoration, sealed by the frame of his mouth, cemented by the sting of his teeth.  It’s I love you without saying it, plastering the pecks along your spine, placing them safely in all the spaces you’ve created for him.

It’s also an apology, because he’s just torn your castle to pieces, shattered your entire fantasy into smithereens.

He hadn’t expected you to react the way you had, rolling off him as if he hadn’t just been chasing the sweet bliss of release, splitting your walls and making you wail above him.  It has him pouting, utilising the one thing that melts you down like candle wax.  

“Baby,”  he whines, reaching for you, needy and horny and so hard he imagines all the blood has rushed from his head straight to his cock.  Everything spins when he moves with you, scrambles across the California king to paw at your hip.  

He’d been so good for you - wasn’t that enough?

“Don’t,”  you grumble, searing his insides with just one look.  (It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.)

“But—”  A plea punctuated by groping hands, eager as always, smoothing over the swell of your ass, flesh squeezing between knuckles.  He’d normally let this go - fuck into his closed fist in the shower after he’s done something to cut playtime short - but he can’t help it now.  He’s been on the edge for so long, lit up in neon that demands to be seen, heard, felt.

“Don’t dye it again.”  

Oh?

That has him reeling, laughing, such a stupid grin across his face.  It devours everything else, spearing dimples into place as he pulls you against him.  You can feel his smile forming against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue as he sucks a welt into the sensitive spot of your shoulder.

“You wanna play with Barbie, baby?”  It’s such a stupid line - utterly sophomoric and riddled with teasing and yet the delivery has you shivering in his arms, equally childish huff splitting your lips.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to you often - not about silly things like this - but he figures he can, just this once.

“I won’t,”  he chirps, sneaking another kiss, stamping another smooch.  It’s working exactly as he wants, stilling your protesting limbs as he cages you to him, slips his hand back where he most wants to be.  The glide is perfect, a mixture of arousal and fruity lubricant;  he slips a finger in without resistance, grinding his palm against your clit. 

“R-really?”  Of course you don’t believe him.  He messes with you too often, plays too many pranks.  (He deserves that.) 

His promise comes too easy, driven by how nice you feel, how pretty you sound when he presses another digit in along the first.  The scissor of his fingers is languid, exploring for the spots that make you breathless as he hums a noise of affirmation against your neck;  he fucks you open as if he has to, as if you aren’t already dripping, eagerly sucking him in.  “Really.”  

“Put it in then, Ken doll.”

He laughs - and then he does.  In bed, with your knee hooked over his, pace slow and sure and sinful.  In the shower, bent over with his hands bruising your hips.  In the kitchen for a late night snack, another apple in his mouth and your hands in his hair.

Maybe blonds did have more fun. 

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @codeinebelle​

[chickenmcstucky]

meet me in the hallway

Bucky Barnes x reader

Light angst, fluff || 5.1k

Your bad day gets worse when your less-than-friendly teammate catches you having a breakdown over your shitty morning.

A/N: So this is the second work I’m posting, but actually the first I wrote. Inspired by my own bad morning, lol. Nothing like a little cathartic writing. I’d love feedback!

You had to physically stop your whole body from tapping along with your impatient foot. If you didn’t get out of here and back to your sunny balcony soon, you might actually die of frustration. Sure, the whole sunny day stretched out in front of you, waiting, but it was the principle of the thing. Wasting sun is sacrilege to you. Still, the young woman behind the counter was only doing her job as she gathered your prescription and searched for the coupon you asked for. Why was healthcare so expensive?

As your body cooled from the workout you’d finished just before hopping over to the pharmacy, your thoughts wandered to the lazy hours of writing, tanning, and listening to music you had planned for the day. The team was between missions and somehow the stars aligned and your time off brought gorgeous weather and some much-needed you time. The thought relaxed you as the woman finally rang up your total; as you swiped your card you put your Starbucks order into the app and prepared to finally get home and enjoy your day.

That is, until the card machine gave a deep chirp and the cashier informed you your card wasn’t covering the entire purchase. You balked - how could this happen? The insurance debit was loaded up for the year, ready for any medical purchases. It rarely ran out so early in the year, and it was just April! Your brain scrambled to make sense of it. Had the account rules changed and some of your purchase didn’t qualify? No, that couldn’t be it, you’d done this same process just a few weeks ago.

Your cheeks bloomed with heat as you realized the declined card was the only one you’d brought with you, convinced it would be a quick errand and seeing no reason to bring your whole wallet for the short trip down the street from the Tower. Fuck. And there were people behind you; you shuddered to imagine what they might be thinking of you in your sweaty workout clothes as you stammered to the cashier you’d have to come back. Just fucking great. You felt your good mood at the prospect of a sunny day slipping as you left the store as quickly as you could, trying to save a little face.

***

Making your way around the construction - why did they need to close the entire sidewalk? - you hastily headed back to the Tower to grab your wallet from your personal quarters, wondering all the way how this could happen. Why do the simple things always have to go wrong? Rationally, you knew this wasn’t a big deal. You would just pay the balance out of pocket and deal with the insurance later. But it was embarrassing and annoying and just plain inconvenient. Sure, you had the time and the money to spare, but why couldn’t things just work how they’re meant to? Your swirling thoughts brought you through the private lobby of the Tower and to the elevators that led to the personal floors; angrily jamming the button for your floor, you whipped out your phone to check the balance on the insurance card.

Your jaw literally dropped as your eyes caught sight of the balance. There was more than enough to cover the charge at the store! Now you were really upset. Jesus, why was this happening to you? Stupid, simple nature of the occurrence aside, you felt tears of frustration welling to the surface as you berated yourself internally. Why did you have to be lazy and only take the one card? If you’d just taken your whole wallet and been prepared, you could’ve saved yourself so much humiliation and frustration. And time. You’d brought it on yourself, you always did. Your frustration with the pharmacy and your anger at the insurance company quickly turned to annoyance at yourself and your lackadaisical ways. Why were you like this?

You shoved yourself further into the corner of the elevator, letting your head fall back against the wall as it ascended to the personal floors. You could feel your face was still ripe with embarrassment, your throat thick with unshed tears. God, why did everything have to make you cry? Embarrassment, anger, and frustration brought tears to your eyes more often than not, while sadness rarely wet your eyes. Of course, no one else knew that and you felt like a dramatic cry-baby every time you got teary-eyed in front of your teammates and friends. You were an Avenger, dammit! As the elevator signaled your floor and the doors whooshed open, you could only hope the walk to your room would be deserted. You wanted to make a quick exit before anyone saw your despair.

***

The hope was short-lived. You walked out of the elevator with your gaze on the floor, and smack into a well-muscled chest.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, trying to scoot around the body without making eye contact.

“Walk much?” and if that wasn’t the last voice you wanted to hear. Of course, your card gets declined and you get humiliated to tears, and not only could the universe not provide you a painless return to your apartment, it also brought you face to face with Bucky Barnes. You were hardly in the mood to deal with him on a good day, let alone today. He rarely acknowledged your existence except to quip mockery at you, it seemed. At first you thought he was just like that, but you soon realized he was perfectly funny and friendly with the others, if quiet. So it was something about you; what, you didn’t know. And you’d accepted it. You didn’t need him to like you, honestly. His attitude towards you might have brought you to tearful rages sometimes, but only in the quiet solace of your room where you could freely wonder why he despised you so. His devilish good looks and killer smile didn’t help. Avoiding him was the best strategy.

“Can you just not?” you snapped at him as he blocked your way down the hallway, apparently hellbent on making sure you knew he was making fun of you. As if you weren’t painfully aware of how he felt about you. It didn’t help your girlish crush, the little voice in the back of your head always telling you maybe he was mean because he liked you. Bullshit.

“Whoa there, no need to get in a twist doll. Was just havin’ a little fun is all. What’s got you so worked up?” you heard the teasing lilt to his voice but the question forced your eyes to his anyways. God, the asshole was smirking, those gorgeous blue eyes glinting with mirth. Horrified, you felt tears welling up in your eyes again because the universe liked laughing at you, apparently.

“God Bucky do you ever fuck off? Honestly,” your voice broke on the last word as tears threatened their way out of your glassy eyes. “Just leave me alone, why do you always have to be so mean? What did I ever do to you?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them, your anger and hurt getting the better of you.

Realizing your outburst, you floundered in the hallway as Bucky looked at you with a confusing mixture of shock and hurt on his face. Did he really have the audacity to be upset with you? After the way he’s treated you, so often making jokes at your expense? In the back of your head, you knew the jokes weren’t that bad, nothing more than you’d say in a harmless rib against your other teammates. But they were your friends; Bucky was a menace. Not knowing what else to say as the shocked silence stretched on, you averted your eyes from his now stony face and tried to will your tears - and your anger - away so you could get what you came for, finish your errand, and try to salvage the rest of your day. How did things go so wrong so fast?

You didn’t notice as Bucky’s expression morphed from hurt to cocky as he prepared to deliver his next blow.

“Oh, woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning I see, sweetheart.” His smiling tone grated on your nerves - of course he was still making fun of you even after you yelled at him for just that. He couldn’t just be nice, could he?

“At least I sleep in a bed,” you spat, meeting his eyes once more. You knew it was a low blow, immediately regretting it as a pained expression flitted across his face. You sighed - only you could end up feeling guilty for dishing his own mockery back at him after months of his unanswered jibes. “Sorry,” you muttered, your eyes falling closed in shame and frustration at your inability to contain your emotions.

“Yea, okay, I probably deserved that,” you stopped yourself from mocking his ‘probably,’ refusing to dig a deeper hole for yourself, though the eye-roll was unavoidable. “I guess I’ll get out of your way then,” Bucky acquiesced, his voice quieter now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his flesh arm reach out as if to pat your shoulder, but he jerked it away as if he hadn’t meant it to move. He hesitated as he half-turned away; why wasn’t he leaving, and since when did Bucky get so unsure of himself? Usually he moved with a sure swagger that riled you right up knowing he thought so highly of himself. Of course, you knew he probably didn’t do it on purpose; your inner feelings about someone had always colored your observations of them and Bucky was no exception - sometimes you manufactured your dislike, but it was inescapable. He infuriated you.

Your head swirled with anger, leftover humiliation, shame at your words to Bucky, and confusion at why he was still in the fucking hallway. You stuttered, mouth moving without your permission but no words forming.

Bucky glanced back at you, and your downturned yet clearly turmoiled face brought an unseen soft, caring look to his chiseled face. It hurt him to see you upset, though you were unaware. He didn’t know why his words to you always came out so biting. He knew how to act around the rest of the team but for some reason you brought out his inner turmoil and apparently his coping mechanism was to just make fun of you. Was he protecting himself? But what did his feelings matter when he had so clearly hurt you? His heart broke realizing that your lack of response to his mocking over the weeks wasn’t good-natured but instead was silent hurt. Fuck, he’d fucked up.

“Honey, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?” the softness in his voice was so foreign and surprising to you that you jerked your head up, meeting his eyes in shock. “Maybe…I can help,” he gestured awkwardly.

You must’ve pulled a face at that, because his head immediately rolled back as he quipped out, “what, is it so surprising I can be nice?”

“Well…yeah,” you half-whispered, your mouth once more speaking without your mind’s permission. Suddenly you couldn’t meet his eyes anymore, your gaze falling anywhere but his soft blues. Once again you felt shame flood through you, even though you had told the truth - it was shocking to see Bucky offer kindness, at least to you. Had you somehow misread him so horribly? Fuck, there were the tears of frustration again. As if you weren’t embarrassed enough, this time a few actually fell, carving their way down your burning cheeks as your breath hitched.

“Shit. Okay, please don’t cry sweet girl, I’m sorry. I know I’m an asshole. I - I don’t -,” he cut off, not knowing how to explain. At his saccharine tone and the pet name - this time caressed with gentleness rather than thrown with cocky disdain - you broke as tears fell down in rivulets, your body wracking with silent sobs. Why were you such a mess today? Sure, you wore your emotions on your sleeve, but even you could control yourself more than this. Bucky’s sudden softness had caught you off guard. Where on earth was it coming from?

Unsure what to do as you exposed your raw nerves to him like this, you wrapped your arms around yourself as Bucky twitched in front of you, hesitating before once more reaching out to you, with purpose this time. He tugged at your shoulders until you were pressed into his chest, hiding your face in his faded blue henley. You felt the tension bleed out of you as he slowly brought his arms around you, his flesh hand running up and down your back in comfort.

“Hey there, it’s alright,” he cooed quietly, “it’s okay. We can figure it out. I’m sorry sweetheart, I’m sorry.” It was tearing him apart, seeing you cry. You’d never reacted to his jokes like that, at least not to his face. He wondered how often you held your tears in until you escaped to your room, and his heart fractured. He hated who he turned into around you. He’d fix it, he had to. A pretty girl like you shouldn’t cry over a stupid guy like him.

You finally hiccuped to a stop, the tears no longer falling as his sweet ministrations calmed you down. Before more embarrassment over your breakdown could set in, Bucky grasped your shoulders and set you away from him so he could look you in your eyes.

“Now, you tell me what’s going on. I’ll fix it,” his hands gripped you tighter with his last words, assuring you. His sudden change of heart, while shocking, was strangely believable. You trusted his conviction that he wanted to help you.

Sighing shakily, you sniffled and began to explain. “It’s stupid really, Bucky. You don’t gotta worry,” you deflected, walls going back up even though you longed for his comfort, his friendship that you hadn’t allowed yourself to crave.

“Little darlin, it ain’t nothing if it makes you this upset. Please talk to me,” his soft eyes pleaded with you, the kindness floating in their depths piercing straight to your heart. Your resolve - built less from stubbornness now and more from niggling shame at letting him see to your core - crumbled.

“It was just gonna be a quick run to the pharmacy - I needed a refill - and then I was gonna come back here and sit in the sun and try to just enjoy my time off alone but my fucking card got fucking declined even though it has enough money and God, Buck, it was humiliating. And then I came back to get my wallet and -,” you cut yourself off, unsure, not wanting to accuse Bucky of making you cry. He had, but it was the whole situation that had really gotten you going. You didn’t want to point the finger at him when he was being nice for once.

Your sudden silence clued Bucky in to the rest of the story quickly enough, though he took sweet pause at the nickname that had slipped from your pretty mouth. He had the grace to look a bit ashamed, but continued on. “Okay, that’s not so bad then, huh? You can just go back and finish up, it’s still early in the day, plenty of time to relax,” Bucky assured you, thinking he’d figured this out pretty easily.

“Easy for you to say,” you grumbled. “You weren’t the one humiliated in front of multiple people thinking you couldn’t pay. I mean I basically ran out of there, Bucky. Why am I so - UGHHH.”

He very nearly laughed, covering himself by clearing his throat - now that you were talking to him and his dumb brain was letting him be nice to you, he wasn’t about to ruin things by upsetting you again. He wasn’t going to push you away. He found it endearing how open you were with your emotions, wishing he could be more like you some days when his melancholy got the best of him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to suffer alone.

“I see…well I’m real sorry you had to face that. I’ve been there a time or two, it’s no fun. But it ain’t bad as all that - they weren’t paying you that much attention. It’s New York City, everyone is so self-absorbed I bet they didn’t even notice. That’s not to say you don’t deserve attention ‘cause you do - I mean - that’s not - …yea,” he trailed off, cutting his rambling before he really embarrassed himself. He met your eyes sheepishly, surprised to see a small smile there. His heart soared knowing he was the one to put it there, even at the cost of some embarrassment himself.

“Well, I don’t have much of a choice, I need the prescription today. And - fuck! Whyyyyyyy,” you groaned, your face scrunching as you whined. And damn if that wasn’t just the cutest thing, Bucky couldn’t help but think.

The lilting, light tone returned to his voice as he gently laughed at your groaning. “What is it now, then?”

You moaned, blood rushing to your face as you admitted the silly annoyance, “I forgot my drink at Starbucks. I ordered it while I was in line at the pharmacy, I was gonna grab it on my way back. God, it’ll be warm now - or gone. Icing on the cake, just what I needed,” you sighed, resigned to the wasted money.

Bucky smiled genially as he reached over to ruffle your hair, tucking a stray lock behind your ear with surprising softness. You weren’t sure you’d ever gotten this close to his metal appendage. Something deep inside you fluttered at the prospect of more gentle touches, exploring each other and - now where the hell did that come from? You were beginning to think this morning’s commotion had somehow addled your brain. You shook your head at yourself, emptying those thoughts and Bucky chuckled. This time, though, it felt like he was laughing with you rather than at you. That was….refreshing. Nice, even. You yearned to make him laugh more.

“Alright. It’s no big deal,” Bucky calmly spoke, again determined to bring that smile back to your face and maybe, just maybe, get to know you as a friend. Something about how you’d opened up to him gave him hope he hadn’t ruined things beyond repair with his boyish taunting. He’d treat you like you deserved, be a good man to you, if he could take this chance.

“How about this - you go back, get that paid for, and I’ll go get your drink. If it’s warm or gone, I’ll make them make you a new one. Then you can get on with your day, and I’ll, uh…get out of your hair, I guess,” Bucky trailed off, suddenly unsure. Would this truce be short lived, lasting only until you resolved your dilemma? He guessed he’d deserve it if so, but he couldn’t help but hope you’d stick around him. He’d just have to give it his best shot.

“That’s - wow Buck, you don’t have to go to all that trouble. It’s nothing, silly really, I told you,” you scuffed your feet along the floor, suddenly feeling burdensome. A fearful voice in the back of your head wondered if you were just giving him more ammunition for future joking.

“It’s no trouble darlin’. It’s…it’s the least I can do for ya. I guess I know it’s a miracle you even talk to me. I don’t know why I’m so..” he cut off again, still not sure how to explain without exposing his inner thoughts. “Now, what’s the order?”

“Oh, uhm…,” you balked, disbelieving at what you were about to have to say to Bucky. “It’s, uh, called a Pink Drink?” you let the name escape your lips uncertainly, waiting for the inevitable mocking. But to your surprise, the sweetest smile graced Bucky’s face, lighting up his eyes.

“Well, if that ain’t just adorable,” he gently joked to you as you gave a grudging smile. “One Pink Drink it is, honey.”

And wow, these sudden sweet names were getting to you. You felt your heart flutter as he winked at you before sending you on your way down the hall to your room, finally about to clean up the mess you’d made this morning. He even waited for you to get your wallet, escorting you back to the elevator and riding down to street level with you.

“Go on then,” he encouraged, seeing you hesitate again. “I’ll meet you back up there,” he nodded back towards the Tower.

You smiled softly, half at him and half at the ground you were once more staring at, before making your way back to the pharmacy.

***

You supposed the second trip was actually rather painless. Not a big deal at all, just as Bucky had assured you. Perhaps you could salvage your afternoon indeed, let the sun burn the frustration and embarrassment out of you. Though something told you your newfound confusion at Bucky’s kindness would soon take hold. You still couldn’t believe the gentleness with which he handled you, the kind softness of his words as he comforted you - was this really the same man who spared few words for you but for jokes and laughter at your expense? Something had…shifted. You pushed the uneasy, yet warm feeling away. No time to dissect that right now, you scolded yourself as you headed up the elevator once more, this time for good. You were determined to put this morning behind you and enjoy your rare sunny day off.

As you stepped off the elevator to head to your room, you absently wondered where Bucky was. Surely he had made it back before you - the Starbucks was much closer than the pharmacy. Yet he was nowhere to be found. You weren’t sure if you were bothered or relieved about that. Bothered that he might have abandoned his mission to help you, relieved you might not have to face him again. At least before, his unkindness was certain. You had learned to deal with it. Now, this new kind, gentle Bucky? Just what in the hell were you supposed to do with that? You didn’t know what to think.

***

These swirling thoughts stuck with you as you walked into your room; you were so distracted by your own internal monologue that the open door didn’t phase you, nor did the breeze coming in from the now ajar balcony door catch your eye. Absentmindedly you flitted around the room, putting away your wallet and goods. When the breeze coming in from the balcony caught a lock of your hair, blowing it across your face, you froze. Why was the balcony door open? You certainly hadn’t left it that way.

Peering out to investigate, you stopped right in your tracks at the sight that met your eyes. Your lounge chair was covered in one of your beach towels, bluetooth speaker already gently playing your sunshine playlist. And there on the table was your Pink Drink. You were flabbergasted - had Bucky come in and done this? For…you? The mere thought of him taking the time to set this up sent your heart soaring. But where was he? Perhaps your earlier thoughts were right - his sudden kindness had run out, and he was tired of being your friend already. Somehow, you couldn’t quite believe that to be the truth.

Determined not to let this chance go, because now that you’d had a taste of Bucky’s sweet side you would be damned if you couldn’t sink your teeth in, you set off in search of the brooding man. Wandering down the hallway, you steeled your resolve - you were going to thank him, and you weren’t going to get flustered this time. Maybe this could be a new start for both of you. Maybe he was more than you thought.

The door to Bucky’s room was open, and you heard the soft notes of Billie Holiday float into the corridor. You pushed your hesitation aside and walked in, not seeing him anywhere until your gaze fell upon a brunette head just peaking over the top of a chair on his balcony. Walking towards the glinting sunlight outside, you lightly knocked on the doorjamb to alert him to your presence, knowing he had probably heard you come in anyways.

“Hey,” he exclaimed softly, rolling his head to the side to glance at you. He seemed less…pompous than earlier, at least, but less energetic too. Like something had popped his bubble.

You stepped gingerly out onto the balcony, as if you were wary of startling him. As if you even could. Suddenly you were lost for words, the atmosphere awkward in a soft way. Unspoken words flitted between the two of you, both lost as to how to approach the new dynamic that crash landed in your laps earlier.

“Uh,” you started, lapsing into a giggle. “Thanks for the uh, for my drink. And stuff,” you finished uneasily, letting out a sharp laugh at your inability to articulate your appreciation for his earlier kindness. You still weren’t sure if there would be more where that came from, or if you had simply taken him aback with your tears and his sudden gentility was a stress reaction. You steeled yourself to be laughed out of his room, just in case.

“My pleasure, sweet girl,” he sighed, gazing out over the city. “Least I could do, really.”

“I - Bucky,” you heaved a deep breath and continued, “thank you, you really didn’t have to be so….sweet.”

He didn’t respond immediately and you wondered if you’d taken it too far, but before you could get too worried he spoke again.

“Darlin,” he started, the term of endearment dripping from his lips sweet like honey, “I owe ya a real apology. I never wanted to be unkind to you, but it felt like I couldn’t stop it. Whenever I see you I just…forget myself. It’s like I don’t know how to act, you scare the decency right outta me.”

Was this really happening? You gaped, “wha - Bucky, what?”

He held up a hand to stop you as he kept speaking, his words further shocking you yet sending a warm buzz up your spine at the same time. “I’m sorry I’ve treated you the way I have. I like joking with people but it’s not right that it hurt you and I kept on. I’m sorry I made ya cry. It ain’t an excuse but girl, you really terrify me. In a good way, I think, but I didn’t let myself see that. I hope it ain’t too late, you know…to be friendly?”

You were sure he could see the astonishment clear as day on your face, and you watched as his own expression contorted with unease. It wasn’t hard to see this admission was uncomfortable for him. But why? Because it pained him to admit he was wrong, or because…he was as afraid of rejection as you were?

“It’s not!” you blurted before you realized you had even spoken. ‘“It’s not too late.”

Bucky looked at you with a small smile, hope blooming in his eyes. You couldn’t believe your shit day had turned into this - who would have ever thought Bucky Barnes, the asshole next door, could be nice. Could apologize, even.

An idea struck you and before you could lose your confidence, you spoke, “Do you wanna come sit out with me?”

You left the invitation hanging desperately in the air as you shifted from one foot to the other, hoping he would accept.

“Only if you let me have some of that drink,” he laughed as he got up and ushered you back inside, through to your own room and balcony. You smiled to yourself but stayed quiet as you sat down on your chair; Bucky got comfortable in the chair next to you as the tune of a love song permeated the thick, warm air around you.

Silently grasping your drink, you handed it to him. It felt like a peace offering.

His rosy lips wrapping around the edge of the cup mesmerized you, a rivulet of condensation dripping from the cup down his arm as he swallowed.

His low laugh snapped you out of your reverie. “Well?” you inquired.

His lips stretched into a smile, “sweet drink. Perfect for a sweet girl,” a husky tone to his voice as he handed the drink back to you, your mouth agape once more.

A laugh ripped its way out of your throat, loud and boisterous and before you knew it you gasped out, “who are you and what have you done with Bucky? So charming, jesus.”

“Guess I have my moments. Gonna try harder to have them around you,” he let out a breathy laugh, still unsure how to act around you. But this felt better, lighter. For the first time in a while, he felt at ease within himself.

“I think I’d like that,” you spoke surely. Then a streak of courage hit you and you went on, “maybe next time, I could go with you? I mean, you could go with me - together, uh..”

Bucky smiled then, wide, “you askin’ me on a date there honey?” he cooed, joking but in kindness.

This time, you were ready to dish it back. “If you think one drink and some sweet talking is enough to get a date with me you got another thing coming, Barnes!” you jibed. “I was merely offering to return the favor,” you turned your face up with false haughtiness, but your laughter and the way you averted your eyes told him the truth. Turning over a new leaf and all that, he guessed.

“Well, I suppose that’s a start,” he laughed, hope bubbling in his chest. “That’s a start.”

As you watched the sun reach its midday summit, your mind wandered. What a day it had been already. You never thought you’d share such emotion with Bucky, that he’d be capable of handling it, or even sharing some in return. Maybe there was some truth to his words - you wouldn’t let the pain of his mocking slide so easily, but you felt he deserved the second chance he was craving. You deserved it, too.

You stole a quiet glance at him, your cheeks warming as you realize he’d been staring at you. He looked away quickly, but not before you caught a blush spreading across his cheeks. Perhaps, you thought, bad mornings weren’t so awful if they ended with afternoons like this.

***

[stopthatnel]

numerals ➪ ghosts

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

a/n: some dark shit in the chapter pls read at your own discretion. this is so late i’m so sorry lmaoo but on the bright side i’m halfway through chap 5… so tell me, how are we feeling so far?

s: two brave men move into the infamous haunted house that no one seems to want to get near. it’s only brave since no one knows they’re sorcerers.

yuuji’s willingness to talk to you came as no surprise, but falling asleep during the middle of your sentence came even more so. it could have been comical, had you not been infuriated at the audacity. one might’ve called it a sense of entitlement, who were you to disagree? you sat on the edge of his bed gritting your teeth together in silence. you wanted to laugh, you really did, but it sat in the back of your tongue like glue. the room felt stuffy and as the soft exhales of the man echoed into your ears, you’re standing up and heading for the door. you grabbed the handle tightly, the warm metal feeling torturous against your cool skin. it was merely a reminder of the fact that here you are, leaving without answers.

you weren’t exactly sure what to expect, was yuuji just supposed to tell you everything about you? it’s not like most people lived long enough to get here. you crack a dry smile at the thought, you had somewhat succeeded in one thing at the very least. if anything, yuuji had all the more reason to trust you. not entirely, you speculate, but enough to doubt whatever megumi thought of you more. and while an exorcism sounded oh so much fun, answers sounded a bit more fulfilling. you could’ve been fueled with delusions at this point, but what meaning could that have held? you’ve been dead for a year and during that year, it wasn’t until now did you get an explicit confirmation on your existence. if that wasn’t delusional, who’s to say your beliefs were? you twist the doorknob gently, turn off the light, and look over your shoulder to catch one last glance at the man.

yuuji’s staring at you intently, almost as if he was never asleep in the first place. you halt your movements, feeling a sudden breeze against you. your eyes flicker towards the window, you’re sure it was closed before you got up. his eyes shone underneath the moonlight cast through the window, glowing red. the atmosphere had shifted greatly, from cautious words and dubious pauses to a clear imbalance. the hairs on the back your neck stood sharply in fear, your breath hitching. something was off, you couldn’t put your finger on what it was, but yuuji… wasn’t yuuji. who ever was staring at you in this moment couldn’t have been him, but to be safe,

“hah… sorry yuuji. i thought you fell asleep.” yuuji blinks slowly, shifting his body to stand upright and hanging his head between his shoulders. allowing you a peak at his side profile, you stumble backwards and gasp. a mouth had formed on yuuji’s cheek, underneath his eyes.

“he did. i hope you don’t mind if we talk instead?”

your eyes widen in shock, you could feel your heart rattling in the confines of your ribs, so loud that it made you dizzy. the lips on yuuji’s face curled into a mischievous smirk, “what? surprised?” it asks. your mouth had gone dry, what the fuck is going on? darting your pupils around, you’re figuring out an escape pla- no. all you have to do is dematerialize and leave. its that simple, you’re convincing yourself. “who… what are you?” you ask shakily. a snarky laugh filled the air, one of those laughs that felt belittling, even demeaning when you’re the right distance from its host. yuuji closes his eyes and throws his head back, chest rumbling with laughter as black marks began to bleed into his skin. he snaps his head towards you, four eyes and sharp teeth bared for you to see.

“i’m you, but better.” he says, matter of factly. your breathing was still labored, and seeing your lack of response, it continued. “the difference between me and you is that you’ve been hiding, willingly.” you furrow your brows, what the hell is he talking about? “you know, i’d even say you’re still pretty popular. isn’t that right, roman?” your heart stopped at the name, jaw clenched. you narrow your eyes and bravely step forward.

“and who are you to say that name, so fondly?” you sneer. something had been laying dormant inside of you until that name was said, and the trigger had been pulled. the smile on yuuji’s face widened at your reaction, leaning forward almost giddly. “i’m offended, you have to ask, roman.” you’re pursuing your lips in annoyance, having him assume a name bestowed on you by those who had no other means irritated you. despite all your instincts to stay as far away from him as possible, you begin stepping carefully towards him, “but i am. so answer.” yuuji’s (or his body at least) face became stoic at your demand, “ryomen sukuna, peasant.” he spits.

“never heard of you, my name is (y/n) (l/n).” you’re snapping back. was yuuji possessed? you’re asking yourself. it’s not unorthodox to think, you’re literally a ghost. it seemed as the only reasonable answer to the questions of this new demeanor, the atmosphere change and more specifically him saying he’s not yuuji. ryomen sukuna… it sounded familiar, but nothing specific tugged in your mind. “let’s skip the formalities, sukuna. what do you want?” sukuna returned the skeptical eyes you bore into his, sucking his teeth in disapproval. he was the ryomen sukuna, king of curses. and yet you dare stand in front of him, speaking to him as though he was just another being?

“you want answers. i have them.”

“and what’s the catch?” a sly smile found its way on sukuna’s lips, as if he was delighted you’d ask. “why would there be a catch?” he retorts. “because if we’re anything alike, it means we’re both dead. if you’re better than me, it means you have more powers than me.” sukuna’s brow cocked upwards of your outrageous words, “dead? sweetheart, we’re curses. wouldn’t be much fun if we were just dead, huh?” your eyes widen, “curses?”

“yes, curses. you’d think someone who was the rom-”

“my name is (y/n)-” within an instant, sukuna’s body is towering over you, fingers dancing millimeters away from your neck. you swallow thickly as he catches your eyes in a glare of daggers, clearly angered by your persistence. “nice try. maybe a better lie next time? you might’ve fooled those two brats, but i know you’re nothing short of a liar. if you’re just (y/n), how come you’re the only one of the last family that’s not branded? perhaps you were the first?” your throat swells up as you try to respond, how does he know all this? you’re cowering backwards, straight into the door. you felt trapped underneath him, as if he was daring you,

“leave now, and you’ll never know roman.” he smiles toothily, as if he had read your mind. you close your eyes as unfamiliar memories began to to flash through your head.

you’re loading the gun with precisely two bullets as you walk over the the crackling fireplace. one for each soul left in this house, including yours. your job was done, your name had given fear. you had righted the wrong of others, selfishly. the police were too hot on your tail, and you needed to stump them. they couldn’t catch you, the meaning of life was to die happily, and you made peace with the only option you’d given yourself.

“(y/n)- please! what have any of us done to you?” her voice sobs. you remain silent as you set the gun down, replacing your hold with the metal rod that burned bright red even through the flames. her cries ran through one ear and through the other, as you dragged your feet towards her. her blond hair was knotted, her face pale and flushed, mascara running streaks under her eyes. a dark bruise took its shape on her neck, a firm reminder of how it all got down to this. “please- i’m your best friend- i’ve been good to you! i swear-”

“tell me, doll. what defines good and bad?” you muse at your your friend, your dearest little friend. your most loyal friend, the one who understood why you did what you did until you did it to her. the friend that kept quiet when she saw your blood stained clothes in the hamper that you uncharacteristically had left open. the friend that stared at you in silence after seeing the freshly dug up dirt from the backyard, only offering you a shower and some tea. she’s been good to you, better than any person you’ve ever sunken your claws into.

“do good people harbor a murderer, nanako?” you question, rhetorically. her eyes widen as you lift the branding iron up to your waist, trailing your line of gaze to her chest. “do good people let others kill? if you really believed in me,” you shove the rod onto her flush skin, holding your hand firm as she thrashed and screamed under her confinements. your eyes glaze over at the scent of her burning flesh, marking her as one of yours, the last one. you pull the metal away from her chest, watching as she heaved desperately. “you wouldn’t have sheltered me from being caught.” you continue.

her whimpers fell on silent ears as you retrieve the gun, pressing it flush against her forehead. “because those who truly do good,” you wrap your finger around the trigger, staring into her wide pleading eyes. “have no need to run.”

click.

you shake your head, that’s not what happened! you remembering shooting them all, and laying next to them-

“i hate you! you were supposed to protect us, like we protected you! you aren’t good, you’re a fake! you killed us all in the name of peace but it was just your peace you were after. we all fucking hate you, i hope you die a slow, grusesome deat-”

boom.

you’re holding your breath by now, was that really how it happened?

“what do you propose?” you ask, not forgetful of the exchange. not a lot was making sense, which all the more fueled your need for answers. he steps back and observes you, he knew you’d come around. curiosity really does have its way with cats.

“keep him,” he points to himself, “alive. and i’ll tell you all you need to know.” you furrow your brows in confusion, how were you supposed to protect yuuji if you couldn’t leave the house? on beat with your thinking sukuna chuckles, “that boy? he’s a real pain in my ass.” waving towards the door, to who you could only assume was towards megumi. “he put up a ward to keep you in. get on my brats good side, and maybe he’ll convince him to take it down. or, you can get lucky. the wards aren’t up all the time.”

“wards?”

“yes. they can cast these barriers that can keep certain things and entities in, or out. but it’ll require a lot of energy, so it’s not a constant thing that can be done.”

“what do you get out of this?”

sukuna rolls his eyes at your question.

“i’m not asking why you’re hiding in this house instead of living like the other powerful curses. but, i’m offering you knowledge and with that, you can hit two birds with one stone. do we have a deal?”

you lick your dried lips in contemplation. you had no idea what his true intentions were, but if you were anything like him, then you wanted to know what you could do. if megumi had put up the wards, and yuuji and sukuna could freely walk in and out, it just meant that they knew. the day where he had stood outside with yuuji was just to prove to him that he’s right. he’d been cautious of you since day one, perhaps knowing more about you than you knew about yourself. the thought made you feel angered, being inferior to the likes of anyone for that matter would’ve done the trick. but being faced with someone who taunted you with knowledge created an itch that needed to be scratched. and like a starved fish, you took the bait.

[weirdochick56]

The Bodyguard 2- Bucky Barnes AU

Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, insults, snark, and sassy!Buckster sexy times (ok, so maybe only slightly sexy)

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU plots or Characters mentioned

Word Count: 5, 173 words

Summary: The Reader and Bucky’s hate for eachother is at an all time high; she can’t seem to rid herself of him and he, well he can’t seem to get her to cooperate with him. But as their frustrations grow, a late-night outing might just be what they both need to see other parts of eachother. 

A/n: This has been a long time in the making, but I finally felt inspired enough to continue the story. Hope you enjoy it!

~The Bodyguard 1~

***

“You can stop following me now,” you grumble with thorny irritation, rolling your eyes at the tall persistent shadow staying hot on your tail. 

It was in vain to ask him to leave, you knew. Agent Brainless was ridiculously adamant about following you around the moment you stepped foot outside of the palace and he was -infuriatingly so- a stubborn man.

How he knew that you were leaving even when you had concocted what you considered a genius plan to evade those infuriatingly pretty grey irises was beyond you.

He sighs at your words, and you can see the annoyance bubbling to the surface of his cold professional exterior, though he tries his hardest to keep a straight face. 

“Your highness, I think we both know I won’t do that,” he responds simply. “Now if you would please stop being so stubborn and simply do as I ask and come with me to the car so that this is easier for us both...” 

You can tell his patience is wearing thin because, in the past few weeks of having him follow you everywhere you went, you had made it a point to figure out his exact breaking point. 

And as you continue making your escape to town like he isn’t even there, you know that so is yours. If there’s anything that can give you that deep burning satisfaction you sought with everything you did, it was pissing Agent Barnes off.

He had patiently asked you to retreat back the way you came so he could “safely” transport you in a castle-owned car, but you refused redundantly because your friend was already waiting for you, but maybe also because you loved the little twitch of his eye every time you refused to listen to his directions.

If you were being completely honest, he really should’ve been asking you to come back to the castle and not go to a club in town at all- as per your father’s orders. But you weren’t fond of said orders and you definitely didn’t want some dark and mysterious shadow following you around during a night of fun with friends. 

“No,” is all you say because in the few minutes you’ve spent talking to him you’ve noticed he’s the most infuriated when your responses are curt and nonchalant. 

You want to see him snap oh so bad...seeing those steely grays lose their cool? Gold. 

“Princess...” he growls in warning, daring you to cut that little thread of control he had left in him with your sharp tongue. 

You don’t look back at him even once enjoying the thrill that travels up your spine at his low-timbre words and the way his voice travels straight to your core, tugging at your short black dress lightly. 

You wanted to see what he would do should he be pushed over the edge. It was fun.

“I already told you, I’m not listening to you. My friend is already waiting for me. And I’m sorry if you have an issue with- Ahh!” Your words choke back into your throat and morph into a shocked yelp when big rough hands grip your hips, spinning you around and without much of a warning, lifting you with incredible ease.

Before you know it, you’re being carelessly thrown over a broad, strong shoulder.

You let out a small ‘oomph’ when the wind gets knocked out of you and all you see is a firm ass, the blood rushing to your head. 

“What the hell do your think you’re doing you absolute buffoon?!” You screech hysterically, wriggling aggressively against his hold on your thighs. 

He barely flinches, only wrapping his muscular arm tighter around your legs and adjusting you on his shoulder like it was a mere midnight stroll for him and you weighed no more than what a feather did. 

“I’m taking you to the car,” he informs as if it’s obvious, voice full with obnoxious satisfaction. 

“Get your filthy hands off me this instant you utter and complete idiot!” You growl, twisting harshly but he doesn’t let go so you start pounding on his firm back with your fists, fighting to free yourself of him. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!”

He just laughs at what seems to be your weak attempts to break away. He laughs.

You gasp at the absolute and complete audacity he has of laughing when he’s treating you, the single heir to the Androvian throne, like a sack of potatoes. 

“You ass!” You wriggle around some more, tugging at his hands to try to pry them off your legs but all he does is smack them away as if they were mere pesky flies. 

“I may be,” he chokes back a small snort but only barely. “But at least I’m the only ass trying to keep your reckless self in check, princess.”

Indignation, humiliation, and utter vexation all burn deep inside you like a thrumming fire ready to ravage everything in its way when it got the chance to escape your body as you slowly fall limp against him. 

Resignation comes hand in hand with the deep desire for revenge and you fist your hands in deep ache to somehow exercise it. 

He carries you all the way to the garage of cars in the back part of the castle, walks over to a black SUV out of all the expensive cars to choose from, opens it and all but throws you into the back leather seats like you’re not a fucking human, much less the princess of the land he’s currently stepping in. 

You land flat on your back in the smooth leather interior of the luxury SUV with a small thud and instantly sit up to glare at him heatedly. “Do you have any idea who I am? Be gentle, you brute!” 

Annoyingly enough, he simply ignores you and leans over your body. His heat floods through your bare skin and feels good for a second and you subtly inhale his musky scent as he tugs on the seatbelt, roughly pulling it over you. 

You forget about your hatred for him for a split second and that only makes you angrier when it comes back full force. 

You fucking idiot, Y/n. 

In a last and desperate attempt of defiance, you try to push his hands away to which he responds by firmly pressing you back by your shoulder into your seat and staring you dead in the eye with blazing grey eyes. 

The fire that swirls in them is...something. Not necessarily scary, but intimidating and...something else.

Something that makes your skin flush and your nerves throb to life. 

You stare right back, tilting your chin up to show him you weren’t backing down or scared of him and his brute force. He got too under your skin and you knew you got under his which only offered you only a limited amount of comfort. 

He clenches his jaw as he clicks the seatbelt into place, never looking away from your challenging gaze. As if to stick another dagger into your burning insides. As if to reassert his power here. 

Your labored breaths are all that can be heard for miles to come in the calm night air and he leans close for a second, your heaving chests gently brushing.

Not meaning for it to happen, you feel your nipples harden beneath the flimsy fabric of your black party dress and you wonder if you imagine his hands clenching around your shoulder -his fingers digging into your flesh with suppression- or the sly flick of his eyes from your eyes to your lips. 

You wonder if you imagine the look of heat that passes over his eyes when your breaths mix the second time seems to stop and an overwhelming emotion washes over you. 

But then it’s gone as soon as it came and hatred burns deep in your belly once more. So deep that it hurts and brings painful tears to your eyes, your nose burning so hard you can’t focus through your blurry vision.

You lean in closer, so close your nose is brushing just barely against his and pause for a second. A second of torture for him, a second of uncertainty, a second where his breath catches and his pupils dilate. 

Then you speak, voice trembling with overwhelming anger. 

“I have never,” you whisper, licking your lips. “Been treated with such disrespect.” You swallow hard, cheeks red with humiliation. 

You see a flash of guilt in his eyes but it’s quickly replaced by his usual look of cool professionalism- not even anger anymore. Not even that.

And he leans right back into you, a wave of heat passing over both of you. “Then learn to listen next time. It’s for your safety.” 

And just like that he’s drawing back, slamming the passenger door closed and climbing into the driver’s seat- leaving you cold and angry beyond reason.

A moment of tense silence passes before he releases a tiny sigh and breaks it by turning on the ignition. 

“Where are we going?”

*

BUCKY’S POV

I watch her laugh at something one of her friends says from a dark corner of the club and it’s hard not to stare for reasons other than my duty being just that...to look after her. 

The club was a luxurious one, with high ceilings, intricate designs and a VIP section where we were immediately escorted to.

Her Highness’s friends, a blonde guy and girl who had nodded at me in polite acknowledgment were already waiting for her there and I assumed that the few seconds when she had stopped her sulking and taken out her phone from her clutch were the seconds she was texting her friends to meet her there instead. 

I would never admit it, but I enjoyed watching her cave. It was like taming a wild horse, even if momentarily. 

Princess Y/n was a brat, plain and simple. Selfish, childish, and feisty as hell, I had never met anyone as completely and utterly vexing as her and to say these past few weeks had been hell would be an understatement. 

If I wasn’t so good at my job, I would’ve lost her already. She threw me for a loop any chance she got, cutting corners and doing everything she could to avoid my protection. 

As I stared at her with that pretty ass smile on her annoyingly beautiful face, it’s hard to imagine that that was the same person pushing every single one of my buttons just a few minutes before. 

She actually looked relaxed and...nice?

God, she infuriated me in ways I had no idea I could be infuriated, discovered buttons I didn’t know I had and pushed them to the point I had to throw her over my damn shoulder like a sack of flour.

I was a professional, for God’s sake. Had always been one with every single one of the cases I was assigned, so why was she the one to get under my skin?

...And why did I enjoy having her perfectly round ass so close to my face? Why did I keep thinking about the defiance in those stupidly big eyes over and over like I....craved it?

I wondered to myself as I watched her take down a shot by the bar. She glanced at me over her shoulder, still smiling, but it quickly melted away when our gazes clashed and my own mood soured instantly. 

I grimaced when she looked away as if I had burnt her with my eyes and quickly pulled my head out of the gutter. 

The fact that she was utterly gorgeous didn’t change how annoying she was. Not to mention I was here on a job. 

One I fully intended to complete, no matter how fucking difficult the client was.

*

The night moves on at a slow pace for me. The princess parties and I watch her like a hawk, making sure not to let her get too wild. 

So far I had pried off five guys who were trying their luck with her. From what I’d read on her file and the extensive research I’d done online, her face wasn’t really well known. 

She was always kept  secret and would be until she was crowned queen of Androvia- some weird old belief or something- so not many people knew what she looked like. 

Meaning, these guys probably didn’t know who they were trying to get all handsy with on the dance floor and would only assume was some rich daddy’s girl once my towering form appeared and nicely escorted them away. 

For the most part nicely, anyway. Some I had to get a little rougher with. 

I make sure to keep my eyes glued on her form, ignoring the way she moved her hips in that tiny black dress. It hugged her alluring curves like a glove and I swallowed hard as she grinded on her female friend, head thrown back and a free smile on her face. 

“She is...beautiful, isn’t she?” 

I calmly turn towards the voice as it hums out from beside me, turning to see the guy she came with. He takes a sip of his drink, smirking as his eyes remain on the way the princess waves her hands in the air to the beat of the song, sensually shaking her hips as if she was one with the sexy R&B song I had no idea the name of. 

I clear my throat, remaining stock still in my bodyguard pose. “Sir, I”m only here to protect her Highness. I really don’t-”

“Oh don’t even try to hide it. She’s easily the most beautiful woman in this whole club.”

He takes my silence as confirmation, it seems, because he proceeds to speak on as if I’ve agreed.

“But it’s not just her physical appearance is it? It’s something else. Something...inside,” he whispers. 

When I don’t respond, he continues bitterly. “I’m warning you; don’t fall for her. It’ll only bring you a world of pain, trust me.”

I catch the pain in his voice and stiffen. “I would never fall for one of my subjects, sir,” I assure him.

He laughs sourly. “Sure bud. You keep telling yourself that.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I insist, swallowing thickly as she laughs, beautiful smile wide and her laughter too melodious to be coming out of such a wretched little urchin. 

“Well,” he coughs suddenly, clapping me in the shoulder. “I think I need another drink. Want one?”

I eye his hand which he slowly pries off and shake my head with a slightly clenched jaw.

“I’m on the job, sir,” I remain calm and professional despite the fact that all I wanted to do was break that hand for putting stupid thoughts in my head. 

Because for a second there, as the bright club lights shun down on her, I could see what he talked about when he said there was something inside. In that smile, those eyes, that laugh...

But then she made eye contact with me and the feeling turned bitter so quick it’s a miracle I didn’t get whiplash. 

She was a brat. Nothing more.

*

YOUR POV

Sometime late into the night, you had found myself fairly buzzed. Not enough to fall on your face, but enough that walking- well, stumbling over to Agent Asshole only seemed more and more attractive an action.

He glances at you with those eyes and you can’t help the anger the bubbles within you. “Do you plan on staring me down the entire night?”

“It’s my job,” is all he says. 

You scowl fiercely at him. “I hate you,” you seethe.

He raises a dark brow but otherwise keeps that stoic expression on his face. “Do you want to leave, your Highness?”

His neutral tone and complete lack of reaction only angers you more and you shake your head furiously. “No, I don’t want to leave. I want you to leave though.”

He presses his lips firmly together. “I’m sorry-“

“No, you’re not.”

“Huh?” He cocks his side slightly to the side and you lean closer to him, craning your neck to look him in the eye.

“I said; you’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you WOULD LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!” You feel your drunken emotions deep in your chest and without much effort, your voice quickly escalates.

He sighs heavily. “Okay, your highness, I think it’s time I take you back to the castle. C’mon,” he waves a hand toward the door.

You laugh at him coldly, shaking your head. “Who do you think you are, ordering me around? Know your place asshole, you are below me- never forget,” you growl snarkily, leaning right into his face.

You feel his breathing quicken against your cheeks the longer you defiantly smirk up at him, his calm eyes darkening.

You realized you enjoyed pushing him to the edge, that you craved this look on his face...

He smirks mockingly down at you, staring you down. “You can come willingly, your highness, or I can throw you over my shoulder like last time.” He leans straight into your ear, whispering hotly. “I’m sure you would rather not go through the embarrassment.”

You swallow thickly, your heart hammering against your chest and you’re not sure it’s from anger anymore. With disgust, you jerk away from him, glaring holes into his head.

“Let’s go.”

*

“You can go, Agent Obnoxious,” you mumble drunkenly, waving a dismissive hand at him as you stumble into your warm room, practically ripping off your heels.

You throw them somewhere in the corner of the large room, sighing with relief when you feel your bare feet touching the soft carpeted floor. 

Your knees shake slightly and buckle and you end up tripping forward.

You land on the ground with a soft grunt and for some reason, laughter bubbles deep in your chest.

“Your Highness!”

A few seconds later, you feel strong warm hands wrapping around your body to heave you up. You place your hands on his strong arms for support and look up at Agent Barnes.

The laughter immediately dies on your lips when you see a beautiful concerned frown of engraved deep in his face. It looks so sincere and his arms are so strong...

Before you know what you’re doing, a small mumble is leaving your lips. “You...” you cut yourself off abruptly when his eyes meet yours.

His hands now rest lightly on your waist, and you’re so close you can smell him. His scent is deep and rich and manly, so unlike the scent of those rich assholes you were forced to mingle with on a daily basis.

And his hands, are strong and resilient. The callouses on them tells you that he’s worked his entire life. Those hands, the ones holding you right now, They’ve probably handled a gun, they’ve probably saved so many lives...

You bite your lip, thinking about the way those hands felt on the skin of your arm and how heavenly it would feel if it traveled all over.

Goosebumps rise on your skin as you crane up your neck to stare up at him.

He stares down at you, and even when your room is dark, the light of the moonlight that filters in from the huge window highlights the heavy tension in his gaze.

You’re both unmoving and you wonder if he enjoys touching you as much as you enjoy his touch.

He inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering to your lips and eyes and then back.

You want to ask him what he’s thinking. You want to tell him to just do it -to just kiss you because you wouldn’t dare push him away- not in this state, not when the alcohol and his scent and eyes were clogging every single sense and reason you had, but you’re afraid to break the spell of whatever this was. 

So instead, you wait on abated breath, feeling like you’re both on the verge of something utterly earth-shattering, for him to move.

Finally, he speaks a few seconds later and it’s a quiet murmur. “Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

You ignore the sharp sting of his rejection when you were so clearly begging him to kiss you and step away from his touch as if he’s burnt you.

You turn around so he can’t see the hurt in your eyes. “You can go now Agent Brainless,” you say coldly over your shoulder, but you know it’s a lot softer than the other time.

Another second passes. “Princess..” he whispers.

You ignore his barely audible whisper and angrily begin undressing, tugging at the straps of your dress.

“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” He growls lowly as you begin to pull your dress down to your waist.

With a sarcastic smile, your turn towards him, your top half completely naked aside from your black lacy bra.

His gaze immediately falls on your half-naked chest, but aside from the small flicker in his eyes and gulp he takes, he gives no other indication of shock.

You raise a brow. “Are you going to watch me undress now too, Agent Barnes?” You ask mockingly.

His eyes find yours again and they’re darker than you’ve ever seen them. They send shivers through your whole body and you almost give into the urge to look away, but the anger and frustration within you don’t allow your gaze to waver.

“I’m not leaving until you’re safely in bed,” he husks, clearly trying his best to remain professional and cold as his icy stare bores into your eyes- purposefully looking away from your naked form.

You tilt your head up at him innocently, slowly sauntering closer to him. “Oh? Well in that case, do you mind helping me with the zipper of my dress? It’s stuck.”

You turn your back on him and a smirk blossoms in your face as you hear his breathing strain, your ass slightly brushing against his crotch area. 

He blows out a shaky exhale and it blows against your naked back, all hot and angry. 

When he makes no move to help you, you look at him over your shoulder. “Well?” 

His grave expression doesn’t budge. “I can’t do that,” he says lowly. 

But even as he resentfully spits this, he doesn’t budge and his eyes are still tracing over your body, their electric desire leaving goosebumps over wherever they ran over.

You roll your eyes at him. “Then turn around, you idiot.” 

He growls, fisting his hands and clenching his jaw tightly but doesn’t try to fight you on it and turns his broad back to you.

You’re intoxicated, so it’s probably because you’re not thinking straight, but as you quickly slip on a silk night gown and stare at his back, you can’t help the deep heavy sadness that sinks into your chest. 

Why hadn’t he kissed you just now? You could’ve sworn he wanted to and you sure as hell did...it was there, the moment, the split second when you were willing to risk it all, to overlook any and all boundaries, cross all imposing lines- but you lost it. 

Pushing your hair to the side, you convince yourself it was for the best. 

“I’m done,” you say softly, climbing into bed. 

Agent Barnes nods at you stiffly, turning on his heels to leave as you get under the covers. Blaming this on your intoxication, you suddenly find yourself exclaiming. 

“Wait!” 

He pauses right before his foot moves outside the doorframe and turns toward you, eyebrows raised. “You need something, Your Highness?”

You stare at him seriously, pressing your head against your pillow. “Don’t...leave, please,” you whisper softly, curling into a ball at the tenderness of your voice.

“I don’t want to be alone,” you admit quietly. 

He freezes, staring at you as if he’d never seen you before and you avert your gaze, afraid maybe you let on too much. 

“Sorry,” you quickly apologize, but that only flusters you more. “I-I mean not sorry, you asshole. Just- whatever. I’m in bed now, you can go.” 

Feeling embarrassed, you quickly flip over and turn your back to him.  

Seconds later, you hear the door click close and then nothing. A heavy sigh escapes you and you try to suppress the feeling of disappointment that envelops your whole body. 

You didn’t know if it was the drinks or the cold distant dinners you’d been having with your family...but you had never felt more alone. All the clubbing and trying to escape your destiny by trying to pave a life of your own couldn’t fill in that emptiness you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried.  

You didn’t want to feel like that anymore. Not tonight. 

So even if it was your bodyguard who you hated with everything in you, you needed someone just to be there. Even if it was just to sit in silence with.  

Suddenly, you hear a gentle swish noise and gasp lightly, flipping over. Agent Barnes has thrown his jacket over the chair beside your bed and is loosening his tie and he stares at you. His beautiful gaze sucks you in as you blink up at him in surprise. 

He shrugs. “I can’t just....leave you here alone.” 

Your chest clenches painfully and warmth travels all over your body like warm gooey honey. The feeling of having someone there for you when you need them most is almost overwhelmingly strong. 

“Thank you,” you whisper so quietly, you’re shocked he even hears it. 

He tilts his head at you, frowning with that handsome face of his. “For what? It’s my job.” 

There he goes detaching himself. With a gentle shrug, you nod and curl into a ball under your covers, trying to covet sleep. 

You try this for a few minutes and you’re tired, but you can’t help thinking about Agent Barnes sitting in a hard chair all night. After a while of tossing and turning, you sit up. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you breathe with irritation. 

“What? What happened?” he sits up instantly, and though you could tell he was on the verge of dozing off, his sharp senses are impressive as he reaches for the gun on his ankle frantically. 

You sigh, hating the way your cheeks grow hot and you look away timidly. “Just get into bed,” you say roughly. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, looking at him in the eyes. “I said; get into bed with me. That chair is uncomfortable.” 

He laughs lightly. “Princess, I was trained by the world’s best assassins. I was taught to sleep on a cold concrete ground if need be.” He gives the chair a firm pat. “This chair is a luxury for a guy like me.”

You stare at him for a few seconds more, wondering more about his past before lightly shaking your head. 

“I don’t care. I still feel bad that I made you sleep here on a chair. Just get in already, will you?” You growl at his stubbornness. “The bed is huge, there’ll be enough space for the both of us, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” you add on, softly. 

After a few seconds of intense eye contact, he finally relents with a small sigh. “Fine.” 

Hesitantly, he cuffs his sleeves and perches himself on the edge of the bed- all stiff and tight. “Good?” He asks, glancing at you with raised brows.

You frown. “You’re kidding.”

“What?”

“You’re not actually planning to sleep like that are you?” You snort. 

“I told you-”

“That you were trained by dangerous assassins, yeah yeah. But you’re still a human and a ridiculous one at that,” you scoff before suddenly smirking.  “You’re not afraid of lil old me, are you? I’m tiny- I couldn’t possibly hurt you...too much,” you offer him a faux innocent smile, batting your lashes. 

He stares at you, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh trust me, I’ve met girls like you before. You definitely don’t bite.” 

You raise a brow amusedly. “Girls like me?”

His sexy smirk widens. “Yeah. You’re all bark but no bite,” he replies vaguely.

Feeling partially indignant and partially curious, you decide to probe him for answers. “Oh yeah?”

He can’t resist your subtle challenge and continue speaking. “You’re always in power, constantly being chased after because you’re beautiful and rich and you act like it’s what you want in a guy, but it isn’t, is it?”

Deeply intrigued by his generally accurate analysis, you can’t help but laugh. “Oh?”

“No.” He stares deeply into your eyes and the smile slips off your lips as he says his next words with the intensity of a thousand suns. “You bark out orders and you take on responsibilities like a boss, but what you really want is a man. Not a pushover boy that’ll listen to your every command and constantly try to please you, fall at your feet...But a man that’ll choke slam you on the bed, that’ll make you his, that’ll torture you with the deepest pits of hellish pleasure until he ruins every other man for you. You want to be controlled, brought over the edge so far you won’t ever be able to go there by yourself and then at the last moment get that taken away from you. You want to be used.” 

You openly gape at him but he ignores you and slightly scoots closer, still at a safe distance, but close enough where you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“Sleep, Princess,” he whispers. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

At first, you’re too shocked to react. Your heart is positively hammering against your ribcage and your cheeks are uncharacteristically red. You were flushed. How had he managed to...’you know what?’ You think. ‘No.’ 

You breathe in deeply. ‘ I’m not going to think about it anymore.’

Because doing so would mean letting him win. And also, never mind the fact that he’s in your bed right now...

Decidedly, you squeeze your eyes shut, begging sleep to come amidst all your stupid, surely drunken thoughts about your stupid bodyguard and kissing him, or simply straddling him right now...

Despite how much you disliked him, you felt safe and protected, like you could let your guard down. And yet...not enough. 

Soon, lulled by the steady beating of his heart and the warmth of his body, you curl into a ball and slowly let your heavy lids close, relaxing completely.

“Oh, and Agent Brainless?” you murmur, on the very verge of sleep. 

“Yes, princess?” He looks at you. 

You manage to send him one last cold smirk before answering.  

“Don’t misinterpret this, right now. I’m merely asking you to do your job.” 

And then darkness takes over.

Before fully giving into the softness of the darkness of slumber, though, you think you hear him laugh softly and say something like “wouldn’t dream of it, brat.” 

****

They’re honestly growing on me. Should I continue?

ALSO YALL SEE TFATWS????  SEBASTIAN LOOKS SO DARN GOOD PLEASEEEEEE

A special thanks to:

@lilypalmer1987

@jessikared97

@sammykb1994

@mogaruke

@mo-onstarrs

@loveofmychips @juliesland​