#and the last time i felt this happy was when i was deep in the Halo fandom
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serenity-loves-red · 1 day ago
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Robin looked at her brother and giggled silently. Her brother, Sunday who is known to be somewhat strict and composed Student Council President is still a mess before you.
It was cute, looking at her brother’s flustered face– wings fluttering, whenever he sees you go to the office to submit report quotas from the organization plans and other meeting agendas; but seeing the same thing could become tiresome.
And this time? It looks irritating.
Honestly, Robin thought flabbergasted, when talking to you, Sunday may looked all formal but deep down? He feels conscious on how he delivers himself to you, embarrassed even!
Should he smile more? Act a bit carefree? Does he look unapproachable–?
So what could Robin do as a good and dutiful little sister? She’ll play the matchmaker of course!
If Sunday is too of a blubbering mess to start his move, she’ll do it in his place. A thank you is enough, dear brother!
You knew Robin is up to something. Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to figure it out.
First time is when she tried to invite you to eat lunch with them but then called out the last minute saying that she won’t be able to make it because one of her professors needed her for something.
She did not. You saw her wearing some weird ass detective hat, sitting few tables away from you and peeking behind what’s supposed to be a menu.
She looks ridiculous. Her get up gave her away but still, you didn’t called her out. Sunday seems to see her too and gave you a smile, somewhat forced.
Is it because you saw how ridiculous his sister acted or because he disliked you? Who knows, you didn’t bother and just ate peacefully– offering small talks of pleasantry related to Student Council duties.
You’re not that close, after all. You don’t know each other well enough to talk like some kind of old friends. Unlike Robin who you’ve befriended during a mixed class course between your departments.
The second time– or times, started with little push. Literally.
You usually walks with Robin during breaks, following her lead and just go whenever she wants. Because why not? You don’t have anywhere to go or do so you just chose to spend time with her.
Robin never felt this happy. A perfect opportunity for Plan B!
With this setup, you just let Robin drag you, here and there unknowingly following her lead to find her brother to execute her plan.
So when she saw Sunday on a busy hallway, Robin pretended to trip and pushed you to him– hard, that made you tumble with wide eyes.
Fortunately, Sunday managed to catch you, albeit shocked himself. His arm encircled you in a welcoming embrace.
“Are you hurt?” Sunday asked in a soft, shaky voice.
“Yes, I- I’m fine. Thanks for catching me.” You managed to stutter out before pushing yourself away with red face.
You immediately confronted Robin after she bid goodbye to her brother. With a straight face and elegant demeanor, she answered, “You are mistaken, I just happened to stumble on an accident.”
And the accident she meant happened 3 more times later that day. She saw her brother, she tripped, pushed you to her brother’s arm, said brother managed to catch you, and then repeat.
The third time of Robin’s shenanigans is when she locked you in the Council’s room, alone with her brother– Sunday.
You knew it was her because she was the only one staying outside the door at that hour.
“I don’t want to disturb you so I’ll just wait for you outside.” She reasoned, giving you her signature soft smile.
It was supposed to be a quick visit to his office so you agreed leaving her outside. Just updating plans and submitting documents from various departments when suddenly the door just clicked shut.
Concerned, you immediately run towards the door to check and found out that it was locked. You don’t know how she did it but the door just won’t budge, leaving you alone with Sunday in an awkward atmosphere.
“It was Robin.” You said flatly.
“Mn.” He responded, try to sound as normal as possible.
It was so awkward. Just what are you doing Robin! Sunday couldn’t help but cry out internally.
He knew Robin had been doing this mischievous streak to help him out. Help him out with what? He’s totally fine and can handle it so please trust him.
No he’s not, that’s why we have Robin to help him out a little. So don’t waste her efforts brother! He can’t help but picture Robin saying that.
“Do you know why she’s doing this?” You asked, breaking the awkward silence.
Oh no. Sunday gulped. He can’t just say that Robin is doing all of this because she thinks he’s chickening out when he’s with you so she’s helping him by doing these ridiculous opportunities.
How humiliating would it be if he said that!
“But you just did.” You pointed out, smiling at him. Guess being ridiculous is a streak that runs in the family, after all.
He froze. “W-what!?… said what? I didn’t say anything!” He panicked.
“Really? They what do you mean by chickening ou–“ before you finished your sentence, he rushed to you and clamped your mouth shut with his hand. His face was red and his wings trembled, fluttering up and down as if not knowing whether or not to cover his red cheeks or better yet– his entire face.
But before he could respond, the door opened and Robin came walking in.
“Are you both together now? I hope my efforts are not in vain brother–“
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good-luck-babe-535 · 18 hours ago
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Dirtbagging - Chapter 6
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paige x azzi (climber au)
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WC: 3.1k
Warning: heavy angst, alludes to possible triggering sexual content, themes of death/dying/grief, mental health struggles
A/N: I know you guys aren't going to like this one but maybe it will answer some questions. As always don't hold back and let me know what you think ❤️‍🩹
Azzi had never experienced seeing someone on both their good days and bad days. Sometimes she felt like she was experiencing the happy ending of the story, and at other times, she was in a bad dream from which she couldn’t wake up. Azzi vividly remembered the first version of Paige she had experienced, a woman so cold that just her gaze froze Azzi in her place. Being belittled without saying a word, and no effort to reciprocate. How had she appeared to change in such a short amount of time?
After hiking all day, the two had continued their careful game of push and pull. Testing each other's boundaries, seeing how far they could get without having to acknowledge out loud or internally what was truly happening. They touched each other on the outside, leaving the other shaken to their core. Azzi felt like they were gearing up for a breakthrough when they ended the night in her bed, tangled in the sheets scrolling and picking their favorite photos of each other.
“The light is shining perfectly onto your blue eyes in this one,” 
“You’re smile is so beautiful in this one,” they played the game of back and forth, ending with almost every picture a favorite, impossible to pick just a few.
Azzi could feel her nerves. She didn’t know what they were doing, and if she was too much or too little for Paige. She appreciated the moments when Paige took the lead, like when she shut off the lights and crawled back under the warm sheets with Azzi.
“Come here Az,” she whispered gently, holding her arm out to signal it was ok. Azzi curled into Paige's side, her head lying on her chest. It was easy to slip into this when they were both tired but also wired from their mutual testing throughout the day. 
Paige ran her fingertips up and down Azzi’s back, while Azzi explored further tracing Paige’s defined core. Azzi could not help where her mind was running, feeling Paige’s breath become more uneven at her touch. Feeling the way the blonde responded to her exploring hand gave her the most intense rush of pleasure throughout her body.
She kept the touch light and teasing, but she didn’t know how long she could before wanting more. The small sounds Paige was trying so hard to hide made her core light on fire, intense desire for the blonde blossomed.
Which was why the last thing she expected was for the blonde to push her hand away. No matter how politely the blonde did it, Azzi could not help but feel a deep tear at the rejection. Paige pulled her in, not the other way around. 
Azzi could not control the disappointment that was festering into something uglier. 
“Can we talk about this later?” her voice shakier than Azzi was expecting, making Azzi feel guilty for jumping to conclusions so quickly.
Azzi was ok with later, but how many times could the blonde keep pushing off the inevitable when she was starting it? She was scared that maybe the feelings were more one-sided than she thought, and that later was becoming never. Every night that week Paige created more distance between the two, whether she realized it or not. On Tuesday, Azzi woke up alone for the first time. On Thursday, Paige did not even bother coming to bed with her. Each subsequent day the trust Azzi had in Paige slowly deteriorated. She did not care about the physical distance as much as the mental distance. All she needed was for Paige to talk to her, but each day the blonde’s ability to communicate with Azzi weakened.
This allowed Azzi’s head to find insecurities she had never seen. Was she just trying to make her feel better after Ryder? Did she never really like her in the first place? What was she hiding from Azzi?
On Friday morning, Azzi tried her last-ditch attempt at getting back into the blonde’s good graces. As Paige was pouring their coffees, Azzi snuck around the back of Paige and embraced her, just as Paige had done to her plenty of times.
“Azzi, how many times do I have to tell you to stop”, Paige whispered.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” Azzi said, her voice wobbling, holding back her imminent tears.
Paige pulled away from the touch, and more violently than Azzi expected. “It’s not that simple Azzi,” she snapped, breaking the last remaining belief Azzi had in the two of them.
Paige walked away to her room, and for the first time, Azzi followed her in. She didn’t ask for permission, entering Paige’s world for the first time since her first night there. 
Paige spun around when she realized Azzi was following her, raising her voice, “What are you not understanding about give me space?”
Azzi was shocked at the tone in the blonde’s voice, the words hitting like punches all over her body, leaving her bruised and broken.
The blonde continued without giving Azzi time to adjust, “We can’t fix each other Azzi. Stop trying to fix me. You aren’t perfect. Do you remember what happened last week? Maybe you need to take that more seriously and stop using me to get through it.”
Azzi did not even register the tears welling up in her eyes as the blonde pulled out a bag and started to throw random belongings inside. 
“Paige stop. It doesn’t need to be like this, we can talk about it, please don’t leave” Azzi begged as the blonde did not even register what she was saying.
The bag was packed, but Azzi did not stop her desperate attempt to keep the blonde safe and with her, “Paige it’s ok, I can leave ok? You don’t need to go out there alone. It's not safe and neither of us is in a good headspace right now. I’ll go crash with Riley or, or, one of the other girls and you can have the night to yourself?” Azzi continued with little effect on Paige’s decision.
Paige pushed Azzi gently to the side, not angry but disassociated, her eyes never locking with Azzi again as she continued her way out of the door. Azzi was left in her wake, still surrounded by the pristine room plastered with memories of Paige. 
It was not long until Azzi heard a knock at the door. Which was strange because no one ever asked to come in, they just did. Opening the door she saw the last person she wanted to see, Ryder with an unsightly smile on his face. He slipped in past her without even an invitation.
“Good morning! Haven’t seen you much this week. How have you been?” Ryder said nonchalantly, with no awareness or care of Azzi’s unraveling mental state.
He sat on the couch like he owned it, arm over the back and legs spread. Azzi walked over to the couch, refusing to sit down with him, and crossed her arms in response.
“Not in the mood to talk this morning? You’ve been so unlike yourself this week. Just wanted to come check on you”, he explained defensively feigning innocence.
“Ryder tell me why you’re really here”, Azzi responded bluntly, not in the mood to be buttered up this morning.
“I just saw Paige drive away without you. Which is weird, you two are practically attached at the hip. I just came to check that you’re ok. Is that so wrong to do for someone you like?” He said with a touch of fake guilt, trying to break Azzi’s will.
“Ryder, I want you to leave,” Azzi said sternly. Her body language refused to shift, not falling into her ways of people pleasing.
But Ryder was tricky. Regardless of how much Azzi did not like him, he was good with his words. “I came to apologize. For last weekend. And I talked to my sister about it and I see that what happened could really be taken in the wrong way, so I just wanted to let you know that’s not what happened at all.” Ryder rambled, making Azzi reconsider the conversation. 
She sat down on the other end of the couch, crossing her legs and laying her hands in her lap. She looked down. “So tell me exactly what happened then.”
Ryder looked over at her trying to catch her eyes but she refused. “Paige left you in tears. I took you in and cleaned up your face, gave you water, and brought you into my room to sleep since there was nowhere else for you to go. Azzi, I am so sorry. You were blackout drunk and you didn’t know what you were doing. You started taking your clothes off and I tried to stop you but you wouldn’t. So I did what I could and just threw one of my shirts on you until you stopped resisting and fell asleep.”
Azzi was in disbelief. Is that actually what happened? In her confused mental state, she felt she only had one option, which was to accept it as the truth. The only person who knew was him, so she would have to take his word for it.
He continued, “I’m sorry Azzi. I am. I hope I can earn your forgiveness and your trust again.”
Azzi could not muster up a response. The supposed truth was eating at her, it felt unlike her. Who was she becoming? Was she that much of a different version of herself that night?
“You should have called Paige to come get me. It’s a bad look regardless of what happened,” she attempted to stand up for herself, but with little willpower left.
“And take you back to someone who was actively hurting you? Now you know that’s not true Az.”
“Don’t call me that.” She hissed back at him, doing her best to defend the little bit of herself she still had.
Ryder got up, sensing that he wasn’t going to make any more progress with the conversation. “Just remember who put you in that state that night. It wasn’t me,” he said calmly, with too much composure as if it was rehearsed. He started walking to the door, before opening it turning around to meet Azzi’s eyes.
“I’m here for you always, Azzi. Regardless of whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into with Paige.” He didn’t wait for a response and exited the house. 
Let's just say that Paige’s last relationship did not end so well. The lasting psychological scarring of the event had a grip on her, reducing her to a shell of herself. And it kept coming back. Again, and again, and Paige had not found a way to stop it. 
It all started in the same room that used to be hers. Paige had pulled Azzi in. They had the most beautiful day together, full of laughter and stolen moments. Paige thought she was good, she did. Until Azzi really touched her. The caresses became less innocent, triggering Paige’s brain like all the times before. She felt the shift, but she was too scared to fully acknowledge it then.
It hurt her to see Azzi’s face when she pushed her away, but it was nothing in comparison to the thoughts polluting her mind. All she could see was Sol in her mind every time she saw Azzi. And not the smiling version of her that once existed here in this room. She saw the version that she never got to reconcile with. The one that never came back that day, the one that Paige had failed.
So when the nightmares got worse, Paige couldn’t stay with Azzi through the night anymore. She didn’t want Azzi to see the person she was reduced to when her symptoms got bad. But that didn’t stop Azzi from noticing. Sweet Azzi, she was perceptive. She cared about Paige to a fault. Which caused her to take Paige’s actions as a direct result of her, rather than considering that maybe this was just a part of who Paige was.
The next few days it got so bad that all Paige could think about was waking up to Azzi, cold and lifeless, next to her. So she stayed in her room. She couldn’t handle the pandemonium in her mind and managing Azzi’s fear of her. Every attempted touch startled her, and she wasn’t proud of the person she was when she got this way.
So she walked out on Azzi. It was ugly, she was ugly to Azzi. But it was better than the alternative of making things even worse for Azzi. 
Paige hopped in her car, with no idea yet where she was going.
She needed to see someone, but she hadn’t accepted who it was yet. So she just kept driving, further and further away from home. Her hands already knew the place, but her mind was not ready to catch up. She drove for hours, out into the central valley of California. The heat was so extreme that the AC could no longer keep up and she was burned from the intense sun. But she did not care, she just kept driving. Driving to the last remnants of her.
After an extremely long drive, she arrived in front of a little blue house, the flower beds lined with purple pansies and yellow grass scorched from the heat of summer. She turned the car off in the driveway and sat for a moment, questioning how she even got there. Watching the front door open, Sol’s mom, Camila, opened the door, and their black lab Daisy flew out the door to meet Paige.
She stepped out of the 4Runner to greet the dog, who licked all of the tears she didn’t realize covered her face. She basked in the feeling of the dog excited to see, giving her much needed love and attention. 
Sol’s mom waited patiently, letting Paige laugh and soak up Daisy’s joy. Paige was thankful for the greeting, but needed to face who she was actually there to see. Not a word needed to be spoken as the shorter greying mom took Paige into a warm embrace. 
“It's so good to see you, sweetie. But I know you never come here when things are good. So come inside and let me take care of you.” She said as she broke the embrace and led Paige and Daisy into the house. 
It was just like Paige remembered it, the smell of home cooked meals and memories that spanned lifetimes. She was on the walls, her past life chronicled in the family living room.
Camila sat her down at the breakfast bar, sliding over a cold glass of water for the girl to drink.
“Now tell me, honey. What’s going on? You haven’t been here in months so it must have gotten bad.”
“It started again. And worse this time, I see her everywhere I go and my brain is replaying it for me constantly,” she choked out.
“Paige, I know you don’t believe me, but it wasn’t your fault. Sol made the choices she made that day and you couldn’t stop her. She loved you” the mom said as she cupped Paige’s sunburned and swollen face. 
“It doesn’t help the image in my brain. I know rationally that’s true. But it doesn’t matter”, Paige sobbed, not able to handle her reality anymore.
The woman sat next to Paige, facing her and taking her hands.
“Honey, I know you don’t want to hear this from me. But healing is never going to be linear. It's ok to have setbacks. What matters is how you respond to them. How are you going to respond to this one?”
Paige tried to take a deep breath and regulate herself before she spoke the truth she had been scared to face. “I think I need to go see someone again. I shouldn’t have stopped.”
The mom squeezed Paige’s hand in agreement, smiling softly at the blonde. “I am so proud of you. Whether you realize it or not, you kept yourself alive this year without her. You’re brave and strong. She won’t ever leave you, but you can try and control the way you carry her with you.”
The blonde looked up to see tears streaming down Camila’s face too. Paige knew this wasn’t just her grief to carry, and being here with her somehow helped distribute the weight Paige felt.
They slipped into their normal rhythm of conversation. How was Daisy, how was the family. Paige told her about work, the trips she had been on. But she wasn’t expecting the next thing to slip from Camila’s mouth.
“I heard that you got a roommate for the house. How has that been going?” She questioned, not realizing the full impact of the question on Paige.
Paige contemplated how to respond. Was it wrong to tell her the whole truth? Would she resent her for opening herself up to someone new?
She decided to live it open-ended for now. “I’m enjoying having someone to share the space with. It was starting to get lonely there after a year,” Paige explained, the situation too complicated to explain to Camila just yet.
“I just wanted to remind you that it’s ok to move on. I am happy to see you’re finally meeting people again. Finding community in others. And I will always be here for you, regardless of who you bring into your life next.”
Paige could not help but feel her heart swell at the care Camila had for her. She didn’t have to look after her but she always did. 
After the afternoon of soaking up the quiet comfort of Sol’s family home, Paige knew it was time for her to return home. The goodbye was simple as always, the door open for her to come back when she needed to or when she was ready. Camila sent her off with all of her favorite sweets and a meal for the long ride home, which Paige did not realize how badly she needed.
On the long ride home, she was ready to turn the music back on, no longer drowning in her thoughts. She scrolled to Sol’s favorite playlist, filled with the most randomly nostalgic songs. She was never very good at making a cohesive playlist, but it was the thought that counted.
Paige didn’t know if this would be the last time she heard the playlist, but she soaked in every song. She finally felt hope that she could carry her grief and not be scared of when the next bad day would come.
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thequeenofthewinter · 3 days ago
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Work-in-Progress Wednesday
I am still stuck in Anders hell. Woe is me. I am 3k deep into whatever I am doing at the moment, and well, if you know me, you know that I like a nice big helping of yearning and some angsty feels with my smut. (Which is what I am working up to. There is no smut in this snippet...yet.)
Annnnnyway, tagging some people or something: @caughtnyact @the-bear-and-his-sunbird @draco-illius-noctis @guacamolleee @theyearningghoul @aldisobey @kirain @thepalehorsevictoria @starfleetteddybear @silshinobii and anyone else who might be a fan of this disaster explosion man or has played DA2. <3 (Come say hi to me if you are/have. I do not know how to get out of this prison.)
Mages do not get happy endings and here they are a pair of fools.
Anders has seen her looks and has even returned them—has felt the fluttering in his heart accompanied by the tell-tale pounding of blood in his veins, has listened to the siren song of its beat drumming to the time of hers in his ears.
He should stop. This should stop.
But when her hand reaches out to touch his shoulders, instead of pulling away, he takes his hand in hers.
“Violet,” her name sounds so fragile on his lips as he leans closer to her, “you know I can’t do this. I’ll only end up breaking your heart, and the last thing I wish to do is to hurt you.”
She swallows, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. “At least tell me that I am not imagining things, Anders.”
“You’re not.” His hand comes out to cup her cheek, turning her gaze on him as butterflies erupt in her stomach. “But you cannot continue to tease me like this. There is only so much one man can take. One taste of you and you would—
“Would what, Anders?”
He swallows heavily around the words which form in his throat as he forces them out with the weight of consequence. “You would undo me.”
“And what if I asked you to kiss me?” 
In an instant, his lips crash down on hers, tongue and teeth and hands frantically trying to hold on to any piece of her that he can as if she were made of smoke and mirrors—a trick of his mind just like on the many nights he has spent dreaming of her, holding her tightly in his arms only for her to disappear at daybreak. This is the danger he had tried to avoid, the inevitable heartbreak which he knows that will come, yet she tastes so sweet of honeyed ale and whispered promises ripe for him to pluck from her lips that it would be worth it in the end.
If only she would not have to pay it too.
All too easily a hand slips into her hair, strands sliding through Anders’ fingers like dark silk as he pulls her closer, and Violet rewards him with the softest gasp.
“Anders…”
How can he say no to her when his name drips so prettily from her tongue? And how could he not meet her to swallow it whole?
Her lips part for him willingly, and he groans as he pushes her back against the hard stone of wall.
“Please, don’t make me do this. I—I am weak.” He lifts her chin, pulling back just far enough to speak. “I will only break your heart.”
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hanna-water · 3 days ago
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Do you have any favorite Leo x Adam fic to recommend ? I've read the ones you dm me about but I want to know your own favorite ? I'll Google translate them to check them out .
Ps : if there's any fic that Leo is in danger or kidnapped and you know of the links recommend me those as well . 🧡
Hey 😊, I gladly share some of my favorite fanfics. I hope they´ll match your taste. So I didn´t bookmark any story in which Leo get´s kidnapped (though I think I read a few) but if that´s what you´re looking for then you might like this story as well: "Gunshot Wounds" (x) ! light spoiler ! no kidnapping but Leo get´s injured and Adam is very worried about him A story that is short and incredibly sweet and soft is: "Leo ist kein Angorakaninchen" (x) If you ever have a really shitty day or just miss Tatort Saarbrücken then this story will instantly make your heart melt and make you happy. 🥰 At least that´s what it does for me. Another story that is short and sweet is: "Groß- und Kleinbuchstaben, Sonderzeichen und eine Zahl" (x) I just looove the whole idea because it´s so simple and yet so genious and cute. If you want to read a longer story then I highly recomment this one: "Auch ein Dschungel ist am Ende nur ein Wald" (x) This story has a place deep inside my heart ❤ and it made me cry several times while reading it but in a good way. I would recommend reading it slowly, maybe 1-2 chapters per day, so you can truly enjoy how the story is developing instead of rushing through it. If you want to read something very emotional then I recommend "Gesucht, Getrauert & (Wieder)Gefunden" (x) This story beautifully touches on a topic that I would love to see metioned in one of the actual films. It fits Leos trauma of being left so perfectly and makes so much sense that it influenced the way I perceive Leos character and his relationship to Adam, since reading it. It´s often in the back of my mind when I think about Spatort. For "The End of the Night" aftermath and lovely shared flat moments, I recommend: "Neu sortiert" (x) Since the last cliffhanger broke my heart, reading this story felt like wrapping myself into a warm, cozy blanket. And last but not least I wanna share a story in which Adam is the one whos life is threatened. Big heart-wrenching emotions and great hurt/comfort. "Der letzte Bissen" (x)
I hope you enjoy reading those 😊 and find something you like. There are lots of other amazing fanfics and authors out there, I just shared those that crossed my mind first.
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avianyuh · 12 hours ago
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You Get Me | Min Yoongi
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PART THREE
Summary: After agreeing to keep things "professional" you try to swallow your feelings for Yoongi. At first it's going well, until the last week of production when Yoongi suddenly announces that you need to make more edits to the album, leading to more confusing feelings and frustration. Things take a turn when Y/N meets a new man in pursuit of finding a way to debut her work.
[Part One] [Part Two]
The first week after Yoongi and I decided to keep it strictly professional was unbearably awkward. Every glance, grazing of a hand, smile, frown, hum or laugh led to overanalyzing and overthinking. It was exhausting. But I realized that I wasn’t spending almost every free night I had in this cold studio for Yoongi, I was spending it here for my album. I needed to stay focused. So I swallowed my conflicted feelings and tried to keep my eye on the prize. We were able to stay cordial and things almost felt as if they had gone back to normal a month later. I stopped second guessing every interaction I had with him and taking the high road led to the album being basically finished by the end of the month. I had recorded about twelve songs. But I had noticed that in the past week, supposedly the last week of working with Yoongi, he started to mention that he wasn’t entirely happy with the finished product. 
“What do you mean something sounds off? Yoongi, it sounds great to me.” I questioned him, taking off the spare pair of headphones in the studio. Yoongi sat, leaned back in his chair, with his arms crossed. He shook his head in disapproval. 
“Track three is too short, we shouldn’t have scraped those few extra verses last month. Track five doesn’t have a good beat after I went back and listened to it again and track twelve isn’t strong enough to close the album. It’s just three songs but I’m going to need a few more weeks with you in order to finish this album.” Yoongi shrugged, clicking away on his computer, not even looking at me. 
“Yoongi, I’ve spent almost every free night I’ve had the past three months working on this album with you. Why didn’t you bring this up weeks ago? Why now, we’re almost done.” I said in frustration. Just last week, he had told me the album barely needed any changes, what could’ve possibly changed in a week?
“I understand this is taking up your time, but it’s your album, don’t you want it to be perfect? You’ve invested so much time into it already, how would another week hurt?” I bit  my lip and stared at the open folder of songs on the screen. Yoongi was right, another week wouldn’t hurt if it meant perfecting it. 
“Fine.”  I sighed, which made Yoongi produce a small smile. “But please, let’s try to finish this by next week. I’m sure you have other people that want to work with you too.” The small smile that was resting on his lips disappeared. 
“I’m not in a rush.” He murmured, turning around and back towards his computer. Part of me wondered if Yoongi was telling the truth about those three songs. A week ago he said he loved track five and now he claims it doesn’t have a good beat? I thought back to when I told Yoongi I couldn’t keep in contact with him after we finished working together. As much as I yearned to have him in my life, he said it himself, he doesn’t do relationships. If Yoongi truly wanted to be with me, he had three months to make it happen. I half regretted sleeping with him. My mind often wanders back to that night. I remember the way he touched me, the way he kissed me. But then I think about how he slept with me, never called, and told me he couldn’t be with me after the fact. For how great he made me feel, he also made me feel used. I just understand why he doesn’t want to end this working relationship. What would be his motive for delaying the album. If he wanted to spend more time with me, why? Does he have feelings for me? After everything he told me, I assumed he didn’t have the capacity to feel anything for me. I know deep down the album is fine, and admittedly I am a bit annoyed I have to come back here and sacrifice a good night's sleep to spend time with a man I want but can’t have. But deep down, I’m happy that I get to see him for one more week. 
The next morning I had journeyed back to the neighborhood bookstore. The same one I ran into Namjoon three months ago. And maybe it was luck, a coincidence, or because we simply lived in the same area, but I bumped into Namjoon in the checkout line. 
“Y/N?” Namjoon said, I turned around and craned my head up to look at him. Namjoon was one of the tallest people I knew. 
“Namjoon!” I gasped, pulling him into a hug. “How’ve you been?” I asked, moving over so the person behind us in the line could check out. 
“Good, good, just been working, what about you? How’s the album?” He excitedly questioned. I smiled, happy to know that he remembered. 
“It’s basically finished. Next week, we’re adding the finishing touches and then I’ll see what I can do to market it.” I nodded, praying he wouldn’t ask about Yoongi. 
“Has Yoongi been behaving?” Namjoon chuckled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I let out a fake laugh, debating on if I should cave and let Namjoon know about what happened last month. Maybe Yoongi already told him? I thought to myself. 
“Oh, uh, he’s been great. He’s respected the vision I had for the album since day one. Thank you again for recommending him. I don’t think this album would have ever come to fruition if you hadn’t introduced me to him.” I said genuinely. Namjoon gave me a pat on the shoulder. 
“My only payment is that I want to be one of the first people to hear it when it’s finished. You should have a listening party or something…” Namjoon proposed. Before I could respond, someone behind us cleared his throat. Both Namjoon and I turned and came face to face with a man a little shorter than Namjoon. He stared at me, giving me a warm smile as a greeting. 
“I’m sorry to interrupt but I couldn’t help but listen to your conversation. You’re coming out with an album, correct?” He asked, still staring at me. I nodded in agreement, waiting for him to continue. “If you’re not sure on how to promote the album, I might know of a way. I run a small festival down at the park annually. Local talent comes and performs on this stage we set up in the open field. We raise money for different charities and it’s becoming a great way for musicians to gain some exposure.” 
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. The mystery man seemed to pick up on the intrigue that must’ve been evident on my face since he let out a laugh. Namjoon nudged my side, whispering that I should do it. 
“Um, wow, that would actually be a great way to debut it.” I exclaimed, “What day is this festival?” I asked, taking out my phone so I could type down all of the information. 
“Next Friday. I guess I’ll take your interest as a yes?” He asked, also reaching for his phone. 
“100 percent!” I said excitedly. I smiled at Namjoon, he looked equally as surprised and excited as I was. 
“What’s your name again?” The man asked. 
“Y/N” I said, frantically typing, and he did the same, most likely adding my name to a list of performers. 
“Could I actually get your number? That way I can stay in contact with you and let you know what time you’ll be going on stage. We’ll also work out how many songs you want to perform off of the album.” He explained, handing me his phone so I could add my number. 
“Oh my god. I was so excited I forgot to ask you…What’s your name?” I questioned, realizing I still didn’t know who he was. 
“Hoseok.” He smiled, taking his phone out of my hands. He was actually pretty good looking. He had this really bright smile that always reached his eyes, his jawline was sharp and he had an athletic build. “I’ll reach out soon” He said reassuringly, waving at us and turning around to leave. 
“Wow Y/N, congratulations.” Namjoon said, wrapping an arm around me. “You should invite Yoongi. I know he doesn’t go out much but I’m sure he’d want to watch you on stage too.” Namjoon was right, and I actually couldn’t wait to tell Yoongi about the festival. 
A few days later, I was back in Yoongi’s studio. After we had fixed up track three, Yoongi had offered to order some food. I honestly didn’t want to leave, since I was having a lot of fun with him so I accepted the offer. As we sat and hovered over the as we ate, I thought it’d be a good time to mention the festival. “So, a few days ago, I ran into Namjoon at the bookstore.” Yoongi glanced up from his food, expressing interest in the story. “We were talking and he was asking me about the album. So, I was telling him about how we were almost done and this was probably the last week we’d be working on it.” Yoongi hummed in response before I continued. “Then this guy interrupted and he said he organizes this festival every year and he’d like me to perform some songs there. It’s held at the park.” I said excitedly. Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in surprise and he stood up from his seat. He pulled me up and into his embrace. 
“Y/N, that’s amazing, I’m so proud of you.” He said, but he came out muffled since his face was buried in my hair. We stayed in each other’s arms for a few seconds too long. It was nice, it felt secure, it felt…right. 
“Yoongi…” I paused, suddenly feeling nervous. “Would you be interested in coming to watch? I’d really like it if you could be there.” I asked, pulling away slightly so I could get a good glimpse of his face. He looked past me, his grip loosening up by each passing second. 
“What day is it?” He questioned, fully pulling away. 
“Friday.” I responded. 
“I don’t think I can make it.” He said coldly. I furrowed my brows together. 
“Why? Do you need to work, normally you don’t do anything on Friday.” I probed. 
“Well this Friday I need to work, I’m sorry.” Yoongi snapped, sitting back in his seat, a vast difference from two minutes ago. 
“Okay.” I whispered, looking down at my shoes before also taking a seat. 
Throughout the week I had been texting back and forth with Hoseok. First he had sent me some information about what time I’d be going on. Then I sent him the two songs I wanted to perform. He had liked them so much to the point he called me to talk about them. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard songs that good.” He had complimented. “You have an incredible voice.” 
By Thursday night, he had invited me over to his apartment to talk and go over everything. As we sat on the couch, I found myself feeling conflicted. Just a week ago, all I wanted was for Yoongi to tell me he took back everything he had said about not wanting a relationship. Yet here I was, sitting next to a guy who seemed to be genuinely sweet and interested in me. I found myself attracted to Hoseok, but every time I started to fall, I would see Yoongi in my mind and I would get a pang of something horrible in my chest. 
“I know you’re going to do great.” Hoseok reassured me, placing his hand over mine. I stared down at the sight, a smile forming at the corners of my lips. 
“Thank you again, for introducing yourself and letting me know about this whole thing.” I said. 
“Well, it was a great way to find an excuse to talk to you.” He chuckled. “At first I thought that guy you were with was your boyfriend but I realized he wasn’t after I started listening to your conversation. It was a happy realization." Hoseok explained, glancing at me. 
“So it wasn’t just about the music?” I teased. He shook his head, his eyes trailing down to my lips. I glanced down at my shoes, my face feeling hot all of a sudden. He lifted my chin with his finger, moving my face towards his own. His lips molded against my own as I leaned my weight towards him. He pulled me onto his lap as I started to straddle him. The kisses were soft, gentle but not fiery. It was like my kisses with Yoongi. Nothing like those. Hoseok was nice, but I found myself feeling guilty, almost as if I was leading him on. I tried to lean into the moment as I felt him place his hand on my butt, his other hand cupped my face. I tried to focus on the moment, tried to shut my mind off but I just couldn’t. I pulled away, stopping the kiss, stopping the moment as a whole. 
“I’m sorry Hoseok.” I said as I removed myself from his lap. He looked confused, but I placed a hand on his thigh. “I just think I should go home, you did nothing wrong but I should probably just focus on the festival tomorrow. But we’ll talk after, okay?” I pleaded, hoping he wasn’t angry. 
“Yeah, yeah sure.” He responded unconvincingly. I’m sure he was running through the whole interaction in his mind, trying to figure out what he did wrong. Little did he know, as long as I had feelings for Yoongi, no one stood a chance. 
The day of the performance, I had successfully avoided Hoseok for the most part. His friend was working the stage area, and I assumed he was out doing crowd control. I clutched the neck of my guitar, feeling jittery, as if I had drank ten cups of coffee. My heart was pounding as I peaked out of the curtains, noticing the group of my friends, including Namjoon, all looking excited to watch me perform. Tomorrow I was supposed to pick up the final copy of the album from Yoongi, we had finished the last of the album late Wednesday night. I was feeling emotional. It was a mixture of sadness for officially marking the end of my time around Yoongi, but also feeling proud of myself for finishing my own album. I had achieved a life goal so early on and now I was getting to celebrate it in front of hundreds of people. 
By the time I was introduced, I sat down and gave a quick introduction, waving towards my friends. I started strumming on my guitar, starting with the first track on the album. The second song was track six, one of my favorites. Halfway through the first song, something shocking happened. I noticed someone walking down the aisle, making their way into the group of my friends. There he was. Yoongi. He did come. He did care. He greeted Namjoon quickly, before turning to watch me. Yoongi noticed me staring at him, and he gave me an encouraging look, mouthing “You got this.” I nodded as I continued singing. On the other side of the audience was Hoseok, who never took his eyes off of me. 
By the end of my set, I had received a standing ovation. I thanked the crowd before walking off stage and back into the audience. 
I greeted my friends, hugged Namjoon and thanked everyone for coming. Yoongi walked up to me, hands in his pockets, “You did great.” He said. 
“I can’t believe you came. I thought you were busy?” I asked, frowning. He looked around before grabbing my arm and taking my back behind the stage, away from everyone. 
“I fucking did it again. I panicked and I pushed you away. Y/N I have to admit, this whole week, there was nothing that needed to be fixed. I just…I didn’t want to let you go. I know you said you didn’t want to keep in touch, but I couldn’t let that happen. I’m still crazy about you. I think about you all of the time.” I suddenly felt light, like a weight had been lifted from off of my shoulders as I listened to Yoongi’s words. 
“Yoongi, why didn’t you say anything sooner?” I questioned, suddenly feeling even worse about kissing Hoseok last night. 
“I needed to work through all of my shit first. I want to make this work with you. I don’t want you in my life as a client anymore, I want you in my life as my girlfriend.” He  was saying everything I had been waiting for the past three months, yet because of what happened last night, I couldn’t bring myself to fully give in. I needed to confess, to get a clean slate.
“Yoongi, I have to tell you something. I don’t know if this changes anything but last night I kissed someone else. But I turned him down because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I don’t know why I did it, I assumed you weren’t interested in me.” I explained, tears welling up in my eyes. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, afraid I’d raise my head and he’d be gone. But instead, I felt him lift my head up and wipe my tears away. 
“Why are you crying?” He asked, pulling me toward him. 
“Because…I feel horrible about it, I feel like I played with your feelings, I had no idea you felt this way.” I sniffled, resting my head against his chest unsure if this would be the definitive last time I’d be able to do it. 
“You shouldn’t feel guilty about it. We weren’t together, I kept pushing you away, you had no idea.” He whispered soothingly. 
“You aren’t mad?” I stammered, looking up at him. 
“No. I’m sorry I put you through all of this confusion.” He apologized. I squeezed him even tighter. “I’m just glad it’s over. I’m so happy I’m with you now.” 
~
{A/N: Part Three is here, which means this series is finished. I hope you enjoy it! Lmao not Hobi catching strays I'm so sorry lololol. Have a good day/night. I love you all so so much and mwahhhhhh💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋💋}
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slveepyscwrs · 17 hours ago
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Shadowvanilla headcanons except this time we're putting the DOOMED in doomed yaoi (angst edition bc i wanna cause PAIN 👹)
-"I HATE you. You AND your Soul Jam!"
-Little did the two know, this would be the point where their fates forever diverged.
-Above all, Shadow Milk felt betrayed... but this wasn't because of him not retrieving the Soul Jam.
-For a moment, he let himself believe that his other half had embraced deceit. But the real reason why this had made him feel over the moon?
-Shadow Milk truly thought that the only way he deserved to be close to another was through Deceit.
-After all, why would Truth ever want to associate with someone who's only ever known how to Lie?
-And the way Pure Vanilla acted after crushing what little sliver of hope remained in Shadow Milk? Even asking to be his friend?
-For a while, even the thought of it made him mutter curses under his breath... until he saw the former Truthless Recluses's robes laying on the ground.
-They still had his scent on it. They still had the same scuff marks from when they fought.
-Even after so much hatred, all he could think of was Pure Vanilla.
-But even more than that, there was the piercing regret.
-If he had toned down the antics just a bit, would Pure Vanilla have stayed?
-If he had hesitated for just one more instant before lashing out, would things have been different?
-Whatever the case, the truth was that it was now too late. Pure Vanilla had now moved on, wielding his newfound power with pride.
-And now Shadow Milk was left behind, forever doomed to remain as nothing more in his other half's memories than just another villain.
-But regardless, he was still the Cookie of Deceit! Denying the truth at all costs was in his very dough.
-He took the Truthless Recluse robes to the now empty bedroom that once belonged to Pure Vanilla, placing them on the bed.
-The room still faintly held his warmth, things strewn about as if he had never left.
-And Shadow Milk intended to keep it that way.
-If he pretended hard enough that Pure Vanilla was still there, then maybe, it would be as if that warm hand was reaching out to him one more time...
-He forbade Candy Apple and Black Sapphire from going anywhere near the bedroom, and if they did, he would take out unspeakable anger on them.
-The facade that Shadow Milk desperately clung onto could not last forever, though.
-Eventually, the warmth faded, and the robes that were once vividly Pure Vanilla's now lay as a mere lifeless cloth.
-And yet every night, when not even the ghosts roaming the Spire were around to hear him, he would whisper everything he never got a chance to say: details about his past, how happy having him around made him, and how he wished it could have lasted...
-Nonetheless, the burden of Pure Vanilla's absence soon became too much for Shadow Milk himself.
-His already dwindling sanity was slipping away faster and faster. He needed closure, although deep down he already knew it was impossible.
-And yet, his vain attempts and lies to himself continued as he ventured into Eternal Sugar Cookie's garden...
-Pure Vanilla liked berries, and the berries from the Garden of Delights were always the sweetest...
-As he donned his Lady in Azure disguise, he hoped this would be a quick in and out mission, but lo and behold, the Bringer of Happiness herself appeared before him.
-He knew about her obsession of having her own other half all to herself, and even though he was never the type to give benevolent advice, he couldn't help but see Pure Vanilla's reflectionin this very situation.
-After cautioning Eternal Sugar to not repeat the same love-crazed mistakes, he left the garden to send the berries away to the Pure Vanilla kingdom, with the hopeful lie that its ruler would accept them...
-Little did he know, all the chaos he had caused forced the Pure Vanilla kingdom to ramp up security, so as soon as guards detected the deceitful essence radiating from the Berry basket, they destroyed it and the longing it catried without another thought.
-Shadow Milk had no way of knowing this. The lies in his heart only grew, as he continued to wait day by day for a response that would never come.
-When that didn't work, he would constantly send Black Sapphire and Candy Apple to spy on Pure Vanilla... Surely, at least his other half would still be speaking his name, right?
-Yet, his two minions brought home the same news every time.
-Pure Vanilla was just as happy without him, in fact, he seemed to be even happier.
-On top of that, they hadn't heard him mention Shadow Milk out loud even once.
-The more they reminded him of this even more bitter truth, the more Shadow Milk strayed away from it, instead brutally accusing the two of lying.
-And still, each shout had his heart screaming internally:
"Please, this can't be the end... I don't want to be alone... I don't want a life without him..."
-The constant travelling just for nothing wore down the two minions, especially Black Sapphire.
-Pent up exhaustion and frustration laced with the constant fear of his master's sanity snapping for good kept boiling up inside him.
-One day, when he couldn't take it all this as well as seeing little Candy Apple in such a deplorable condition herself, he argued against his master for the first time.
-Practically at his knees with desperation, he screamed with the might of all his repressed pain and tears,
"He's gone, my master, he's gone and he's not going to come back to the Spire, so fucking stop this bullshit before we crumble too, and THEN you'll know what it's like to be truly alone!"
-Shadow Milk is silent now, shaking with anger at Black Sapphire's insolence as well as self-hatred for acting so pathetic this whole time.
-He curses and yells back at him even louder than usual, but this time, a small stream of tears rolls down his face too... something he swore not to let out eons ago.
-After seeing Black Sapphire shiver in fear and realising the gravity of what he had done, he runs away to the Garden of Delights again.
-This time, he was going to check whether Eternal Sugar's other half had run away, or whether the demon in disguise had actually heeded his advice.
-If there truly was no hope for him, at least he could live vicariously through her, right...?
-But yet again, his remaining lies and hopes were shattered upon seeing the Garden now in shambles.
-On top of that, seeing Eternal Sugar trapped in the same delusions of another half that was forever gone, knowing that he didn't do enough to prevent it...
-For a moment, he was the Fount of Knowledge again, watching helplessly as his attempts at bringing truth led all he loved to crumble away.
-And now, all he could do was stand with the same helplessness as back then and think to himself:
"I really am too broken, too deceitful to be deserving of love..."
"And if that's true, I guess Silly-Vanilly and I were never meant to be together in this life after all..."
(SORRY FOR MAKING THIS SO LONG, if you made it this far let me know if you want Part 2 with Pure Vanilla's point of view!!)
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floraliike · 18 hours ago
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K-pop Demon Hunters | Fanfic
Seven minutes to forever
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Abby x curvy/chubby reader.
Fluff, idolAU, mutual pinning | 5/5
Part 4 | (m.list)
Reader's POV
The awkward atmosphere had barely cleared before we were swept up in a whirlwind of cheers and triumphant shouts. Abby’s arm stayed firmly around my waist, a silent promise in the chaos.
The first few days of our "official" coupledom were a giddy blur of stolen glances, secret hand-holding under tables, and hushed whispers in dimly lit hallways. We were a secret garden in the middle of a bustling world tour.
Every shared meal with the Saja boys and their girlfriends became a masterclass in covert affection. Abby was surprisingly good at it, his bright, innocent demeanor making it easy to brush off any too-long gazes or lingering touches as just his "friendly idol" persona. But the way his thumb would gently stroke my hand beneath the table, or the quick, sweet kisses he'd steal when we were alone in a prop room, felt like the most profound declarations of love.
It was exciting, a rush of adrenaline through my veins. With the concert minutes away, the buzz outside was electric, but in there, pressed against a towering, mechatronic lion head, it was just us. Abby's hands tangled in my hair, his lips soft and demanding on mine, stealing what little air I had left.
He was supposed to be warming up his vocals, and I, checking the last-minute questions to translate. Instead, we were lost in the quiet urgency of a stolen moment, every touch a silent promise of everything we couldn't yet share with the world.
His lips moved from mine to my jaw, then trailed down my neck, sending shivers through me. My hands gripped the fabric of his stage jacket, pulling him impossibly closer. The thought of him out there, dazzling thousands, while I was back here, holding onto this secret, exhilarating connection, made my heart ache in the best way possible.
"Abby," I whispered, pulling back just enough to catch my breath, his eyes still closed as he chased my lips. "You have to go. They'll be looking for you."
He groaned, pressing his forehead against mine. "Just five more minutes, Y/N. Please. I need this." His voice was a low rumble, laced with a familiar desperation that twisted my insides. His breath was warm on my face.
"No, really," I giggled, trying to push him away gently, but his arms were like steel bands around my waist. "Someone's going to walk in and find the lead visual of Saja Boys making out in a closet. Think of the scandal!"
He finally opened his eyes, his gaze heavy with reluctance, but a playful glint flickered in their depths. "Let them look," he mumbled, stealing another quick, deep kiss. "They'd just be jealous."
The faint murmur of a stage manager's voice drifted through the thin walls, calling his name. Reality crashed back in.
"Go!" I laughed, finally managing a playful shove against his chest. "Before Jinu sends a search party."
He grinned, a flash of his bright, idol-perfect smile. He leaned in for one last, lingering peck, his lips soft and quick. "Wish me luck," he whispered, his eyes promising more later.
"Good luck babe," I breathed, watching him reluctantly pull away. He cast one last longing look over his shoulder before slipping out of the prop room, blending back into the organized chaos of backstage.
My biggest fear, however, was a constant hum beneath the surface of my happiness: getting caught. If fans found out, if the company found out, my career as an interpreter would be over. Worse, he could face backlash, scandals, and I'd be the reason. Every time a staff member glanced our way, my stomach would clench. "What if... what if someone sees?" I'd whisper to him, my voice tight with anxiety.
Abby, though understanding, would just squeeze my hand. "Don't worry, Y/N. We'll be careful. Nothing is going to ruin this." His easy confidence was both reassuring and terrifying. He didn't seem to grasp the full weight of the consequences.
We found solace in late-night dates in deserted hotel lounges, shared room service on the floor of his suite, or quiet strolls through city parks after everyone else was asleep. These were moments where we could truly be ourselves, laughing, talking, and simply being close. His hand, so large and strong, often found its way to rest on my hip or caress the curve of my waist, a constant, comforting reminder of his presence. His body, so sculpted and firm from years of training, felt like the perfect counterpoint to my own soft, rounded curves. It was a physical language of belonging.
Abby's POV
Keeping us a secret was harder than I thought. Every fiber of my being wanted to shout to the world that Y/N was mine, that her smile made my day, that her gentle presence made everything okay. But I knew her fears were real. The fans, the company – it was a minefield. I'd try to be discreet, but sometimes, when she laughed, or when I just looked at her, I felt like my heart was glowing so bright it could be seen from space.
My own secret, though, felt far heavier. The demon part of me. It was the last, colossal hurdle. I knew she loved me, truly loved me, not just the idol.
Over the past few months, our relationship had solidified, and the secret growth heavier. The sneaking around, the excuses, the subtle touches. But one day, when we were summoned to the Manager's office, it felt like a death knell.
We walked side-by-side down the sterile hallway, our hands brushing occasionally, a fleeting, almost desperate reassurance. My jaw was tight, her usual bright demeanor replaced by a grim set to her lips. My stomach churned with a nauseous mix of dread and resignation.
This was it.
The secret was out. Our stolen moments, our hushed whispers, the illicit kisses in quiet corners – all for nothing. We were going to be told to stop.
The manager, Mr. Han, was a man of few words and perpetual sternness. He sat behind his large, uncluttered desk, hands folded, his gaze unwavering as we entered and sat in the two chairs opposite him.
"Abby. Y/N." His voice was flat, betraying no emotion. "Thank you for coming."
The silence that followed stretched, heavy and suffocating. I risked a glance at Y/N. My knuckles were white, hands rested on my knees. I could feel the tension radiating off Y/N.
"I won't beat around the bush," Mr. Han began, picking up a pen and twirling it slowly between his fingers. "I've noticed... a change in your interactions, particularly in recent weeks. And I've observed certain... coincidences."
My breath hitched. Next to me, Y/N subtly shifted in her seat, a barely perceptible tremor running through her. My mind raced, trying to recall every glance, every shared laugh, every time we might have slipped up.
"You're dating, aren't you?" Mr. Han's voice was still calm, but the directness of the question hit us like a physical blow.
She flinched, and I felt my cheeks flame. We exchanged a terrified look. There was no denying it now. He'd seen.
"Yes, Mr. Han" She said, voice surprisingly steady, though strained. I reached for her hand under the table, lacing our fingers together in a firm, defiant grip. My thumb instinctively rubbed over her knuckles.
Mr. Han stopped twirling his pen. He placed it carefully on the desk. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over our linked hands, then back to our faces. We braced ourselves for the lecture, the demands, the inevitable order to cease contact.
Then, he simply sighed. A long, weary sigh.
"Look," he said, his voice softening just a fraction, "I'm not blind. I've been in this industry a long time. These things happen." He paused, and for a moment, I thought I saw a hint of something almost... understanding? in his eyes. "You two are both adults. Your personal lives are your own."
Y/N and I stared at him, dumbfounded. The expected reprimand, the company policy lecture, the "for the good of the group" speech – none of it came.
"As long as it doesn't interfere with your work," Mr. Han continued, his tone regaining some of its usual professional edge, "as long as it doesn't cause scandals that affect the group's reputation, and most importantly, as long as you remain professional during work hours and fulfill all your duties, I don't care." He picked up his pen again. "Your private lives are yours. But the moment it impacts the Saja Boys, or Y/N's role as interpreter, that's when it becomes my business. Understood?"
"Understood!" I blurted out, a wave of palpable relief washing over Y/N's face. She squeezed my hand, a dizzying smile starting to form.
"Perfectly understood, sir," she added, her voice a little shaky with shock and a sudden, overwhelming sense of liberation.
Mr. Han nodded, already turning his attention to some documents on his desk. "Good. Now, Abby, we need to discuss the upcoming photoshoot schedule. Y/N, I'll need you to finalize the translations for the Japan concert script by tomorrow morning." He had already moved on, as if this groundbreaking conversation was just another item on his to-do list.
We rose, still reeling, our hands still clasped under the table. As we walked out, a dazed, incredulous smile spread across my face. I leaned down, whispering in her ear, "Did that just happen?"
She giggled, squeezing my hand back. "I think it did." The world suddenly felt a whole lot lighter.
Once the company found out about us, and to our immense surprise and relief, they had been cautiously accepting, seeing the positive impact we had on each other. The fans, too, slowly started piecing it together from subtle clues, and surprisingly, a large portion were incredibly supportive, cheering on our happiness.
It was a massive weight lifted.
But the demon thing… that was different.
They could accept an idol having a girlfriend. Could they accept a demon having one? Could she? Every night, as I watched her sleep, her soft features peaceful, I imagined telling her. Imagined her beautiful eyes widening, filling with fear, disgust, running away. It was a terror that kept me awake. This felt like the final step to being truly committed, truly us. I couldn't hide it forever.
One night, after a particularly intimate date in a private rooftop garden, the city lights twinkling around us like fallen stars, I knew it was time. She was curled into my side, her head on my chest, my arm wrapped protectively around her.
"Y/N," I began, my voice hoarse, "there's something I need to tell you. Something important."
She stirred, looking up at me, her big eyes reflecting the city glow. "What is it, Abby? You look serious."
I took a deep breath. "You know we're... Saja boys, the idols, the "worldwide sensation" but... We… we have a nature. A true form." My heart was pounding. This was it.
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn't pull away. "A true form? What do you mean?"
I gently pulled away from her, just enough to look into her eyes, pleading for understanding. "Y/N, I'm… I'm a demon. We all are. It's who I am."
I concentrated, letting my glamor fall. The subtle shift was instantaneous. My skin deepened to a rich, luminous purple, intricate patterns like glowing circuitry emerged along my arms and neck, and my bright, warm eyes flared, becoming a brilliant, piercing yellow. My frame seemed to grow subtly, my muscles shifting, becoming sharper, more defined, a stark contrast to her soft, delicate curves. A low hum, like power, resonated from my very being.
Her eyes widened, truly wide this time. She gasped, a soft, shaky sound. My stomach plummeted.
This was it. The fear. The rejection.
But then, she slowly, tentatively, reached out her small hand, her fingers trembling slightly as they traced a glowing pattern on my arm. Her touch, so gentle, sent shivers through my altered skin. She looked up at me, her big eyes filled not with fear, but with a mixture of awe and... wonder.
"Abby," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You're… beautiful."
Tears pricked at my eyes. Beautiful?
She wasn't running. She wasn't screaming. She was accepting me, all of me. I let my glamor soften, though the purple hue remained, my eyes still glowing. I leaned down, pulling her close, burying my face in her hair.
"You're not scared?" I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.
She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her soft hands cupping my face, her delicate fingers brushing against my newly textured skin. "How could I be scared of you? You're still you, Abby. My Abby." Her big eyes shone with unshed tears, and a loving smile spread across her face. "You're amazing."
We spent the rest of the night talking, her questions gentle and curious, my answers honest and open. The last barrier between us had fallen, replaced by an even deeper connection. I held her close, her smaller body fitting perfectly against mine. Her curves modeling to my body perfectly, made for each other.
The city lights blurred outside the window, but all I could see was her. "I'm so incredibly happy, Y/N. I was so scared. You accepted me. All of me." I kissed the top of her head, inhaling her sweet scent. "I love you. More than anything."
Reader's POV
Nestled against his strong, purple-hued body, feeling the low hum of his true form against my ear, I finally felt completely at peace. The world outside, the fans, the jobs, even the concept of demons and demon hunters—it all faded into background noise. All that mattered was this man, this incredible, kind, beautiful demon, holding me.
"I love you too, Abby," I whispered, tracing the unique pattern on his arm with my finger. "More than you could ever know. I'm so content, so happy, right here with you." His body, a mesmerizing blend of strength and tenderness, felt like home.
a/n: thank you for reading!!
Tags:
@tiger-lilee-5 @turkey-tom-mybbgalpha
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selencgraphy · 2 days ago
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— 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐅 𝐈 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐑 (𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓)
PAIRING: bucky barnes x gn!reader
TAGS: thunderbolts* spoilers, void-induced memories/shame rooms, angst, self-deprecation, stucky unrequited coded, mention of h0moph0bia, established relationship (written as queerplatonic but you can interpret is as you wish)
A/N: this is just one of the ideas i had running around my head for what bucky saw in the void. sorry for the lack of fics. i've been severely busy but it's summer break now so i should (in theory) write and post more :) happy reading<3 
WORD COUNT: 1689
masterlist || request box <3
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The plan was sound. John had some—barely any if that—experience with Bob’s powers and with what they did, so what they had come up with should hypothetically work. But that wasn’t what he was worried about. If it was all John had described it to be like, what would he see in there? He’d spent so many years healing from all that HYDRA had done to him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still haunt his sleep some nights. But nightmares he could escape. What was stopping him from getting stuck? 
Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. He blinked and looked down to where he felt the sensation. It was your hand. “I got you,” you mouth when he looks back up at you, your gaze filled with just as much love as the squeezes you had given to his hand. Then you gently dropped his hand and turned back to the rest of them. “Let’s do this.”
What would the Void show him? Which person in the long line of people he’s killed would he have to relive? Or would it be his and Steve’s fight with Tony? If not one, surely the other. In a snap, the sight before him was no longer a disaster-filled New York street. Instead, it was a dark road, the only thing occupying the space besides him a crashed car. “Sergeant Barnes?”
The brokenness of the man’s voice cut into his chest. Howard and Maria Stark. Every person whose life had been taken by Hydra via his hands weighed on his soul, but them? He knew Howard. They had become close friends after Steve had rescued him. Bucky was the one who encouraged the man to ask Maria out on a date—it was one of the last things he did before his last mission as a Howling Commando. Not only had Hydra used him to kill people he used to call friends, this was the moment that ended up tearing up the Avengers permanently. A voice echoed through the air. Had this not have happened, maybe Earth would’ve stood a chance when Thanos came. It’s your fault.
At the sound of Maria’s neck snapping, the scene reset. Wait. This wasn’t real. Quickly, Bucky ran into the woods and crashed through a wall. A wall? The scene before him now was one he didn’t recognize immediately. It was a bank vault lined with soldiers, his past self sitting hunched over in the rig they used to brainwash him. When was this? 
The sight of himself was jarring. The angry scars that lined the place where HYDRA had haphazardly joined the metal arm with his body. The thinness of his figure. The emptiness in his gaze. It’s bizarre how unrecognizable his own image was to himself. All the time he’d spent with Sam—with you looking to the future and healing, he’d forgotten how much Hydra had managed to break him. 
The crackle of his past self’s voice broke him out of his haze. It was quiet and dry from the years of silence he’d been forced into. “The man on the bridge… I know him.” 
Oh. He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember Steve. Or well, he couldn’t do it quick enough. Repeating Sam and Steve’s words of reassurance like a mantra, he tried to get ahead of the wave of doubt that was rising from the depths of his heart that he thought he’d managed to calm for good. But The Void did what it did best: overtake.
He remembered you.
How could you have forgotten him?
The sounds of his own muffled screaming made him flinch, shutting his eyes at the reminder of his past. Oh, right. This was his past. He was no longer the Winter Soldier. He took a deep breath to calm himself, it coming out shakier than he had thought it would—than he wanted it to. Suddenly, his surroundings shifted. As he breathed, the air felt lighter. Was he outside?
Opening his eyes, he was met with the woods behind the Avengers Compound—what was left of it anyway after Thanos blew it to shit. He didn’t have to turn around to realize where he was now. “Don’t do anything stupid ’til I get back.”
That dumb back-and-forth. Steve wasn’t coming back, and they both knew it. Maybe if he’d have said something—anything—Steve would have stayed. But how could he tell his best friend he loved him when he obviously didn’t feel the same. If he did, he would have stayed, right? Just as his thoughts got heavier and heavier, a hand slipped into his. Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.
You were here. When did you get here? How did you get here? “Hi,” you whispered as he met your gaze. “We found Yelena and Bob.”
Right. That’s why he was here—why you were here. New York was in danger. Steve was in the past. He nodded and followed you out the way you came.
Despite Valentina’s plans to try and get you all primed to be an official team, everyone insisted on getting their bearings after being pulled into her haphazard solution to being pushed into a corner. To make matters worse, Val had given you and Bucky Steve’s old floor to share. Whether she knew what she was doing or not, just the fact that it used to be his… If it was overwhelming for you, you couldn’t even fathom how much it was hurting Bucky. It wasn’t hard to catch that Bucky retreated into himself after the Void. Definitely less than he had used to but the signs were there. The semi-absent look in his eyes. The increased fidgeting with the grooves along his metal arm. The slight distance. Anyone else would have chalked it up to Bucky just being Bucky, but you knew better.
He was sitting at the edge of the helipad when you found him, having given him space for the most part as he’d been on the phone with Sam practically the whole day. You’d caught snippets of their conversation which had thankfully toned down from the previous days’ frustration filled shouting. The situation wasn’t ideal. You knew Sam was in the process of rebuilding the Avengers, and the newly—unintentionally—formed “New Avengers” definitely didn’t make things much better. You knew Bucky felt the same kind of tension you felt—he air between him and Sam was oddly reminiscent of what tore Steve and Tony apart all those years ago. The clear-cut division between each man. You knew the two wouldn’t let it get that far—their bond much stronger—but it was clear Sam being mad at him was bringing back feelings he thought he’d left behind, if it had even gone away in the first place. The room you had found him in in the Void was Steve leaving after all. 
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” you asked, carefully taking a seat next to him and leaning your head against his shoulder. He didn’t answer you immediately, instead leaning his head down against yours and taking a deep breath as he continued to stare out onto the city.
“No matter what I do, it always feels like I’m doing something wrong.” You hummed in response, sitting up and turning to face him and gently taking his hand in yours. His metal hand was now fiddling with the pocket on his pants, his eyes downturned and laser focused on the pattern he started to follow on the seams. “Steve made it look so easy.”
There it is. “He wasn’t perfect either, you know,” you offer, rubbing your thumb across the back of his hand. “He did so much good for the world—for you. But he wasn’t perfect. No one is.”
“I just,” he starts, biting his tongue when his voice cracks. You squeeze his hand slightly as he pauses to find the words. I’m here. Take your time. “You remember when you found me in the Void?”
You nod. “It was the day he left.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he struggled to find the words. “I want to be honest with you—you deserve that much. I thought I was over it. That I’d made peace with it, but reliving that day… I guess a part of me never stopped wondering, would he have stayed if I asked him to?”
“Bucky-” He cuts you off before you get the chance to continue.
“Let me say this. Please.” You nod, and he squeezes your hand just as you’ve always done for him. “I loved him. More than a friend should have. And I pushed it down. Back then, it was basically a death sentence, and I know it’s more widely accepted now, but I just… Figuring out that part of me at the same time as remembering who I was at all… I needed time—I thought I had time with him. Ever since I was a kid, even if the future looked bleak, he was always a part of it. But it turned out he had other plans. He was the anchor to who I used to be, and when he left, it was like he took that piece of me with him. Even then, I think a part of me will always love him.”  Gently, he guided the hand he held up to his chest, clasping it in both of his own now. “But being here with you and Sam, I learned that dwelling on the past only makes it worse. You’ve made living here and now worth everything, and I won’t waste this chance at something good like I did with him. Even if things are a bit messy right now with this whole ‘New Avengers’ thing and Sam being kind of mad at me, I wouldn’t trade it for anything else. Steve helped me find who I was, but you helped me find who I am.”
He leans forward to rest his forehead against yours before placing his lips on yours. It’s hard and soft at the same time, filled with a kind of confidence that sends a shudder through your bones. It felt right—like coming home. That’s what you were to each other after all. Home.
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archrafayel · 2 days ago
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ೕ ׄ HOW I MANIFESTED MY SP WITH THE LAW OF ASSUMPTION WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING IT ྀ . ݁ ˖
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MANIFESTING AN SP ISN'T HARD!!!
"oh but i-"
𔓕��۪ㅤ۫ SHUT UP! I already manifested one back when I followed the >LAW OF ATTRACTION< and if I could do it following that limiting bullshit, YOU CAN TOO DAMN IT! no offense to law of attraction practitioners but... already offending lol only people who've actually practiced law of attraction know it's full of rules that just limit you. today I'm sharing another success story from years ago to motivate y'all and show that IT'S NOT HARD, you're the one complicating it!
𔓕ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ this happened years ago when I was a pre-teen who had just discovered subliminals (they were called biokinesis back then, remember? we're old lmao) and manifestation in general. naturally I found law of attraction and since I was lonely AF, i saw people saying they manifested friends/boyfriends exactly how they wanted, so I wanted to manifest a friend and live out a friends-to-lovers story with him (why not? let me be a fanfic girl in peace)
𔓕ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ I made a script with all the characteristics I wanted in a friend (who would later become my boyfriend lol), found a pic on pinterest of a cute guy with glasses I wanted my SP to look like, and even wrote about what his family would be like. then came the big moment: manifesting him. since I followed LOA, I thought I HAD to use specific subliminals to attract a friend or do manifestation techniques. and I did this FOR MONTHS. AND WHEN I SAY MONTHS, I MEAN MONTHS.
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𔓕ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ I listened to subliminals, did every technique I could find and SAW NO RESULTS WHATSOEVER. this made me extremely anxious and frustrated because I thought I was doing something wrong or there was something wrong with me, like I couldn't manifest. I felt sad, angry, even jealous because while I was suffering, doing technique after technique (333x3 method, asking the universe like it was some magical entity, ALL THE MANIFESTATION METHODS YOU CAN THINK OF? I'VE DONE THEM)... I saw other people sharing their success stories and I was like 🧍"WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME????" plus, anyone familiar with law of attraction knows they believe you can only manifest with "hIgH vIbRaTiOnS" aka only if you're happy/positive all the time... I tried but ended up being a victim of toxic positivity and that fucks with anyone's head because everything can be shit but you try not to freak out because you might "lose your manifestation"
𔓕ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ I got so bad from failing to manifest my SP for months after so many attempts/efforts that one night, I wrote in my wishbook that I had my SP and wrote how we'd meet (I was Catholic then and there was mass the next day, so I wrote we'd meet at church and he'd sit near me). I told myself this was the last time I'd try and if it didn't work, I'd give up forever because I was exhausted. Went to sleep and when I woke up the next day, the day felt... different. I was seeing repeated numbers like 1111 and SO many butterflies (seriously, where I lived never had THAT many butterflies and some even followed our car to church) and back then this was considered a huge sign that something was manifesting.
𔓕ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ when we got to church, everything was normal but deep down I hoped it would happen and... it didn't happen. JK! I was looking at the door and suddenly a butterfly flew by and after it left, WHO APPEARED? MY SP!!! HE WAS EXACTLY LIKE I PUT IN THE SCRIPT and sat near me, just like I wrote. I was shook, even my little sister who knew I was manifesting an SP was shook because it was my first time manifesting something I considered "big" that's when we discovered manifestation is real. Do you know why, after months of countless failed attempts, I finally managed to manifest my SP? Simply because I assumed. That's it. At that moment I didn't care about anything else, I simply decided whether it was mine or not! Since we were in the middle of mass, I wasn't gonna get up and be like "hi, I manifested you 🙈 wanna be friends?" so I stayed put, totally shocked, but since I was a regular at that church, I knew I'd see him again!!
BUT NO.
𔓕ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ I ended up moving and left the church (plot twist: I'm a witch now 🥳) and RARELY go there, only with family, and he's still there because I manifested that. he has a girlfriend now and they're a beautiful couple. someone's probably reading this wondering if it bothers me (seeing "the guy who was supposed to be mine" with someone else after all that effort) and the answer is: NO! first because I changed, matured, and lost interest in him long ago, plus I wouldn't date a Christian being a witch for obvious reasons lol. but the main reason I don't care is because I know if I want to, I can manifest another SP with a snap of my fingers - or better yet, I don't even need to do that, I just need to assume and I know I wouldn't have all that difficulty I had before because now I follow the law of assumption and I DON'T NEED TO DO anything if I don't want to, just assuming is enough ✨
𔓕ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ anyway, i hope this has motivated you and that you have learned from my mistakes lol! I'd never even heard of the law of assumption at the time and I followed one that preached the complete opposite - while one says you just need to assume, the other says you need this or that - and, even without knowing it, I did it! and you? you're different, you KNOW about the law of assumption and you're not applying it why? stop putting an SP on a pedestal, YOU are the one on the fucking pedestal. THEY are the ones who are going to chase you, not the other way around.
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wren--bee · 1 day ago
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RESPECT it’s about RESPECT it’s about being secure that she won’t find a year after she married someone that she’s in the position of either of her parents she wants MUTUAL RESPECT! That is a word that comes up so so often in a lot of contexts but this context, imo, is so so important- because of something that runs throughout the book and even Mr Bennet puts into words-
“My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life.”
Emphasis by the author.
Elizabeth is so strongly affected by her parents’ relationship, it’s far more important than a surface level read alone would show- especially as she runs the risk of being very much like her father in an “unequal” marriage.
The first blush of love rarely- if ever- lasts. What comes next has to be built upon time together, a connection, upon actively working to build it up. And I think Jane Austen knew enough to know that. We see all sorts of couples in her works, but we consistently see that marrying for love- or “love” (infatuation, early crush that doesn’t have time to develop etc)- without building on respect is not enough. Including with Mr and Mrs Bennet! So Elizabeth has seen that herself! Her issue with Charlotte marrying Mr Collins isn’t that she doesn’t love him- “She had always felt that Charlotte's opinion of matrimony was not exactly like her own, but she had not supposed it to be possible that, when called into action, she would have sacrificed every better feeling to worldly advantage.” Through the narration she considers it humiliating, that Charlotte cannot possibly be happy with him. It’s not about a lack of romantic love.
And honestly I think it’s more romantic- not less- that Elizabeth wasn’t especially looking to fall in love, that she wanted to have a good companionship, and got absolutely slapped in the face by deep romantic love that she was entirely unprepared for.
encountered another person in the wild who was like "in the book, Elizabeth said she will only marry for the deepest love"
No she didn't. No she didn't.
NO SHE DIDN'T
Show me where she said that, please. Show me where she said anything about that. The first time Elizabeth says the word love, she's talking about poetry with Darcy. She loves a laugh. She believes Miss Bingley knows her brother is in love with Jane.
I know that both 1995 and 2005 Elizabeth talk about it. But book Elizabeth and Jane do not have that conversation. I cannot find where they discuss their hopes for marriage, or where Elizabeth has any quotes about it.
We know what she feels based on her responses to other people's unions, how Mr Bennet talks about she would feel in an unequal marriage, how things play out. When Charlotte says "I am not romantic", we can take it as an implied contrast to Elizabeth, sure.
but stop pretending like you're quoting the book when you're quoting the adaptations
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mermaidslabyrinth · 5 months ago
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My OC Rhagerys Targaryen with the two people who he would do anything and everything for.
His younger half sisters, Baela and Rhaena. They mean the world to him. They are his weakness but also his strength to keep going. He is their big brother and has been taught to protect them at all costs.
The way I see the three are as the sun, moon, and stars. Rhaena is the Sun. Along with her dragon Morning. Baela is the Moon. Along with her dragon Moondancer. Rhagerys is the Stars. Along with his dragon Starsong. Each are present in one another's lives but in such different ways that people forget that they're connected to one another. That in some way they always will be.
This gorgeous artwork was done by the wonderfully talented @lonelymagpies. They did such marvelous job. The hair, the clothing, the jewels, their looks.
Also a special thank you to @dr-aegon. They reblogged a post mentioning that lonelymagpies was doing commissions. So, thanks to them, I was able to have this artwork created.
#The love and respect for one another these three have is so strong it makes me vibrate with happiness#The way @loneymagpies captured how they are around each other just makes me so happy#First there's Rhagerys and Baela#There is this air of confidence mixed with love. Like they both know what they are capable of when around one another#Rhagerys and Baela poke at each other. Each always wanting the last word#At the same time they are able to have deep conversations and just be there for each other#Then there's Rhagerys and Rhaena#The way she looks like she is leaning into him. That she feels 100% safe with him#Rhagerys will always make sure Rhaena feels safe/protected#He'll also make sure that she's happy. Even at the cost of his own happiness#I will say that growing up Rhagerys thought that he would marry either sister#And when that didn't happen it left a bitterness in him that he carried the rest of his life#Let's just say it's one of the reasons he hates Jace and really dislikes Luke. They took what he felt was rightfully his birthright#They're his sisters and he will always feel he should have been first choice. (Also the Targaryen arrogance/way is quite embedded in him)#Especially Rhaena. Bc he really thought he was going to at least marry her. He loves her and dedicated so much of his softer side to her#Bc he truly thought they would marry. Live at Strongsong. And have as many children as Rhaena wanted. Like Rhagerys had it all planned out#But sadly when ambition comes into play...what is a Prince turned Lord of some random House compared to the Lord of Driftmark and the Tides#My HotD OMC#Baela Targaryen#Baela the Brave#House of the Dragon Baela Targaryen#House of the Dragon Baela#HotD Baela#HotD Baela Targaryen#Rhaena Targaryen#Rhaena of Pentos#House of the Dragon Rhaena#House of the Dragon Rhaena Targaryen#HotD Rhaena#HotD Rhaena Targaryen
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mensahbots · 1 day ago
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one last gif for the pin-lee iconic moments collection
they didn't get to do very much on the show, sadly. there were some good moments. i thought the actor was very good and i loved some additions/changes, but it's a shame so much of their screentime was squandered with ratthi seemingly never-endingly pushing their boundaries and their tv wife being bizarrely uncaring and unattuned to them. is that fun for mainstream audiences to see?
i have a friend who is watching the show without having read the books and told me they dislike pin-lee, and i was bummed but at least could reassure them that the character feels very different in the books. this is fully on the tv script, too. i think the actor 100% could have portrayed something close to how i interpreted book pin-lee's personality and interpersonal stuff in such a fun way, and i'm sad we didn't get to see that. i wanted to see them more abrasive, perpetually taut, crude/cursing all the time and making vulgar jokes, so stressed they're throwing things in private, competent and knowledgable about so much, devastated by bharadwaj's mauling, comforting bharadwaj, flirting with her, having an "old comfortable" dynamic with her whatever adorable thing that means.. whatever... i usually don't get anything i want.
so all the stuff with mensah was a delight to see and so perfectly executed and also totally surprised me, since the mensah crush being a deep yearning is something i've headcanoned since my first exit strategy read, but i assumed the show would just cut the crush entirely or only passingly hint at it via pin-lee's admiration of mensah. i thought the dynamic with mensah was incredibly well written and acted, even though it was different from what i expected. it worked really well for me, and there were so many genuinely beautiful moments there. i also thought pin-lee's dynamic with gurathin was fun and well executed, again different from what i imagined, but definitely some of my favorite pin-lee acting moments/emotions in the show.
the emotional beats with the character were very good, especially the emotional extremes. but seeing their boundaries get crossed and that being played lightly/for laughs and never get even marginally resolved/addressed was disturbing and makes a lot of the show unwatchable for me. i am not at all rooting for tv ratthi's happiness, and every scene with him and pin-lee i need to skip because seeing that is legitimately triggering to me (#just csa/rape survivor things). i also get no joy from seeing them interact with arada, which is too bad because i think if their relationship had evolved just a little more i would have been more invested in the pairing and felt more positively towards tv arada (who i do think has some interesting depth, i just find her largely unsympathetic (shoutout to that little moment in episode 4 that i'm obsessed with, though)).
finally, i think it sucks that pin-lee basically didn't interact with bharadwaj at all. no, i'm not biased (i am a little, obviously). listen i do ship them, but when i write their book stuff, i'm obviously inventing so much. so the tv show could have painted their dynamic literally any way and i would have found it plausible, and it likely would have looked nothing like my fanfics. i write bharadwaj stone! you think apple tv even knows that non-butch stone tops exist? okay i'm getting derailed. anyway, what i'm trying to say is that their tv personalities would have been fun to see work off of each other, even if the show painted the dynamic as strictly professional and/or platonic and/or onesided pining.
we hardly see their interactions written out in the book, so the live action medium could have shown some really fun rapport between them and expanded it in all kinds of ways. it could have looked like pretty much anything, and i feel like we really missed out, since i think it would have been fun, possibly even cute, and the show needed more of that kind of energy/vibe imo. the glimpses that we did get of their dynamic honestly made my chest ache— they're so respectful and kind and caring with each other compared to most dynamics on the show. i could see them being a thing.. a situationshippy flirty mutually emotionally gratifying thing perhaps... but not enough to write tv universe bharadwaj/pin-lee.. maybe one day when i'm less emo about how the writers undermined the mensah-murderbot dynamic.
anyway.... tldr, i would say pin-lee is the easily best character in the show after mensah and deserved better from the narrative or at least more screentime. there were more than a couple pin-lee moments i was hoping to see which were cut but would have worked really well in this medium. if the show gets to es and ft, i hope pin-lee gets to shine like the book character did instead of being overshadowed by .. let's say sociopolitically and economically motivated changes about who takes up time and space in the narrative.
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calamitoustide · 1 year ago
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my chest hurts and im obsessing over this video of little me my parents showed me earlier today and how my mom said that my laugh used to be so contagious it was impossible for anyone to not laugh too when they heard it and then i turned thirteen and it just stopped but she misses it. i think i miss it too.
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atlxolotl · 4 months ago
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Transcript and links to Reddit under the Read more:
I miss my husband so goddamn much
February 27th, 2025
I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And God, I miss him. I asked for a divorce for a few reasons, most of which being that his depression got exponentially worse day after day and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn't even go into work and ended up getting fired from his job. I stayed with him for so fucking long, praying that one day he would start trying to get better. It was all I ever wanted, but that day didn't come. I sobbed the entire time signing those papers, and when I handed them to him and asked for a divorce, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look and signed them without a word. My heart felt like it had been shattered with a hammer, anger and sadness and fear tied together in the world's tightest, ugliest knot and inset deep into my chest.
I put on a brave face for my friends, tried to frame it as shackles coming off and a new beginning, but it was a lie. It just hurt, and it keeps hurting, and it will never stop hurting. He was my soulmate. I'll never love anyone like I loved him. He used to be so sweet and loving, so passionate and happy and every other wonderful thing a man could want from another.
They say each day gets easier, but it isn't for me. It's been three years and I'm still reaching over to the other side of the bed in the morning to pull him close, and it always stings when my hands touch fabric and not his skin. It's been three years and I'm still expecting to see his car in the driveway when I get home from work. It's been three years and my heart isn't any less broken than the day he left.
I've been stalking his socials, I'll admit. He's been getting back to the gym, started meds, and I see him smiling so genuinely in these photos. He looks so incredible. Maybe if I had just waited, he would have changed his mind and went to a doctor like he is now? Or was it me that held him down? Was I making it worse?
I hope not. I wanna go over to his place and just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back. Maybe he's wishing the same thing about me. If there's even a chance I could have my boy back I feel like I should try. I'll never know otherwise.
EDIT: One: I am a homosexual man. My husband is a homosexual man. I am not a woman. Yes, I know I'm effeminate and kind of emotional. Get creative.
Two: my husband was a binge drinker. He refused treatment no matter how much I begged. We got antidepressants but he wouldn't take them. I know he's started meds now because he's posted about them and his 2 yrs sober chip that he got last month.
Three: I never stopped loving him. I never loved him any less. Near the end of our marriage, I started drinking to cope. The second I realized I was, I realized he was dragging me down with him, and I couldn't help him anymore. I didn't dip the second it got hard. Many of you are being kind of rude. I'll accept that I wasn't the perfect husband, nobody is. But claims that I never loved him are just wrong and make me feel sick to my stomach.
EDIT 2: No, I am not the catalyst for this. His depression started when his young brother died terribly and unexpectedly. It's not because he just hated me so much. We were childhood sweethearts and had been together for years when this happened.
[UPDATE] I met my husband that I divorced 3 years ago
March 2nd, 2025
Well, with Reddit's advice, I did it. A few days ago, I called my (35M) ex-husband (36M) whom I divorced after 6 years when he refused to seek treatment for his depression.
I called him later in the evening. It was the first time we'd spoken since a bit of trouble he'd had while he was still drinking 2 1/2 years ago. He picked up on the second ring. Our conversation was a little stilted at first, as to be expected, but he said he was really glad to hear from me. We ended up meeting up for coffee yesterday as so many of you suggested. I'll admit: it was kind of hard to see him, but in a good way? He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him, but he looked exactly like the man I married. He had put off a ton of weight (he gained like 75ish pounds during his struggle with depression, and before some dick says so, I didn't leave him because of his weight gain), he looked way healthier and very put together. I'll just say it: he looked incredibly hot. What made it hard was that I couldn't kiss him hello like I used to. But God, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, I barely needed to.
We got our coffee and sat, and he updated me a little on his life in the last 3 years.
What really turned his life around was in part the divorce but moreso a DUI (nobody was hurt, he was caught a few blocks from his apartment). He's since gone to rehab and AA, gotten his license back, and had to use a breathalyzer whenever he started his car for a while. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since and I told him I was so fucking proud of him. He's also started antidepressants, and made a point of telling me that they're not SSRIs, but when I asked what that meant he got embarrassed and told me nevermind (???). Bottom line is that they've been helping him, he's back to being a gym rat, and he's almost completely turned his life around. This was around the point I started tearing up. It just felt so good knowing he was okay. Better than okay, he was *good*.
I also apologized to him for not sticking by him. He cut me off and said I had nothing to apologize for. He was a wreck, and I was being dragged down with him. That also felt good to hear. I apologized for not contacting him much during the last 3 years. That apology, he accepted.
He was dating someone for a few months, too. He broke up with him once he tried to get him to drink on New Year's. He seemed dismissive of the guy. Guess it wasn't too serious.
We got up and went on a walk after a few hours, and I think we both realized it felt like a first date. I had to stop myself from trying to hold his hand at a few points, I'll admit. We ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, and I confessed.
I told him I missed him more than anything, how I never stopped loving him, and how if he wanted to, I'd love to try again from the beginning this time. We'd go to couples' therapy, keep our heads above the water, and take it slow. He was quiet for a minute before he told me something. He said he was doing better now, but there may be a time where he sunk low again. Depression isn't easily cured, and he was far from cured. He still had bad days, but he said there would be one difference: he promised he would never stop trying to improve. He was never going to give up like he did before, and refused to neglect me like he used to. If I was willing to accept that truth, he was willing to try again. I agreed, and he pulled me into an embrace and snuck a kiss to my temple. You know when it's the first warm day of spring after a cold, harsh winter, and the soft breeze and basking sun hit your skin at the same time? It felt something like that, to the 1000th degree. After a while he walked me back to my car and squeezed my hand goodbye, and the second I got inside I started sobbing like a baby. Happy tears, though.
I'm currently sitting in bed, kicking my feet like a teenage girl, texting him back and forth to schedule an actual date. He said he'd plan everything, and try his best to make up for the birthdays and anniversaries he missed. He said it would "knock my socks off." What a dork. I love being in love. Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a bit hard to explain to my friends and family. Not looking forward to those conversations, but right now I don't care. My man loves me.
Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say, and all the people that messaged me with sympathy and advice. I hope we all find happiness, and love if we want it. I never would have made the leap if y'all hadn't encouraged me. Best of luck to all of you, and sorry for the overly flowery language <3
EDIT: we've scheduled a date for tomorrow evening. I'll let people know how it went two days from now in my final (unless something big happens) update.
EDIT 2: at his place presently. Shame me not, reddit.
[FINAL UPDATE] I went on a date with my ex-husband last night
March 5th, 2025
My (35M) ex-husband (36M) and I recently reconnected. I won't go over the details of why we split or our reconciliation since I'm sure the average redditor can click buttons and most likely read. He was the one taking me out, and promised that it would, in his words, "knock my socks off" to make up for his neglect of me. He sure as hell delivered.
A little backstory, we've been together since we were 15 and 16 respectively, and have never moved out of our hometown. This year would have been our 20th anniversary (of getting together, not marriage). We were dating secretly for about five years before our parents caught us one day during summer break. The fallout from finding out their son was gay actually made his parents split. His dad wanted to send him away to conversion therapy. He's seen his father maybe once per year on average, and every time he's incredibly cold towards me. Would never refer to me as his son-in-law, only my husband's "pal." I wonder why. Anyway, not what you're here to read. I'll get on with the lore.
He picked me up from the house and wouldn't tell me where we were going, but told me to dress warmly. He ended up taking me to the place where we met: a run down ice skating rink in our town. He used to do hockey, and I spent some time trying to learn figure skating until people started beating me up for it. Both sports would practice at the same time and I remember barely being able to keep my eyes off him. We went skating, I tried to pull off a few of the moves I remembered (he only had to catch me from falling on my ass once or twice, and I won't complain about an attractive man that I love hooking his arm around my waist), and we spent an hour or so there until our feet hurt. At one point I said that my face was getting cold, so he skated around in front of me and placed his gloved hands on my cheeks to warm me up. I just about burned a hole in the ice from how hard I was blushing, I swear to God.
He wasn't done then. We left and went to dinner, specifically the restaurant where we had our first date. It's a cheap hole-in-the-wall place, seeing as we were poor teenagers when we first met. We chatted and ate food that probably took 5 years off our lives, he was an incorrigible flirt, and even held my hand underneath the table like he did all those years ago. I know I said I never stopped loving him, and I stand by that, but I think I somehow fell in love with him a thousand times over again during that meal.
At the end of dinner, he asked if I had energy for one more simple thing, to which I agreed. He took me a while out of town to a dark sky zone park, specifically the one where he proposed to me ten years ago. He set out a blanket to sit on and another to cuddle under, and we went stargazing all bundled up together. You never know how much you miss the sound of someone's heartbeat until you haven't heard it for so long. We shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne flutes and dumb, giggly kisses. It felt so similar yet so different. He told me in a moment of quiet that he loved me, and oh, God. It took everything I had not to cry. I barely hesitated before asking if he wanted to change venues. He seemed surprised, but eagerly accepted.
I ended up at his place, as some of you may have seen from my edit on my second post yesterday. I wanted to take it slower than this, but it was so hard to. I was so starved of affection and hadn't been intimate with anyone for just about six years. I'm gonna keep what happened at his between us, but all I'll say is that his medication was no issue and all of you should be jealous. I woke up in his bed this morning, reached over for him, and pulled him close just like I used to do. I haven't been this happy in a long time. We had a sleepy discussion and decided to get back together, but we're not using the term boyfriends. It just feels weird after all this time. So he's my partner, or my lover. He's mine.
Thank you, reddit. Wouldn't have done it without a little push from the internet. Let's see where all this goes.
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navybrat817 · 2 months ago
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Sharp Dressed Man
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Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Summary: Bucky looks good in a suit, and it isn't fair how easily he turns you on.
Word Count: Over 2k
Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), referenced oral sex (f. receiving), feels, sweet and spicy fic, established relationship, vulnerability, being in love, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: More Tower Shenanigans based on an anon ask. ❤️ Thank you to the lovely @buckybarnesfic, @soelstress, @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for looking it over and assuring me it wasn't garbage. Written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
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Bucky was still getting ready for the day while you made him breakfast. It was the most important meal of the day, and neither of you would let the other skip it. Thankfully the rest of the team had already eaten and were elsewhere, otherwise everyone would try to steal something; except for Bob because he wouldn't take food without asking. Not to mention the last time John tried to steal one of Yelena’s meals he almost lost a finger. 
The scent of freshly brewed coffee cut through the last traces of sleep, warming you up as you loaded the plates with various foods and set them on the island. You rinsed the dishes and cleaned the counters while you waited for Bucky, doing a silly little dance in-between tasks. It wasn't your day to tidy up the kitchen, but you weren't going to be a jerk and leave it a mess. 
“Someone’s happy this morning,” Ava said from behind you, and you somehow didn't jump at the sound. You were all getting used to her phasing in and out of the rooms. “Let me guess. Morning sex?”
Was it obvious since you were only in your robe and underwear? “Maybe,” you teased. 
The wonderful ache between your legs was a nice reminder of how Bucky woke you earlier, making you shiver. You felt his fingers and tongue working you over before you opened your eyes, and you barely recovered from your first orgasm before he had his cock in you. It wasn't rushed either. He took his time, making you feel every delicious inch as he thrust slow and deep. Even when you came again he didn't stop. 
“‘Attagirl,” he smiled against your lips while you trembled beneath him, his body effectively caging you in. “But you can give me one more. I know you can.”
“Bucky,” you whined, wanting nothing more than for him to fill you to the brim. 
“Just one more, sweetheart.” A hand moved between your bodies so he could play you like a well tuned instrument. “One more and I’ll give it to you.”
You did, and so did he, your name tumbling from his lips as he spilled into you. Who wouldn't give Bucky another orgasm if he gently demanded it? Three orgasms wasn't a bad way to start the day. A girl could do much worse. 
“Lucky,” she smirked, snapping you out of your thoughts when she snatched a bite of food from Bucky’s plate. “Mmm. Remind me to have you make me breakfast the next time you have morning sex.”
“Hey!” you yelled, but there was laughter in your eyes when she took another bite and phased away. “You’ll pay for that!”
“Who will pay for what?” Bucky asked when he walked into the room, making your breath catch in your throat. 
Bucky's hair was tucked behind his ears today, bringing your attention to his steel eyes before you took in the rest of him. His suit was tailored impeccably to his large frame, and he wore it well. He carried himself with composed ease, his steps deliberate and head held high. His presence demanded attention without appearing arrogant, which was tough to balance. He was all man. 
He was your man. 
“Fuck me,” you breathed. 
Bucky may not be a Congressman anymore, but he would have had your vote for anything and everything he ever wanted. 
His eyes flashed with unmistakable lust and pride as he walked toward you, making your stomach flip. “Already did.”
“You did, and you can do that again later,” you said, reaching up to trace his mouth. 
You smiled when he kissed your fingers. It was an honor to touch him and that wasn't at all an exaggeration. You noticed how tense he got when some got too close to him, but not you. Never you. 
“So, I look handsome?” he asked casually, adjusting his tie. “Not that I’m trying to look handsome. I’m only wearing this since I have a meeting, and I might get a few dirty looks if I show up in tactical gear.”
You almost teased that he was fishing for a compliment, but you saw just a flicker of his confidence waver as he waited for your answer. “Suit or tactical gear, you’re the most handsome man I've ever seen.”
He breathed out, his confidence back in full force. “I’m glad to hear that.” Sliding a hand over the curve of your hip, his fingers dug in, a protective and possessive touch, when he brought his mouth to your ear. “And I may have to wear suits around you more often since it turns you on so much.”
You tried to play coy, as if your nipples hadn’t peaked and your clit didn't throb. “Who said I'm turned on?” 
Bucky chuckled and lowered his head, his teeth nipping your neck and drawing a whimper from you. His lips moved up to find your ear again while you tried to keep your breathing steady. “Don't have to say it, sweetheart. I can smell you,” he whispered. You couldn't hide anything with those heightened senses of his, a blessing or a curse depending on how you looked at it. “Ruined your panties the second I walked in here.”
Your eyes closed. He was right, the smug bastard. Damn him. Damn him to Hell. No, not there. That was too cruel. Your bed would do nicely. 
It was insane the more you thought about it. The man could breathe and it would send your libido into overdrive. Feminism? Where did it go? One murder strut or grumpy stare and it went out the window along with your panties. One smile and it melted your insides. 
What had he done to you?
“You're unbelievable,” you sighed. 
He pulled back, searching your face. “What do you mean?” 
“I was a strong and capable woman before I came here,” you said, the words sounding ridiculous as soon as they left your mouth. 
“And you still are,” he assured you. Bucky was one of your biggest supporters, always. 
“It’s just… Do you have any idea what that’s like? To just look at someone and get turned on?” You stepped out of reach and gestured to him. You asked yourself some days how Bucky Barnes could possibly be real. How did someone like him exist? “You breathe and I get aroused. That isn't normal.”
No other man had that kind of power over you, body or heart, until him. 
The warm chuckle from your boyfriend had you fighting not to smile. “One, we’re not normal. Two, your breathing turns me on, too. And three, I do know it’s like to just look at someone and get aroused because that happens when I look at you,” he said, taking your hand to bring you back to him. He placed it against his crotch and grew harder under your touch. “We’re a match made in heaven, Hell, whatever you want to call it.”
Blood rushed to your cheeks. You two were a good match. “It isn't just arousal when I look at you. It’s…” You took a breath and gripped his jacket with your other hand, trying to be careful not to wrinkle it. “You smile at me and…” 
“And what?” he asked, catching your eye and softly smiling. 
You swallowed, your eyes suddenly misting over before you dropped your hands. It was alarming how quickly your emotions took over in regard to Bucky. “I see a future with you there.”
Bucky cupped your cheeks when you tried to duck your head. He had stripped you bare more than once, but saying something like that made you feel more vulnerable than when you were naked. “Oh, sweetheart.”
“You have the power to break me,” you whispered, your eyes shutting. Not to hide, but to keep the tears at bay. “Which should be terrifying, but it’s very exhilarating.”
To give that much of yourself to another, to trust them to that extent, wasn't easy. But if life taught you anything, it was that it was too short and you had to seize every opportunity to live it to the fullest. Who better to do that with than Bucky Barnes?
You cleared your throat when he didn't say anything, his eyes a storm of emotions when you opened yours. “Your breakfast is getting cold. You should-”
He surged forward, his lips covering yours. The pad of his thumbs brushed your cheeks when he deepened the kiss, coaxing you to open your mouth to his. Emotions surged through you, your heart nearly overflowing as you held onto each other. You felt everything all at once and let yourself be swept away. 
He slowly broke the kiss allowing you both to savor the lingering touch of each other's lips and take a much needed breath. “You could break me, too, but you won't,” he said, his forehead resting against yours as you attempted to calm your racing heart. “Just like I'd never break you.”
It was a vow that resonated in your core, a declaration of love, one that had you kissing him again and silently promising the same. “Match made in heaven or Hell, huh?”
“And where you go, I’ll follow,” he smiled. 
You'd follow him, too. “Well, right now you need to eat breakfast and head out so you aren't late for your meeting.”
He groaned and refrained from rolling his eyes. “This suit is coming off as soon as I get back,” he said, much to your disappointment. Or maybe your delight. 
“Right when you get back?” You bit your lip. “Will you use the tie on me?” 
“I can,” he smirked, making your body heat up all over again. “Can have a little fun in the office, too. Pretend I’m your boss and-”
“Or I could be your boss since I'm strong and capable,” you teased. 
He moaned, seemingly into that idea as he backed you against the island. “Boss or not, I’ll still bend you over the desk or have you sit on it while I eat your pretty pussy.”
You whined. There was no stopping Bucky when he was hungry. He’d spread your legs and stay between them until you cried, lap up every drop and still want more. 
His hands roamed your body, forgetting all about breakfast. “Fuck you raw and fill you up just the way you-”
Bob cleared his throat, both of you turning toward the sound. How long had the poor guy been standing there? “Just getting a drink,” he said, quickly going to the fridge and avoiding looking at you. “I’m not even here.”
“Sorry, Bob,” you smiled sheepishly when he grabbed his drink and bolted. “We should probably rent a hotel room or something soon and give the team a break.”
You and Bucky could be extremely private some days and others there was no stopping you. How the team put up with it you had no idea. Maybe because you made each other happy. It still had to be slightly obnoxious for them. 
Bucky scratched the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his handsome face, too. “Or we could always do a campout on the roof so we aren't too far away,” he suggested. 
You smiled as you imagined it. Looking out over the city and watching the stars before cuddling up in a tent. A cabin getaway was also something to keep in mind for the future when you two could take a break together. Peaceful, quiet. Something just for the two of you. 
“A roof campout sounds nice,” you said. 
“Good,” Bucky smirked before he picked you up and set you on the island. “Campout later. Right now I want breakfast.”
“Bucky, your meeting.” 
“I won't be late.”
You didn't resist when he opened your legs. “Ava said no more fooling around in the kitchen since we eat here,” you reminded him. Alexei would probably encourage it. “And I just cleaned up, and you haven't eaten the food I made.”
“I’ll clean up the mess,” he winked as he crouched down. “And I’ll eat after I eat.”
And he did. 
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We deserve this. Bucky deserves this. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
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sv3t1ana · 3 months ago
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SYNOPSIS ᯓ Gojo doesn't usually fuck his clients. This was supposed to be a normal massage. But with hands like that and a cock to match... "professional" was never on the table.
PAIRING ᯓ Masseur!Gojo x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS ᯓ smut MDNI, happy ending massage!, oral (f receiving), size kink?, PIV, spanking, biting/marking, dirty talk, possessiveness if you squint!
WORD COUNT ᯓ 5.3k
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You’d driven past the place at least a hundred times.
It’s a stupidly sleek little building tucked perfectly between a Pilates studio and one of those overpriced juice bars. Like the kind with an obnoxiously chic and overly sensual neon sign that says TOUCH. White letters on smoked glass, all minimalist and judgy and expensive.
Every time you passed it you’d scoff.
“They probably charge three hundred fucking dollars just to rub your back and judge your pores.”
You’d even spat out an insult once like the building itself would crumble under the weight of your words, hitting the gas on your way home from work. Said it with the kind of righteous confidence that only comes from truly believing you’d never be that kind of girl. The kind who just… lets someone touch them like that. Oil-slicked and half-naked, moaning on some fake leather table while a stranger pretends it’s “therapeutic.”
Weird, isn’t it?
Definitely not for you.
And yet, here you are.
Saturday morning. Pillow hair, soul cracked like a boiled egg, lying in bed with your phone half on your face as you text your best friend in a fugue state,
you ever feel like your spine is just floating? help
You expected a “same.”
get a massage. i’m serious.
You snort. Riiight, a massage, huh?
You stare at the screen, eyes locked to the message like if you stared long enough it’d dial itself.
No amount of sarcasm or dignity can fix the way your shoulders feel like cement. Or the way you haven’t slept properly in weeks. Or the way your boss sent a “quick favor” email at precisely 11:48 PM last night, which you answered because your spine is already jelly and your will to live has already been transferred to a spreadsheet.
So… yeah.
Maybe you are that girl.
The bell attached to the door jingled as you step into the spa, and this is where you immediately felt out of place. The air smelled like eucalyptus and tears of the rich. The lighting was soft, flutey music passing through one ear and out the other, the woman at reception desk with the kind of smooth and poreless skin someone had when they bathed in rosewater.
You step up, feigning confidence like you hadn’t just Googled “what happens at a massage” just an hour ago.
“Hi, uh… I’d like to get a massage?”
She looked up from her computer with a smile too serene to be trusted. “Of course, what kind were you thinking? We offer Swedish, Thai, deep tissue, shiatsu, hot stone, aromatherapy-”
You nod slowly, brain buffering like YouTube trying to stream Paul vs. Tyson. Swedish? Do you get buttered up and rolled around like an IKEA meatball? You can’t ask that. You’d already committed the biggest crime by pretending you belonged here.
“Deep tissue,” you said, like you knew what the hell that meant.
She gave you a polite nod, tapping away on her keyboard. “Great choice. One of our more intense options. How long would you like the session? Sixty or ninety minutes?”
“Um… sixty’s good,” which is actually code for: I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m more scared of farting if you press too hard on my spine.
“Perfect,” she chirped. “The massage therapist will discuss pricing with you. You can take a seat, they’ll call you back shortly.”
You stepped aside, sitting on the impossibly soft couch in a sack of second-guessing. Of course there was a candle named something you can’t pronounce. And of course there’s a small framed sign on the coffee table reading: Relaxation is a journey, not a destination.
Just as you begin contemplating how to fake an emergency bolt, an intrusive thought crossing your mind to stand up and scream that you had a fucking bomb, a calm voice called your name.
You stood up, maybe way too quickly, meeting the eyes of a woman smiling at you with a clipboard in hand.
Thank god. A woman. The anxiety deflated from your shoulders. You didn’t really consider the possibility of a male masseuse until now, but the idea of some beefcake oiled up and kneading your thigh was not something you emotionally prepared for.
“This way,” she gestured for you to follow her down a hallway lined with softly glowing wall sconces and the sound of babbling water. You’d never felt so simultaneously underdressed and overscheduled.
She opened a door and motioned you inside. “You can undress to your comfort level and lie down under the towel, face down. I’ll let your massage therapist know you’re ready.”
“Towel?” you echo, glancing around. On the table sat a singular, small, pathetic white towel. It looked like something you’d pat a cat dry with, and you didn’t know if you expected a beach towel or a blanket.
Still, you nodded like a champ.
There you stood, alone after she exited and shut the door behind her. Unsure of how much was too much as you undressed. Were you supposed to keep your underwear on? Take it off? Would that be weird? Shit, what was the social etiquette here? It felt wrong to Google it, like the masseuse would walk in on you hunched over your phone naked like a caveman discovering the world wide web for the first time.
Eventually, you compromised by only keeping your underwear on and sliding under the towel, if you can even call it that. It barely covered your ass, and if you breathed wrong a cheek was gonna peek.
You lie face down, pressing your face into the weird little donut hole in the massage table. Every attempt at relaxation was a fail, your body as stiff as a mannequin.
The door creaked open, a voice drifted through the air all too low and smooth, way too sexy for this situation.
“Good evening,” he said.
Wait.
Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait.
You lift your head just a fraction, seeing a tall man stepping into the dimly lit room. White uniform shirt rolled to the elbows. Forearms like Greek sculpture. Messy white hair. A face so hot you swore you could hear angels filing HR complaints. His eyes were icy, meeting yours and curved with a smile.
“I’ll be your masseur tonight,” he said. “Name’s Satoru. Just let me know if anything feels uncomfortable.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool,” you say, voice cracking.
He chuckled softly, washing his hands in the corner, the sound of running water far too sensual. You press your face back into the donut, trying not to internally implode.
You asked for this, your brain whispered.
You chose deep tissue, whatever that meant.
You hear the flick of a small bottle opening. Something shifts behind you, the scent of cedarwood and vanilla blooming through the room like a secret. A soft, wet sound followed, and then-
Drip.
Oil hit the small of your back first. Warm, silky. You twitched without meaning to.
“Sorry,” his voice came playful and low, like he wasn’t sorry at all. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, only letting out a small squeak of laughter.
Then came his hands.
Large, warm, firm. Gentle as they pressed into your shoulders, thumbs digging slow, practiced circles into the knots near your spine. You can’t help the exhale escaping your lips, something between a sigh and a sound you’d only make in bed.
“This your first massage?” he asks, and damn him. Even his voice sounded like a smirk.
You coughed. “That obvious?”
“Just a bit,” he teased, hands now kneading into the ridge between your neck and shoulder. “You’re stiff. Tense.”
You laugh nervously. “It’s just work stuff. Desk job.”
“Hm,” he hummed like he already knew. Like he could read it in your body the moment his hands touched you. “I’ll start at your shoulders and work my way down. We’ll see if we can get you loosened up.”
You made another strangled sound of agreement in response, biting your lip.
Every stroke of his palm dragged warm oil over your skin, spreading heat along your back, down your spine. The pads of his thumbs pressed into the muscles beside your shoulder blades, firm but slow. It wasn’t just good, but shamefully so. Soothing, deep. Every time his thumbs pressed in, you felt your breath catch in your throat.
Focus, you told yourself. This is a professional, he does this all the time. And you’re not special, just some towel-clad client on a table meant for meat tenderizing.
But gods, his hands.
They were confident, skilled, moving in ways like they had the heaven’s permission to touch you. Maybe they did, each stroke leaving your skin burning in its wake. Your hips shifted slightly. Not on purpose. Well, maybe it was on purpose. You hated yourself for it.
He hadn’t said anything for a while, the room quiet aside from the ambient spa music and your stupid heartbeat echoing in your ears, your heart trying to crawl its way out from your ribcage. You focused on the feeling, the press of his digits into your shoulder. On the long drag of his hands gliding down, down, oil-slick and hot against your spine.
Shit, your brain was melting.
You felt his hands move again, slower now, gliding at your middle back. You couldn’t help but wonder if the towel slipped, didn’t dare look. You just stayed still, very still, praying for dignity while also very much wishing he’d go lower. His thumbs pushed into the small of your back, just on either side of your spine, and you exhaled, loudly.
You immediately regretted it. But he didn’t say anything. Just chuckled softly, barely a sound, and pressed deeper.
Gojo had given thousands of massages before. Hell, he’d worked on celebrities, models, athletes, all kinds of bodies sculpted and polished and worshiped. But this one? You? You weren’t some glammed-up goddess or an over-confident regular. You were shy, uncertain, nervous in the sweetest way, biting your lip like it’d save your soul.
And when he asked what was hurting, where it ached, you’d mentioned work like it explained everything.
He knew exactly what you needed.
His thumbs dragged slow over the curve of your back. You shifted slightly under him, just the tiniest movement, but not from pain. From heat. From something much, much lower. Gojo felt it, the tremor running through your muscles like a secret. The towel was still clinging to your hips, just barely, and he let his hands dip lower, enough to brush the top curve of your ass to see if you’d flinch.
And you didn’t.
Fuck.
He was breaking rules. His own rules. He didn’t do this. Never had. Not once. Not even with the flirty clients or the ones that offered more.
But then again, none of them were you.
Your skin was warm beneath his palms, your breath hitched in a rhythm that wasn’t just relaxation. He could hear it, feel it. And when his fingers barely slipped under the hem of that towel, just to knead the tight muscle at the base of your spine, he felt you tense.
Not with fear, but want.
He pressed deeper, just enough to test. And he almost groaned aloud when your hips lifted. As if it was an accident. But he knew better.
He loved the way you were sensitive for him, dragging his thumbs along the edge of the towel, fingertips brushing your perceptive skin that made his cock twitch.
He was throbbing against the zipper of his pants. He needed to stop.
But he wasn’t going to stop.
“First session’s free, by the way,” he murmured, just above your ear, his salacious tone a blessing to your ears. “House special.”
You made another soft sound and Gojo had to bite his cheek just to stop a deep groan threatening its way out from his lungs.
You thought you were in the clear when his hands left your back. For a moment, you considered breathing again. But then-
“Gonna move to your legs now,” he said, voice smooth and casual. “Starting from your feet.”
You couldn’t find it in you to protest. Your feet. The one part of your body that rejected human contact like a toddler would broccoli.
You tensed as he lifted your foot gentle, resting your ankle against a bolster. You took this opportunity to look. And he looked way too comfortable, crouched near your calves, rolling his sleeves up even more, his forearms, fuck, the veins, and warming more oil in his hands.
The first touch was light, gliding his fingers over your heel, your arch-
You flinched.
“Oh?” he laughed, glancing up. “Ticklish?”
You wanted to crawl inside the nearest candle holder and die.
“Maybe a little,” you mumbled, voice muffled.
“Noted,” he chuckled. “I’ll be gentle.”
And if Gojo Satoru wasn’t a liar before, he was now.
Because his thumbs rolled firm circles into your arches, sliding up the curve of your foot, down each toe like he fucking knew. You twitched again when he hit that spot near the ball of your foot.
He didn’t even pretend not to notice.
“Aw, you’re trying not to laugh.” His voice was warm. “Cute.”
You exhaled like a balloon deflating, face hot. “You’re evil.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, slowly dragging his palm up your sole to your ankle. “That’s one way to thank me.”
He didn’t linger much longer there, probably for your dignity which was already on life support, before he moved up, kneading your calf in strong, slow strokes. His hands wrapped around the muscle with confident pressure, and oh, it felt good.
All thoughts of embarrassment evaporating the moment his thumbs began sliding up your calf, massaging deep into the tissue. His touch slowed as he moved higher, now smoothing hot oil into the back of your knee.
Then he moved to your other leg. Same path. Foot, ankle, calf. All familiar but different. Like he was trying to memorize you. And this time his hands went slower, savoring the goosebumps prickling your skin as his hands moved higher, thumbs digging deeper. And when he reached the back of your thigh, right where the towel barely covered, you felt it.
The hesitation. The pause. The line of professionalism being toed.
And then crossed.
His hands never stopped moving, but his thumbs dragged slower, brushing up the back of your thigh and letting his touch linger along the soft skin there. His touch was light, too light to be considered a deep tissue massage.
“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice low.
You could only nod.
“Good,” he murmured. “You’re very responsive.”
Was this normal massage talk?
No, it couldn’t be. But you didn’t dare respond, didn’t want to stop him, even as your breath hitched and thighs threatened to instinctively press together.
Gojo’s hands stayed high on your thighs. One thumb circled the outside of your thigh.
“You’ve got tension here too,” he remarked, and this time, it wasn’t professional at all.
Your hips jolted.
“Sensitive?” he asked, almost a whisper.
You wanted to say something, maybe yes, maybe God, please don’t stop, but all that came out was a hum, shaky as his fingers gripped your thigh tighter.
“Don’t worry,” his voice silk-soft and soaked in pure heat. “I’ll take care of it.”
You didn’t even know he shifted until his voice came too close to your ear, just a low murmur.
“I’m gonna remove the towel now. That okay?”
You’re too far gone, just nodding.
“Need you to say it for me,” his voice is gentle.
“Yes,” you swallow, voice barely above a whisper.
He grips the towel, slow as sin, dragging it off your spine and letting it peel off you like he’s unwrapping something expensive. His fingers graze, not enough to claim but just enough to tease. You’re face-down, so you don’t see it. But he’s squinting, biting back a groan, cock already stirring and probably dripping.
He oils up again, slick and warm, spreading his palms across your ass with expert precision.
“Just breathe. This’ll help with tension in your glutes.”
Glutes, he says it like a medical term. You almost believe he’s just being good at his job, except his hands are kneading deeper, practically stroking the plushy fat of your ass.
His hips subtly press against the table, trying to relieve the throb without making a sound. His jaw is slack, eyes hooded, and he’s already sweating. He’s circling your ass with the heel of his palm, eyed glued to were your thighs part ever-so-slightly, revealing the slightest sliver of wet lace. His mouth waters.
His thumbs brush the hem of your panties, it’s innocent at first. But then he does it again, lingering.
You can almost feel the air shift.
Something about the way he touches you makes your skin buzz. He hasn’t said anything… too off yet, but the drag of his fingers along your thighs, the brush against the edge of your panties, you’re beginning to think it’s not exactly on the menu at most spas.
“Gonna take these off too. Helps me reach deeper tissue,” his finger hooks just teasingly into the hem at your hips.
You know it’s a lie. It has to be. But you nod.
And again, he waits.
“Say it, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you exhale, heartbeat in your ears.
Then he hooks only his thumbs into your panties, slow, like it’s a favor. You lift your hips slightly so he can pull them down, and he takes his time. His thumbs caress you as he drags them down to your knees, ankles, then off completely.
And now you’re bare. Naked. Exposed under his hands and eyes, no doubt dripping from tension and need alone.
The only sound in the room is the soft roll of incense smoke, faint music, and the slick shhhhhkkk of oil between his palms to start again, skin to skin.
He shifts, thumbs dipping lower and palms kneading the tops of your thighs. It’s almost too much, you want to move, clench your legs shut, but you don’t. You stay soft, pliant, open.
And he watches. Every flutter of your muscles. Every twitch. The faintest glisten where your thighs part.
This was no longer routine.
So wet already. You poor thing probably didn’t even mean to be.
He watches your hips shift when he gets close, the way your toes twitch as his thumbs drag sinfully along your inner thighs. It’s like you’re desperate and embarrassed all at once. And yet, you obeyed him. And he loved every second of it.
You’re so pure, so sweet, so filthy for him. Not a single complaint. No hesitation.
Glutes soft and flushed from the heat of his palms. Inner thighs slicked with oil. Breathing shallow and shaky. And his favorite part, your slit tucked between trembling legs, glistening with more than just oil.
He shifts again, subtly dragging his cock against the edge of the massage table. Hard, throbbing, and unforgiving.
“You’re responding really well,” he murmurs, the heel of his palms pushing into your inner thighs enough to part you only so he can see more.
And you’re going insane.
His hands on your thighs, voice in your ear. Every pass of his palms leaving your nerves sparking, and it’s taking everything in you not to freely moan when his knuckles drag just too close.
When your legs twitch again, of course he notices. “Don’t worry. You’re doing great. Just let me take care of you.”
But then his sinful thumbs sweep higher. Still outside, not touching where you need him most. But close. So, so close. And you can’t help the gasp escaping you.
And that’s when he finally brushes his fingers along your folds, light, feather-soft, as if he’s checking something.
Your whole body jerks. His voice lowers a few octaves.
“You’re soaked.”
A beat of silence.
“Want me to keep going?”
Again, you nod.
“Words, sweetheart.
You swallow, face burning and contorting where it’s nestled in the headrest. “Yes… please.”
“Good girl,” his chuckle is low and so smug.
You’re so responsive for him, every time his fingers tease your slick little slit, your thighs tremble like they’re fighting not to squeeze shut.
You don’t even realize the slightest rock of your hips, silently begging for more like you’re chasing his fingers.
He palms your ass again, spreading you open as he traces a single digit up and down. Folds puffy and hot, dripping onto the table, clit twitching like it knows what’s coming.
“You said this was your first massage, right?” he says, dragging a single finger deeper between your folds. “But you’re begging for attention.”
Then his thumb gently presses against your clit, unmoving but giving you the pressure you oh so desperately needed.
“Think you might’ve been made for this.”
You can’t breathe, can’t think. All you know is his hands. The way they press into you, spreading your arousal and oil around as if it’s a divine ritual. The way his thumb circles your clit painstakingly slow, so patient.
You mewl, too far gone to be ashamed.
“Want the full package?” his question come velvet-smooth.
You blink, dazed. “…The what?”
His thumb pressed in just a little harder, your body tensing. “Y’know, the extra. Let me take care of everything.”
“Y-yeah…” your voice is barely audible, but it’s all he needs.
He smiles, the thick curl of anticipation mixing with the burning incense in the air, winding your spine as he murmurs your new nickname again:
“Good girl.”
It’s like this was always going to happen. Like he’s done this a hundred times before and you were just next in line, all dripping wet and none the wiser.
Then he’s palming you again, hands oiled with a fresh squirt as both hands slide over your skin. It’d be professional if it wasn’t for the way his thumbs spread you once again.
It’d be professional didn’t brush directly over your soaked folds, a low growl he lets out, low and restrained when he sees your cunt pulse for him.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging two fingers through your slick.
Then he dips two fingers inside you, slow and filthy as he immediately curls them right into that soft spot between your ridges that has you gasping into the table padding.
“God, you’re tight. Gonna have to open you up first, yeah?”
It’s as if it’s still part of the massage.
He fucks you slow with his fingers, his free hand moving to move ‘round and ‘round against your clit with his thumb. And fuck, he’s too skilled. Every filthy, wet stroke of his fingers has you whimpering, any semblance of professionalism lost by the sound of your whispers.
“So responsive,” he mutters almost to himself. “You’ll do anything I ask, won’t you?”
Then-
Smack.
Your body jolts, a sharp sting across your ass, the crack echoing through the room.
“Mm,” he hums, smoothing the reddened spot of his handprint like he’s checking the quality of his own work. “Pretty thing makes such pretty sounds.”
Another smack. You gasp.
“Flip over for me.”
His tone is easy, casual like he’s asking you to flip a page in a magazine. Your legs move before you, body fully glistening with oil and anticipation.
His face looks almost desperate. Sweat at his temples, white lashes fluttering over hooded eyes at burn. His lips are parted, flushed, bitten like he's been holding back from devouring you whole.
He's no longer the calm masseur from before, but a man on the edge of losing it.
Every inch of him thrumming with want, you can see it in the way his jaw flexes, the slight tremble in his fingers at his sides. His gaze drops between your legs, staying there like he's starving.
He wants this, wants you just as badly. Maybe worse.
And he sees you. Laid out like an offering, tits soft and heaving, thighs glistening, cunt spread and twitching, begging for his attention.
He lets out a low, heavy breath. “Fuck. Look at you.”
Then his hands are tracing down your thighs, hooking under your knees just to bring them to your chest.
And he goes in, no teasing or warning, just his hands spreading you wide, full mouth-to-pussy action.
His tongue slides over your clit like he’s starving. Moaning into you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. It’s filthy, loud, wet, feral.
He laps at you like he wants to crawl into your skin and live there. His lips lock around your clit, tongue flicking fast and relentless, fingers digging into you.
Your hips buck instinctively. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers clutching his silvery strands as your legs twitch, toes curl.
He loves it. The desperate little grind of your hips, the wrecked moan slipping from your throat, the way you push his face impossibly deeper.
So he doubles down, dragging his tongue lower and fucking it into your hole with lewd precision, then pulls back just to suck at your clit like it’ll grant him immortality.
“You taste like heaven,” he groans, lost in a daze himself. “Sweet little thing, gonna cum all over my mouth, huh? So fucking wet. Bet you’ve been thinking about this.”
He flattens his tongue, grinding it against your clit, and you cry out, entire body jerking, thighs clenching around his head. But he doesn’t stop, if anything only groans, grinding his hips into the table like he’s getting off just on your taste.
You’re soaked. Senseless. A carnal desire to soak his face in your arousal.
And when you gasp his name, fingers tugging at his locks, body trembling-
“That’s it,” he purrs. “Cum for me, baby.”
You shatter. Completely. Fully. Back arching from the table, breath punched from your lungs, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it’s fucking cruel. He just stays there, tongue flicking, dragging out every last pulse of your orgasm until your legs go numb.
Your thighs are trembling around him, your cunt a swollen, slick mess, still twitching with aftershocks. You’re still moaning, fucked-out and blissed as he presses kisses to your inner thigh.
Fuck. He thinks you look perfect like this. Made to be ruined for him.
And he’s done being patient.
So he stands, unzipping his pants. His cock springs free, red, leaking, painfully hard. And shit, he’s big. A slight upward curve, a thick vein running along his thick, long length.
“Up,” he says, voice coaxing like he’s asking you to breathe.
Your legs wobble as you push yourself off the table, only for his hands to grip your waist and bend you right back over it. Your bare chest pressed to the cushiony surface, cheek against the towel.
“There you go,” he drags the thick head of his throbbing cock through your folds, smearing your slick across your lower lips and on his tip until it could drip off. “Gotta get all that tension out, yeah? Let me work those knots a little deeper.”
You walked in here all shy and tense, even spending twenty minutes willing yourself to open your car door. New client, first massage, all stiff shoulders and tight posture. Said your job had you aching. Said you needed relief.
And the first time he saw you, big eyes, nervous smile, a little stutter from your lips when he first touched your shoulders.
He knew exactly what you needed.
“First massage,” he breathes, lining his tip to your entrance.
Then he pushed in. Deep.
You choke on a moan. He’s so thick, splitting you open inch by inch, your walls struggling and stretching to take him. His hands dig into your waist, still warm with oil, just holding you savoring the moment he finally sinks all the way in.
“Fuck,” he groans, head tipping back. “That’s it- just like that- you were made for this.”
He pulls back, only until just the tip lay past your entrance, before slamming back in. And you jerk, fingers scrambling for purchase on the table.
Each stroke rocks through your spine. Your tits drag against the table, mouth hanging open, drool smearing the table. Your mind’s a blur, just the sound of skin slapping, Gojo’s breathy moans, and the obscene, wet noise of him slamming into you over and over and over.
“Say thank you,” he almost growls, snapping his hips up so deep your toes curl. “Say it.”
“T-thank you,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.
Then, smack. A sharp slap to your ass, and you whine.
“For what?”
“F-fucking me- oh my god- for fucking me-”
“No,” he pants, rutting into you harder now, cock hitting that sweet spot so perfect it could make you squeal. “Say it right. Thank you for relieving my stress.”
“Thank you-” you cry out, broken and shaking. “Thank you for- mmh- relieving my stress.”
He leans over you, his hardened chest against your back, cock still pistoning in your soaked cunt. His mouth finds your neck, tongue dragging across your bare skin before he bites. Sucks. Marks you.
Another hickey. Then another.
You’re completely gone, every thrust having your eyes fluttering, your moans shameless, drool coating your lower face. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing his thick length more than you already were, clenching with every thrust, every filthy word.
His hips stutter, balls tightening as he pounds you into the table.
“So fucking tight,” he groans. “Gonna cum- fuck- gonna cum all over this pretty back.”
And he does. One last brutal thrust and he pulls out, cock twitching before spilling across your lower back in hot, thick ropes, painting your skin in streaks of white.
He watches it drip down your spine, chest heaving, cock still half-hard and still twitching from how hard you just milked him for all he’s worth.
“Goddamn,” he whispers, leaning down to admire his work. “You really were stressed, huh?”
Then he drags a hand up your spine, wiping his fingers through the mess he made, rubbing it into your skin like a filthy seal.
The air is thick with heat, sex, and you. His hand rubs sensual circles into your back.
“You good, sweetheart?” he brushes the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.
You nod, dazed, wrecked, legs still trembling. He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. It’s soft, slow, tender in a way that almost startles you.
“First kiss,” he whispers against your lips.
Then he straightens, grabbing a warm towel from the side table. His hands are gentle as they wipe you down, cleaning you with a reverence that borders on obscene. He helps you stand straight, pressing another kiss to your temple, his big hands careful and supportive.
“So…” he starts, tapping his lip. “Same time next week?”
You can only stare, flushed and panting.
“No charge, obviously,” he adds, giving you a wink. “I’m invested in your health now.”
Of course you’re coming back. With a dick like that? With a mouth like that? You’d be stupid not to.
You shake your head, trying not to smile.
“Take your time, I’ll be outside.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
You sigh, dragging yourself over to the side table on shaky legs, slowly redressing like your soul wasn’t just rearranged. You grab your clothes, pulling your bra back on, then your shirt, then-
Your panties.
Your panties?
You check under the table. Beside it. In the towel pile.
Your brows shoot up, a slow, disbelieving laugh escapes your lips.
That smug thieving bastard.
He took them, slipping them into his pocket. You shake your head as you pull on your pants, cheeks still flushed, heart returning to a normal rate.
Oh yeah, you’re definitely coming back.
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