#and last week a lady i barely remembered said to my face first thing oh my god you look so much skinnier!!!!! you look so good!!!!!

[achingroses]

vent post lol

[corruptedcaps]

Maid for it

“Another day, another mess.” Issy muttered, pushing the door open and stepping into the dim, stale air of the nightclub. Sammy followed close behind, tying her graying hair into a loose bun.

“I don’t know how they do it.” Sammy said, squinting at the leftover chaos. Empty glasses, glittering confetti, and half-crushed cans scattered across the sleek floors. “Every weekend, they come in here acting like they own the place. No respect for anything but themselves.”

Issy snorted, picking up a crumpled cocktail napkin. “The youth of today. They think the world revolves around them. Everything’s a selfie, a status update.”

“Right? Did you see that girl last week when we were on the night shift, the one in the sparkly dress? Spent more time filming herself than dancing.” Sammy shook her head, grabbing the mop.

“Remember when we used to go out? Actually had fun without needing an audience.” Issy said grabbing a trash bag.

Sammy smiled. “Good times, Issy. Good times.”

Issy looked around the club, hands on her hips. “So, where should we start?”

Sammy, already eyeing the far end of the room, groaned. “We should flip for the bathrooms. You know they’re always the worst. I swear, they must turn into animals in there after midnight.”

Issy pulled a coin from her pocket, holding it up with a smirk. “Heads, you do the bathrooms. Tails, I’ll take the hit.”

Issy flicked the coin into the air. It spun, catching the dim light, before landing in her palm. She peeked and grimaced. “Tails. Dammit.”

Sammy chuckled. “Good luck in there. I’ll take the bar.”

With a sigh, Issy grabbed her cleaning supplies and headed toward the bathrooms. The door to the ladies’ restroom creaked open, revealing the usual chaos. Loose makeup smeared across the countertops, lipsticks rolling about, and a few forgotten articles of clothing thrown haphazardly on the floor.

“Same old, same old.” She muttered, shaking her head. As she wiped down the counter, something caught her eye. There, lying next to an abandoned sequined purse, was a black wig.

Issy barely had time to blink before the black wig sprang to life, leaping from her hands and onto her face. “What the hell—!” She gasped, stumbling backward as it crawled across her skin like a living thing.

The wig slithered up her cheeks and over her eyes, settling firmly on top of her head. She reached up to tear it off, but just as her fingers touched the strands, a sharp, sudden pain pierced her scalp, like dozens of tiny needles burrowing in.

“Ow!” Issy yelped, frantically tugging at the wig, but it was on tight, as if fused to her head. Her hands shook, and as the seconds passed, a strange warmth spread through her body. Subtle at first but soon, it grew into an intense heat, like something was shifting beneath her skin.

She stumbled toward the mirror and froze. Her wrinkled skin, the creases she had grown accustomed to over the years, began to smooth out. The sagging around her chin and eyes lifted, disappearing before her eyes. Her body shrank, her waist narrowing, her arms slimming.

Her breath caught in her throat. “What... what’s happening to me?” She whispered, her voice sounding younger, sharper.

Issy stood frozen in front of the mirror as the transformation continued. Her chest began to swell, her old bra straining as her tits grew larger, fuller, and perkier. The sight made her gasp, her hands instinctively moving to her chest, feeling the unfamiliar weight.

“Oh my god.” She groaned as her hands grasped her new sensitive boobs.

Her lips plumped next, slowly puffing out until they were full and glossy, as if she'd just had an expensive treatment. Her fingers twitched as her nails elongated into perfectly manicured, polished claws, no longer the brittle, chipped things she had grown used to. Every detail, every change, unfolded right before her eyes in the bathroom mirror.

At first, her mind raced in panic. “This isn’t right! What’s happening to me?” She could barely recognize herself. Her body was no longer that of a middle-aged woman, but something else entirely. A younger version of herself, but not even that. This version of her was more idealized, almost like one of the women she’d see strutting around the nightclub, basking in attention.

“This... feels kind of... good.” She murmured, a smile creeping across her face.

Issy’s smile widened into a full, self-satisfied smirk as she admired her reflection. She couldn’t stop staring and why would she? She was perfect. Her body was flawless, every curve exactly where it should be, her skin glowing like it had been airbrushed. Her lips curled as she traced a finger along her jawline.

“God, I’m gorgeous.” She purred, the words tasting sweet on her tongue. She tilted her head, catching the light just right, and let out a soft laugh. “No wonder those girls spend all night taking photos. If I looked like this every day, I’d never stop looking at myself.”

Her eyes gleamed as she adjusted her stance, taking on a more bratty posture. “How could anyone not be obsessed with me?” She purred, running her hands over her hips, admiring the perfect hourglass figure staring back at her. She turned, posing, admiring herself from every angle.

Now, she felt invincible, untouchable. No one could match her. Not even the sluts she cleaned up after. “I’m better than them. Better than everyone.”

Issy’s breath caught in her throat as the words echoed in her mind. “Better than everyone.” She repeated slower, taking in the gravity of the statement, the condescension of the words. She blinked, suddenly horrified by the vanity consuming her.

“What am I saying?” She whispered, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. This wasn’t her. She wasn’t like those girls, shallow and self-absorbed. She was… a good person, wasn’t she?

“No!” She muttered, forcing herself to look away from the mirror. Her hands shot up to her head, fingers gripping the wig. She tugged, trying to pull it off, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead, a tingling sensation crept across her skin as the hair started to defend itself by hitting her with more changes.

Her maid’s uniform tightened around her body, the fabric hugging every new curve as it shrank higher and higher, separating at the middle. The bottom part morphed into a slick, black leather skirt, clinging to her like a second skin.

The top part relaxed and in fact became bigger, becoming a luxurious and decadent, fur coat draping over her shoulders. Her sensible work bra followed in her new skirts footsteps by turning into a tight leather tube top.

Issy’s hands dropped from her head and ran over the leather, feeling the smooth texture, her fingers grazing the fur. “It’s perfect.” She said, her bratty tone returning and a smirk creeping back onto her face despite herself. She twirled, watching the coat flare out.

She looked better than any girl she had seen walk in or out of that club and the feeling was intoxicating. She knew could any wan eating out of the palm of her hand with just a look. As a maid she was invisible, but looking the way she did now who could ignore her?

And yet there was still a voice in the back of her head urging her, begging her to rip the hair off. The hair was giving her a body to die for but it was also making her more conceited and vain.

“No! This isn’t right! Ohhhh fuck but it feels sooo good! No I have to end it before it’s too late.@ she groaned.

Using what resistance she still had in her, she reached up and grabbed the hair in her hands. Her pretty nailed fingers wrapping around as many strands as possible. With one big tug she hoped it could at least come a little loose but the hair had one last card to play.

All at once Issy felt a surge of heat flow to her pussy and she felt it tighten to an extreme she didn’t know was possible. The very act was making her cum like never before, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

“Ohhhhh goddddd yessss!” She moaned loudly. Images of hot guys railing her in the very bathroom she was in filled her mind and made her cum again. She pictures herself strutting through the club like it was a buffet, choosing any man she wanted. She would be the best sec they ever had and she would make sure they spoilt her as rotten as her soul.

“Why fight it?” The thought slithered into her mind like an invader she couldn’t argue with. “I deserve this.”

Issy’s eyes rolled back to normal but there was a change instantly in them. They were no longer soft and caring eyes, instead they sparkled with spoilt narcissism. She stared at her reflection, the smirk growing wider, her eyes gleaming with pride. “Of course I fucking deserve this.” She said, the words slipping out effortlessly. She felt a surge of power, a thrill that coursed through her veins.

“I’m never going back to being some fucking loser maid again.” She declared, her voice full of conviction. The memory of her old self, ordinary and invisible, was pathetic. She sneered at the thought.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Sammy’s voice echoed off the tiles. “Issy, are you ok in here? I heard a moan of pain.” She called, her tone impatient. But as she stepped inside, she froze, her eyes going wide. “What the hell…?”

Standing in front of the mirror was a woman Sammy barely recognized. Issy, or at least what was left of her, turned slowly with a bored expression. “Relax loser, haven't you ever seen perfection before. Of course you haven’t just look at you.” She drawled, rolling her eyes.

Sammy’s jaw dropped as Issy picked up a glittering sequin bag from the counter. Unzipping it, she pulled out a thick wad of cash, a grin spreading across her face. “Look at this, my day just keeps getting better.” Issy purred.

Sammy stepped forward, her voice shaking. “Issy I don't know what happened to you, but you can't keep that cash and we need to get you help to reverse whatever the hell happened to you!”

Issy scoffed, flipping through the cash. She playfully put it up to her face like it was a telephone. “Hello police? Yes my friend put on a sexy black wig and turned in to the hottest bitch I've ever seen. Get real loser, even if there was a way to reverse this why the fuck would I want to go back to that pathetic loser I was?”

Sammy grabbed her by the arm. “Because this isn't you, Issy.”

Issy yanked her arm free, her eyes flashing. “You're right, I'm not Issy anymore. That weak, invisible woman is dead. I’m Bella now. And Bella gets everything she wants.”

Sammy’s heart raced as she backed away, her eyes darting between Bella and the door. “I’m going to find help. We’ll figure out how to take that wig off, Issy, I swear.” she said, her voice firm but shaking.

Just as Sammy reached for the door, Bella moved with lightning speed, slamming it shut with a loud bang. Sammy froze, staring at her in disbelief. “What are you doing?” She asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Bella leaned in, her eyes gleaming with a dark, twisted delight. “I can’t have anyone knowing about my wonderfully evil hair now can I? So, you’re just going to have to join me… Samantha.” She said slowly, her voice dripping with malice.

Sammy flinched at the sound of her full name, her body tensing as Bella ran her hands through her long luxurious hair, pulling thick chunks from her head that seemed to instantly regenerate. Without effort she twisted the clumps it into a sleek ponytail. Before Sammy could react, Bella flung it at her.

“No!” Sammy shrieked, trying to duck away, but the hair came to life midair, writhing and twisting like a serpent. It latched onto her arm, tightening with terrifying strength. Sammy gasped, frantically tugging at it, but the hair slithered up her arm, relentless, heading straight for her head.

“Get it off me!” She cried, her voice desperate. But Bella only smiled, cold and sinister.

“Don’t fight it, Samantha. You’ll love being a hawt bitch.” Bella purred.

Bella stood back, her arms crossed, watching with gleeful anticipation as the living hair slithered up Sammy’s arm and latched onto her head. Sammy let out a muffled scream, clawing at the strands as they dug into her scalp, but it was no use. The transformation had already begun.

Bella’s grin widened as she saw Sammy’s body start to change. Her chest swelled, her boobs growing fuller and rounder, the fabric of her cleaning uniform tightening around her frame. Sammy’s lips plumped next, growing into a pouty, perfect shape as if they had been touched by a masterful surgeon, designed to be prefect for dick sucking. Her wrinkles faded before Bella's eyes, years melting off her face as her skin smoothed into a flawless, youthful complexion.

Sammy’s body slimmed and reshaped, her figure becoming athletic and toned, curves in all the right places. Her old exhausted, middle-aged self was disappearing by the second. Bella felt a surge of satisfaction and pride watching the transformation unfold, seeing Sammy’s resistance fade.

Sammy’s eyes, once wide with panic, began to dull, her expression shifting from fear to something colder, more detached. Her lips, once trembling, now settled into a perfect, pouty smirk.

Sammy’s maid outfit began to shift, the fabric tightening and shrinking against her changing body. Her uniform morphed, the dull cloth replaced by sleek black leather that hugged her hips, forming a short, revealing skirt. Her top dissolved into a thin black string bra that left little to the imagination, her big tits barely being held by it.

A shiny black puffer coat materialized around her shoulders, draping loosely and adding a seductive edge to the ensemble.

Bella grinned in approval. “Now that’s more like it. Doesn’t that feel better, Samantha?”

Samantha turned to the mirror, her new reflection staring back with cold confidence. She ran her hands over her curves, admiring how her new clothes showed off her perfectly tight new body.

She turned to Bella, her eyes gleaming with approval. She took the cash from her friend’s hand and held it up to her face, mirroring the fake phone call Bella had done earlier. "Hello police? I want to report a crime. The crime of looking oh being a bad bitch." She said sticking her tongue out playfully.

“Thanks babe. You were right, I do love being a hawt bitch. I was meant to be this beautiful.” Samantha said, handing the cash back to Bella she turned back to her reflection. Bella sadled up next to her and the two beauties primped and admired themselves. Samantha grinned pushing her tits out at her reflection.

“We’re going to have so much fun. Imagine the broken hearts we’ll leave behind, the envious bitches watching us, desperate to keep up. We’ll show all those poser girls what it really means to be spoiled brats.” Bella said, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Samantha chuckled, tossing her hair back. “They’ll hate us, but they’ll wish they were us.”

Bella nodded. "Of course but they never will be because we were maid for this."

THE END

[mlobsters]

supernatural s10e21 dark dynasty (w. eugenie ross-leming, brad buckner)

is that like, a play on duck dynasty har har. okay, creeper creeperson, get your hands of this lady's face please. heavy sigh at the threatening sexual assault to then kill the pretty lady and scoop her eyeballs out.

this codex thing with rowena is very kevin with the tablet but without any affection

i dunno if this is all i know him from, but again with the seinfeld tiny part actor being familiar. oh god. and nurses??? definitely watched that show too. sure i haven't thought of it since it the 90s

markus flanagan in seinfeld s9e19 the maid / nurses (1991-1994)

so we got to see hallucination!benny and we have this random dark magic using mafia people in louisiana. completely unconnected. sure. could not care less.

is this the first charlie episode written by not-robbie?

DEAN There's a woman you haven't mentioned? SAM A woman? DEAN Well, I'm just saying. You weren't here when I went to bed last night. You've been running off on your own a lot these past couple weeks. SAM I do that. DEAN You actually don’t. SAM Dean, we don't always do the exact same thing at the exact same time. Remember when you went off and snuffed that vampire nest by yourself? DEAN Have you been snuffing vamps' nests? SAM No, I-I . . . What is that? What are you doing?

smooth, sam. glad dean has noticed and is calling him out on it at least. "we don't always do the exact same thing at the exact same time" L O L

insert perennial complaint about the lying and the hiding

SAME, GIRL. SAME.

SAM Charlie, he's not himself. He's not. He would try and stop me. He's given up. Look, I called in an expert to use the codex, but it turns out it's sort of encoded also, so I thought you might help move things along faster. CHARLIE Behind Dean's back. After Dean told us the stupid book would kick our asses if we mess with it. Is there any part of this that doesn't reek? SAM Did I mention you'll be working with one of the most dangerous witches in the world? CHARLIE I don't know, Sam. SAM As far as I can tell, this is our only shot at saving him. If we don't take it, he's gone.

le sigh

surface product placement #4. think that's the pr0n folder (seen in s9e4) next to FanFic

somebody's grumpy. but i would be too if i was called in to babysit rowena while charlie works, all behind dean-o's back

SAM I can't be here full time to referee. CASTIEL Whoa, whoa. And I can? SAM Yes. Please. Please do this for me. CASTIEL Well, what are the rules? If I'm gonna referee, I should at least know them. ROWENA Quite literal, aren't you? Does he know that the first rule is don't tell your brother what we're doing?

okay that made me laugh out loud

SAM Okay, everyone take a breath. Look, we're up against it, okay? And we've all been up against it before, and we know there are times when every choice sucks. Now, us lying to Dean is the choice that sucks the least. We have to make this work. Please.

CASTIEL Wait . . . Dean doesn't know? Sam, this never ends well. CHARLIE That's exactly what I said.

join the party

CHARLIE Okay, yeah. For Dean. SAM Cas? CASTIEL Okay. For Dean. SAM For Dean. ROWENA I barely know the man.

filling in the crowley-snark void, she does it well

chatty patty, huh. i've only heard chatty cathy

Chatty Cathy is a pull-string "talking" doll originally created by Ruth and Elliot Handler and manufactured by the Mattel toy company from 1959 to 1965. In 1984, Mattel introduced Chatty Patty

learn somethin new every day

CHARLIE Sam and Dean are like my brothers. I love them. ROWENA I know. And that steadfast loyalty will be your undoing, my girl.

depressing because you know it's true. sounds like the kevin foreshadowing (i always trust you and i always end up screwed)

DEAN Yeah. You know, some dark thoughts, creepy visions, violent urges. Same old same old.

okay they toss that out but have we ever actually seen any of that? that surely would be more interesting than half the of the bullshit this season

speaking of, interrogating the whatever dude. sam is being the actual worst at hiding his little codebreaking study group hijinks. could he BE any shiftier

ELDON The real family tree. The name was altered out of necessity. You have chanced upon a lineage with a long and proud tradition and some unwanted notoriety. One of Europe's oldest families. The house of . . . Frankenstein.

think you could hear my eyes roll across the state

they're playing that threatening music again and i don't like it. i get it, he's extra ready to stab something from the mark, i still don't like the implied threat of violence now that he's figured out what sam is lying about

drama, very horror movie

would you look at how fucking tiny some of these little black and green console-ish windows fonts are. ridonkulous

SAM I thought it was our only chance to get you free of the Mark, so I grabbed it. DEAN I made it real clear how I felt. You ever consider that? SAM Dean, listen . . . DEAN And then you pulled Cas into it. And Charlie. SAM Charlie loves you, Dean. We all love you.

well. killing charlie off is really disappointing and unfortunately not surprising.

from the wiki

Robbie Thompson started work on Supernatural in season seven. [...] and created lesbian nerd character Charlie Bradbury whose aliases were comprised of the name of a Stephen King character and a famous science fiction writer. Thompson reportedly fought hard against the manner of her death, in an episode he did not write.

what a hot mess.

[irastayshome]

I sometimes still imagine you holding me from behind. A warm hug that gets tighter and warmer till I can't resist and turn around and tell you how much I need you. How much you mean to me. I never said that enough to you in the last few years. The daydreaming still happens, though I don't dissociate anymore when it does. I feel it all now. The pain i've caused you, the pain you've caused me, the pain we went through together, and the pain you went through alone. I also feel all that love. The immense need that you fulfilled in me, and I hope that it was the same for you. You probably don't know this, but i've been trying to live.. a little bit more for myself, and not just pretending for the boys. I've started learning BJJ, together with Ibrahim. You remember one of our first few dates? On fort canning hill, when you admitted you had tried to learn BJJ online to have something interesting to teach me on our date, though it was mostly an opportunity for us to be in such close contact. I had never heard of that sport till that point, and thought wow you know martial arts is that why you're so hunky.. Oh sayang. BJJ is good fun, though i'm sure I would be a much better learner back then, 10 yrs ago. My 34 year old body can barely get a hang of where to put which limb and my usual overthinking and poor memory has gotten much worse since you last courted me. One thing hasn't changed though. I am well aware that I'm past my prime and you have nothing to worry about, nor will I even have any space in my life to with the kids and trying to support them. But with that said.. I miss being touched by you. By a living, breathing man who loves me, and desires me. I miss being held - feeling so safe and yet so vulnerable in that desire for you. Each time I go for a class and there aren't any ladies to pair up with, my heart goes into overdrive and I can barely contain myself. I'm all suited up and obviously have no skin contact, or barely, but those visual thoughts of us enter at the most inconvenient and embarrassing moments. Sometimes I feel like I need to isolate myself because I don't trust the emotions that hit and at times pour out of me. What I would do to have one more of those moments with you. I know we'll be together again someday, but seeing as how I'm the bigger sinner amongst us two, you'd have to wait quite awhile. I've got a lot of atoning to do. I hope you've been hearing our doas, especially Ibrahim's. Idris is getting there, slowly, but steadily. For now, i'm so.. so.. tired sayang. The hole in their young hearts is still raw and bleeding, more obviously so for Ibrahim. I keep trying to find a way to plug it, but there is no use.. it is the price we pay for loving you. and the three of us have gone through so much in a bubble that only us 3 can understand.

Also to catch you up on what you missed out on...

Nyayi passed away.. it was the final week of my iddah period for you. I got the news over a text after I sent the kids to school, and I broke down in waterway point. A security guard tried consoling me, but I could not breathe because I needed you there. You weren't there. I know you had a say in sending a stranger, a nice lady, my way. She made sure I was alright before I headed off to break the news to the kids. Nyayi looked peaceful, and I was happy for her for she got the death she wanted in her room, on the bed that you and I used to sleep on too. Ibrahim insisted on watching her burial, but I hadn't anticipated how much it would have affected him. That was the start of him experiencing some severe anxieties. We're working through that now, with every conversation, hug, therapy and lots of sun and exercise.

We took Idris on his first trip overseas.. it was Australia. The place Ibrahim had doa for us to go to once you got better from your last surgery, which you didn't. You should have seen the look on his face right before he boarded the plane. He never hides any emotions and it would have warmed your heart to see how excited he was.

I went back to work. I guess this is no surprise, and you'd probably have expected me to, but it was hard. I left after 6 months, right before I was confirmed. Im back to square one now, or worse, because I can't figure this part out with the kids still needing quite a bit of attention. Send me a sign if you can somehow, because oh i am lost and frankly don't know who to talk to about it other than a paid therapist, and I know how much you'd hate that.

Ibrahim has done his sunnat, and yes he screamed afterwards and was terrified, but he soldiered on and i'm so proud of him on your behalf too.

Ibrahim is now in primary 1, and he's a class monitor! haha. Yes I had my reservations, but his teacher said he's doing so well, and not surprisingly she's astonished by the "rare level of maturity" she saw in him.

Your brother got married. Ibrahim went, but I must apologize that I just could not go. I tried, but the thought of looking your mother in the eye, and not knowing what I can or cannot say with your relatives after the drama on the day you passed is just too much. I wish I could say that Ibrahim had a good reunion with your mum too, but I guess im still glad he doesn't know what went on behind the scenes and that he still felt your brothers' love for him.

Honestly, the last few nights, or weeks, have been strangely hard. I find myself at this crossroad again to figure out what's my next step, and the only person that I can think of who can talk me through it is you. Was you.

and I finally did it. I cleaned out your closet, took out that bag of clothes from the hospital, inhaled thinking it would still smell like you. It didnt.. it smelled like moth balls. and I let it all come out of me.. the anger that you're not here anymore, the guilt that I could have done or said more to save you, the desperation of wanting nothing more than to you see you walking through that door and hold me as I cried into your superman jacket. I never wanted anything so badly as I did in that moment.

Well, that's it from me for now. Just please do me a favour..

"If you get there before I do, Don't give up on me. I'll meet you when my chores are through, I don't know how long i'll be.. But i'm not gonna let you down. Darling wait and see.. and between now and then till I see you again i'll be loving you... Love me."

Ya, u can laugh if u want. But I know you appreciate that, you closet romantic.

[swimfaye]

What to drink now?

It was last year when I first got the LOOK. I met up with a group of women whom for one reason or another were in town or nearby and we're going to get together.

I arrived a mere 10 minutes late to the table where the four other ladies were sitting when the waitress arrived and asked me what I would like to drink.

Granted, I barely had finished saying hello to the group when however absent mindedly I answered the waitress with "Oh, Rum and Coke please" The waitress smiled and said great.

As I took my seat at number 6 chair at the table I got THE LOOK. Was it matronly- no, shame- possible, or straight judgement - yes. What I had either forgotten or just didn't have the common sense to remember but four of the ladies were non alcoholics or recovering.

Honestly, it didn't register until all the drinks were brought and I figured out what the look was for. Mind you, no one outright said anything until our meals arrived but, yikes people I forgot or again just wasn't paying attention. Which really is the truth. I didn't order a dozen or so I just ordered one and sipped it through the night.

Yet, it was mid bite that I got my downgrade "Well, we can't invite Patricia if she is going to be drinking alcohol" I tried my best to smile and try not to throw it in their face that it was them who would arrange weekends tasting wine and day drinking. I simply took it. Not wanting to get into an argument, but that is the thing...the holy than thou attitude continued

In response to my lagging workouts " Drinking wine will not help your waistline" I tried to nod in agreement without pounding on the table about how the speaker would go to a barre class then over to a wine bar nearby.

I just paid the bill for the table answering " Well, If I am going to be a martyr I might as well foot the bill for your meals" It was enough to get them to shut up and one venmo'd me some funds to cover their meal but, most felt justified which is sad.

I just left the table and went home. A week later I got an text, " Are you okay?" from my biggest bully and I simply stated "I appreciate your question, you take care ! " I admit I understand why people stop drinking. I know several people whom have stopped drinking and gone into programs.

Here is the thing, my rule of thumb is to simply do Arnold Palmers or Ice Tea when in public unless its all good to enjoy an alcoholic drink. My weakness is when someone else is paying and its really good wine or its an event.

But here is the thing you gotta know that the event or the party is non alcoholic beforehand. Equally, because I know the struggle is real from Trivia Nights at Wine Bars to Octoberfest socialization sometimes is a trigger for alcoholic indulgence but it doesn't have to be that way.

I enjoy going to the Exploratorium or Museums completely enjoying the experience sans alcohol yet, there appears to be alcohol EVERWHERE whether its advertising or some actor you follow. Suddenly, there it is like a gremlin or gravity tripping you up and you have to be an adult and reinforce the no alcohol.

I was volunteering and the subject came up and I didn't notice one of the ladies that was at the dinner was there too ( literally I am just not seeking these people out ). I related my tale and explained that I didn't know and in a group of strangers the debate continued. When I mentioned paying for the meals the other volunteers were shocked and said it was too much all the way around. The bullying and the osteraziation.

Afterward, I got a text from one of the woman who said "You really shouldn't have paid, but you also should have sent your drink back and not had alcohol "

I honestly did not know what to type back for the longest time and decided " Your meal was $32.58 would you can venmo me otherwise Take Care of yourself"

I have not heard a peep since. While losing a social group that I will inevitably see later this year is disheartening I don't think bullying is the answer. Simply take a piece of advice, start with water and go from there.

good luck because everyone is judging you.

[castle-dominion]

c3x24 knockout. Wasn't the last episode in this storyline knockout too? No, knockdown.

Plot heavy episode, after all, it is the finale.

RC: Hey, guys, I could use a hand. *Esposito & Ryan applaud* Ryan wearing a sweater again. Weekly is v often. their faces drop when they mention him

The ring <3 Lol the "special" & the "usual" & the excellent choice madame. I love it. An hour ago today? Why they all cheering? Oh bc he's the cop. "He" was going to get around to me Ugh he gives him a minute & lays down politely, like this is honestly so respectful of a murder. He's have more blood probably. I remember looking like that. I am now remembering that. You know, for weeks, possibly even a month or several months I could smell blood. The first day, even the first week bc i was still healing, I thought that the smell of blood was just there for real. The bathroom must have smelled like metal; iron & copper; idk how my family didn't notice anything. Maybe it was all in my head now that I think about it. Then later I realized that it was just a hallucination. Sometimes I'd get a whiff of blood & it would remind me of that night, other times I would remember it & suddenly I could smell it. Again, in the earlier days I thought that maybe the smell was real & I just didn't notice it until I thought about it. Figuring out I was getting hallucinations shocked me. Did I just give myself ptsd? I wish I had a photo. I considered it but my phone was in the other room & I wasn't going to go get it. All that blood. Looking back, even tho I'm (sort of) clean now, I want that photo. I wanted a reference for murder scenes in my writing or in drawing, I wanted to see the progress of what I had done, now that I can't remember it as well I want to know what it really looked like & how far I actually got. I used to get nauseous every time I thought about it, even though I was fine with gore. Now all I have is the scar. You know, I used to make jokes when picking raspberries or cutting beets, I said it looked like a murder scene. During this time I realized how wrong I was. Anyway I wrote a fictional story basically transcribing my experiences, just so I'd have a record of it if my memory faded, it was already getting muddy when I wrote it. Now reading it I can barely see it. I remember it though. I remember it. At least I don't get blood olfactory hallucinations anymore. Back to the episode!

Wow it's been four months? Yeah he has an employer. idek who that employer is. Wait if she was 16 & it's been 12 years then she's only 28... alexis is 17 & if he had her at minimum 18 that would be 35 minimum. Well that fits the half plus seven rule. She's 28? 21x2=42 which sounds just as accurate for castle tbh. Yeah cool. Tho tbh the half plus seven rule does fall apart the more you age since people's brains still go thru development phases even tho the most & biggest were from ages -1 to 25.

He technically isn't hal lockwood hence why they called him john doe. OH NO FLASHBANGS. Those things are not good. Even the guys breaking him out would have been affected, even if they covered their ears & closed their eyes. (You only have two hands, two would have to be for your ears & so all you can do is close ur eyes & even so it is bright & loud & there is a physical boom. She asks "where" but how does the lady know what she means? Where is it safe? Where did they go? Where are you hurt? Poor helicopter guy. was he piloting?

Just like, check ur inbox? Can't be real names, must be code. That's why espt made that face! Just like my Mumma! She has her emergency radio license or smth like that. She's the one who taught me the nato phoenetic alphabet. Having seen this. His face when the third cop is mentioned. they were just talking abt street justice cops & monty is saying they should take him out rn rn.

JE: He says he wouldn’t have even known anybody had used it if it weren’t for the bullet holes. XD Does she know or is she speculating? No ofc she is not, but she is ok enough & ok enough to work.

Jim Beckett! & This will be the scene from the deleted scenes in the previous episode. You're so right Mr Beckett. Her life is def worth more than her mom's death. I love Jim sm. Here is his quote btw: What happens when she finds him? I’ve already lost my wife over this. I’ve already lost – (he stops) No, look. It took me years, but I’ve made my peace with that. But Katie? She won’t listen to me. And she won’t back down. Not unless someone can convince her that her life is worth more than her mother’s death.

& wow both her parents are lawyers, she was even considering becoming a lawyer. No wonder she's so pretty & educated.

Didn't sleep at all or slept a little bit? No, not Ryker!

He gon be dead. Yep he dead.

That's why the wound is so bad, GSWs are so much worse in the exit wound Death fist 4 poster (btw I like how ryan takes off his tie & stuff when he wears his vest, unbuttons a bit)

See? If u treat someone with respect then they respect u too. Aw that's actually kinda sweet. Crushing on Beckett.

Ok our theory is currently that the third cop is the employer, the one holding lockwood's leash Ok that's valid you've been angry over johanna's death for twelve years but also ryan was frickin tortured by this guy I think he wants him around as much as u do, esp since he's also mad on your behalf (tho ig she could also be mad on his behalf then...)

I like ryan's elbow patches. (Suit tie & jeans) What was that little look from ryan? Keep in mind I've seen this before, when I say this: {RM is encouraging them to find the third cop, claiming that the 3c must have the money to hire dick coonan to clean up the mess} Yeah they've been here all day & between the four of them a six pack isn't too much. It's late. They deserve it. JE walking in with a case of beer behind his back: Sir. Uh, I know we're still officially on duty, but RM: Authorized KR: Sláinte (health in Gaeilge; pronounced slAn-chuh)* RC: Nice work. Ooh, those are cold. These are really cold. KR : Yeah, we keep them in evidence, refrigerated storage. (they just keep booze in refrigerated evidence storage??) RC: Isn't that where you keep the-- JE: Don't worry about it. RC: (*Irish Gaelic is pronounced (in English) 'gay-lik'. The (Scottish) Gaelic name for (Scottish) Gaelic is Gàidhlig, pronounced 'gaa-lik', not to be confused with the Irish (Gaelic) name for Irish (Gaelic), which is written Gaeilge and pronounced 'gail-gyuh'.) (clipping)

Beer: *casually reveals smth* Calls him a dirtbag SOB, {like my dude, y r u sending em out to find that info?} ((We get to see the meeting in a future season!)) Love. Everyone knows they love each other.

That rubber tree plant The kiss was for a disguise & frozen in each other's arms was for wamrth & bc friends can do that too! She's right tho, it IS her life. (just like the s8 premier) It is the end of s3 so it has been 3 years now? (maybe 2.5 bc the first season was short?) You deserve to be happy, but in that tone? Ooh How over? He is not going to abandon you.

Man's angry! Martha <3 <3 I can see how he might feel it is his fault even tho he's not the one trying to kill everyone. He drug it back up. (could clip but I won't)

I love when she calls him by his first name, it is so intense & personal, he is her second dad. He supports her so much so well. He really is good for her, helping her laugh, bringing in outside ideas... Hug her. acab lol But seriously hug her. You are her dad.

Old guys, probably retired they say. Miami! Wow ryan's cheekbones in this lighting... KR says he DOESN'T believe a "badge" is behind this. (Metonymy) {keep this detail in mind} (But then ryan is the first to crack abt you know who)

Oh no he's the third cop isn't he? {yeah he is} lol order off the menu (so roy made a deal with The Big Bad Guy to protect beckett) He would SO be found out B'y god's got nothing to do with this

What about the son? The way u hold someone intimately lets you put a thumb over their lips & kiss them That's an old timey gun. I like it. Another old timey gun.

Wow it's already been all day! Nothing eventful happened all day... At least miami dade got back to them this evening. Going out w/o telling her? I mean ok.

Big sad.

Bro's still wearing an nypd sweatshirt? Tight is a good word. Some rookie? Young enough to not be retired yet Could he have maybe misremembered the name if there were 40 others he needed to know the names of too & it's been 10 years? Montague maybe? He looks so baby *gulp* Rips up the photo, tbh that's rude

[JE is walking out into the alley] KR Hey! You know it's him. (He looks like he's about to cry.) Montgomery's our third cop. He's the one who altered those records. JE How can you even say that? How can you even think that?! Montgomery brought us on to Homicide! What do we got? A picture!?! KR (whispered/strained) Think about it. (Nromal but strained) Why else did he want us to take Lockwood out? Because Lockwood leads us to him! (Hun he told u to go after the third cop.) He's been lying to us. (Espt also looks like he might cry.) He's been lying to us the whole time. [JE shakes his head, mouthing what I think is "I'm out" & turns around to start walking away.] KR Hey! [Ryan grabs Espt's shoulder] JE Get off me! [Espt punches Ryan & turns around again. They fight. KR grabs him from the back & pushes him into the wall/truck/whatever that thing is. Espt pushes around & gets Ryan pinned to the truck with his hands on his shirt. & not in a sexy way. JE is yelling, holding KR's face & has his fist next to his head.] KR Go ahead! Go ahead! [JE throws Ryan's head to the side as he lets him go. They both lean against the wall, breathing heavily. They both look emotionally ruined.] KR Beckett.

AAAAAAGHHDSKJFSDHJ THIS IS MAKING ME INSANE & then they just don't talk about it.

Please don't let him be the one to kill her Girl set ur phone to vibrate, u'r a cop, this stuff can be dangerous. Why cock the gun? You can't put your family thru going to jail but this happens? (So babe you uh, don't they have ballistics for all nypd guns? when they pull the slug?)

A second chance <3 Who is the "he" They might have come even if Beckett didn't show up, as long as he said he got her there. Then again, they were probs watching. He is her dad so much Good on him to bring in Castle (of all people, he brought castle, even after kicking castle out) Oof this is where I stand They probs saw three figures there & probs even know he means to kill them. Castle is great he just picked her up like that! She was flailing & kicking & he just did what the captain said! Beauty!

(so lockwood has a bunch of people here too? Lockwood is not The Only One y'all) So there are four ppl there. Didn't they kill the two guys with Lockwood during the previous relevant episode? KB & RC came in to save JE & KR & they ended up shooting two of lockwood's people? Now lockwood has four more. Shoot from the hip... RM: You got that ass-backwards, boy, you can't hide from me.

love how they brought back the ass backwards line How did he shoot all of them so fast? Also with a gun like that wouldn't he have to cock it every time? Or maybe not, it was old fashioned, not old. It probably has the mechanism set so that the back thingy & the trigger are attached to pull back too. lockwood got shot, he's back up & running now? Love the music btw. Noooo not behindy! I saw to that. You're done, Lockwood, we both are. & that's why he had a sixshot & a second gun! ...Which was just up his sleeve like that & definitely dangerous

How did u know that was the last shot? What if lockwood was still alive (again) & now he's coming to kill you? At least she is wearing short heels Check his pulse maybe?

Lol acab. I'd just as well watch the Helena music video.

Is this beckett's apatment? I can't tell. Family. Doesn't include his legal family tho apparently. & you have accepted castle back? You know it's weird, Espt & Ryan are like Becket's little brothers (& big brothers) sometimes, they give Castle the cold shoulder in defense of Beckett; other times they are brothers with Castle, they have said "mom & dad [are] fighting" as if caskett is a relationship & those two are the kids, sometimes the captain is the dad. It's just so good to me. So good. Found family is lowkey cliche but I love it still. (But this means u can't tell alexis, martha, lanie, jim, or anyone, bc they are extended "family" not immediate "family" right?)

Who's the guy behind Espt there? Also why didn't Esposito shave?? I feel like Castle should be wearing a hat, just to fit in. Not a hat like theirs, but some sort of trilby maybe. Tbh I really like seeing the pigs in their blankets. Not only because I like fancy stuff (I say wearing the same dirty jeanjacket with holes in it like some crustpunk) but also bc I like seeing them in hats, speaking as a hat wearer myself. & who's the guy behind Ryan?

Crying quietly, 👌 love it You don't necessarily owe it to him, you owe it to his family, you owe it to them to get the pension & access to the widows+orphans fund & w/e.

I like how they let Castle carry the casket even tho he is not a cop. Ok my man definitely needs a hat, he really looks out of place. Aw the poor family. yk acab even tho he be dead. I mean best wishes to him & the families+friends. Like tbh big acab moments. A huge funeral for him? Ok how many ppl there actually knew him personally? How much of this is just because he was a fellow enforcer of the law? How much of it is REAL & how much of it enforces an institution where brotherhood takes priority? Btw did they teach castle how to do the proper stepping for the fancy parts of walking around & turning the way they do? I thought Royce did that. KB: You might find someone to stand with you *looks over to Rick* How did rick actually see that tho? I'm glad he didn't jump in front of a bullet, it hit her first. ALSO LANIE BEING HELP BACK BY ESPOSITO Girl that's not how you save someone. U might want to put pressure on the wound or wear gloves if u have any (like airplanes) & do NOT put your hands on the grass like that

Ok cool. Now I'm actually going to watch season one bc I never had the chance to liveblog that.

Ok now I've also gathered all my clips from s3 yay

[astaroth1357]

Brothers Accidentally Make the MC Cry

Hello, this is the obligatory italics blurb that I have to put under my titles or else things look weird and it bothers me. Don’t mind the blurb. The blurb is a friend. (Though I could start writing pieces of a little story up here just to see if anyone even reads them… Hm…. Ideas, ideas...)

Warning: Angsty

Lucifer 

If he were being honest, he’d say that a part of him had always feared this would happen...

Lucifer likes to tell himself that he’s invincible, but everyday stresses can get to him just like anybody else. And like other people, he may not always act his best when he’s dealing with a full plate…

The MC hadn’t meant to make his day harder when they told him that they accidentally broke a lamp. It was a genuine accident! But Lucifer was still dealing with the fallout from another one of Mammon’s failed schemes, Satan had cursed all of his ties again, and Beel had eaten every scrap of food in the House… for the second time that week...

In comparison to everything else, a broken lamp was quite minor, but for Lucifer it was just the last straw and, for just a moment, he lost control…

His palm slamming against his desk hard enough to snap its legs and send it crashing to the ground. He scarcely knew what kind of look he had on his face, but whatever it was, he had made his human jump back in shock...

Really, it was silly for them to assume that he had gotten that upset over a lamp, but he saw tears starting to gather in their eyes all the same as they stammered out a quiet apology… 

It felt like an ice spike to the heart. Damn his temper… He really ought to have been more careful with them after… well, everything he’d done before…

He was quick to go over to them, catching their face with his hand and giving them the most sincere apology he could muster while wiping away their tears… Overreactions aren’t becoming of him and he hated to cause them pain… 

He, of course, took care of the lamp himself as penance and on the surface that seemed to be it (but to anyone paying attention, he had softened up on the MC considerably for at least a week. They probably could have sworn in front of Diavolo and he’d let it slide, he felt that bad about it...)

“I’m sorry, MC, I shouldn't have reacted like that… You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise… Please, there’s no need to cry…”

Mammon

Oh? What's that? His heart is now in a million pieces now...? Well, that seems fair…

He and the MC were out on one of his gambling nights and he was actually on a killer winning streak for once! Jackpots around every corner, he was rolling in it!

The MC had tried to convince him to just throw in the towel early, take his winnings while he had them and bail, but he wasn’t hearing any of it.

In hindsight, their insistence must have really shown how much the MC cared about him and wanted him to keep his earnings... but in the heat of the moment all he saw was someone trying to spoil his one night of fun.

To be fair to Mammon, it’s rather rare for him to lose control of his anger like he did. But when they tried to pull him away from the roulette table, he genuinely snarled at them and told them to get lost...!

Fortunately, he regretted his actions immediately after he saw the hurt in their eyes…

If their goal had been to get him to step away from the table, they achieved it. But only because he got up to pull them into a hug while stammering out apologies… Watching them actually shed tears hurt worse than any rope Lucifer had ever tied around him...

He spent the rest of the night away from the casino and trying to cheer up his human like his life depended on it... Seeing them in pain just tore him up that much.

"Ah, come on MC… I'm sorry, honest…! Please don't look at me like that, I'll do whatever ya want okay...? Just no more cryin…"

Leviathan 

Now thinks he's the worst, literally the worst. Lower than lesser demon spit. Lower than Cerberus' shit. Lower than… well, you get the idea…

Levi can get very… intense when things involving his passions are brought up. This can be a fairly endearing quality… but it also means he gets disproportionately impassioned about seemingly minor things.

Levi ended up snapping at the MC when they let him over-sleep one day. This wasn’t unusual for them to do as Levi’s sleep schedule was notoriously shitty, but they shouldn't have done it that particular day…

An item he wanted on Akuzon was going to go live that morning and he had to be awake to participate in the bidding. He had mentioned it to the MC the day before, but he blew past it so quickly they didn’t actually remember…

He found out that he missed the bidding after he woke up and he was pissed. Genuinely enraged that they didn’t remember to wake him up to the point that he was shouting and baring his fangs! 

… Really it was not a good look and he should have known better.

The look of fear and the tears gathering in the MC’s eyes snapped him out of it like a hard slap to the face, and somehow, it stung even more than that would’ve... It wasn’t long before he was crying along with them, practically begging for forgiveness...

He made it up to them by having a private showing of their favorite movie using a projector in the Planetarium, cuddling with them under a blanket while still, occasionally, muttering apologies under his breath.

“M-MC…? MC don’t cry…!! Please don’t cry, I- I’m sorry!! I… MC… I’m so sorry…”

Satan

Like Lucifer, he always worried this would happen and he hated when it finally came to pass…

He’d spent all his life learning how to restrain his temper, but it’s not a perfect science. There are the occasional times where the heat of the moment gets the better of him and he does something he regrets…

The MC had walked in on him one morning while he was fuming about Beel leaving the fridge empty again. It hadn’t been the first time they’d seen him like this, but this time he was absolutely furious.

He had told Beel again and again and again to get his snacking under control or to, you know, get up early and get more food so the whole family wouldn’t spend the morning starving but noooo! Mr. I’m Hungry never thinks about anything but his own stomach and then leaves whoever’s on kitchen duty to pick up the slack like some dimwitted muscle-bound meathead and THEN-!!

When the MC tried to take his arm to calm him down, he jerked their hand away from him and roared right in their face. He may not be a lion, but the full sound of a pissed off demon could make humans have breakdowns all on its own…

Which was more or less what the MC began to do as he gripped their wrist, panicking while taking shallow, stuttered breaths…

Satan's anger left him swiftly and he let them go, only reaching out to touch them again when he tried to wipe the tears from their cheeks… He had to coo and beg for them to calm down, which was only so successful because he was fighting back tears himself… 

On a scale of 1-10 of the worse things his temper has ever done, he'd rank this a firm 200... He refused to touch them for about a week afterwards and it took a long time for him to trust himself again… He just didn't want to hurt them...

"MC?? MC…? M… Oh no… MC, I'm so sorry, I would never hurt you! I… I wouldn't dare… please believe me..."

Asmodeus 

Oh baby! Sweetheart! Love of his life!! No, please no… don't subject him to this…

MC and Asmo were out dancing and some witch came by to try and flatter him.

Now, Asmo is a flirt normally, but get a few drinks in him and well… Let's just say his love of attention overrides his better judgment far more often than it should and friends don't let friends go home with creepy witches.

When the MC told the witch to scram, Asmo was confused and, frankly, quite irritated. That lovely lady had been stroking his ego in all the right ways and his human just scared her off so rudely!

Under most situations, Asmo would have kept his cool better but the haze of Demonus made his tongue loose... which let the venom fly…

He couldn’t quite remember what he said. The words left his mouth so quickly that they slurred together on his clumsy tongue, but it must have been enough because the MC flinched away from him.

That hurt all on its own, but as he started to process the pain in their eyes… he had never sobered up so fast...

He had their cheeks cupped in his hands and were kissing away their tears within the instant. Though the loud music at the club should have drowned out his apologies, the MC could see it written all over his equally tearful face…

He pulled them into his arms and then out of the club shortly after, the fog of Demonus that plagued him just moments before had long left him and all he knew was that the MC needed to be brought home and cuddled… stat.

“M-MC…? I’m sorry was it something… did I…? I’m so sorry… Please don’t cry…!”

Beelzebub 

He really didn't mean to shout so loud… honest... 

Beel becomes a completely different person when he’s hungry. He’s not entirely to blame, as his hunger can get so intense, but he still can snap from time to time when he really doesn’t mean to…

It was right after one of his practices and Beel hadn’t gotten a chance to eat in a few hours by the time the MC came to grab him from RAD. That already had him in a bad mood, but practice hadn’t gone too well for him either… 

He honestly didn’t realize how sharply he snapped at the MC when they asked him how he was. The irritation and frustration of the day all hit him at once and he became much harsher towards them than he ever intended…

It must have been the shock of seeing ever-sweet Beel suddenly get so aggressive with them that startled them so. He saw a couple tears gathering in their eyes before they could hide them and his heart just sank…

The MC was picked up in a crushing bear hug before they even let out their first sniffle. Beel didn’t even have to say how sorry he was, they could feel it in every squeeze he gave them. All while he completely ignored the growling of his stomach...

Beel wouldn’t let them go until he was certain they’d forgiven him which, honestly, took a while. Mammon was the one to ask why he had carried them all the way back to the House like a baby but… well, he didn’t need to know, now did he?

“MC, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have shouted… Are you alright...?”

Belphegor 

Stubborn boi is stubborn and trying really, really hard not to crack right now...

That's not going to last long.

Belphie can be a bit of a brat and since he's the baby of the family so he's used to getting his way. He and the MC don't argue a ton, but when they do, he always digs his heels in and refuses to budge an inch on anything.

So what started out as a simple disagreement on how often Belphie would flake out on his chores turned into a kick-the-door-down argument over how much his laziness left the MC to pick up the slack...

It ended as all their barn burning arguments do, with demon-form Belphie sitting cross-legged on his bed refusing to look at them and the MC angrily pacing about the room until he cools off…

And then he heard it.

First a sniffle… and then a hiccup. Another sniffle then muffled whine…

Oh no… not this… Why are they crying…? They don't normally cry…

To his credit (or perhaps discredit), he managed to hold out for about two minutes before he finally glanced back at them. Seeing the MC wiping their tears all alone on the floor crumbled his resolve real quick.

The MC found themselves enveloped by Belphie's arms before they even noticed he got up. Naturally, he was pouting and trying to make it seem like "not a big deal or anything" but they could tell by the nervous twitch of his tail that he was hurting too…

Needless to say. Belphie started remembering his chores a lot more after that.

"Humans are so fragile… I didn't mean to make you cry, you know? I'll get things done just… Don't cry… please…"

[cherienymphe]

Bloodied Crowns (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, STEPCEST, murder, violence, abusive realtionships, Tony x reader, prince!Peter, king!Tony, queen!Reader

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ based off of this ask

summary:  When your husband, King Anthony, is killed in a coup staged by his son from his previous marriage, Peter, you are forced to marry the young man who no longer feels the need to hide his feelings.

~

Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, the stern monarch losing his wife only a few months prior. The engagement and the wedding happened so quickly, and before you knew it, you were married to King Anthony Stark. Truth be told, you’d feared that you’d never marry at all, and that you’d bring shame to your name, but a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had put you directly into the king’s path.

Your family had attended the queen’s funeral to pay your respects. It had been drilled into you to catch the eye of an available suitor, as it had been many times before, and while you were disgusted that you could not even properly pay your respects to the royal family, you understood your parents’ desperation. You were twenty-eight with no prospects on the horizon. They had no other children, no sons, your mother unable to conceive after yourself, and so the weight of carrying on the family name was solely on your shoulders.

Your family was not poor by any means, but you were far from wealthy. That being said, your mother spent an outrageous amount to get you the most captivating black dress money could buy. It was not something that would draw too much attention, but enough so that you did not look like a grieving widow yourself. When it was your turn to pay your respects, you recalled bowing to the young prince, the brunette barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. It was rumored that he and his mother were close, that he’d taken her death very hard, and the way he seemed to stare right through you confirmed as much.

When you bowed to the king, apologizing for his loss, you could feel his eyes on you. This was nothing you concerned yourself with. After all, you were speaking to him and he you, but when you rose, you were taken aback by the intensity you found in his dark eyes. Where his son seemed to look through you, the king could not seem to take his eyes off of you. No one else seemed to notice, and, brushing it off, by the time you returned home, you had forgotten all about it.

Until a few days later when a royal guard was at your door. You were being invited to dine with the king, the invitation extending to your family as well, and although you were confused, you knew you could not refuse. Even if you wanted to. The dinner was nice, and you were a bit surprised at how easy it was to get along with the king. You never thought him cruel, but you’d heard that he was a rather stern man. After supper, he extended the invitation to staying at the castle so that you would not have to travel back so late in the evening. Your mother answered before you had the chance to, and it was no surprise to you that the answer was yes.

The castle was so different during the night. It seemed less welcoming and more ominous, and you found it hard to sleep that night. Convinced that the corridors would be empty, you quietly slipped from your chambers and made your way down to the kitchens. There were still a few servants lingering about, cleaning or preparing for the next day. You felt guilty for bothering them for something to drink.

“Nonsense, my lady. I would be more than happy to get that for you,” a younger girl by the name of Guinevere told you.

“Oh...please,” you waved her off. “No one is around. Call me Y/N.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as you told her your name, but she said nothing more as she gave you your water. The dark corridors did not scare you, but the eerie silence was a bit off putting, especially in such a grand structure. You had turned the corner to make your way back to your room when you bumped into none other than the prince. You had almost dropped the drink, and you placed your hand on your chest in an attempt to still your heart.

“Your highness. My apologies, I did not see…”

Your words died in your throat as the prince fixed you with a look that made your stomach churn. You snapped your mouth shut, swallowing as he simply glared at you, brown eyes looking so much darker. You had not seen him since the queen’s burial, and he did not look much better than he did then. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he had shoved past you, almost making you drop the goblet in your hand, and a low gasp escaped you as your other shoulder harshly met the wall. You turned to watch him go, shock and confusion pouring through you, wondering what you had done to offend him so.

It was only a few weeks later did you get your answer.

“I...I beg your pardon?”

The king reached for your hand, a soft breeze ruffling his dark hair as he brought it to his lips. They were soft as they brushed over your skin, and the corner of them curved upwards into a smile.

“Everything is already being arranged, but...this is my formal proposal. I need a queen, Peter needs a mother, and you are everything I could have hoped for,” he told you.

You stared at him in shock, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from beneath your feet. Your mind whirled as you tried to make sense of this and where this had come from, and suddenly, the puzzle started to piece together. The countless dinner invitations, the gleam in your parents’ eyes, the hushed conversations...the prince’s animosity. You were being courted by the king this whole time...and you’d been none the wiser. His chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“When your mother told me that you could be quite oblivious, I thought that it was a simple exaggeration.”

He found humor in your distress, you realized, and you swallowed.

“I do not know what to say,” you slowly breathed, and you watched him tilt his head at you, a frown beginning to form.

“You say yes,” he said with a scoffing laugh as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

You realized that to anyone else, it would be.

“Your majesty...I feel as if we’ve only just met. Surely, you would allow me time to think-.”

“Think about what?”

His hand tightened on yours, and you winced. He leaned in, genuine confusion in his dark eyes as he stared into your own.

“I am a king telling you that you are to be my queen...and you are hesitant?”

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on you. Anthony was a king. You were a mere lady attempting to refuse his proposal for marriage, and your heart sank to your stomach. You blinked at him, and his face suddenly smoothed over as he sighed.

“Ah. I understand what this is about…”

“You do…?”

He softly smiled at you, reaching up to brush his thumb along your chin.

“You come from an acceptable background. You are beautiful and smart and kind. I assure you, this is genuine. This is not some poor attempt to cope with my grief. In all honesty, my marriage to the queen was over long before she died,” he told you.

You looked away, realizing that you were not getting out of this. Whether you liked it or not, you would be marrying the king, and with reluctance and a shaky voice, you accepted his proposal. He straightened when you did, a look of satisfaction on his features, and he looked as if he wanted to kiss you. You were thankful that he did not.

The wedding took place only a couple of months later, every nearby royal, and even some across the water, in attendance. It was a grand and beautiful affair, no expense spared, and it was days later that you found out it far outshined his first wedding. You remembered feeling sick as you walked down the aisle, the feeling only getting worse as your gaze met that of the prince.

In the time since the official engagement, you had interacted with the prince only a handful of times. Each time more disastrous than the last. You told yourself that he was grieving. His mother’s death was sudden and had hit him hard and here his father was, marrying again so soon. You did not fault him for his cold behavior. He was young, after all. You would expect nothing less, to be honest, but you could not lie and say that it did not hurt.

Unfortunately, even after the marriage, he did not soften towards you. Every attempt to get to know him was met with nothing short of loathing, and you finally accepted that he would come around in his own time. The last thing you wanted Peter to think was that you were trying to replace his mother. You did not know how long this would go on, but you did not expect it to be more than a year. 

You were wrong.

“I throw that kid the best birthday celebration a nineteen year old could ask for and this is how he shows his appreciation? By not even having the decency to show up?”

Tony was angry as he sipped from his goblet, glaring down at the attendees dancing below. A wonderful number was being played by a string quartet, several single princesses in attendance, and an hour into the celebration, Peter was still absent. You placed your hand on your husband’s arm with a sigh.

“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Tony. He will show,” you tried to assure him.

His shoulders sagged as he slammed his drink down, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. He reached for you, and you flinched, but he paid it no mind as he brushed his finger along your cheek.

“You are far too nice to him...and he hardly deserves it,” he whispered.

“He’s your son,” you reminded him with a frown. “Do not talk about him like that.”

“He’s ungrateful,” he spat.

“He’s grieving,” you argued.

“It’s been a year,” Tony sneered. “How much time does he need?”

You sharply turned away, swallowing a sigh as anger flared within you. Sometimes Tony could be so insensitive, amongst other things, and it baffled you. Peter lost the only mother he ever knew, and Tony was treating it as if it was something minor. After a few more moments, you excused yourself under the guise of needing some air. In truth, you were determined to track down the prince.

It was not a hard task. He tended to frequent the same places when he called himself hiding. You found him deep within the grounds, lounging on a branch high up in the tree. It was getting late, the sun currently setting, and you held up the skirts of your dress as you trudged towards him. You knew that he heard you, and you resisted the urge to sigh as you stood below him. Your heart ached for him as you could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. After all, you still had both of your parents.

“Peter,” you eventually called.

He yet again pretended as if he had not heard you, a hurtful habit of his, and this time you did sigh.

“Peter, please come down. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, and...and I am concerned about you. I-.”

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking I care about how you feel?”

His tone was cold, venom coating every word, and your heart clenched. He rarely spoke to you, every time he did as cold as today, but this was different. You were unsure of what to say, and before you had the chance to remedy that, he was hopping down. It was a bit cool out, and his coat flared behind him as he strode towards you, face hard and nostrils flared.

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking that I care about you at all?”

You reared back, staring at him with wide eyes. His words hurt, that you would not deny, and as much as you fought against it, you could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes. You swallowed, briefly glancing down as you took a step back.

“Peter-.”

“My mother was not even in the ground properly before you came sniffing around my father like a bitch in heat,” he sneered.

Your lips parted, wide eyes staring at him in shock at his words. You had never seen him look so hateful, borderline murderous, and you suddenly realized that this was about more than grief.

“P-Peter...that… That is not what happened-.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, taking another step towards you. “Do you think me stupid? Blind? You think I have never known of the way so many women prayed on my mother’s downfall?”

“I never-.”

“Do you think that I do not know that you all came to her funeral not as mourners, but as vultures? As desperate snakes trying to slip your way into my father’s bed so that you may take her place?”

“No! That is not what happened-!”

“You are no different from the rest!”

He was practically upon you now, glaring down his nose at you with so much disgust it finally made the tears spill over.

“I always knew that you were a desperate and conniving whore…”

You gasped, more tears falling at his insult. He raised one dark eyebrow at you.

“...but I never took you for a liar too.”

You were frozen as he looked you over one last time before breezing past you. You shook, unable to stop the tears, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had no idea that Peter’s disdain was in fact not misplaced due to grief, but was instead as genuine as could be because he thought you to be something you were not. This knowledge made your heart hurt, and it turned out that you were not as adept at hiding your feelings as you thought.

“What troubles you so?” Tony wondered later that night, his hand on your shoulder as you sat at your vanity.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked with a small smile.

His gaze met yours in the mirror, and the way his jaw clenched told you that he did not have much patience tonight. His fingers pressed into your skin, and you swallowed. You looked away, eyes blurring a bit as you recalled Peter’s cruel words.

“Peter hates me,” you confessed.

You heard Tony heave a sigh, and you turned to look up at him. He ran his hand through his hair as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid hates everyone and everything,” he replied.

“No, Tony. You do not understand. He believes me to be something I am not. He thinks that I schemed my way into marrying you, that I am trying to replace his mother-.”

“Peter will be just fine. He will grow to get over it in time,” was his enlightening reply, and you stood.

“But it is not true. Tony, does this not bother you? Because it bothers me! He should be like a son to me. He should be looking to me for guidance and care, and he curses the very ground I walk on. It hurts,” you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Tony’s entire demeanor softened, and he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and you winced at the soreness before he took your chin in between his fingers. He tilted his head at you.

“I love that you’ve grown to really care about him. It warms my cold heart…”

You forced a chuckle at that.

“...but Peter has always been a bit difficult when it comes to me and anything in relation to me. His mother is really the only person he ever really connected with. This will pass, I assure you.”

You reluctantly accepted that Tony just did not care about this as much as you did, and likely never would. Against your better judgement, you opted to let it go, and softly exhaled when Tony pressed his lips to your jaw. He trailed kisses down your neck, tightening his arms around you.

“As much as I enjoy your big heart, I would rather not spend the rest of the night discussing my troubled son,” he murmured, lips finally finding yours.

You did not know if you would ever grow used to making love to Tony. The only time he had ever been anything close to gentle was on your wedding night, and you had still cried, waking up sore and bruised. It eventually dawned on you that this was simply how Tony was, but it did not mean that you had to like it. 

The years that passed did not improve things as you’d hoped they would. Tony was still the same as ever, and Peter was no different. Your conversations with the prince were rare, but every one was brief and left you with a paralyzing chill. When he was not speaking to you, his animosity was enough to force you to keep your distance. The hurt that his behavior caused never got any easier. 

“When you have a child of your own, this will mean nothing to you,” Tony would assure you.

However, it only did the opposite. Even though Peter was not your own, it did not mean that you viewed him any less, and you knew that would not change when you finally did have a child. Whenever that happened. You and Tony had been trying for years, and there was still nothing to show for it. It was a great source of stress for you both, but Tony was taking it much harder than you.

“They say that it took many tries before they were finally able to have Peter, and even afterwards...the queen was never able to conceive again,” Guinevere had whispered to you one night.

“Oh,” you sadly said. “How awful…”

The blonde girl had glanced around the busy kitchen before leaning in.

“The king will never admit it, but many believe that he was the problem, and considering he is experiencing the same thing with you…”

Your heart sank as she trailed off, and despite everything, you found yourself feeling sorry for your husband. Many would argue that you should feel sorry for yourself. After all, it was a popular opinion that the woman’s womb was always at fault, and kings have gotten rid of their wives for less, but you knew that Tony was far too possessive of you to ever do such a thing.

It was a subject you wished you could talk to Peter about. He knew his father far better than you did, and sometimes you wished you could get some insight on how to make this better for him, but Peter was disgusted by your very presence. There came a time when you reluctantly accepted that it might always be this way, but everything changed when Peter was only a few weeks shy of his twenty-third birthday.

Tony, ever the showoff, was having a ball every week for five weeks straight leading up to the night. It was the second gathering when he had dragged you out of the great hall. His hold had been tight, steps hurried, and you forced yourself to swallow down the pain. The corridor was dimly lit and equally as empty, and tears of frustration were kissing your eyes.

“Tony-.”

“I saw you,” he spat.

“Saw me what? Saw me greet one of your friends? Because that is exactly what King Steven is to me and nothing more!”

His dark eyes were hard as he pressed his fingers into your arms, lip curled over his teeth as he sneered at you.

“He desires you. It is plain as day, and he has never been subtle,” he bit out.

“Somehow I am at fault for that? Steven is a bachelor in every sense of the word. That is how he is, and you know it-.”

“Yes, but I thought to myself, surely my loving wife would have the sense not to entertain his antics!”

“I was being polite,” you told him, wincing at his tight grip. “Just because you are only ever nice to people when you want something-.”

You swallowed your words with a sharp shriek, pressing your hand to your hot cheek as the tears finally spilled over. Your eyes were on the floor as Tony shook you, a scathing remark on his tongue, no doubt, when he suddenly stilled, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His sudden change confused you, and you hesitantly looked up only to realize that his gaze was not on you. You turned to find Peter standing just at the entrance of the corridor, his wide eyes on the two of you. 

Tony was quick in straightening you up, and you hurriedly looked away as he acknowledged Peter.

“Why are you not enjoying your celebration with your friends?”

It was a while before Peter responded.

“I noticed that you had slipped out, so I came to find you. I had hoped to continue our...conversation from earlier,” the prince answered.

When you turned back around, you avoided Peter’s eye, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. Tony’s hand was rubbing into your back as he responded.

“Of course. Sweetheart, you will excuse us, won’t you? Peter and I have much to discuss, and I am sure the other wives are missing your presence,” he said, turning to you.

He threw you a tense and threatening smile, and you shakily returned it with a forced one.

“Of course. I shall see you in there when you return. Peter,” you acknowledged as you hurried past him, avoiding his gaze still.

You did not return to the hall though, but instead made your way down to the kitchen. It was filled with servants, and Mary Jane gasped when she saw you. She and Guinevere were always joined at the hip, but the other girl had been ill for the last few days. The redhead dropped what she was doing, shooing another servant off of a stool before grabbing your arm.

“My God,” she breathed.

The other occupants tended to the food and drinks, much too used to seeing you down here twice a week or so. Mary Jane pressed a cold piece of steak to your face, and you hissed.

“Is it that bad?”

“It is swelling already, your majesty,” she said.

You shifted on the seat, holding the cold meat to your face as you shooed her off.

“I hardly notice how hard he hits anymore. It still manages to shock me every time though, and I have no idea as to why,” you whispered.

She was just about to reply when another voice rang throughout the kitchen.

“Everyone out.”

You turned with wide eyes, confusion tearing through you at the sight of Peter just at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying about the food, no doubt, before eventually heeding his order. Mary Jane, no stranger to your relationship with the prince, threw you a worrying look before being the last one out. Peter seemed to hesitate as well before huffing, quickly approaching you.

You moved to stop him, but he was already pulling the red meat from your cheek before you had the chance. He stared at your skin for a while before putting it back in place. You held it there as he leaned against the counter, a familiar look of anger on his boyish features.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he murmured.

There was no need to respond. It was a statement, not an answer. The silence was heavy, thick with tension and filled with words unspoken. Outside of that night, this was the longest you had ever been alone with Peter, and the first time you did not feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“You did not want to marry my father...did you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting to refute such a blasphemous statement, but no words came out. Words failed you. Peter was a smart young man, always had been, and you were sure that he would see through whatever lie you pieced together.

“Of course, it was not like you could refuse if you wanted to. He is a king, and you were a mere lady,” he said more to himself than you.

You sighed, putting the steak down as you stood.

“My father has never been kind to anyone in his life. I do not know why I thought you were an exception…”

“Peter… I do not want this to affect how you view your father, do you understand?”

He simply frowned at you, and you continued.

“He is not without his flaws, this is true,” you slowly said. “...but he is still your father. In his own way, he loves you and only wants what is best.”

Peter stared at you for a while before scoffing, a humorless laugh not far behind. He pressed his hand to the counter as he stared at you with a look of shock.

“My father does not deserve you,” he said, almost as if he could not believe it.

He chuckled again, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“All this time, I thought that the two of you deserved each other. I hated you...and now...now I just feel sorry for you. For both my father...and me…,” he quietly finished.

“Peter-.”

“I have been nothing but cruel to you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry for the things that I have done...and the things that I have said.”

You blinked, convinced that you would never hear those words. They warmed your heart, and you looked away.

“It’s alright. You believed what you believed, and if I were in your shoes, I might have believed the same. Your feelings were valid, Peter,” you told him.

He blinked at you.

“I never wanted to replace your mother. That is still not what I desire...but I am here. I know that there is only a decade between us, but I have come to love you like a son despite everything.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and you could see the guilt there.

“I never wanted to rush you, even now, but I hope that you will view me the same one day. Tony is no longer your only parent, and I am always here.”

Peter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he held off.

“I should get back before your father comes looking for me,” you said, heading for the stairs. “Oh...and please refrain from provoking him.”

You looked to Peter.

“I may dislike him at times, but I do not want to send him to an early grave.”

Peter simply hummed, sending you a strained smile before you left him to find your husband.

You remained in the corridor as the angry voices bled through the door. Both Tony and Peter assured you countless times that their strained relationship was none of your concern, but it could not be helped. They had never had the best relationship, but if possible, it had soured even more over the years, and you were unsure of who to blame.

The minute Tony started to get more serious about grooming Peter for the throne, things had gone from tense and strained to borderline violent at times. Not only did the two have such opposing views when it came to how to run the kingdom, but your husband had been pushing the idea of marriage more and more lately. It had only gotten worse when Peter neared his twenty-fifth birthday, the party on that fateful day ending abruptly when Peter had stormed out.

You were pulled from your reverie when the door swung open. Peter was the first one out, and he held up a hand as you moved to approach him.

“Not now, Y/N,” he huffed, quickly striding down the corridor with a frustrated sigh.

Tony emerged not long after, and you moved to kiss him, knowing that it would soothe him for the time being.

“That boy will be the death of me,” he complained.

“You both provoke each other, and I do not know why,” you told him. 

“He has duties! He is twenty-five and nowhere near taking them seriously. It seems that he is determined to ruin me,” he spat.

You sighed.

“Would you like for me to talk to him?”

“You seem to be the only one he actually listens to, so by all means,” he gestured down the hall, face cloudy.

You patted his chest before leaving him, wondering if a day would come where you would be a functional family. You and Peter were nowhere near what you used to be, and for that you were eternally grateful, but his relationship with Tony was far worse than it had ever been, and you did not know how to even begin to fix it.

You found Peter sparring with his dueling instructor. The sound of clashing swords was loud, and you rounded the corner, wincing when Peter just narrowly missed a rather dangerous blow. He motioned for the other gentleman to stop once he spotted you.

“Come on his behalf, have you?”

“Peter,” you sighed.

He snapped at the other man.

“Give your queen a sword, will you? Come,” he was talking to you now. “Spar with me.”

You reluctantly accepted the other man’s sword, a grimace on your face as you stepped forward.

“I am a horrible dueling partner,” you complained.

“Nonsense, Y/N. You are far better than what you were a year ago,” Peter said with a chuckle.

Your heart sank a bit at the sound of your name, but it did not distract you from blocking the swing of his sword with your own. Peter smirked at you.

“See?”

“Peter, this is not why I am here,” you told him.

“Of course not,” he calmly said. “My father knows that between the two of you, you are the only one I actually respect. He believes that you have some sway over me...and I am not reluctant to admit that he is right.”

He blocked your blow, quick to do so again when you swung your sword down towards his legs. He eyed you, a bit of pride in his gaze.

“Very good,” he praised.

“I was hoping to talk you into agreeing to some sort of compromise with him. Any compromise, really.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, spinning before bringing his sword down over his head. Your eyes were wide as you lifted your sword, the sound of them clashing meeting your ears.

“There is no compromising with that man. He is determined to bring this kingdom and all of its subjects to ruin, and he wishes for me to just stand back and watch. He does not hear a word I say,” he spat.

He swiped his sword at you, several times and in several different successions. Unable to keep up, you were not surprised when your sword was knocked from your hands. You did not flinch when the tip of his blade found your throat, confident that Peter would never hurt you. He pressed the tip further, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed.

“Do you agree with him?”

“Of course not,” you honestly answered.

Peter lightly dragged his blade down your neck and towards the top of your dress, his eyes following its movement before he quickly snatched it away. He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to continue.

“You know I do not agree with how your father runs this kingdom, but I have no say. I never did. Believe it or not, Peter, you have much more influence than I do.”

He turned away with a disbelieving laugh.

“Somehow, I doubt that…”

“Look, I am going to say something that I know you are not going to like,” you suddenly said.

Peter did not respond, so you continued.

“I think that you should consider marriage.”

You saw him straighten at that, back tense, and you rushed to say something else.

“If Tony feels that you are taking your future seriously, then he will be more inclined to take you seriously.”

He turned to you with a withering look, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. I am not saying that you have to marry some poor girl right away, but at least make an effort to look around, and show Tony that you are attempting to meet him halfway,” you advised.

Peter gave you a hard stare for the longest time before eventually rolling his eyes and looking away.

“Very well. You always do get your way, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth parted for a moment before you snapped it shut, looking down. This did not go unnoticed by Peter, and he neared you.

“What is it, now?”

Your eyes met his, and you tried to hide your hurt, but it must have been clear as day. Peter’s entire demeanor softened, and he stuck his sword in the dirt, reaching for you.

“What is it?”

You exhaled.

“That...is another thing I had hoped to discuss with you.”

He frowned in confusion.

“You still refer to me by my name…” you watched as his face fell. “And I do not wish to rush you, I never have, but when you say my name...it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong here.”

“You are not,” he rushed to assure you. “Believe me…”

“I do not want to replace your mother, but if I am doing something-.”

“It is merely a force of habit. That is all,” he interrupted. 

“You are sure…?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile.

“...okay,” you said with a nod. “...and what will you be doing after this...?”

“I will be speaking with my father,” he reluctantly told you.

“Good,” you said, Peter bending to allow you to quickly peck his forehead. “...and please be polite. I hate the way you two provoke each other.”

He roughly exhaled.

“Yes...mother…,” he seemed to bite out, eyes on you.

You looked to him with wide eyes, heart swelling as your smile grew. You chuckled, kissing his forehead one last time before leaving him to finish his instruction.

Contrary to what you had hoped, your advice did not improve things. Now that Peter had agreed to at least looking for a wife, it just gave him and Tony one more thing to disagree on, and disagreements about the smallest of things only gave room for disagreements about more serious matters. Peter hated the way Tony ran the kingdom, and you could not fault him for that.

Meals were more tense than ever, and it soon became suffocating to be in the same room as father and son. You did your best to keep the peace between them but there was only so much you could do. Especially when the arguments would get so intense that you feared for them. Tony could get so angry, and while you had never known him to put his hands on Peter as he did you, it still worried you that he might one day. And Peter…

Sometimes Peter would get a look in his eye that chilled you to the bone. He would get so fed up with his father, lips pressed together as Tony tore into him, and you would see the younger man’s eyes flash with something you could not name. It was a look that terrified you and made him look like someone that was not Peter, at all. 

Tensions only mounted as your birthday neared. You did not want either of them involved in the party planning process, convinced this would be the final nail in the coffin. Truth be told, it was also for yourself as well. It allowed you to breathe better.

“The party is tomorrow night, and Peter has yet to have the last fitting for his attire,” you told Mary Jane as you stood.

“I can finish this up, your majesty, while you go find Peter,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I am almost finished, anyway.”

“Wonderful! I shall return shortly. There are only so many places he could be at this hour…”

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Peter’s chambers first, making your way to his wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the grounds, the maze especially, and you were confident that you would find him there then. 

You had not been inside the maze for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, somewhere in the middle perfectly between the beginning and the end when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end of a long stretch, were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar eyes meeting yours. A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Peter simply stared at you.

He did not break his gaze as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as Guinevere. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Peter as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Peter was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable. Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way Peter’s deep moan rang throughout the air.

Upon your return, you told Mary Jane that you were unable to find Peter. You did not want to think of the awkward encounter, and told yourself that the tailor had never been wrong before. You were positive that Peter’s attire would fit. You did not see the young man again until the following day, your birthday, and it was only an hour or so until your party. Tony was meeting with a few of his Lords when there was a knock on your chamber door.

You were quick to answer it, surprised to find Peter on the other side. You only felt uncomfortable for a moment before you took in his attire. You beamed, widening the door to allow him in.

“Oh, Peter, you look positively dashing!”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he smugly wondered.

You threw him a look.

“I swear, you are getting more and more like your father every day,” you told him with a chuckle.

“I got you something,” he suddenly said, and it was only then did you notice the box in his hand.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening when he opened it to reveal the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. The ruby heart in the middle was positively blinding, standing out against the rest of the diamonds that made up the band. You pressed your hand to your chest, mouth parting.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Oh my… Peter, this is so sweet of you,” you told him.

“Well,” he started, setting the box aside as he took the piece of jewelry into his hands. “It is not every day that one turns thirty-six.”

He motioned for you to spin around, and you obliged.

“This might also double as an apology for yesterday. I regret that you had to see that,” he chuckled.

You joined him, waving him off.

“Nonsense, Peter. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing more. You are a young man, after all, and I could never fault you for doing what young men do. You are treating Guinevere well, I hope? She is a sweet girl.”

Peter groaned.

“Yes, Y/N.”

Your heart sank at the sound of your name, and you frowned a bit.

“I am treating her just fine,” he assured you.

You chose not to comment on his use of your name, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“Would you ever consider marrying her?” you pushed.

Peter was quiet as he brought his hands over to lower the necklace at your neck. It was not one that rested at your décolletage, but at your throat instead, and your eyes widened a bit when he pulled it back. You reached up to your neck, forced to stumble back into his chest to keep from choking, relaxing a bit when he finally clasped it together.

“No,” was his simple answer. “It is not like that.”

He rested his hands on your shoulder, turning you around to admire you. His dark eyes took you in before finally focusing on the necklace, the corner of his lips lifting a bit. He pressed his finger to the ruby heart, drawing patterns over it before eventually stepping away.

“It looks great,” he told you.

“Thank you. We should track down your father before they start my own celebration without me,” you replied.

It was not long after that the three of you were entering the great hall, a smile on your face as everyone greeted you. Tony and Peter were at your sides, and both of their hands rested at the small of your back as they guided you to the royal table at the head of the room. Everyone only quieted down when you took your seats, and you looked down at the familiar faces with a smile.

Your attention was drawn to Peter as he stood, raising his glass as a servant came by to fill them. He only filled yours and Peters, but another quickly came to fill Tony’s. Once everyone’s glasses were filled, that was when Peter spoke.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

He turned to look down at you, dark eyes unreadable as he swallowed.

“...to the woman who loved me even when I did not deserve it.”

Your heart swelled as you smiled at Peter, so happy that you two had come this far.

“No one could ever replace my mother...and I would not want them to, but you, Y/N, you are the next best thing.”

Your eyes softened, realizing that while maybe Peter did not see you as something akin to a mother just yet, he still loved you, and that gave you hope. You could live with that for now. Peter’s eyes fell onto his father, and he suddenly smiled.

“...and to my father, the king. If it were not for you, Y/N would never have come into our lives.”

His voice was even, but his eyes glinted before he turned to the rest of the royal court, his glass held high.

“To the king and queen. Long may they reign,” his voice traveled over the room.

Everyone else repeated his words before taking a drink, you and Tony following suit. As you set your glass down, you watched, a bit concerned, as Peter swallowed all of his wine, a look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered his glass. You turned to Tony, prepared to ask him if he wished to say anything, just as he let out that first cough.

It sounded nasty, and you frowned, prepared to ask him if he drank too fast when he coughed again, blood staining his bottom lip. Your heart fell to your stomach, eyes widening as you reached for him, hands trembling. You were prepared to call for help when you noted the sound of several coughs reaching your ears, followed by screams.

When you turned towards the rest of the room, you saw every single one of the royal court coughing up blood, and you stood on unsteady legs as understanding dawned on you. You reached for Peter, your hand gripping his arm as fear and horror clung to you.

“P-Peter…”

You looked to him, but his face was stony as he looked down at everyone. The only people who were okay were you, Peter, the servants, and the few guards. You watched as Peter waved his hand, confusion filling you as two guards opened the door to let more in. You were frozen as they all drew their swords, stomach churning as you realized what was about to happen. You turned back to Peter, but he was already moving past you.

“Peter, what- what is happening? What are you doing?”

You lunged for him as he drew a dagger, hand fisted into his fathers hair to pull the struggling man’s head back.

“Peter, no!”

He shoved you away, right into the arms of a waiting guard, and you did not turn your head in time to miss the way he dragged the blade across his father’s neck. A scream left you, belonging to a voice that you did not recognize, and you continued to scream and cry as the guard backed up. Peter pointed at you, his father’s blood coating his hand, his face unrecognizable to you.

“Get her out of here…”

His eyes met yours, dark with a harmful intent that terrified you. Who was this man? He ran his eyes over you.

“...and do not let her get away.”

You fought against the guard as he dragged you away, kicking and screaming all the way. Your efforts did not even cease as you made it into the corridor, having been forced past the dead bodies of your friends and acquaintances. The guard towered over you and was easily double your size, so all of your efforts were useless. 

He only let you go when you reached Peter’s chambers, dragging you through the receiving chamber to toss you onto the floor of his bedchamber. The impact made your head spin, and by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, he was already pulling the door shut. You slammed your hands against it just as you heard it lock, and another sob threatened to escape you.

You had only ever been in Peter’s room a handful of times, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around. Your chest hurt, heart breaking as you recalled the way Peter had so callously taken his father’s life. Your husband was dead, and it was no secret that the man was far from perfect, but his absence scared you. What would become of you now? Why did Peter not poison you like the rest? God, had his feelings never changed, at all? Had he still secretly hated you this whole time and wanted to get some sick satisfaction out of killing you here?

You lost count of how many times you tried the door before moving to the balcony doors. They too did not budge, and you kicked them in frustration. You could barely form a coherent thought, and more tears spilled over as you realized just how alone you were. You did not understand anything. Why would Peter do this?

As you heard someone enter his receiving chamber, it occurred to you that you might get your answer.

Your eyes met Peter’s as he entered his chambers, and you stumbled back, afraid to take your eyes off of him. You watched as he locked the door behind him, and the sight of that made your face crumble.

“What have you done?” you shakily asked.

The room was quiet save for your soft sobs, and you flinched when Peter took a step forward. He did not look like the young man you knew. He stood there in the dark attire he had picked out for your birthday, looking every bit like the murderous man you now knew him to be. A dark strand of hair kissed his forehead, jaw clenched as he eyed you. It started to lightly rain outside, and your eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

His father’s blood.

“Have you come to kill me too?”

Finally, his face shifted, and he frowned at you.

“Kill you?”

Peter scoffed, laughing to himself as he tilted his head at you.

“You could not be farther from the truth…”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are you doing, Peter? I do not understand…”

“My father was going to run this kingdom into the ground. We both know it…”

You started shaking your head before he was even done.

“Something had to be done.”

“Not like this! You killed him- you killed everyone,” you cried.

“...and here I thought you would be thanking me,” he sneered.

“Thanking you?”

“Unless I was wrong, and you enjoy being slapped around,” he threw at you.

You felt as if you were just slapped then, and you pressed your back into the wall, tightening your arms around yourself.

“Not like this, Peter. Not like this,” you tearfully murmured.

The rain got louder, filling the otherwise silent room with some noise, and you flinched when lightning flashed, shedding light on the room and on Peter’s dark gaze.

“What will become of me? Did you ever think about that? I am the widow of a murdered king. A king murdered by his own son in a coup!”

“...and the future wife of the next one,” Peter calmly stated.

You froze, his words failing to make sense despite the fact that you heard him just fine. Something about them did not sound right, and your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“What...what did you just say?” you hesitantly questioned. 

Peter took another step towards you, and you slid along the wall...away from him.

“Do you have any idea how much it pained me to watch you with him?”

“Peter…”

You shook your head, still moving away as he moved closer.

“Do know what it was like to watch him mistreat you again and again only to turn around and reap the spoils of his marriage as if he had not just caused you harm only moments before?”

His voice was low, thick with something you were too disgusted to name. Your eyes were wide, filled with tears as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Peter’s feelings, his father’s murder...the two of you alone in a castle full of people that have proven their loyalty to him. Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, standing face to face with you, but now, eight years later, the young man towered over you.

He suddenly chuckled, and the sound terrified you more than anything now.

“I find it funny… My father was always telling me that royals take. We take what is ours. We take what we believe we should have. That is what we do, son,” he mocked. “We take.”

His cold eyes bore into yours as you stumbled away from him. In a circle the two of you went, and you pulled on the handle of the door as you pressed your back to it. Fresh tears spilled as it refused to budge.

“Now look. I have taken his life, I have taken his kingdom, and I have taken the woman he thought belonged to him-.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as you suddenly dived to the other side of the room. Peter followed, and you reached up to pull the portrait from the wall, tossing it at him only for Peter to evade it. You frantically crawled across the bed, kicking Peter in the chest as he reached for your ankle. You fell to your knees on the other side, running to the balcony doors with tears in your eyes.

Again, the doors would not budge, and you were prepared to throw yourself through the glass when Peter was suddenly there at your back. He enclosed you in his arms, and you reached back to fight against him and push him away, but he only pinned you between him and the glass. The sound of the thunder drowned out your screams, and you yelped in shock when he fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head to the side.

Peter was determined to taste you, tongue and teeth brushing your skin as he ground himself against you. Nothing you did seemed to deter him, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. The storm raged outside, wind pushing rain against the window. One of Peter’s hands dragged up your leg, pushing the skirts of your dress with it, and you slammed your hands against the window, attempting to push back.

This only egged him on, and he moaned in your ear.

“Peter, please,” you begged

You could feel the air against you, and your efforts to get away only increased when you felt him moving to release himself. The hand in your hair moved to your neck, cutting off your airway as he pulled your head back to rest against him. You struggled to breathe, nails scraping against the glass. He leaned down to cover your lips with his own, kissing you for the first time, and you sharply inhaled.

He moaned at the taste of you, his tongue meeting yours, tasting the wine that you wish had killed you too. You both struggled against the window, your hands turning into fists when he pushed his leg between yours, quickly followed by the other. You turned your head away, your small victory overshadowed by your ultimate defeat as he thrust into you. You yelped just as Peter shuddered against your back, a long sigh escaping him as he pressed a hand into the glass beside your head.

He pressed his face into your hair, grinding against you, the sound of him breathing you in reaching your ears. Your own forehead was pressed to the glass now, tearful eyes taking in the storm as Peter dragged his cock in and out of your unwilling core. Your body shook from both your sobs and his ministrations, and again, you pushed against the glass in hopes to push him away.

He merely shoved his chest into your back, forcing you back against the glass before wrapping his arms around you again. One hand pulled at the neckline of your dress, ripping it straight down, and your lashes fluttered when he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to roll his fingers over you. His other arm came across your middle, pinning your own at your sides.

“You are finally mine,” he breathed after a while.

You shook your head in denial, another lightning strike bathing the room in a glow. It was gone as quickly as it came, and you were forced to focus on Peter’s reflection in the window. He was lost in the euphoria of you, the feel of you wrapped around him, sucking him back in again and again.

“Finally,” he groaned. “At my side and in my bed as my queen…”

His hand slipped from beneath the torn fabric of your dress, dancing along your skin before his fingers brushed over the diamond choker at your neck.

“I have all night to claim you as mine, and no one is around to stop me.”

“Peter, this is not you-.”

“Oh, but it is,” he sighed. “This is the man you loved when he did not deserve it. This is the man you will marry, bear children with…’

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling at his words.

“Oh, please. Everyone knew that my father was the problem. He was the only one in denial about it, and I have a feeling that by the time I am done with you, you shall be with child by tomorrow.”

“Peter, please,” you screamed.

His hand tightened on your throat, pulling your head back so you were forced to stare at the ceiling, back arched to take his slow and purposeful thrusts. He kissed the corner of your eye before doing the same to your cheek. His breathing was choppy, heart pounding in his chest, and the way his hips stuttered told you that he was close.

“Oh God,” he moaned, stilling against your back as he spilled himself into you.

You froze against him at the feel, realizing that there was no turning back. You shook in his hold, feeling the urge to be sick when he suddenly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers. You gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist as he shoved a second finger inside of you, the wet sound of it reaching your ears even with the rain outside. He pressed you to his chest as he curled his fingers into you.

You bucked your hips, ashamed with your actions as he pulled pleasure from you like it was nothing. LIke he somehow knew your body better than you did. His lips were at your ear, brushing against your skin before he trailed them to your neck again, pressing kisses there. Your nails dug into his wrist, but he paid your efforts no mind as he thrust his fingers into you, setting a pace that had your legs shaking. You knew that if it were not for his hold, you would have collapsed already.

Peter hummed when your breath hitched.

“You are close...aren’t you?”

“Peter...stop,” you shakily begged.

“I shall stop when I feel your arousal dripping down my hand,” he purred.

His words had you clenching around him, and he moaned against your neck.

“I suppose I cannot blame my father for being so possessive of you. Your walls feel like heaven…”

“Peter…”

“I do not know how I will ever allow you to leave our bed-.”

“Peter-.”

“I guess I shall just have to keep you tired…”

“Please-!”

“Come for me, Y/N. Fall apart for your king,” he whispered.

And you did. You seized in his arms, walls clenching around him, your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. Your nails drew blood, but he only moaned with you, cursing as you rode yourself on his fingers, your other hand reaching back to twist into his shirt. That was the hardest you ever came, and shame filled you.  As you came down from your high, Peter lowered the both of you to the floor.

It was only then did you notice the bloody handprints on the glass. The same blood on you, no doubt. More tears sprung forth as it all seemed to hit you, and Peter forced your head onto his shoulder as he shushed you. You obliged, and he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, rocking you as you sobbed in his tightening arms.

~

tags:   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie  @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @mcudarklibrary @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @dramaholic18​

[helloprettybb]

slip of the tongue

i love bucky with all my heart. that’s it.

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

description: bucky doesn’t really like you. but a night alone and a stab wound may change his opinion.

warnings: violence, bad description of action scene, heated kissing??? not smut but implied

word count: 1.9k

Bucky hates you. It isn’t difficult seeing as you’re Stark’s daughter and every quality in the man is tenfold in you. You’re crazy smart and you aren’t afraid to show it. Perhaps your worst attribute is your arrogance since it’s justified most of the time. Bucky hates how you’re always right and the stupid smirk on your face when you outwit or outtalk someone.

He knows you can tell and that’s the worst part. It seems you do everything in your power to irk him even more. Like trying to talk to him every time he enters the room or asking for every excruciating detail for any minor event. You get on his nerves and nothing could change that.

The team left for a mission this morning so it’s just you and Bucky at the Compound. After doing nothing all day, Bucky decides to go for an afternoon run. He doesn’t listen to music, as he enjoys the sounds of the city between the mindless chatter and the speeding cars, it reminds him of his youth.

Towards the end of his run, Bucky starts toward the Compound when his ears pick up a yell. Going towards the noise, he spots three men assaulting a woman. She tries her best to hold them off, but she is greatly outnumbered and outmatched by the three, burly men.

Bucky springs into action and grabs the man whose hands are around the woman’s throat. Yanking him off easily, Bucky shoves the man to the ground with a force that was probably harder than necessary, but he doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse as he moves his attention to the two other attackers. He grabs the second man, who is slightly shorter than the first and punches him square in the jaw. He releases the woman and stumbles back. The third man lands a few punches on him, but they barely phase Bucky. While fighting off the last man, Bucky doesn’t notice the first guy get up. He also fails to notice the shiny knife in his hand before it’s too late. The man stabs Bucky in the side. Now Bucky’s pissed as he pushes the third man into the wall. He turns toward the man with the knife and knocks him out cold.

He looks around and realizes the woman must have run away. “Good.” he thinks, but only for a minute as he remembers that he got fucking stabbed. He groans as he applies pressure to the wound.

Bucky makes it back to the Compound, but the pain is getting worse. Stumbling inside, he heads for the labs to look for a medkit. But of course, since it’s his lucky day, you’re there, too. You’re probably finishing the project that you were talking about for the past few weeks - something about particles accelerating, but Bucky didn’t care enough to ask. He hopes he can slip by unnoticed, but the gaping hole in his side draws attention to him.

Your head snaps up from your work and you see Bucky hobble by. “Heya Buck,” you start in your usual playful manner. But when you look at the state he’s in, your attitude changes immediately, “What the fuck happened?”

“It’s nothing.” he grumbles. You look down and see that he’s holding his side. His sweatshirt and fingers are covered in blood.

“Bullshit.” you say. Moving around the lab, you quickly find the medkit. “Sit down.”

“I don’t need your-”

“Shut up and sit down.” you interrupt. Bucky’s protests stop as he sits down on one of the stools. You pull up a chair and open the kit.

“Y’know this will probably heal by tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but it can’t heal if you bleed to death.” you retort. While the injury most likely won’t kill him, your point still stands. “Can I?” you motion to his hand. He removes his hand and you quickly pull his sweatshirt up to treat the wound. Luckily it’s a shallow stab wound and the gauze you put on is enough to stop him from bleeding out. As you continue to apply the gauze, you have to force yourself to not get distracted by his defined abs and focus all your attention on the wound. Your fingers trace over his stomach and he jumps slightly.

“Sorry,” you mutter. Your hands must be freezing from being down in the lab for so long. Once you finish applying the gauze, you say, “There, all done.” You look up at Bucky and are unable to read his expression. It causes you both to fall into an awkward silence. “So,” you say to clear the air, “How’d this happen?”

“Some guys were attacking this woman. Didn’t know one of them had a knife.” He responds gruffly. You nod in understanding.

You finish patching him up and say, “If you need anything like extra bandages or a beer, just come to me.” Bucky simply nods, unsure what to make of that proposition. He begins to leave awkwardly and almost makes it out of the lab before something in him makes him turn back.

He pops his head in and says, “You said something about beer?”

-

Bucky doesn’t know what time it is and he doesn’t care. He’s on his fourth beer, but he can’t get drunk so it doesn’t really matter. It’s funny because one beer turned into two and then three and now he’s found himself in a full-on conversation with you. And the most surprising part is that it’s delightful.

Behind your arrogance and quick judgments, you’re really funny. He knew you were smart, that wasn’t a surprise, but talking to you more changed his opinion of you.

“So, Buck.” Usually, that nickname didn’t get to him but a healing stab wound and a couple of beers will change anyone’s perception.

“What?” he asks.

“Got any lucky girl?” He scoffs at that and you look shocked. “What? It was simply a question.”

“It wasn’t the question, doll.” Since when did he call you doll? Just a slip of the tongue, he supposes. “It was the fact that I’d even have someone.” he says honestly.

“What do you mean? You’re a good-looking guy, just over one hundred. Any girl would be lucky to have you.” Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. Damn, you’re growing on him.

“I’m serious!” you exclaim. Your left arm is on the couch and your hand is leaning against your hand. He realizes this is the closest you’ve been besides before when you were tending to his stab wound. “You’re a catch, Buck. What stops all the ladies from falling all over you?”

He rolls his eyes at you again whether at your persistence or wording. “I’m a bad guy, doll.” There it is again.

“That’s not true,” you scoff. Taking a sip from your beer, you casually add, “Besides, I’ve always had a thing for the bad ones,” Bucky raises an eyebrow at that. “Come on, Buck. I’ve liked you for a pretty long time. I thought I made it quite obvious.”

“By annoying the hell outta me?” He jokes.

“Hey, I was just trying to talk to you. Although I know I can come across as….”

“Annoying.” he says back. You give him a look that makes him laugh and soon a smile spreads across your face.

“I actually do care about you. But, I know you don’t feel the same way, so I’m happy just being friends.” Bucky thinks it over for a moment. Just this morning he was thinking about how you bothered the hell out of him. Actually, the more that he thinks about it, he realizes that he never really hated you. Did Bucky like you all along? He’s about to reply when the elevator doors open.

“Oh, you’re back?” you turn to greet the team.

“Hey, what are you doing up so late with Bucky?” Your dad eyes the two of you suspiciously.

You catch onto what he’s implying and assure him, “We’re just hanging out. In fact, I was just heading to my room. See you tomorrow.” You say a quick goodbye and leave before anyone could say anything.

They all turn to Bucky, ready to attack him with questions. “I’m going to head up, too.” Bucky quickly exits. He catches up to you, although he definitely didn’t mean to. Curse his long legs.

“Oh, hey,” you say as he enters the sleeping quarters.

“Hey,” he says. Fuck it, mind as well try it. “So, about the friend thing.”

You wince, “You don’t want to be friends.” You seem a little hurt by it, “I get it, you don’t really like me. It’s not like I can force you, too. And especially after I basically confessed to liking you as more than a friend, I could see how a potential friendship wouldn’t sound too appealing.” You’ve never looked this uneasy. He’s used to seeing you so confident and assured, but this was new.

Bucky lets you finish rambling before he replies, “No, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh.” He laughs a little, finally shutting you up. He moves closer, but you stay still. You both can tell what’s about to happen, yet neither is making a motion to stop it.

“I like you. As more than a friend.” You look like you’re trying to play it cool and contain your excitement, but Bucky sees you bite your lip like you’re trying to stop your smile from spreading.

“So…” You start like you’re thinking long and hard about what you’re about to say, “Can I kiss you?” You’re adorable. Bucky takes one last step and pulls you into a kiss.

Your lips are soft against his. Beyond the taste of beer, Bucky picks up some… he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip… cherry lipgloss. He’ll never get sick of the taste of cherries. He thought it’d be a sweet, innocent kiss but when you grab at his back, trying to hold him as close as possible, he knows it’s anything but. You kiss him hungrily as if your life depends on it and Bucky eagerly accepts. He muffles your moans and gasps and thinks about how nice those sounds will be echoed in his bedroom.

Bucky moves you so that your back is against the wall. You moan as his hands trail down your sides and onto your ass. His hands go under your thighs and you jump so that you can wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky catches you and pins you between himself and the wall.

Your hands go up to his hair and play with a few strands before pulling lightly. He groans at that, separating from your lips and throwing his head back. With his neck exposed, you trail kisses up and down his throat. Sucking and biting occasionally and making Bucky go crazy.

Two can play at that game, he thinks. He reconnects your lips to kiss you again and starts grinding his hips into you. Your hands go to his back and start scratching against his shirt.

Before this could go any further, Bucky pulls away and asks, “My room?”

And you smile, “Fuck yeah.”

[omiscurls]

I love your writing and how much you’re able to bring out the true personalities of each character!! I was wondering if you could do Kaeya, Xiao, Diluc, Zhongli, and Childe celebrating y/n’s bday. (My birthday was a couple of days ago but I didn’t receive any greetings from my genshin team for some reason... 😔)

happy birthday

a/n: SO SORRY FOR THE DELAY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! as for your problem, have you tried looking in character>voiceover>voicelines? the wishes should appear there, i dont know what happened if they don't

plot: celebrating the reader's birthday

contains: kaeya, diluc, tartaglia, xiao, zhongli

warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, otherwise pure fluff

kaeya

a surprise party

to be completely honest, kaeya barely cares about his own birthday enough to even remember the date

and obviously he does remember yours, how could he not, but- he's just not used to celebrating, you know?

so watch him know very well your birthday is coming up, with a mindset like: "okay, you've got time, you'll figure something great out, it's gonna be amazing"

and the day or two before he realizes, he indeed wants to do something great and amazing, but he completely ran out of time

fortunately, who cares about reservations when your brother's a bar owner, right?

he figures out that if he waits till sunset with the party he still has an entire day he can spend of preparing everything he needs

so as you sleep peacefully, he sneaks out of the room at the break of dawn, ready to work his ass off

he doesn't want you feeling bad, after all, right?

the thing is, you do start to feel a bit bad, as an entire morning goes by, and not only is kaeya nowhere in sight, literally nobody is! you walk through the streets of mondstadt, looking for any familiar face to spend the time with, but the city seems awfully empty of your friends. you end up having fun at diona's cat's tail, her complaining about everyone, and you, surprisingly, joining in, but it still doesn't replace the companion of your friends.

you go over your day as per usual, and decide to bake yourself a cake, since you think that'll cheer you up. you run out of flour, though, so it's necessary to go over to the store and stock up on some. right as you cross the city's main square, you run into diluc.

"oh, sorry, haven't seen you" you say, not even lifting up your face to look at who's chest did you bump on, until he grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"someone looks dejected" he says, and you almost want to punch him for not realizing why. instead of doing that, however pleasing it sounds, you just shrug your shoulders. "come on, you look like you could use a special drink of mine"

and with that, he pulls you towards angel's share, letting you complain about your day, though you don't explicitly say it's your birthday, still mad he didn't remember that on his own.

"so he completely ditched you without a word?" he acts surprised and offended "that's so awful-" he continues, opening the door before you.

just as he opens it, and you hear the word "awful" you see the bar as if for the first time. flowery garlands are up beneath the ceiling, the tables are arranged differently and covered with colorful, pastel table cloths, music is playing. the backdoor is opened and you see the outside of the building decorated in a similar manner, candles and fairy lights spread all over the place.

the sun is slowly setting over the buildings visible through the back door, and the atmosphere inside borders on magical, but to top that all off-

"happy birthday!" you hear a lot of voices shout, and your eyes widen at the sight of all those who you hold dear present. you can't help but smile, seeing all of them cheer, grinning from ear to ear.

"i-" you look over at diluc "how'd you pull this off?"

you swear you saw him crack a soft smile before admitting that he in fact, didn't. you're about to ask who did, then, but you're interrupted by a silvery voice, coming from behind you.

"i did" the voice says, a hand moving to cover your eyes "wanna guess who?" you hear a whisper inches away from your ear, shaking from surprise.

affection swells in your chest as you quietly say "kaeya", your smile growing fondler, knowing that aside from all your friends, he's here too, and as a mastermind, at that.

"hope you don't hold leaving you by yourself for a couple of hours against me" he continues, arms sneaking around your waist, chin rested on your shoulder "d'ya like it?"

emotion gets the better of you, and you don't know what to say, so choose only to nod eagerly.

"a lot" you finally whisper, much to kaeya's satisfaction.

"happy birthday, then" he says, suddenly pulling away from you, as to exclaim loudly "attention everyone!!" he takes a fork to ring on his glass "i hereby declare, that the next round's on me!"

cheers fill the room, along with one "yea right" and another "like we'd believe that" before the owner of the bar speaks up as well.

"as much as i'd like to see that" diluc settles "today's drinks are on the house."

diluc

a magical evening

so he’s a fan of planning

not a diehard fan, but a fan nonetheless 

it’s just, he would rather have things planned ahead than wake up a day before and not know what to do (like a kaeya) like an idiot.

so you bet he has already calculated how much time he has left the moment you told him the date of your birthday.

unlike kaeya, he prefers to be working alone, but also likes to keep his plans a surprise. he himself hates surprises, but has to admit, doing one for someone else is quite the fun 

he stays quiet about your birthday coming up until the very last moment, and if you want to ask him if he wants to do anything with you that day, he says he already has something in mind, you know, nonchalantly. as if he hadn’t been thinking about it for archons know how long 

he’ll wake up before you just to wish you a happy birthday the moment you wake up, and he might be unusually affectionate for a bit, but don’t even bother asking what he has planned out - he won’t tell, not even if you beg. 

diluc wanted to kick you out of the house all day. “oh, there’s shopping to be done” “oh, this lady wanted to talk to you”, or “you know, come to think of it, didn’t jean say she had something she’d wanted to show you for your birthday?” every lame excuse in the book, he has used it. 

you decide to finally grant him what he so obviously wanted, and leave, choosing to walk all around the city, and even outside the gates, you make it quite a trip, not knowing when to come back. 

you smile upon thinking about how secretive he tried to be, but how even he, the mighty descendant of one of the noble families of mondstadt, a man as collected and stoic as can be, couldn’t contain his excitement. you saw all his little side smiles and the way he bit his lip a little after settling today’s rough plans with you, he was so happy, you’re satisfied just by seeing that, sometimes forgetting the real reason for why he was actively plotting something. 

you walk and walk, and then walk some more, but your legs start to hurt, and you’re growing hungry, so you decide to finally get back home. 

when you approach the winery, you can see the lights in the ballroom are lit up from a mile away. your heart can’t help but flip with excitement, since diluc hates using the room, hates throwing parties, and would much rather just forget it exists. 

it’s a beautiful venue though, looks like something out of a fairytale, and you always tell him how much you love it. it’s no surprised he decided to use it, but you can’t wait to see it anyway. 

as you get closer to the building, it becomes more and more apparent that the ballroom isn’t the only place that got upgraded to a five star level for one night and one night only. the building looks amazing, and the gates are open all the way, as if there was a party to be thrown and guests to arrive any time soon. 

but as you’re welcomed into the mansion, there’s no one else in the hall, other than a dressed up diluc, his hair in a high pony, just how you always said you liked it, wearing a suit you hadn’t seen on him since... well, you don’t even recall. 

“well, if it isn’t my honorary guest” he announces with an official tone, almost making you a bit flustered. 

“what’s all this? am i not, i don’t know, underdressed?” you giggle nervously, and he approaches you, a tiny little black box in his hand. 

“you could wear a potato sack and shine brighter than all the stars together” he says softly, showing you the little box. “and as tradition orders, happy birthday.”

you carefully open the box, a simple, silver necklace resting on the little cushion inside. you take it out, and watch the ornament, but can’t for the life of you figure out what it is. 

“you see” diluc provides an explanation “it’s a common thing to do to gift someone jewellery as a gift, and almost as common to have necklaces with your star constellation. that is, the allignment the stars were in the moment you were born. but i decided, that i wanted to give you one with the alignment that shone on the sky on the happiest day of my life. well, according to mona it did.” 

you stay silent for a second, astonished with the present, before asking 

“and that is?”

“the day we met.”

tartaglia

how to surprise your lover 101

when i tell you this boy knew EXACTLY WHAT HE WAS DOING from the moment he first thought of it

now. he loves celebrating, anything, really, the atmosphere of a party is almost magnetic to him

he grew up thinking every person deserves to have an amazing day once a year, only about themselves, so it’s very obvious to him that he IS doing something, and it needs to be huge

now, in a family as big as his, it was hard to keep things a secret, so he developed a whole plan on how to avoid having you finding out what he was planning

and that is: by having you know

it’s really getting annoying, how everybody keeps walking up to you, for a good week now, and asking if you’re excited for the big party childe’s throwing. the first time you hear it, you almost immediately run to confront him about it, since you explicitly said that a party, a big one, at that, is the last thing you want.

he obviously says that it’s nothing, and you needn’t worry about that. not that you trust his words, obviously, but you let it go, partly because you know how attached he is to the idea of a huge celebration, and partly because arguing with someone as stubborn can really be tiring.

so you settle, and fake a smile for every conversation with the alleged “guests” for your alleged party, thinking you’ll just suffer through it and then just do something with your childe the next day, having yourself plan it.

the wait is stressful, and when you finally see tartaglia walk through your bedroom door, dressed up really nicely, with a soft ribbon to tie on your eyes, so you wouldn’t see anything before it’s “time”, you almost want to ditch him, but that would be too rude.

complying begrudgingly, you let him guide you through the city, feeling the cold evening air hit your skin, wondering where did he set up this party of his, since you don’t hear anything.

oh god, is everyone gonna jump out of hiding yelling “happy birthday”? please, not that, at least not that.

when he finally unties the material covering your eyes, you see nothing but a wooden platform at the end of the harbor, with a blanket set up, some really nice-smelling food and what appears to be champagne laying on it. the sun is setting slowly behind the mountains in the distance, the only sound you hear being waves crushing on the rocks.

you can’t help but gasp.

“but” you turn around to face childe with a questioning look “what about the party?”

“what party?” he looks surprised “i never said anything about any party” he adds with a knowing smirk.

as you analyze your surroundings, he watches you with a soft smile.

“come on, don’t be so shocked now” he finally says “i know you better than to plan you something you’d hate. i’m not THAT much of an asshole”

his giggle sounds almost too good in the beautiful scenery around you, and you can’t help but let your eyes water for a little while, before rapidly blinking the tears back.

“is this more similar to what you’ve dreamed of?” he asks.

“yeah” you whisper “yes, it is”

“well, that’s the only thing that matters. shall we?” his hand points to the blanket, and you nod, smiling.

this may or may not be inspired by that one episode of Brooklyn 9-9

xiao

trying something new

birthdays? what’s that

you mean to tell him he has lived two thousand years of his life without realizing the day it was brought to him should be celebrated?

yup, no, you can explain it all you want, he still doesn’t get the idea. he just finds it to be way too trivial, okay?

what gets to him, though, is that there’s a custom of doing something meaningful for the person celebrating their birthday, to make them feel important

well, you should’ve led with that, that he can do!

he would never just go and straight up ask for help if he needed any. so don’t be surprised if you hear yet more new stories about the yaksha that allegedly lives near wangshu inn sneaking into the kitchen, or watching through the glass.

he spends HOURS waiting for the chef to finally prepare the dish he hopes for, and once he does, he follows every step very carefully. and then again. and again. and one more time, up until he feels he can do it himself.

when he finally gets to enter said kitchen, it’s already way past midnight, and everything is dark, barely visible. he manages to find his way around, though, preparing all the ingredients, and starting to mix them the same way the chef did.

turns out it’s not as easy as it looks, for example, he didn’t measure how long this thing is supposed to be cooked, or on what temperature, so the process gets a little messy at one point. he might even have to start over. like, twice, tops.

it’s already nearing dusk when he finishes, taking the fruit of his works with him.

as per usual, you wait for him on the roof, and as per usual you don’t realize he’s right behind you until he speaks up.

“happy birthday” he says out of the blue, causing you to jump up in shock.

“oh my, xiao, you scared me! again!” you laugh.

“it’s today, isn’t it?” he continues, as if he didn’t hear you. when he sees you nod, he awkwardly shows you the package he held behind his back, watching closely as you open it with a questioning look.

inside, there’s a carefully wrapped serving of almond tofu, it could use a little bit of touch ups, but it still looks and smells delicious nonetheless.

“did you do this yourself?” you turn around to face him, smiling in disbelief

“mhm” he gets a little flustered, and decides not to tell you about his little kitchen adventure. “is it… is it good?” he asks, and you smile even more fondly.

“why don’t you come over here and taste it with me?”

zhongli

one can never go wrong with a classic

zhongli knows every single tradition there is to know.

literally.

so you don’t have to even tell him anything - he knows. he might not know what to do with his knowledge, but he does know what would make you happy

this man is a gentleman who believes that some moves to make someone swoon never get old

he even got a free day from work just for the occasion, or he may just think he told hu tao that he wants it? either way, he’s not there. not like his boss isn’t used to it.

right as the clock strikes 5 pm, you hear a knocking on your door. checking how you look one last time, you smile to the reflection in the mirror, and walk over to answer.

as you open said door, you find yourself dumbfounded at the sight of a completely soaked zhongli, rain pouring heavily behind his back. his hair sticks to his face, and all the layers of his suit seem drenched to their very core, but a smile you see so rarely paints his face, as he presents you with a bouquet of flowers.

and my oh my, just how huge is it! he barely even manages to hold it in hand, and the flower crowns hide his entire chest and half his face when he places them in front of you.

“i believe this is for you” he says gently “are you ready to go?”

you can’t even find the right words, as you size the bouquet up, taking it from him with a quiet “thank you so much” before taking it back to the house, already in search of the right vase to put them in.

“may i come in and dry myself up a bit?” he asks, still from the doorstep, and you laugh before granting him the permission.

when the both of you are ready to go, you meet in the hallway, both smiling softly at the other, a bit awkwardly, as the beginning of every meeting is.

“you look even better than usually” he finally says, pride rising in his chest at how your grin widens.

“same goes for you, mr zhongli” you answer just as cheekily, waiting for what he’s gonna say next.

“well, thank you, but i don’t think today’s about me now, is it?” he counters with a bit of a side eye. “shall we go?” he points to the open door, and the both of you leave, you grabbing his arm to fit under one umbrella.

“may i ask where’re we going?”

you can’t miss the way his smile turns prideful and confident as he says:

“i” he accentuates “am taking you out to dinner”

he might feel a bit offended by how sarcastically you gasp at the revelation, but it’s okay. as long as he gets to see you laugh, it’s okay.

daily reminder that requests are open [here]

[theladyismyshepard]

I love your characterizations of the daughters and all of your imagines they are fantastic! i was wondering would it be okay to request an imagine where the reader says to the daughters like during an argument or something,“you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid!” and they all react to her in different ways? plz take ur time with the imagines and don’t feel pressured/rushed as ik writing should be something that is fun and not feel like a chore, thank you for all the content you have written so far :)

@frustratinglyinquisitive also maybe this could double as your #28 prompt? 🥺👉👈

Why Does Everyone Wanna Kiss Me So Bad?

The sunset was shining bright enough to sting and obscure eyesight, but that didn’t stop you from staring up into the pink and orange hues. Every time you blinked, the phantom flash of the sun still danced along your eyelids, leaving a glare across your vision. You weren’t even bothered by it, not when this numbness had clung itself to you, leaving you idle and just there. You flexed your fingers, and it rattled the chains locked around your wrists, bringing you back to where you were.

The boxed confinement you were trapped in felt more of a cage rather than the carriage bumping along the rocky trail that led you to your new prison — yes, Castle Dimitrescu sounded to be just another form of punishment, though you were uncertain as to why you were to be moved from Heisenberg’s watch to Lady Dimitrescu’s estate. You could hardly call it a step up from the twisted games he forced you to play within his factory.

You were sure you were on borrowed time and it was nearly time to collect, and you were certain that time had come when the four Lords surrounded you with Mother Miranda playing the head of the beast, leaving you cowering on the floor. The familiar iron hammer and the stench of billowing cigar smoke was on your right.

Standing next to him was quite possibly one of the ugliest... things you’d ever seen. A cloak hid a majority of his body, but you had the suspicion that the misshaped person next to Heisenberg wasn’t entirely human... you got that vibe from everyone in the room. Especially the weird doll that couldn’t seem to reign in its excitement as it bounced in the veiled woman’s lap seated next to Mother Miranda.

There was nothing human about the golden eyes that peered into yours from under the brim of a wide hat. They seemed calculating, curious, if not a tad bit confused as they surveyed your weak form. You looked away, unable to handle the weight of the woman’s gaze, and that was how you caught Mother Miranda’s bright eyes cutting into you from behind her bird-like mask.

“Oh, how I have been waiting to meet you, little one.” her voice demanded respect, but all you could do was gawk. “You are a stubborn thing, I’ve heard.”

Her gaze slowly crept over to Heisenberg as she said it, and you couldn’t help but feel a tremor of fright at his angered snarl, his arms crossed petulantly. It was true, you had endured many weeks at the hands of the leather-clad man, and while he did his worst, you refused to succumb to his torture, though for how much longer, you couldn’t say.

“I cannot fathom what keeps you here, but there is nothing special about the common human.” said Mother Miranda, and the mounting irritation was crystal clear. “You might have one looking like a dog chasing its own tail, but let us see how you fare in Castle Dimitrescu.”

You could immediately tell who dwelled there with the way the woman wearing white was smiling like the cat who ate the canary. She was completely predatory and was feeding off of Heisenberg’s disgrace and fury, and between the two, you weren’t sure who the best option was, not when her eyes turned to you and she looked like she knew exactly what she wanted to do with you.

“Do not worry, Mother Miranda,” the woman promised, already moving to stand, and the way she towered over you had your neck craned straight upward. “It’s been some time since my daughters had a plaything.”

That comment alone had the other occupants of the room guffawing and whistling. Everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy the prospect of her daughters getting their hands on you, even Heisenberg had his eyebrows arched in surprise. Who the hell are these girls? Mother Miranda seemed to know and that was all that mattered.

“You are about to see what real monsters are.”

And that was how you found yourself roughly chained up inside the carriage that guided you to Castle Dimitrescu. You weren’t entirely sure why it was such a slap in the face to Heisenberg, but he seemed rather indignant as he loaded you up, spitting insults through the whole process.

You couldn’t say for sure how long you had been traveling, but it was enough to have all of your joints achey and your ass numb by the time it was all said and done. Hell, it was long enough to feel the temperature drop as you trekked back around the mountains that stood between the factory and the castle. Though that wasn’t to say that you were in any big rush to get there. In fact, your heart dropped when the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

Panic gripped at your heart, and it felt as though fingers squeezed tightly around it. It left you motionless where you sat, wide eyes glued to the door that you were shoved in through. You could hear Heisenberg muttering and rustling as he approached, but aside from that, you couldn’t hear the distinct clanking of his iron hammer. He had such little faith in your survival skills that he didn’t even bother with arming himself to release you. Not that he needed to... You’ve seen what he can become, and you’ve seen what he houses in his factory. He’d kill you dead in a few seconds flat if you tried anything.

But at this point, what did you have to lose? Mother Miranda made it very clear that you were to be eliminated at the hands of these daughters, so did it really matter if you died at the doorstep or in the dungeon? You might have accepted death, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up a last fight out of pure stubbornness. So that was how you had every intention of kicking forcefully at the door once it began creeping open to have him stumble back, possibly cracking him straight in the nose in the process, but that didn’t go as planned right off the bat.

Not when the door was nearly ripped right off the hinges in the haste to open, leaving you jarred, mouth hanging. The sunlight was now faded and replaced by the beams of the moon, but it was a bright night, leaving you capable of seeing that this was definitely not Heisenberg. And neither was she... or her. Uh oh.

“Mother! She’s here!” squealed the redheaded girl closest to you, clapping happily.

“Thank you for the gift, Mother,” said the brunette, her smirk not reaching her dead eyes.

“We will not disappoint you.” promised the blonde, her eyes observing your every move like a hawk.

“Have fun, daughters, but do remember that this one comes special from Mother Miranda, so do not forget to thank her.” their mother instructed, as if you weren’t there.

“Thank you, Mother Miranda,” all three said in unison before three different pairs of hands grabbed whichever part of you that they could.

Heisenberg clicked his tongue from where he leaned against the side of the carriage. He had an arm crossed while the other brought a cigar nestled between two fingers to his lips. You couldn’t read his eyes from behind his circular sunglasses, but you could read the entertainment in his toothy smile before he took a drag. When he blew it out into your direction, his satisfied grin spread again.

“Now, you have fun now, too, ya hear?” He mocked, chuckling as he turned on his heel, mounted the carriage, and prompted the horses to carry him off into the night.

“We’re gonna have lots of fun.” giggled the redhead, her smile the widest of the daughters as she tugged at your arm, dragging you along the pathway towards the castle.

“Not if I get to her first,” the brunette chimed in, her own grip on your other wrist tightening and pulling, almost like she was trying you get you away from the other.

“Who said either of you get the first turn?” the blonde interrupted, frown etched into her face as she tangled her fingers into the collar of your shirt.

“Enough,” drawled Lady Dimitrescu, voice barely more than a bored mumble, but it still had the daughters zipping their lips. “Bela, you are the oldest, and less likely to break her before your other sisters get a turn, so you may have the first turn.”

The blonde grinned brightly while the other two scowled but saying nothing in front of their mother. Your eyes couldn’t decide where to stay as you glanced between all four women as they finally led you through the entrance of the castle. You noticed that the temperature didn’t really increase from taking shelter, the walls giving off their own chill to substitute for the lack of outside wind.

You didn’t even have time to marvel at the interior before Bela was tugging at you with renewed eagerness. You caught the slight growl from the brunette’s direction, but one glare from the Lady and it ceased. What the hell was really going on here? You never had time to process anything before sister after sister said something that left you reeling.

“Aww, her heart’s racing!” announced the redhead, her eyes wide and unblinking as they stared at your chest. “Please let me-”

“Daniela, no,” snapped Lady Dimitrescu sternly, her frown lines on display. “You will be last, and that’s that.”

Daniela’s face twitched in her attempt to bite her tongue to prevent her argument from bursting forth. It didn’t stop her from turning and giving the brunette a glare however. You gasped when her body dissolved into a swarm of bugs before your very eyes. They dispersed and flew this way and that, and you honestly don’t know why it still shocked you when the brunette followed the same exit style. A nose pressed against the side of your neck and you jolted so hard that you nearly broke free of the hand that was now caressing your shoulder.

“Such a jittery, little thing,” whispered Bela so quietly that her following inhale was louder. “Though I hardly smell the sweet scent of terror... Is this one broken, mother?”

You couldn’t help it, you had to chuckle at the complete honesty in Bela’s question. Your lack of fright baffled this girl almost as much as she baffled you altogether, and suddenly you were staring each other down. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously as she cut her gaze up and down your body. Even Lady Dimitrescu arched a finely sculpted brow at you, seeming more interested now than she did among the other Lords.

“Mother Miranda assures there is nothing special about this one.” said Lady Dimitrescu.

“Why do you not fear me?” demanded Bela, almost sounding offended, her grip on your shoulder tightening. “Your heart is pounding but you aren’t oozing that smell that I like!”

“It’s kinda hard to fear death when you don’t even care about living anymore.” You deadpanned without much feeling, your eyes finding the ground more interesting. “Heisenberg rid me of everything that made me who I used to be.”

“And just who were you before my dear uncle dug his claws into you?” pressed Bela, and you refrained yourself from showing any outward reaction to their connection. You swallowed as you looked her dead in the eye now.

“Someone who would have the common sense to know just how dangerous you are.” You answered, and her brow furrowed.

“Who are you now?” She questioned quietly, her eyes softening a bit under the chandelier light. All you could do was shrug, you had no concrete answer for her, yet you knew you had to supply something.

“Someone who thinks that being abducted by three beautiful women isn’t exactly the worst case scenario,” you chuckled mirthlessly, the bitter smile on your face cutting into your cheeks almost painfully.

Bela stared at you almost dumbfounded before she had to look at her mother, almost as if to double check that she indeed heard correctly before she burst into a fit of giggles. Lady Dimitrescu didn’t even meet her eye, she was too busy staring into your soul. Only when your eyes fell to your feet did you hear her heels clicking away up the winding staircase.

“Remember what she’s here for, dear,” she drawled, never turning back, and leaving you alone with Bela.

“If you’re gonna kill me, just get it over with.” You spat, attempting to sound brave rather than defeated.

Bela’s smile was almost animalistic with the way blood smeared across her lips and stained her teeth, and you couldn’t help but to feel like the prey when she took slow, deliberate steps around you.

“Oh, no, where is the fun in that?” Bela countered, reaching out to graze over whatever part she could touch as she continued to stalk around you in circles, taking you all in. “You are my pet now.”

“I thought I was a plaything.” You couldn’t help but throw back into her face, and you were surprised when Bela merely cocked her head instead of getting angered by your outburst.

“Mother Miranda might not find anything special about you, but call me fascinated.” said Bela, stopping in front of you, her fingertips caressing your throat. “You belong to me now.”

“Us,” corrected a sudden voice behind you, and the haze that was settling over you in Bela’s presence was lifted when you jerked forward.

You tried to whirl around on your heel out of reflex to back away, but Bela’s fingers dipped from your throat to grip at the collar of your shirt to keep you still and facing her. You flinched away from the sudden hand that tangled in the bottom of your hair, pulling your head back until it was resting against a shoulder. Brown hair cascaded down into your eyes.

“Mother Miranda gave her to all of us.” corrected the brunette, the edge in her voice making it like steel.

“Cassandra’s right,” sang Daniela in a sing song voice, and it had a shiver running down your spine, which prompted a round of wild giggling. “Did you like that, pet?”

“If we’re being technical,” Bela piped up with an eye roll, trying to pull you closer and failing when both Daniela and Cassandra tightened their own grips on you. “Mother Miranda gave her to us to tear apart, so she wasn’t meant for anyone.”

“Buuuuuuut?” You interrupted, hoping to add a touch of humor to your case.

Daniela giggled and Bela shook her head in mild amusement, but you found that Cassandra was the more difficult one to crack. She didn’t offer a single facial expression as her eyes surveyed every inch of your body, and you couldn’t tell if she was appreciating the view or if she was sizing up which part of you she wanted to rip off and take for herself.

These three women spoke so callously and so nonchalant right in front of you. These three women were what Mother Miranda referred to as “monsters” compared to the actual beasts you had seen lurking within Heisenberg’s factory. These three women were spattered in blood that you somehow knew wasn’t theirs, and they wouldn’t stop touching you. Hm.

“Aren’t you funny,” Cassandra said nearly monotonous, but her smirk was on full display, and you cursed the light, fluttering feel of your chest.

“I try,” you whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would be taken as a threat to these crazed women, but you did look her in the eye to gauge her reaction.

“Can we keep this one, Bela, please?” whined Daniela, pouting at the blonde.

“I don’t think mother would allow it though.” Bela worried, finally releasing her hold on your shirt, and that had Cassandra and Daniela pulling you closer (and almost apart).

“She is ours to do as we please, we’d kill her if she tried anything.” snapped Cassandra, looking like the whole situation was stupid to her.

“Obviously she will not try to escape!” insisted Daniela, nodding her head furiously towards who you were guessing was the older sister, before turning to you. “Right?”

Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela were all looking at you expectantly, and you couldn’t help but feel warm under the spotlight. You could practically see the thoughts flicking through Bela’s calculating eyes. Cassandra was cool and reserved as her eyes gave nothing away, but her wicked smirk showed she wanted something from you, whatever that might be. Daniela’s eyes were intense as they bored into you, and her smile was almost unhinged, and honestly who were you to break it?

“I could never say no to three pretty girls.” You flirted, wagging your eyebrow to each sister, and the response was immediate.

Bela’s mouth parted in a silent gasp before she latched onto the front of your shirt again and started giggling. Cassandra looked entirely predatory now as her eyes flashed and her smirk showed all of her teeth, her own chuckles slipping out. Daniela, who was curled around your arm the whole time, had stars in her eyes at your answer and she smiled widely, throwing her own cackling into the mix, and suddenly it was a symphony.

“I want her first,” pleaded Daniela, eyes never leaving you.

“Mother said it’s my turn with the pet!” said Bela, tugging at you again.

“Why should we get her after she’s been used?” Cassandra argued, her arm now wrapped around you from behind.

“I won’t break her!” snapped Bela, her pulling useless when it was a deadlock between three pairs of hands.

“I don’t care!” cried Daniela, one arm curled around yours and her other hand reaching up to grab your opposite shoulder, locking you in. “I want her!”

You swallowed past your suddenly dry throat. The three sisters were not only talking about a possibility of keeping you around, but it sounded as though they were fighting over you. Your cheeks were aflame as you averted your eyes.

“Look who’s bashful all of a sudden,” jested Cassandra, both her hands falling to your hips. “Where’s all that talk now?”

“I can smell you blushing.” Daniela interjected, sniffing aloud and moaning. “You smell so good... we need to make you blush often.”

“Are we sure we can hide this from mother?” Bela asked one last time, almost like she was seeking permission from her younger sisters now. Daniela and Cassandra shrugged.

“We’ll just have to find out, now won’t we?” You pressed, looking to solidify your place among them... you’d take the position of “pet” over the one of “food” any day.

“Brave little thing,” Cassandra cooed, her fingers rubbing circles on your hips. “I need you with me.”

“Dammit I said it’s my turn!” snarled Bela, finally poking and prying at her sisters fingers locked around you.

“Just because you’re the oldest-!”

“You’re damn right I’m the oldest, and I-”

“You look so stupid,” spat Cassandra petulantly, having enough with going nowhere in the argument, and you could see that this was about to get old quick if you didn’t ease some of the tension.

“You all wanna kiss me so bad it makes you all look stupid.” You sucked your teeth between your lips when it grew deadly silent.

Bela had a crease between her brow as she stared at you in shock, uncertain if she heard you right. Cassandra was a blank slate as she absorbed you taking her insult and turning it back around on her as well. Daniela was wide eyed as she gaped at you for a full five seconds before she snorted and her megawatt smile lit up her entire face.

“I won’t let them get rid of you.” Daniela promised, and you couldn’t recall the last time that she blinked.

“Okay, okay,” sighed Bela, glaring at her sister. “We’re all going to keep her.”

“I hope I don’t break you.” chuckled Cassandra, and coupled with her breath so close to your ear, it had warmth flaring in the pit of your stomach.

“Don’t get bashful on me, now,” you smirked back, relishing in the giggles that surrounded you.

“Come along, plaything,” quipped Bela, winking at you as she dragged you along, the sisters following along with her this time. “We’ve got to show you your new home.”

Wild giggling echoed throughout the castle, and it was becoming your new favorite tune.

[taetaesbaebaepsae]

Heartbroken (myg)

Summary: After you and Yoongi get back together, things are different, and it has everything to do with how he blames himself.

A/n: This is a sequel to Break My Heart

Warnings: depression, alcoholism, alcohol used as a coping mechanism, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (established relationship, woman on top

Word Count: 7146

Yoongi has always known that there's this darkness in him, way down deep. He supposes maybe everyone has it, some deeper and darker than the rest.

He'd been lucky not to have delved too deep into it, to have family and friends who supported him and he kept from sliding into it. You helped, as his best friend and eventually, as his lover.

Yoongi supposes he's lucky, not to have gone to that dark place until now.

He'd been at your bedside for the two weeks you were in the hospital, a dutiful boyfriend and caregiver, bringing your favorite food and flowers. He kept bringing you things until your room was filled with flowers in various states of wilting.

He’d kept staring at them, the wilting flowers, his heart clenching with every heartbeat. You did this. The dark had a voice that spoke to him, it seemed. Look at how sick she is, the bruises under her eyes. You caused this.

You’re fussy about your I.V. and it’s cute and it makes Yoongi laugh but then the dark says, she’s all hooked up to wires because of you, and the laugh dies in his throat.

Every day, he’s by your bedside and every night he stares at the ceiling for hours, tosses and turns when he manages to doze. Every night the dark gets closer and closer.

It speaks to him mostly in the night, but sometimes it reminds him. The last time he’s on his way up to see you, a bouquet of lilies and kimbap cradles in his arms.

You hurt her. Nearly killed her.

“I love her,” Yoongi mumbles in response, and he isn’t aware he’s said it out loud until a young woman standing next to him looks up, frowning slightly.

“Excuse me?”

Yoongi shakes his head, his face heating up, and pushes his way to the front, embarrassed.

That voice just gets louder when you’re discharged, when you need help getting up the steps because you’re so weak from pneumonia and then the hospital stay.

You.

He changes your clothes almost reverently, your favorite silk nightie, the one you’d had since you were fourteen. It hangs off you, now, and Yoongi’s throat aches. The fabric is near transparent, it’s so old, with holes around the seams but he knows it’s your favorite because he knows you.

Hurt.

You wince when he tucks you in and he realizes you’ve got this big bruise on your inner arm from the IV. He plants soft kisses along it, just barely grazing your skin.

Her.

He watches you doze, the way your nose scrunches as you blow a piece of your hair out of your face, shift so that you’re facedown on the pillow. He can only see half your face, your mouth slightly parted and pouty as you snore lightly. He smiles. He remembers the first night you’d stayed over, after you were more than friends, the way you hit him when he said he’d have to get used to your snoring.

“I only snored when we were only friends,” you insisted.

Yoongi snorted. “Oh, is that how it works?”

You’d held your head high. “I’m a lady now. Ladies don’t snore.”

Of course, you did, but he’d grown to find it cute and then eventually he’d slept through it, your sleep noises just comfortable background noise.

It strikes him while he watches you, how much his life had come to revolve around you. How you revolved around each other, like lost planets. He rarely had a thought that you weren’t in, and he knew you felt the same.

Then why? The dark asks, the voice snide and smug but his, always Yoongi’s inner voice. Why did you neglect her? Ignore her? Hurt her?

Yoongi didn’t have an answer.

The darkness takes over slowly, and after six weeks, you and Yoongi are “dating” again, whatever that means. He knows it’s different, that it feels different, than just jumping from friends to lovers. He should be excited, or nervous, and sometimes he is. Sometimes his heart flutters when he picks you up to take you to dinner, or when you call just to chat in the middle of the day.

Most of the time, though, there’s just this darkness rolling through him, that voice.

You hurt her.

So he starts to spend more time alone, dodges your calls because hearing your voice makes the darkness louder.

Most nights, the darkness is too loud. He walks to a nearby bar, out of breath because it’s farther than he’d thought, he’d mostly given up bars after he’d started dating you. He’d never liked them much anyway.

Tonight, though, he couldn’t be alone at home with a bottle, the darkness would loom so close, the voice would get so loud.

Bartenders have rules, Yoongi knows. Don’t overserve. He’d done some bartending himself back in college, when money was tight and tuition was due.

Yoongi also knows that the way to know you’re overserving is if the customer is belligerent, loud. Yoongi’s quiet while he drinks too fast, orders too many scotches with water.

He’s quiet as the darkness recedes and the buzz in his head covers the way his heart aches, quiet when everything goes numb, his mouth first so that the glass against his lips feels funny enough to make him chuckle to himself. He’s quiet when the bar starts to spin on its axis and he feels like he might be floating outside his body, and he sits there, still quiet, when one of the bartenders looks at his tab incredulously and puts the bill in front of him.

"We're closing up soon," the bartender says, and the words seem to float in the air for a while before Yoongi processes them.

He mumbles something, possibly incoherent but he manages to get his wallet out of his pocket after the second try, slipping out his credit card and then looking back down at the bar, the lines in the wood seeming to swirl around as he stares at them.

The next morning, Yoongi doesn't remember getting home, doesn't remember deciding to sleep on the kitchen floor because the tile was cool against his cheek when he fell there.

He wakes up to his phone ringing, your ringtone, his head pounding and his mouth so dry that his lips stick together when he speaks into the phone.

"Hello?" It's a croak of his normal tone.

"Baby? Where have you been?"

He scrambles up on the floor, stifling a groan as fatigue overwhelms him. "I'm sorry. I uh, lost track of time. Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

She could be sick again. She could have needed you and where were you? Passed out on your kitchen floor because you're weak.

He shakes his head and the pain that shoots through it helps him focus, push back the darkness.

"No, no, I'm okay," you assure him. "Just missed you. Will you come over?"

Yoongi is already struggling up, bracing himself against the counter. He really should have eaten yesterday.

"Of course, I'll bring you breakfast."

You laugh and it's like music, seems to soothe the ache in his head.

"It's lunch time, silly. Did you sleep all day?"

Yoongi rubs a hand across the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess so. I'll be there soon."

"Yoongi?"

"Mmm?" He's wondering if he has time to shower, he can smell whiskey coming out of his pores.

"I love you."

There's a sudden lump in his throat, a burn at the backs of his eyes. "Love you, too."

He's in the shower before the voice starts back up.

Do you? Do you really love her?

"Yes," he whispers, and puts his head under the water, the pressure of the spray drowning out his thoughts.

It's still there, though, in the back of his head, like always.

If you loved her, you wouldn't have hurt her.

You know there's something wrong with your boyfriend. You've known it for a while, even before you'd had that big fight. You'd been too sick to think about it but now that you were on the way to recovery, you're worried.

You've asked him about it, back when you were still at the hospital. He'd been just staring into space, his face uncommonly blank.

"Yoongi? Is everything okay?"

He'd blinked as if coming out of a daze, given you a gummy smile. "Of course."

You'd let it go, hoping that things would go back to normal, or as normal as they could be.

You'd decided that you shouldn't live together just yet, so Yoongi had moved into a loft apartment, just a short three month lease so that the two of you could start seeing each other again, find your way again. You know it's the healthy thing to do but you miss him, all the reminders of him around your apartment.

You and Yoongi had jumped into a relationship after being friends for so long, and maybe that's where things went wrong.

He'd kept his head down when you asked him to move out, so you couldn't see his face, but his tone was low and hurt.

"Okay, if that's what you want."

Maybe you'd done the wrong thing. Maybe now you're drifting apart because he's ducking your calls at night, saying he forgot to respond to your texts.

He still comes over almost every day but it might just be to check on you. Hell, for all you know he's looking for someone else.

The thought makes knots in your stomach, makes you feel nauseous. You want to ask him about it but you remember that's what started the first fight, the big one, the one that changed everything.

Instead, you try to enjoy the time you have, try to ignore that he's somewhere else sometimes.

When he arrives, it's close to 2pm and he's apologizing.

"Traffic was shitty and I wanted to get you--"

You lean up and kiss him, taking the bags from him as you do so and he makes a pleased and surprised sound into your mouth that makes you smile.

He watches you while you eat, this soft smile on his face, and your heart soars. Maybe you've been overthinking things. Maybe things are okay and you can just fall in love all over again, just like you'd hoped.

"Do I have something on my face?" You tease.

Yoongi laughs. "Yes. Wasabi."

You make a noise and wipe at your mouth and he laughs again and crawls toward you on the couch to thumb the corner of your mouth.

Then he kisses you and you stop thinking for a while, even though the sushi on the coffee table might go bad while you're making out like a couple of teenagers.

He leans down to kiss you, even, and he hasn't kissed you, really kissed you, since before you got sick. It feels like waking up with the sun on your face, this warmth spreading across your skin.

He kisses you just under your earlobe, where he did the first night you met, soft and sweet, and there's something acrid on his breath and you push him away just enough to see his face.

"You haven't been drinking?" You ask incredulously.

Yoongi looks sheepish, ducks his head. "Last night," he admits. "Went out with friends."

This last part he says haltingly, and you realize, slowly, dread filling your veins, that he's lying.

Something vile and acidic rolls in your stomach.

"Weren't out with your other girlfriend, were you?" You ask, meaning to tease him but it comes out soft and hurt.

Yoongi's eyes widen, shocked. "Y/n. Stop it."

"I was only teasing," you mumble, and then before you know what you're asking, you clutch at his shirt. "Stay with me tonight."

You're sure your voice sounds desperate but it doesn't matter, you know in your deepest heart whatever is wrong with him isn't that but you know something is wrong, something might be so wrong that despite your years of friendship and love, you might not be able to help.

That you might even be the cause of it.

His deep brown eyes are soft when he looks at you, though, he's there with you tonight, he's present in a way he hadn't been for weeks, months.

"Yoongi," you whisper, and his hands on your waist are gentle, like you might break between his fingers like shattered glass.

"I'll stay," he says, his voice low and almost hoarse. "I'll stay as long as you let me."

You all but drag him to the bedroom, stripping off your clothes on the way.

Yoongi doesn’t laugh into your mouth like usual when you push him down on the bed, almost listless when you take off his shirt, kiss along his collarbone.

You cup his face in your hands when he sits up against the headboard, look into his eyes.

“Be here with me,” you plead. He looks away but you kiss him again, desperately, and when you open your eyes he’s looking at you. “Please,” you finish, and his eyes are wet but he nods, kisses you slow and deep and passionately just the way you need.

When you guide him inside you, he’s still kissing you and he moans into your mouth, a soft sound instead of the rougher growl that has been the go to when you’ve been intimate before.

He won’t let you stop kissing him as you ride him and when you finally do pull away he kisses along your throat, the valley between your breasts, takes them in his hands, not tugging at your nipples with his long fingers but just cupping them, watching your face, his mouth open and almost pouty.

You love him so much it makes your chest feel too full, your throat feel thick, tears sting behind your eyes.

“Yoongi,” you gasp into his mouth when he kisses you again, tears slipping down your face when you orgasm. “Yoongi, I-”

He cuts you off by kissing you harder, grabbing your hips to fuck up into you hard and fast enough to hurtle you into another orgasm.

“I love you,” you mumble when he wraps you in the blanket, kissing along your shoulder, and you’re so exhausted from not sleeping the night before that you doze off before you hear him respond.

Yoongi tries. He really does, but there’s this black fog over everything that he just can’t seem to shake. He thinks, a few times over the next few weeks, that he should talk to you about it. Talk to somebody about it.

He knows he has guilt about what happened to you, he knows it’s too much to hold on his own, so he goes to his friends.

“You just have to let it go, hyung,” Hoseok tells him after a couple of beers. Well, Hoseok had drunk a couple. Yoongi had drunk more, but that wasn’t unusual. Hoseok had always been the lightweight of their group of friends.

“What about your music?” Namjoon asks, and Yoongi picks at the paper wrapping his beer bottle.

“I’m still working,” he assures them, although he barely is, usually sitting in his studio and staring at the equipment, equipment he would have killed for just a few years ago and that he can’t bring himself to use now. “Music...it...it takes me away from her,” he mumbles into his beer bottle, finishing it.

“Hyung,” Hoseok says slowly. “Are you...are you okay?”

No, he wants to say. No, I’m not okay and I don’t know if I have been in years and I don’t know what to do.

He sighs, instead. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, I just...I want my career and my relationship to work.”

Namjoon nods, as if he understands. Maybe he does. Yoongi is shocked for a moment when he realizes that he doesn’t know if Namjoon is seeing anyone, if any of them are.

Namjoon had been Yoongi’s very first friend in the States, they’d met in college, even before Yoongi had met you. Roomed together, learned English together by watching television every night after classes.

And now he doesn’t even know what’s going on with the man who had once been his best friend. He’d told Namjoon about you, confessed his feelings for you in college, before he’d ever spoken to you about it.

“Are you seeing someone?” He asks, feeling guilt hot at the back of his neck.

Namjoon smiles and it’s a little sad. “I was.”

“Shit,” Yoongi curses, leaning back in his chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Should have known, that voice speaks up again. Not only are you a bad boyfriend, you’re a bad friend.

Namjoon shrugs. “S’okay, hyung.” His words slur around the edges and Yoongi realizes there’s more bottles in front of Namjoon than any of them.

Concern tugs at the edges of Yoongi’s mind.

“Are you okay?” He asks, parroting what Hoseok had asked him moments before.

Namjoon rubs a hand across his face, shoulders slumped, and Yoongi is looking at him in a new light now. Sees the bags under his eyes, his rumpled clothes, how drunk he actually is.

“No,” Namjoon says, laughing a little, and Hoseok puts a hand on his shoulder.

Yoongi makes a sound in the back of his throat, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to help. Namjoon starts talking then, aided by Hoseok being encouraging and supportive as always, and Yoongi listens with wide eyes, shocked by how much he didn’t know.

Apparently Namjoon had been in a relationship for almost a year, a girl he’d met in a bookstore, and things had gotten really serious just as she was entering graduate school. Namjoon had asked her to move in with him, and she got scared, said no and wouldn’t talk to him.

“I wanted to ask her to marry me, hyung,” Namjoon chokes out, visibly upset with Hoseok’s arm around him on the couch. “I thought moving in would be less scary, I know she was a bit wary but...I didn’t think she’d just...disappear.”

Yoongi can’t help but relate it to what’s going on right now, how that’s what he’s doing, slowly pulling away from you, spending more and more time away, sleeping in his studio because he’s “working,” when in reality he’s had too much scotch to drive home.

Namjoon’s girl had left him three days ago and where had Yoongi been? Falling down drunk in a bar somewhere, too wrapped up in his own bulslhit to realize what was going on with his friends. How long had he been isolating himself? From you, from his friends? How long had it been since he’d called his brother, his parents?

How would Yoongi feel if instead of getting back together, you’d just split like Namjoon’s girl? It’s like a blank space in his brain, trying to imagine it. Trying to imagine what life would be like if he couldn’t see your face, couldn’t talk to you at all is like a void in his gut, something big and empty and yawning and he looks at Namjoon and thinks that must just be a fraction of what Namjoon feels.

“What are you going to do, hyung?”

Yoongi is glad that it’s Hoseok that asks, and he watches Namjoon’s face work, watches a sob break through the fuzz of the alcohol in his system.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon says hoarsely, and Yoongi gets up to hug him.

They drink the rest of the night, even Hoseok who is a notoriously bad drinker and ends up passed out on the floor next to the couch.

Yoongi blacks out around midnight, and he knows he should be concerned about how often that’s happening, how much he’s drinking, but if he thinks about it the voice starts up again.

You’re fucking everything up. You’re hurting everyone.

Yoongi’s there for Namjoon, though, he remembers that, remembers his friend crying on his shoulder, telling him all about the breakup, multiple times as they keep drinking, and the next morning Yoongi feels hungover but not as horrible as he had the last time he’d done this.

What he does feel horrible about is your missed text messages and the voicemail you’d left.

“I know...I know I’m being needy, Yoongi. I know I’m being insecure, but after what happened I need you to pick up the phone. I need you to….” You pause, your breath over the phone shaky. “I just need you. Call me back.”

You’d left it around midnight, just before he’d lost memory of the rest of the night and the voice is louder now than before.

You’re not there for anyone. Not even the people you love the most. You’re a fucking failure. A loser. You just use people when it’s convenient for you.

“No,” Yoongi mumbles, stumbling out to his car, the sunlight seeming brighter than it should be, a pounding in his head. There’s a moment before he cranks up the car when he thinks he might be sick, but it passes when he breathes in slowly through his nose and out through his mouth.

He doesn’t remember driving home but he thinks it has less to do with the hangover and more to do with that fucking voice, driling through his head over and over.

When he arrives Yoongi fumbles with his keys, his heart pounding as if he’s done something wrong, something terrible. He supposes he has, but he’s done it for months now, he’s just now realizing how isolated he’s been. Not just isolated. Selfish.

Yoongi shakes his head and gets the key to work, throwing them on the counter and looking around for you. You’re in bed, bundled up in the covers like you do when you’re sick or upset and he lets out a long breath.

“Baby?” He calls, and you roll over, looking at him from under the covers. He’d expected you to be angry but your eyes are wide and wet instead and he sits down on the bed, reaching out to touch your face.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. Do you? The voice asks, louder than his thoughts. Do you mean it? Or will you do it again?

“Where were you?” Your voice is hoarse and you don’t make a move to sit up so Yoongi tugs on the covers to get under them with you and you don’t protest. He takes you into his arms and you’re like a ragdoll, letting him do what he wants but barely responsive.

“I was with Namjoon. His girlfriend broke up with him and he’s...he’s having a hard time.”

You look at him for a long moment, as if you’re deciding if you can trust him, but then your face softens and you put your head on his chest.

“I’m glad you were there for him,” you say softly.

You weren’t. You weren’t there for him just like you weren’t there for her when she needed you.

Yoongi buries his face in your neck. “I’m sorry,” he says again, like he can’t say it enough, like he might tattoo it on your skin.

“No worries, baby,” you say with a yawn, sounding sleepy but unbothered.

It should make him feel better. It should make him feel absolved.

There’s just this buzz in his head, even when you snuggle up to him and fall asleep, repeating over and over, making his head ache.

She deserves better. She’s so used to you fucking up that it doesn’t even faze her anymore. She should leave you, should have someone who actually gives a fuck.

“I give a fuck,” Yoongi says, and you whine in your sleep and he realizes he’d said it aloud. He feels like he’s losing his mind, talking to himself, this constant voice in his head but it isn’t exactly the first time it’d happened.

The darkness had always been there. It was just waiting for the right time.

Yoongi knows that he’s made mistakes. He knows that he’s pulled away from you, broken your trust, and by the time three months post your almost split comes up, he’s lied to you more times than he can count.

Yoongi is spending three nights a week at his studio and he’s getting work done but he can’t remember the last time he hasn’t been drunk or hungover and you’ve had arguments about it, and one major fight.

The first fight, he was terrified, the voice screaming now in his head. Stupid! You stupid fuck, you knew she’d find out, you knew she’d find out what a fuck up you are!

“You’re never here,” you’d said flatly when he comes in drunk at four in the morning again after forgetting to check his phone all night. “You’re never here and when you are, you’re shitfaced after being out all night and sleeping all day.”

“I was...I was working,” he insists, making an effort not to slur his words, sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped.

You scoff. “Bullshit. If you were working you’d be done with your demo by now.”

Yoongi gapes at you. That stung, and you weren’t usually one for cruel barbs.

“Baby,” he’d gasped out when you’d stood up, gearing up to storm out of the room. “Don’t break my heart.”

“Fuck you,” you’d shot back, but your voice was trembling and Yoongi reached out for you, grasping at your nightgown until you step closer. He buried his face in your belly, arms around your waist.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he says it all the goddamn time and it doesn’t even mean anything anymore.

Yoongi hates himself so much that it’s a ball of black vitriol in his gut, climbs up to his throat sometimes and he has to go to the bathroom and stare into the mirror, breath through his nose and out through his mouth, before he can function again. Sometimes that doesn’t work and that’s when he drinks, never just a drink or two with dinner anymore, always way too much so that the room tilts on its axis when he stands up suddenly, so that there’s this faint fuzz in his head all the time, so that the voice is quieter and quieter until it’s gone.

He knows the voice is him, that’s it’s all the things he’s done wrong, all the ways he’s failed others and himself. Yoongi knows that when the voice is gone, so is he. He’s come to terms with that in ways he doesn’t let himself think about.

He knows there’s another fight coming about the way he’s never home, about the way he can’t get his shit together, the way he can’t be there for you. Yoongi knows it’s coming, feels it barrelling down like the hum of a train on the train tracks but he doesn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

He doesn’t come home at al the time it happens, passes out on Namjoon’s couch and comes to with his phone buzzing on the coffee table.

“Shit. Shit!I” Yoongi curses, grabbing his keys and running out of this house without his shoes before he returns to put them on.

“You’re about to be on my couch permanently,” Namjoon giggles, draped across Taehyung on the floor, who had brought over half an ounce of weed the night before.

Yoongi just curses again and makes his way back home, breaking all manner of speeding laws and banging the steering wheel at the traffic.

Yoongi’s heart drops to his toes when he sees a trashbag and a box outside the apartment door, a box containing some of his basketball merchandise.

“Y/n?” He calls, hesitantly, expecting you to yell at him or be bundled in the covers, but instead you’re dressed, makeup done, standing in the living room.

“I’m going out,” you announce. “Might be gone all night, who knows?”

“Wh-what?” He searches your face and then looks down at your outfit, a cocktail dress and heels “You’re going to a party? That’s good, baby,” he babbles. “You should get out more-” He can’t deny he was hoping to deflect the situation, but you just smile and shake your head.

“Not a party. Going out. Clubbing. Maybe I’ll meet someone.”

Yoongi freezes, muscles going stiff. “What do you mean, meet someone?”

You shrug. “I don’t know what you do when you’re out all night. You don’t get to know what I do.”

“Y-you can’t just tell me you’re going to cheat on me-” He says, finally, anger making its way to the front of his emotions.

You laugh bitterly. “What, should I not tell you when I cheat on you? Just like you do to me?”

Yoongi shakes his head, almost wants to laugh at what you’re implying.

“You think I’m cheating on you?”

“What the fuck else would it be, Yoongi? You lie to me about where you are, you’re out drinking, you never invite me, not ever. What would you think if I did that to you?”

“Fuck. Fuck, Y/n, I never thought about that. I never thought that you would…” Yoongi pauses and reaches toward you but you back away.

“I don’t trust you, Yoongi.” You say shakily but firmly, wrapping your arms around yourself like you do when you’re upset, and Yoongi hates it and hates himself for making you feel that way.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it’s about the millionth time he’s said it in the last few months, it sounds strange to his ears he’s said it so much.

“Who is she? Or he? Is it someone I know?” You ask, tears welling in your eyes, and Yoongi gasps out your name.

“There’s no one else. There’s never been anyone else, Y/n, you’re-”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’m the one,” you say, fiercely wiping tears from your eyes. “Don’t you dare tell me some sentimental bullshit. If you’re not cheating on me, it doesn’t matter. You’re still lying to me. Every day. Tell me you’re not.”

Yoongi looks up at you and he wants to beg you to stop, not to say anything else, just to let him hold you and maybe you can talk about it tomorrow but he doesn’t say anything instead, fighting tears because he doesn’t deserve to let them out. They should stay there with that black ball of self hatred in his gut and chest and throat.

“The lease on this apartment is in my name, I’m staying here. You can go, some of your shit is in the hall,” you say, looking away from him and grabbing for your purse.

Yoongi’s throat shrinks to a pinhole size and he says your name again, weakly.

You don’t even turn around and he hears the clicking of your heels on the hardwood floors as you walk to the elevator.

That pinhole his throat had been reduced to seems to shut off and there’s black spots in front of his eyes before he can gasp in a sobbing breath.

You knew this would happen. You knew she would leave you. She’s better off.

Yoongi knows that much is probably true, tells himself he should let you go, should at least give you space for a few days but he’s fumbling with his phone in moments. His call goes straight to voicemail, as if you’ve turned off your phone and he gasps in another breath, feeling like he can’t get enough oxygen.

What’s running through a loop in his head over the next few hours, other than the ever present voice that’s been plaguing him for months, is what you’d said before you left.

“Maybe I’ll meet someone.”

After all, isn’t that how he’d met you? Saw you crying on a curb and come over, caught you when you were upset and vulnerable?

He imagines you at a club downtown, drinking drinks that some guy has bought for you, telling your story while he nods and empathizes. At some point, he’d put his hand on your hip, take you out to the dance floor, slot his body against yours.

Yoongi can’t fucking breathe, he’s up and going out to his car before he can think about it, cursing when he can’t find his keys and ordering an Uber instead. It’s unlikely he’ll be able to drive home, anyway. He’s got at least that much self awareness.

She’s gone. The voice starts up again when he’s in the backseat of the Uber. She’s gone and tonight she’ll probably fuck someone else. How does that feel, Yoongi?

Yoongi puts his head in his hands until the driver asks if he’s okay.

“Fine,” he mumbles, sitting up and shaking his head to clear it, and he all but bolts into the club the two of you had frequented. He scans the bar for you but he doesn’t see you among all the people. It’s quite possible you’re at one of the back tables, though, maybe making out with some guy who’d bought you a drink.

It’s near sunset when he arrives, and he knows that usually you and your friends wait until later to go out, but he wants to be there before you walk in, if possible.

Yoongi sits at the bar so that he can twist around and keep looking out for you, hoping that he’ll see you come through the front doors with your friends, some stupid idea that he can control what happens if he’s there.

The bartenders are busy and Yoongi knows they won’t pay much attention to how much he’s ordering, especially if he goes between them. It won’t be until he pays the bill that they’re surprised by how many drinks he’s had and by then he’d be leaving, assure them he’s not driving, and that’d be the end of it.

As the night goes on and you don’t show up, that black ball of self hatred in Yoongi’s gut seems to grow and grow until he’s bloated with it, until he's nauseous and not just from being on his fifth glass of scotch on an empty stomach.

This is your fault. All your fault.

Of course it is, of course the voice is right. It always is, even when it’s so loud it makes his head pound, it’s telling the truth. He can’t deal with how he’d hurt you before and he can’t forgive himself and he can’t stop drinking so fucking much because he can’t forgive himself and it’s this awful endless cycle.

It should be ended, now that you've left. It should feel like a relief, like he can get back to his life but he doesn’t know what his life looks like without you in it. Even in the past few months when he’d felt so alone, he knew he could come home to you, snuggle up behind you and press his face into your neck, feel the warmth of your skin beneath his hands.

Now it’s nearing midnight and he’s spent hours drinking and looking around for you, ignoring the bustle of people around him and he has the most vivid imagination.

You might be at a different club with hands on your hips on the dance floor, someone whispering into your ear, offering to take you out of there into the night air, pressing a kiss onto your neck where Yoongi had left a mark all those years ago. You might be bent over in a club bathroom stall like Yoongi had done to you here, with someone’s hands pushing up your skirt, palming your ass.

Yoongi’s leg is bouncing as he twists around another time, making himself dizzier than the alcohol by looking around for you and still there’s nothing and every time he calls your phone it’s straight to voicemail.

He doesn’t leave a message, doesn’t trust himself to stand up from the barstool without stumbling and ruining his chances of getting another drink, and that makes the self hatred roll in his stomach even more.

If she’s fucking someone else, it’s because you drove her to it.

“I know,” Yoongi mutters, and he’s too drunk to care that he’s said it out loud and no one is listening, anyway, the bass in the music booming too loud for anyone to hear his slurred words.

She’ll be happier with someone else. She’ll be happier without you.

The voice is right, Yoongi knows, the voice is always right no matter how miserable it makes him, he knows he’s fucked this up irrevocably and now all the things he’d planned for the future seem so far away. He’d all but squandered this opportunity to produce his music, definitely squandered a relationship, hurt the one person in his life who mattered the most to him, so what did it matter how many drinks he had? What did it matter if he didn’t make it home? No one was waiting there for him anyway.

Yoongi follows the rules he’d set for himself so that no one notices he’s being overserved, keeps drinking quietly, smiling politely at the bartenders and they’re busy enough not to notice that he’s racked up a huge tab over a matter of hours, and when he quietly slips off the barstool and fades into nothingness, it takes a few moments for anyone to even notice.

You hadn’t, as you’d boasted, gone out with your friends to meet someone new. You’d been heartbroken for months, worried that Yoongi was seeing someone on the side or worse, that he’d just lost interest in you.

You were in no shape to go out or do anything, really, so you’d stayed in with your best friend and drank too much wine and shut off your phone to keep yourself from calling him.

You hadn’t wanted to move out. You had planned to use this as a shock tactic, get him to talk to you, to tell you what was going on, but you’d been so angry when he’d come home, when you’d seen him rumpled and smelling like he’d bathed in scotch, again. You don’t know what’s going on with him but you know he isn’t there with you, isn’t present, and it’s like the last few months didn’t change anything at all.

You can’t be with someone who has one foot out the door, and you were so sure yesterday that you’d been doing the right thing by leaving, but as soon as you wake up the next morning, you’re scrambling for your phone, wanting to hear his voice if only for a moment. You know, somewhere deep inside you, that Yoongi loves you, no matter what is going on with him. You’re even more sure of the fact that you love him, that you want things to work no matter what you have to do.

When you turn on your phone you have about a dozen missed calls from Yoongi but only one voicemail and your breath catches in your throat when you hit the play button.

It isn’t Yoongi at all, but a local hospital saying you’re listed as Yoongi’s emergency contact and you don’t even finish listening to it before you’re bolting out of bed, throwing on whatever you can find to get to your car.

You wonder if this is how he had felt, last year when you were sick, and it feels like some horrible full circle that you’re the one with your heart in your throat on your way to the hospital, honking the horn in traffic and fighting tears.

Your heart is racing as you wait to speak to a doctor in a hallway, they won’t let you in to see him just yet and you feel as if you can barely breathe.

You only take in about half of what the doctor says, something about alcohol poisioning and you aren’t surprised but tears track down your cheeks anyway.

“Why can’t I see him?” You croak out.

“When he was coherent enough to speak, he requested no visitors.”

“Of course,” you mutter, and your cheeks suddenly feel hot with anger. Of course Yoongi would request no visitors, he’s been isolating himself for months and months.

“Can you tell me what room he’s in? I won’t go in,” you promise, and you end up keeping the promise, if not exactly how the doctor expected.

You do laps around the hospital for a while before visiting hours start and then you stand outside the door, which the nurse has propped open since Yoongi is on a 48 hour hold. Suicide watch, you imagine, given the state the doctor described him in when he came in.

You’ve been able to stop being so angry after doing your laps, knowing that it’s concern and frustration which are causing you to be upset with Yoongi.

“Yoongi?” You call, and you hear him shifting in the bed but he doesn’t speak for a long moment.

“I said no visitors,” he croaks, voice raspy and low.

You squeeze your eyes shut against the stinging behind them.

“I’m not visiting.”

Yoongi shifts again. “Just go home. Or go out, like you did yesterday.”

Don’t be angry, you remind yourself, but sometimes he makes it difficult.

“Is that what you want?”

You stand in the doorway and he’s sitting half up in bed and his eyes widen when he sees you but he drops his gaze almost immediately. He looks sick and pale and exhausted and your heart leaps and you have to stop yourself from barging into the room no matter what he says.

“I just want you to be happy,” he manages and there’s something liquid in his voice now.

“Do you remember what you said to me that first night we met?”

Yoongi looks up at you, pouting slightly, and you remember what it feels like to kiss those lips and it makes your heart clench.

“You asked me if I was gonna break your heart,” you continue. “Well, I did, right? When I left the first time? And you broke mine, when you came back and we weren’t us anymore.”

“Y/n…”

You shake your head, setting your jaw, tears working out of your eyes despite your best efforts. “That’s what love is, Yoongi. We’re going to hurt each other. We’re going to damn near hate each other, sometimes, but if we don’t talk about it….if we aren’t there for each other…if you don’t let me be there for you…”

Yoongi sniffles and wipes at his face absently, watching your face as if looking for something there. “You can come in,” he says finally, and you want to smile at how petulant he’d said it.

“First, we’re gonna talk about what’s been going on with you. Second, we’re gonna talk about getting you help. Third, I’m going to tell you how stupid you are for almost losing me.”

“Almost?” Yoongi asks hopefully, clutching for your hand when you get closer.

You wipe your eyes, realizing you’ve been crying this whole time, and sit down next to him in the chair. When he gets hold of your hand he squeezes it tight like he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

“I don’t want you to break my heart anymore, Yoongi.” When his face falls you squeeze his hand back. “But I want us to try to learn how not to hurt each other. I want you to learn how not to hurt yourself.”

“I love you,” Yoongi blurts out, and it isn’t the first time he’s said it or even the 1000th, but it might mean more to you than any of the others.

It’s not as if the voice goes away. Not even after detox and a month in rehab which was only hard because he didn’t get to see your face except for on Sundays. Not even after medication for depression and individual and couple’s therapy.

It was still there, always, but it fades to a whisper, way in the back of his head, and when it starts to play in a loop, getting louder, he tells you all the things it says and you reassure him. When you can’t, he calls his friends, and if he has to, his therapist.

Yoongi grows to understand that if there’s no voice, there’s no him, and he can’t silence it, all he can do is manage it.

He grows to understand that being with you is something that he wants, but not something he needs.

[heli0s-writes]

“call me when you get home” (b.b)

@the-chocolate-bunny “call me when you get home” over a YEAR AGO. anyway, (incoherent screaming at myself) here it is,,, hahaha. 2.8k words of a lil fluffy first date with ol’ Bucko. 🧡🧡🧡 Thanks for reading!

[28 WAYS Masterlist // Prompts here & here]

When Sam told him what he’d be doing on Saturday evening, Bucky groaned so loudly the couch vibrated.

Come on, man, you really giving up on dating?

He wanted to say yes, Wilson, fuck off. But Bucky only groaned again and reminded Sam that he’s not ready to date. Too busy. Too cranky. Scary robot arm. Last date went terrible and Bucky doesn’t even remember how to talk to a woman unless he’s trying to de-escalate a hostage situation.

Sam couldn’t be deterred. Dude, that was like, a year ago. Just try one time--Sharon’s friend, from work—remember her, Barnes? Steve, you know her. Pretty, funny, real sweet. She already agreed to it, she’s gonna meet you there at 7. Thank me later.

Bucky rummaged through his mind for pretty, funny, real sweet and came up empty. Steve pretended to remember—he didn’t—can’t remember anyone’s face but Sharon Carter’s, the lovestruck idiot—but if she was Sharon’s friend, then Bucky wasn’t allowed to stand her up. So, 7. Saturday. Date.

Fuck.

He’s sure he’s done all the right things: laundered his clothes, showered, brushed his hair, shaved, even.

Sam said to get flowers and hold the door. Make eye contact, share a dessert, pay for dinner, give the girl your jacket and be on the left side of the sidewalk. Follow the script and he’s home free and looking at another date in possibly a week or so— or if he’s lucky, Bucky scoffs internally, no date at all.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have showered.

Either way, he’s off to an awful start because the traffic was worse than anticipated and the taxi got a flat so and he had to walk the last five blocks. It’s 7:40 and he’s barely through the door, the box of chocolates in the crook of his elbow probably melted.

All the flowers looked ugly, Sam. It was either chocolates or a balloon and Bucky’s not It the Clown, so… chocolates it was for the lucky lady.

Bucky scans the room and groans— possibly his default sound for anything now. Leave it to Wilson to suggest this kind of restaurant—it’s all candles and floral centerpieces. There’s even a live orchestra in the corner. He’s severely underdressed.

The hostess taps her pen, “Sir, do you have a reservation?”

Oh. Shit.

He looks over her head, hopeful at a row of empty tables and booths. “Can’t I just, get put on a list or something? It’s two people. She might—already be here.” He surveys again, dodges the hostess trying to block his view, but can’t see anyone sitting alone.

Sam told him your hair color, described the little freckle above your eyebrow, something about your face being symmetrical and how sweet your smile was— but that could be anybody. People’s faces are naturally symmetrical, aren’t they? And Bucky certainly can’t make out a freckle from this distance.

“No sir, we’re booked all night—”

“Hey!” A hand unexpectedly lands on his arm. “Bucky! Oh my god. I’m so sorry I’m late.”

Bucky follows the hand to its wrist, to its arm, to its shoulder, collar, neck, finally, then, to its owner.

He remembers you now. A couple of times—dropping off packages at the compound, dossiers and flash drives, saying hello and goodbye but not much of anything else.

Your mouth hangs open tonight, sucking in deep breaths, baby hairs slick on your forehead. 7:45 and you’re off to an awful start, too.

“Tried to get a coffee on the way—spilled it—” a gesture to your blouse and the offending blotch glares deep brown from sky blue cotton. “Ran into a kid on a bicycle, made him fall. Scraped his knee. You wouldn’t believe how long a mother can yell until you accidentally tip over her kid--” You pause, looking at the hostess’ annoyance, then at Bucky’s bewildered face, and put two and two together.

“Ma’am, we’re booked all night.” The hostess’ pen taps after each word in emphasis.

You narrow your eyes and Bucky defensively reels back, expecting you might start yelling at him for forgetting to reserve ahead of time until you shake your head.

Sharon Carter is a Cotillion debutante and private nearly to a fault— she speaks carefully, keeps everything close to the vest, old-school formalities when it comes to courtship. So, when Sam said Sharon’s friend, Bucky expected someone similar. When he stepped into this extravagant restaurant severely underdressed, he expected someone similar.

Symmetrical faced, sweet smiled, freckled somewhere, but demure, maybe. Prim and proper.

But then—you groan, loud and annoyed, and ask:

“Do you like burgers? Do you mind the grease?”

And god, Bucky thinks. God bless Sharon Carter.

-

Hell, it’s a mess.

There are tears rolling down your cheeks. Bursts of gasping breaths, wheezing in-between shrill noises. The coffee stain on your shirt found a good friend in a diagonal line of bright yellow egg yolk and you’re laughing so hard people are starting to stare.

The burger you’d gotten—medium rare, double meat, bacon, fried egg, all toppings between—has completely fallen apart in a splat back onto your plate. The first bite was tragic—right into the yolk and it popped like a water balloon all over your chest.

He fumbles for napkins—for cold water? But you wave his worries away, licking your fingers before diving in to deconstruct your food.

“Sorry—I promise I have my shit together.” Another giggle, “Not making a very good first date impression. I hope you like the place, at least?”

“Yeah,” he grins, “I do. And, uh, I think you’re doin’ great.”

The words slip out before he can catch them and Sam’s slew of dating advice comes hitting him like a ton of too-late bricks. Keep it mysterious, Barnes. But what else should he say, he’s having loads more fun at this diner that smells like a thousand packs of stale cigarettes than he would have at that uppity potpourri scented Italian restaurant serving entrees the size of his thumb.

Around a mouthful of tater tots, you thank him, and then you take a breath, and he can literally see you winding up for another enormous bite.

“Sorry,” you pause sheepishly, “I had a really busy day at work—skipped lunch on accident.” You take the enormous bite he saw coming, and then, “Also doesn’t help—mm—I’m a nervous talker.”

Bucky chews on a fry and slurps his soda, entirely forgetting his courtship manners. “Nervous ‘bout what?”

“Aw, c’mon…” you roll your eyes emphatically as Bucky tilts into his straw. Another slow sip with his mouth around the plastic and you swallow a noisy gulp of tomato, “Come on.”

“What?”

The burger gets placed back on its wax paper, now small enough to return to its prior state, you rearrange it carefully on the plastic lattice bowl, staring at him the entire time.

A disbelieving scoff leads, “Imagine this, Sharon comes sashaying into my office—okay, not sashay, march—marching into my office and says are you interested in going on a date Friday?” You wiggle your head, tilt your head down and purse your lips staunchly. A pretend flip of hair over your shoulder and you whisper, “She’s perfect; this is what perfect women do, trust me.”

Bucky suppresses a grin at the sight. Steve would be jumping to defend her honor if he were here.

“She says, I know your last few weren’t the best… but this one-- And I’m drowning in paperwork, okay? Drowning. I’m stamping files, eating goldfish crackers, nodding along—anything to get her out of my office—”

“So you agreed…”

“Uh-huh.”

“…to go on a date…” he mulls it over, “… to shut her up?”

“Hell yes.” And then, “Oh!” You start shaking your head wildly, “No. No, no, no. No, not like that—I told you I’m a nervous talker—I didn’t know it was you until about fifteen minutes before I left the house! I would have never said yes if I knew it was you.”

Bucky frowns at that, but then you come full circle, rolling your eyes another time. A mustard-smudged hand points from the top of Bucky’s head down to his chest and back up again.

“Have I said ‘c’mon’ yet?”

“Once or twice.”

“Well, yeah. Come on. You’re—please don’t make me say it.”

He looks on, not quite sure what you’re going to say at all. It’s a toss-up between “a legend”, “an Avenger”, and “a murderer”. So it’s a pleasant surprise when you pop a French-fry into your mouth and mundanely announce, “Bucky, you’re handsome.”

He blinks.

You blink.

He blinks again.

“No, listen,” you urge, “You’re obscenely good-looking.”

His face is so hot that he thinks someone must have thrown a fire into him. Maybe he would have preferred being called a murderer?

“Is it some kind of superhero requirement, you know? Before you get green-lighted to save the world, you’ve gotta win America’s Next Top Model. Or in your case, an international season of ANTM takes … Soviet Russia?”

The reference is lost on him, but he gets the point well enough.

You place your hand in front of him like a running marquee, “I can see it now. Tyra Banks announcing, James Buchanan Bucky Barnes. Eyes: blue; hair: brown; height—” a pause as you consider his posture before continuing, shockingly precise.

“6 feet; 245 pounds; measurements: 42 chest, 33 waist; bicep circumference: 17 and a half inches.”

Bucky crosses his arms in embarrassment, and then uncrosses them because he’s thinking too closely about his biceps now. “Didn’t read that in a museum. You get it from just looking— look away, damn it.”

You quickly do, trying to suppress a grin and failing miserably. Bucky is too, shifting in his seat, opening his mouth to say something and then unable to get anything out other than a disoriented and amused, “Shit.”

Sam would never let Bucky live down that his first date in six months eyefucked him well enough to get his bicep measurement. The jokes would be endless. He can practically hear cackling in his ear.

A beat passes and he tries again, now at the end of the meal and the stain on your blouse starting to sink in and spread, heavy enough to dip toward the skin beneath. “Do you want to take your shirt off?”

You choke on soda and add another splatter down your chest, turning into a proper Jackson Pollock canvas.

“You can wear my jacket,” he clarifies. “Give it back next time. I mean, if you…” He frowns. “Uh. Um.”

Sam’s putting up tallies in Bucky’s head. Another scratch indicating he’s forgoing the mystery, which should have been easy for him since he’s an international assassin with at least one dead president under his belt.

“Of course, Bucky, I’d like that,” you say, saving him for tripping up over any more words, smiling slow and shaky. Different than the impish grins and all-teeth laughing, still lovely— but just, different. Like you’re pinching down a too-sweet thought about him with the corners of your mouth. It goes big and again when you tack on, “And I won’t even eyefuck you next time.”

It’s his turn to choke, sputtering as he blushes. 6 feet, 245 pounds, 17-inch circumference biceps, reformed murderer going napalm hot under a pretty girl’s eyes. Jesus wept, he really is hopeless.

-

He can’t believe it’s past midnight already, or that the two of you walked the length of Central Park and then looped back around about two more times.

You changed out of your shirt after dinner, ducking from the diner’s restroom bashfully, your old blouse in a crumple inside his pocket. His jacket hung a bit loose, but zipped up all the way and it was a good enough cover for a while.

The night cooled enough to where you weren’t too hot, and he wasn’t too cold, and neither of you seemed ready to leave just yet. Central Park was a perfect place to dodge the city’s unavoidable crowd and occasional sewage gust, so the two of you wandered aimlessly, stopping here and there to rest, even splitting the liquefied chocolates on a bench.

You get smudges of it on your cheek and Bucky figures it’s just a personality trait at this point. He laughs when you stick your tongue out, trying to find exactly where it is before giving up and asking him to thumb it off.

He shoves his hands in his pocket afterwards, thumb jammed inside his fist like a souvenir, keeping it there the rest of the walk, all the way up to the iron gate of your apartment complex before he wonders if he should have been trying to hold your hand instead.

Maybe not. It was only the first date, after all.

By the pin pad, you rock back and forth on your feet. “Thanks for dinner,” you say, looking up at him.

“Yeah, of course.”

“And the chocolates.” A beat passes. “And the walk… and jacket, too. It’s really nice… comfortable and, uh, smells... good. Like, motor oil and… a nice body wash and… trees.” You make a nauseated face and close your eyes for a second, pinching the bridge of your nose uncomfortably as Bucky looks on.

Oh, he realizes. You must be nervous.

Oh, he realizes. Should he kiss you?

He can’t remember if Sam mentioned this or not. Does mystery assume no kissing? Is it too soon for that? He thinks he must have kissed a few first dates in the past, but he’s not really sure if it’s too bold now. He’s really does start to sweat. Bullets.

The easy conversation and laughter from the past two hours is nowhere to be found. Bucky goes mute and you start fiddling with your phone, clearing your throat loudly and then pointing to the rectangular outline in his pocket.

He gives you his number immediately, tumbling over the area code and string of digits, so empty in his brain that when it vibrates in his grip after you text him, he almost jumps.

“Call me when you get home?” Your voice is small and hopeful, and you look like you’re biting your cheek.

“Sure,” he replies dumbly. You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck before turning and unlocking the gate. One final long look at him, his face, his mouth, his fingers, and you tug on his pinky shyly before heading through and toward your door.

Bucky reflexively makes a fist, entire limb tingling up to his elbow, the tiny gesture burrowing into his chest. Suddenly, he forgets entirely the modesty of first dates. He steps out of his body for a minute, staring at his still cupped palm like he’s holding a flame.

Rules be damned.

He taps the green icon next to your name, watching you suddenly pause a few meters away.

“Hey!” he blurts too-eagerly when you pick up, confused and turning to find him still where you left him on the other side. “Sam said I should wait to call. At least a day.”

“Oh yeah…?”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky nods, “Said it’s a bad look—guy being too excited. Gotta—I don’t know. Make the girl anticipate a little. Keep her interested.”

You retrace your steps, walking back, “What if the girl’s already interested?”

“Yeah?” He’s breathless, warmed up. “Not a bad look?”

“No. You look good to me.” Eyes travel up and down, peeking through diamond shapes of the iron gate, “Sharon told me something similar, since we’re on the subject of what’s good or bad.”

“What’s that?”

It should feel stupid that he’s been holding a phone call with someone who’s barely two feet away from him. Inches now, and you step slow, nose almost up against the frame. A metal clank and the gate slowly unlatches, opening up. You tuck the device into your back pocket, and Bucky does the same, barely registering the disconnecting click, heart racing with adrenaline.

Then, you smile.

Fuck. That smile.

“Said it’s not good to kiss on the first date.” 

Mischievously, you lean in, touch him soft on the lips and every beat of his pulse seems to be reaching out for the sweet breath in your mouth. “And I shouldn’t invite you inside, but we both seem to be … not good… at following dating decorum, so…” Your eyes light up teasingly, “You wanna come…in?”

Bucky makes a noise like a whimper. Wow. International assassin with a Kennedy under his belt and it’s a dirty joke that does him in.

You kiss him again, longer than the last, giggling softly and tugging on his bottom lip like you could pull his entire body toward you with just that. “I’m sure we could find a few more first date rules to break.”

“Yeah,” he says, ducking for another one, lips increasingly impatient. “I’m… in.”

You pull away with a laugh, yanking on his shirt, grabbing his hand. As Bucky’s towed along, he can’t help but think of two things:

First, god bless Sharon Carter.

And second… well, maybe he will thank Wilson for setting him up, after all.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 3) - A Moment

Summary: Jensen is away from home for a few days but isn’t having the easiest time being away from the kids for the first time since the accident. When he returns home, he has a gala to attend on Saturday night but a kiss on the cheek and slip of the tongue will snowball into the reader and Jensen sharing a moment...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Word Count: 6,100ish

Warnings: language, death of a spouse, death of a parent, anxiety, self-worth problems, referenced past harassment

A/N: I love this part so much for so many reasons. Please enjoy!

________

“Hi Jensen,” you asked Monday night when your phone rang. “How was your flight earlier?”

“Same old same old. I just got out of work,” he said with a yawn. “Gonna grab a bite out with a friend. Kids eat dinner okay?”

“We had honey sriracha glazed salmon with brussel sprouts and roasted red potatoes.”

“Really?”

“They had kraft mac and cheese and I had Taco Bell.”

“See this is why I like you,” he chuckled.

“I’ll try the salmon again tomorrow. I was gonna make it but they didn’t have any at the store,” you said, opening the fridge and taking out a pint of ice cream. “Hey can I have what’s left of this mint ice cream?”

“Sure. Pick some more up for me sometime before friday please,” he said. “Also, Taco Bell? You do realize we live in freaking Austin right. There are literally hundreds of places you can go that have better mexican food.”

“Yeah but fake cheese tastes good,” you said. He laughed and your stomach rumbled. “I so should have gotten more than two tacos.”

“You in the kitchen?” he asked. You hummed and you heard him let out an oof in the background.

“Yeah. You alright?”

“This bed in my hotel room is comfy,” he said. “But I was starting to say, go in the drawer at the end of the counter by the table. There’s only five hundred gajillion take out menus in there. Order a treat for yourself. It’s on me.”

“Jensen. I can get my own dinner.”

“True but you’re on call 24/7 until I get back.”

“Well in that case I bet you got a menu for a fancy steakhouse in here somewhere,” you teased as you picked up one for a tex mex looking restaurant. “Does this place really have quesadillas this big?”

“You must be looking at the menu on top. I almost ordered from there last week actually. The food’s great. They do delivery too. Just buzz the guy into the gate when they get there.”

“Any recommendations?” you asked, taking out the menu and flipping it over.

“Quesadillas are good. Loaded nachos are amazing. I’ve literally never had a bad thing from there,” he said. “To be honest I’d rather be getting that than where I’m going tonight.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, reading through your options, surprised to find such good prices.

“I have to wear a suit,” he said with a sigh. “After being poked and prodded all day I literally would rather just eat crap and watch food network.”

“How long have you known this friend of yours?” you asked.

“Twenty years, why?”

“Then you guys knew each other when you were young. It’s not too late out there. Call him, see if he’d rather get some crap food, a six pack and just catch up on his couch or in your room. I’m pretty sure he’s more looking forward to seeing an old friend again than the food,” you said.

“You make very good points. I should pay you more,” he said.

“You pay me plenty and barely let me spend a dime of my money on myself,” you said. “I don’t need more.”

“You got that fancy computer though.”

“You literally have the exact same mac in your office.”

“You moved in like three boxes and two computers,” he said.

“An ipad is not a computer,” you said.

“Debatable.”

“Well I like to draw sometimes and it’s easier on an ipad when you’re laying in bed,” you said. 

“Are you any good?” he asked.

“No.”

“I bet they’re really good,” he said as you rolled your eyes. “I see you draw with the kids sometimes and those are good.”

“It’s a hobby is all,” you said, leaning back against the counter, your stomach grumbling again. “Anything else you want me to grab at the store? I’m going to hit it tomorrow while everyone’s at school.”

“Nah. Get the usual stuff,” he said. “The kiddos in bed?”

“Yeah, got the last one down about fifteen minutes ago,” you said. He hummed and you heard the sigh in it. “I got a video of them playing earlier I’ll send you.”

“Thanks. It’s my first night away from them in a long time. Normally I’m able to come back same day. I was kinda hoping they’d still be awake to say goodnight.”

“They’re safe and sound dad. We’ll call again after school tomorrow to talk like today,” you said.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. He was quiet and you pulled the phone away, taking a deep breath. 

“You okay?” 

“I haven’t been alone like this in a really long time.”

“I know. You check out your backpack yet?”

“No. Why?”

“You didn’t bring a jacket with you so I put that yellow hoodie that’s always on the hook in there in case you got cold.”

“That was Dee’s hoodie.”

“I was pretty sure it was,” you said. You heard him shuffle around briefly before he hummed, much happier that time. “I thought you might like to have a piece of...something-”

“I really don’t pay you enough,” he said quietly. “Thanks for putting this in there. I need something from home more than I realized.”

“Well put it on, call up your buddy and have some fun tonight, Ackles. Nanny’s orders.” He laughed and you felt that twinge in your stomach again, your eyes quickly closing.

“I will. Hey you mind if I call again tomorrow night? I don’t have any plans and sitting in a hotel room by myself isn’t very fun.” You smiled and felt heat in your cheeks, quickly thinking it away. He wanted company for a few minutes was all and you were friends. It was completely normal to talk with friends on the phone everyday.

“Of course. As long as you get a dinner in at some point that’s more than fine with me,” you said. “We can talk about The Bachelor!”

“Oh God no,” he groaned, chuckling after a few seconds. “I’ll settle for Grey’s Anatomy.”

“This Is Us?” you asked.

“Supernatural?”

“I haven’t watched that yet. I’m working up to it,” you said. 

“Work faster woman. I only know legit everything about that one,” he chuckled. “But probably not a good idea to watch that one until I get back and you're not alone. First episode is kinda scary.”

“Oh well thanks for that,” you said, watching the clock tick by, knowing it had to be almost seven out there. “I’ll let you go. Have fun tonight Jensen.”

“I will Y/N. Promise.”

Friday Night

“Arrow,” you said after she’d flung her pasta bowl all over herself, covering her hair and face. She sniffled and you forced a smile. “Okay. How about a bath after dinner?”

Fifteen minutes later JJ and Zeppelin were in the movie room watching a cartoon while you had Arrow in the kids bathroom, scooping up some water over her head in the tub.

“Well hello ladies,” you heard behind you. You jumped and spun around, glaring for a moment before you recognized Jensen.

“Just me,” he said, backpack still on his shoulders. 

“Daddy I got ziti all over my head,” she said.

“You did?” he asked, dropping his bag and taking off his jacket, kneeling down next to you. You got the last bit of sauce off and squirted some shampoo in her hair, Jensen watching you with a smile. “How was your day?”

She told him all about breakfast and daycare, playing with a few toy boats with him while you rinsed out the soap. You did a bit of conditioner before getting it out as well and putting the spray nozzle back.

“I got the rest if you wanna get the dryer ready?” he asked you, reaching for the soap. You swapped spots with him, Jensen washing her up while she kept talking about her day. By the time he was all done you had the dryer out and plugged in, Jensen picking her up and wrapping her up in a big bundle of towels before he set her on the counter. You went to work drying her hair, Jensen draining the tub and finding some pajamas for her.

“Do you want your hair up or down, sweetie?” you asked. She tried gathering it up and you grabbed her soft scrunchie perfectly fine for sleeping in from the counter. You put her hair up in a soft little bun, Jensen making an adorable sound when he returned.

“Aw, you look so cute, baby. I’ll be right there alright?” he said. She hopped off the counter and got dressed, rushing off downstairs when she was all done. “Survive the day?”

“Somehow we always do,” you said, gathering up the towels. “Kids are in the movie room.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna shower but we’re all good for the night,” he said. “Thanks for watching them this week.”

“You gotta go do your job,” you said. “You working on a movie or something? You never said.”

“Uh gonna be in a show called The Boys,” he said. “I’m gonna be one of the superheroes so I gotta go out and get my suit made all special for me every so often.”

“You’re gonna be a supe! That’s so fucking cool!” you said. He grinned and you blushed, shaking your head. “I’m so sorry. That was so not appropriate.”

“I don’t see any little ears around,” he chuckled. “You like the show then?”

“Yeah. It’s great. Like no other show consistently makes me go what the fuck did I just see. That’s so cool you get to be a supe though. Are you a one off or like a main character?”

“I’ll be very present in the next season. Gonna deal with the seven, all that,” he said. “I’m gonna be Solider Boy.”

“I can see that. You have that all American boy thing about you.”

“It’s my adorable face,” he teased. 

“Well remember to not stay up too late. You have the gala tomorrow night remember?”

“Yes mom,” he said as you walked out. “Get the kids some takeout for dinner tomorrow and yourself.”

“Sounds good boss,” you said. “Night Jensen.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

The Next Night

You froze from where you were mixing up some brownie batter with JJ at the kitchen counter as Jensen popped downstairs. He was in a gorgeous black suit, a maroon pocket square and no tie going on, his hair scruffier looking than normal.

He started to laugh and you realized you were staring, your cheeks feeling hot as you went back to stirring.

“Mmm, you guys save me a brownie or two for when I get home?” he asked, leaning over and dipping his finger in the bowl of cream cheese frosting.

“We’ll spare one for dad,” you said, Jensen going back for seconds. “Ah, ah. No.”

He dipped his finger in and got another fingerful, kissing the top of JJ’s head and the twins at the counter.

“Be good for Y/N guys!” he called as he rushed out.

You whistled and he jogged back, catching you holding up his phone from the counter.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it and pecking a kiss on your cheek. You looked up at him and he froze. “I am so sorry. I…”

“It’s okay. Go have fun and be all charitable,” you said. He shoved his phone in his pocket and ran out, JJ scratching her head.

“Dad’s kinda weird sometimes,” she said.

“Yeah, he is. But so is everybody,” you said. “Let’s get this in the oven so you guys can pick out colors for your frosting, hm?”

“I really shouldn’t. But I really should,” you said to yourself, plopping your second brownie of the night in a bowl and sticking a scoop of ice cream on top. You carried it over to the couch and lay back, watching TV on the big screen as you heard the door open. Jensen came into view a minute later, taking his jacket off and groaning as he washed up at the sink. He went to the tray of brownies on the counter and picked one up with a big sigh. “Fun night?”

He jumped and whacked his head against the cabinet above, hissing before he spun around.

“You okay?” you asked. He nodded and left the brownie behind, pushing his sleeves up before taking a seat on the other end of the lounger.

“Y/N I’m really sorry about the kiss on the cheek. That was so inappropriate. You’ve kinda implied that there was some stuff that’s happened to you at other jobs you found over the line and I’m really truly sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I wasn’t...I forgot you’re my employee for a moment. I really am sorry.”

“Jensen if I had a problem with it or you or your behavior I would quit on the spot. I don’t let myself get pushed around anymore. You were happy and busy and you pecked a kiss on my cheek, not reach a hand down my pants. It’s really okay. You’re way too hard on yourself.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Positive. It’s barely ten which means you left as soon as you could. You’re supposed to be out having fun,” you said.

“I was kinda freaking out that you hated me,” he said.

“Dude you gotta relax,” you said. “Have a brownie and some ice cream.”

He got up and after a minute took a seat at the other end with a bowl of his own, smiling as he got a taste.

“This is fucking awesome,” he said.

“I know,” you said, Jensen smirking. “Do you feel better now silly boy? I promise that if you ever do anything I find inappropriate I will promptly kick you in the balls.”

“I can agree to that,” he said. He ate for a moment, watching the TV and laying back. “Do you ever like, want to go do things with your friends on a Saturday night? If you do that’s totally cool. These aren’t normal hours anyways.”

“Being a nanny eats up a lot of your social life,” you said. “Kinda got kicked out of my friend group after I broke up with my ex anyways.”

“Well they sound like they suck,” he said.

“Yes, they do,” you said. “I don’t mind so much. I meet plenty of new people through work. Only person you can depend on is yourself and I don’t tend to let myself down.”

“That’s a very lonely way to go through life,” he said.

“It’s not easy to make friends in your thirties,” you said. “Maybe for someone like you who travels and meets new people a lot and stuff but you have like, real friendships. You know?”

“Well we have a real friendship, don’t we? You’re friends with Jared and Rob and Ruthie and Rich,” he said. “I don’t trust just anybody with my kids. That’s real.”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a bite. “So when’s your friend free?”

“Hm?”

“Blind date guy. Maybe he could be a friend if things work out,” you said.

“Oh yeah. He uh, he actually got a gig up in Canada so you might need to wait like a month or so. But he’s excited to meet you,” said Jensen.

“Can I have his number?” you asked. “Or do you think that’d be weird?”

“No, not weird. I think he just kinda wants to do it old school if that’s okay. Meet you first and go from there.”

“This friend of yours better be like super hot,” you said.

“If it’s a problem-“

“I can respect him wanting to do things like that. But I’m gonna want a firm date soon,” you said.

“I’ll make sure to get you one,” he said. “I’ll get it down tomorrow, promise.”

“He better not mind me eating like this either. I ain’t a salad on the first date kinda girl. He’s gonna need to keep up with my eating while were at it,” you said. He snorted in his seat beside you and ran his hand over his face.

“I will keep that in mind. I have occasionally had dessert first truth be told,” he said.

“This is why I like you Ackles. You get my sweet tooth,” you laughed.

“It’s a good thing your dinners are healthy cause I swear I haven’t consumed this many baked goods in months,” he said. “The kids love it and my stomach loves it though.”

“I’m gonna need to start working out though if I keep this up. Oh hey is it okay if I do laps in the pool in the mornings? I’ll be super quiet and stuff.”

“You don’t gotta ask,” he smiled. “Like I said when you started, you got free reign to use the pool, the gym, whatever, aside from my room. You a swimmer?”

“Not really but I hate running and supposedly it’s a good workout or something,” you shrugged, eating another bite of brownie.

“Anything in the gym you’re free to use. I know you must get a little bored sometimes when I’m gone and the kids are,” he said.

“Not bored per say. Ordinarily I would do more chores but you have like a cleaner and a landscaper and you just...give me more time in the day than I’m used to is all. It’s actually great though. It gives me plenty of time to come up with ideas for the kids and stuff.”

“Well as long as you’re taking breaks and your lunch do as you please,” he said, his spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl.

“Now that’s just sad.”

“I really should get another one of these,” he said, sucking the spoon.

“It’s really the only choice you have,” you said. He laughed as he hopped up, skirting back into the kitchen and fixing up another brownie and ice cream combo.

“Hey you want more, Dee?” he asked. You popped your head up and he spun around. “I’m-“

“Don't apologize, Jensen,” you said. He tapped his fingers against the counter and took a deep breath, putting his back to you.

“That’s the second time tonight I’ve done that,” he said. 

“Jensen. There’s nothing wrong with missing your wife.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“You don’t...talk about her much.”

“It was...she wasn’t…” he trailed off. He sat down on a barstool and you got up, walking over and hopping up on the counter beside him. You set your feet in the stool next to his and paused before you put a hand on top of his head and ran your fingers through the short strands. “This shouldn’t have happened to her.”

“Death is the price for living. Pain’s the price for caring. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” you said. You started to move your hand away when he turned his head. 

“Don’t…” he said, easing when you played with it gently again. “That’s always calmed me down since I was a little kid.”

“Someone should take care of you every once in a while you know. Your parents, siblings, friends. Everyone needs a break.”

“I had a lot of help at the beginning. I don’t need a whole day. Just a moment here and there,” he said quietly.

“It’ll be okay, Jensen,” you said. He nodded and you played with his hair a few moments, watching his shoulders ease. This time when you pulled away he smiled up at you. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thank you. That’s not in your job description to do that sort of thing.”

“Well I think your wife would want somebody to watch your back, even for only a minute or two,” you said.

“You don’t have any brain aneurysms I should know about, do you?” he chuckled. 

“No. That what happened?” you asked, a single nod coming from him.

“She was sleeping. Not a bad way to go I was told, you’d never even know,” he said. “Not a fun thing to wake up to in the morning though.”

“My dad had a mass at the back of his head. It was that same kind of thing where one second it’s fine and the next everything’s different deal. It was inoperable. Then he goes and dies from a car accident of all things before it got bad. My mom had a hard time with that.”

“You said she had a boyfriend later on right?” he asked.

“Yeah. I know you’ll be okay, Jensen,” you said. You ruffled his hair and he smiled, a soft look on his face. “Pro tip too from someone who’s been there, kids with a single parent turn out just fine.”

“Do they ever wish they had another parent?” he asked.

“They wish the parent they still have around is happy again someday. They won’t understand until they’re older that it’s a different kind of love between parents. But they’ll know it’s a little different and they’ll hope dad feels better too. Your kids are tough. They’ll be okay too.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said. You hopped off the counter and washed up your dish, sticking it in the dishwasher before you went to leave for your room. “So I gotta ask. Who takes care of you?”

“Me?” you asked, pointing to yourself. He shrugged and smiled, your gaze going past him. “I’m all good. I don’t need somebody to take care of me.”

“Liar,” he said softly. “You know my friend tells me everybody needs to be taken care of sometimes.”

“That’s the difference between us Jensen. You’re not like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed, his face scrunching up suddenly.

“It means you’re not on your own and even if you feel like it, it’s only been a little while. You’ll be okay. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a kid. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“You haven’t lived my life and I haven’t lived yours. Don’t try to tell me that I’m not capable of-”

“It’s not about what you’re capable of. You said pain is part of life, it’s the price for living. You’ve had more than your fair share-”

“Lots of people have it a lot worse.”

“Don’t compare your pain to someone else's. They haven’t lived your life,” he said. You rolled your eyes and started to walk away, Jensen out of his seat and catching up with you in the hall. “You can be taken care of too you know.”

“By who? My non-existent circle of friends? My crappy ex? My mom’s ex boyfriend who’s got his own wife and kids? I am perfectly fine managing all of this by myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

“You’re so frustratingly annoying,” he said, running his hand over his face. “Me. I’m talking about me. You just...you took care of me tonight. The least I can do is show you the same compassion.”

“No,” you said.

“No? Why not?”

“Because taking care of me turns into you walking into my shower without my permission and you being a dick and this going away and I don’t want you to be those things so no. We’re getting too friendly. Please leave me alone tomorrow.”

You left him in the hall and went down to your area of the house, shutting the door after you. There was quickly a knock and you growled, ripping it open.

“What?” you snapped at him.

“I am not going to hurt you or be a dick to you or whatever else you think. You need to realize in the real world, not everyone is an asshole.”

“You’re the one not living in the real world then, Jensen. Everybody’s an asshole.”

“Fine. I’m an asshole. But I’m not leaving until you say I can take care of you tomorrow. Two minutes is all I’m asking for.”

“This is my part of the house.”

“And technically I am outside your door,” he said. “Why are you so resistant to somebody doing something nice for you?”

“Because I don’t wanna get used to it,” you said. He stared and you shook your head. “You’re attractive and an actor and kind and funny and it’s not a matter of if you date again but when and when that day comes, we ain’t gonna be sitting on the couch eating ice cream anymore. Please do not invite me to anymore outings as a friend. I’ll attend if required as a nanny but this between us is done.”

“For the record, the only one around here that thinks of you as just the hired help is you. My children are completely like their old selves. I feel more like my old self. You seem happier than when I met you but for some reason, that’s a big problem to you. I do not understand that.”

“Leave or I resign and move out first thing,” you said. He crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “This is my formal resignation then. The company will-”

He moved quickly and you weren’t sure what he was doing at first but soon you realized he was hugging you, your hands resting against his chest. You swallowed and he didn’t move, your forehead resting against him.

“What are you doing?” you breathed out.

“When’s the last time you got a fucking hug?” he asked.

“The kids-”

“Not the kids.”

“I don’t remember,” you said quietly. 

“Then you are overdue,” he said. You let yourself reach your arms around him and return the hug, breathing deeply, a small bubble in you rising up. You tried to push it down but it came back harder and you were fighting back tears before you knew it. 

He could feel when you lost that battle, hand rubbing up and down your back. There was a soft shushing in the air and after a few minutes you felt better. You lifted your head but didn’t look at him, Jensen squeezing you in his hug again before it eased.

“You know you’re not allowed to quit on me...like ever,” he chuckled. You let out a small laugh, Jensen smiling at you when you forced your head up. He wiped off your cheeks and you let out one last sniffle. “You’re not alone. I promise you’re not. It’s not the quantity of people you have in your life but the quality and I’m sorry but we are friends and there’s nothing you can do about that so I’d just accept it now.”

“I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”

“You were scared, not a bitch,” he said. “I wish I could make you happier is all.”

“I wish I could bring back your wife for you,” you said.

“One of those is a lot more possible than the other,” he said. A small smile crossed his lips before he ducked his head down, shoulders heaving back before his head raised. “Y/N, can I confess something to you? I hope...I hope it doesn’t bother you but if it does, you don’t have to continue working for me. I’d still like to be friends regardless.”

“What’s wrong?” you asked, Jensen looking past you.

“My single friend I was going to set you up with? He doesn’t exist.”

“Oh.”

“Cause he’s kinda me.”

“Oh,” you said, staring at him, a lot of his previous behavior starting to click into place. “That’s…”

“I know,” he said, stepping away and rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s weird and douchey and I’m sorry. I like you and I was trying to see if you would ever go for a 42 year old actor. I left out the widow and kids part but...I’m sorry.”

“When did you like me?” you asked quietly.

“The whole time?” he said, laughing nervously to himself. “It’s kinda snowballed since we met. I never in my life thought I’d like someone again. I didn’t want to like you. I hired you because you were the best candidate and I knew the kids would be in good hands but everyday it’s there, even more, and I know this is so inappropriate on so many levels and I’m really starting to ramble here but you make me think maybe your mom had a point and people are allowed to have...more than one…and sometimes the way you talk to me and treat me and look at me...” 

He swallowed as you stepped in front of him, taking a quick breath. 

“I will keep working for you and I’ll be your friend...and you can make me dinner tomorrow,” you said with a smile. “We’ll see where it goes from there?”

“You’re not...weirded out?” he asked.

“By your age, you’re my boss or the cheeky lying about a fake friend?” you said.

“All of the above.”

“Age doesn’t bother me. You have no idea how to be a boss, no offense, and the friend...I don’t blame you for wanting to test the waters first,” you said. “But I expect honesty from here on out.”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“Good,” you said.

“You do like me right?” he asked. “Like you don’t feel obligated or-”

“I like you Jensen. Why do you think I was trying to push you away before you got too close? I didn’t want to be hurt.”

“Give me a chance to not,” he said. “We can have dinner and see how it goes from there.”

“Normally the best course of action,” you said.

“But maybe with a few more hugs from now on,” he said. “For the both of us.”

“That’d be okay with me,” you said. He smiled and you returned it. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“I guess you will,” he said. He turned to go when he spun back on his heels. “Or we could go back out there, eat way too much dessert and hang out?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Give me a minute to wash up my face.”

“Take all the time you want. I’m gonna change into something more comfortable anyways.”

He left and you washed off your face in the bathroom, drying it off and taking a deep breath.

You did like him. There was something calming about him to you and you enjoyed his company, even if it was just the two of you having a quiet cup of coffee in the morning.

But he was an actor. And kinda famous. And a widow. And had three kids. 

“But your face is cute,” you said aloud, looking the mirror. “Gah, of course you have to be like...into me. Nutjob. He must be a nutjob. That’s it.”

“Y/N?” you heard him saying and you smacked yourself in the face. “Are you talking to yourself?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said, stepping out and seeing him in the hall sporting a pair of pajama pants and a t shirt. “That was fast.”

“Well I didn’t go through an eight step skin routine too,” he chuckled.

“For your information, my routine is only three steps,” you said, walking past him and waggling your fingers.

“I didn’t realize I was living with such a savage,” he said. You laughed and went back to the kitchen, making up another dish of brownie for him while he went over to where he kept his liquor. “You a bourbon kind of girl?”

“Is there any other kind?” you said.

“Touche.” He poured out two glasses and slid one over while you passed his bowl to him. “So what’s this three step routine? Do I need to up my game or what?”

“I think I need your routine, not the other way around,” you said.

“Nah. I like looking at your face more than mine. Trust me.”

“Oh. How long you been holding back those kinds of comments?” you teased.

“Longer than you’d think,” he said, sharing the bowl with you. “Feel okay now?”

“Yeah. I can’t remember the last time I cried,” you said. “Especially in front of someone.”

“A good cry session has never hurt in my experience. I’ll do it for work and stuff but normally I’m not much of one. Aside from the past six months I mean.”

“Are you ready to try this?” you asked.

“Yeah. I know I am,” he said. “I’m positive of it.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because you make me happy. You make me...want to do stuff again, believe in all the romantic...if I wasn’t ready, I’d feel guilty. But I don’t. I just know that maybe some people get more than one chance and maybe I’m one of them.”

“I know you are, whoever it ends up being,” you said.

“Are you ready to try this?”

You took a drink and bite of ice cream, pushing the bowl back.

“I miss my family,” you said. “I miss being happy. I’d like to...have someone that could take care of me for a moment every once in a while. I might mess that up sometimes but I’m willing to try.”

“Me too,” he said. “I’d expect some screw ups on this end too. I’ve been out of the dating game for a long time.”

“I’m sure it hasn’t changed all that much,” you said.

“Well I’ve never dated with kids and as a widow,” he said.

“I’m just in this for them to be honest,” you laughed. 

“I see how it is,” he said with a smirk. 

“I don’t think it’ll be as hard as you think,” you said.

“I hope not,” he said. 

“Do they know? You want to date?”

“JJ does,” he said. “She’s little but she understands that it doesn’t mean I’ll never love her mother any less. She’s been strangely okay through this whole thing aside from the first few weeks. She helps her brother and sister out more now.”

“As someone who was that kid, minus the siblings, I know they’ll be okay. She’s a great kid. I’ve met plenty of spoiled brats. Yours are not.”

“Well that might just be the second best thing I’ve heard tonight,” he said.

“Whatever was the first?” you teased, eating a spoon of ice cream.

“Oh I think you know,” he said, stealing the spoon back. You smiled and heard some feet run around upstairs before the stairs creeped and a little head ducked down into view. “Arrow. It’s bedtime sweetie.”

“I had a accident,” she said. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, honey,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Want help?” you asked.

“Sure,” he said. He scooped up Arrow on the way up the stairs, setting her down in the kids bathroom. He got some clean pajamas and you found a pair of pull ups, Arrow pouting at you. 

“I don’t need ‘em,” she said.

“Your brother wears them. I wore them and your mommy and daddy wore them. Everybody wears pull ups when they’re your age,” you said.

“Just tonight,” she said, stepping into them. Jensen walked past with the mattress liner and she was dressed by the time you heard the washer going off in the distance. You walked her back to bed, Jensen slipping in past you and tucking her in. “Night daddy.”

“Night sweetie,” he said, kissing her temple. 

“Night Y/N,” she said.

“Night night kiddo,” you said, giving her a tiny wave before you left, Jensen flipping off her light and pulling the door shut. 

“Come here a second,” he said, nodding and you saw him head towards his room. The double doors were open and you stepped inside, Jensen going past the bed and over to a set of french doors. He pushed one open and waved for you to follow, showing you out to a rooftop balcony.

“Wow,” you said, a set of chairs, a table and a lounger out there along with a whole lot soft string lights. “I didn’t realize you had this up here.”

“Kinda a place to go unwind, relax,” he said. “I disappear out here sometimes. Been out here a lot at night lately.”

“Thinking about what?” you asked.

“You,” he said. “I talk to Dee about you sometimes as crazy as that sounds.”

“Doesn’t sound crazy at all,” you said.

“I just wanted to say...this area isn’t off limits anymore. Nothing is,” he said. 

“She asked you out, didn’t she,” you said with a smile. He rubbed the back of his neck and blushed. “You’re cute.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek, heading back towards inside.

“Come on, Jensen. Before the ice cream melts on us.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 4 here!

[doctorstethoscope]

In the Garden || A. Hotchner x Fem!Reader

hello babes! Something a little different today-- I didn’t have time to write a request that I was going to be pleased with, so this is something that’s been sitting in my drive for a while. Hope you like it! 

Submit requests here! 

contains: sexual innuendo, gun mention

wordcount: 2.4k

You can’t remember the last time you wore a dress, much less a gown like the one JJ was zipping you into now-- dresses weren’t practical for field work with the BAU, and even when you’d worked in the counterterrorism unit, you’d much preferred a professional blouse and pair of slacks. But the First Lady had decided to throw a ball in the White House to celebrate federal employees, and the Bureau was receiving an award, which the Director had hand-picked the BAU to accept. So, gown. Even though you’d much prefer to be changing into a pair of sweats-- you had been called on a case two days before the ball, and Garcia saved the day by running to everyone’s apartments and grabbing their nice clothes so you all wouldn’t be late. Which is how you found yourself squeezing into a sleek off the shoulder number in the Batcave, with Emily batting at your face with a makeup brush and JJ tugging at your zipper. 

“Babe, you look hot.” Penelope says as Emily and JJ step away from you, admiring their work. 

“All Emily’s work,” you deflected with a shy smile. 

“We’ll have that fight when we’re not running late,” Emily said, pulling you out of Garcia’s office, she and JJ not far behind. 

Derek let out a wolf whistle when he saw you all approaching, and you heard JJ’s windchime laugh from a few steps behind. 

“Hello ladies,” he said with an exaggerated leer. 

“Derek Morgan, you’re lucky that my thigh holster doesn’t go with this dress.” Emily spits out, and all of you burst out in laughter. 

“Chocolate thunder, you clean up good,” Garcia says, crossing to Derek, who moved to put his arm around her shoulders as Reid emerged into the bullpen. 

“Speaking of cleaning up good,” JJ says with a small smile, and you catch Reid blushing. 

“Did you know that balls like this can cost American taxpayers up to a million dollars?” He asks the group, and you smile.

“Maybe don’t mention that when the first lady gives us the award, yeah Spence?” You tease, and he treats you to a little chuckle.

You hear Hotch before you turn to see him and Rossi. “Alright, let’s go,” He says, leading the group out of the BAU and towards your SUVs. You end up in the passenger seat of the car Rossi is driving. 

“You doing okay, kid? You’re awful quiet this evening. Invitations to Federal Government Prom don’t come often, you know.” He smirks, and you half-ass a smile in return. 

“Yeah, I’m okay, Rossi. Just tired, you know. Would have preferred to get a night’s sleep in my own bed before we did this, you know?” 

He nods, but there’s no use in lying to a profiler. 

The food, you have to admit, is leagues better than the instant ramen you would have cooked up if you had gone home tonight. And the conversation isn’t half bad either, you admit to yourself as you lazily flirt with Paul, a junior fellow from the Department of Health and Human Services, just barely putting in enough effort to seem interested while allowing your mind to wander.

The sensation of a warm hand in between your exposed shoulder blades distracts you from your train of thought. 

“Excuse me,” Aaron’s deep baritone interrupts Paul’s nervous tenor. “I’d like to cut in for a dance, if you don’t mind.”

Paul sputters, and you laugh, because you know that Aaron was asking you, not this early-thirties politico type that he towered over, both physically and morally. 

“We’ll catch up later?” you said to Paul, with absolutely no intent to catch up later, before Aaron led you out to the dance floor. 

“Hotch, I’m gonna step on your feet.” You warned. 

“No you won’t,” he assures you. “Follow my lead.” 

You do as you’re told, and you’re surprised to realize just how easy it is to follow him, anywhere. 

“Aaron Hotchner, when on Earth did you learn to ballroom dance?” You asked incredulously. 

“Boarding school,” He answers with an easy smile.

“You’re joking,” you accuse. 

“Ah, yes, something I’m known to do.”

“You remain a mystery, Hotchner.”  You tell him.

“I don’t know. That might have been my last secret.” 

You roll your eyes, content to continue dancing, and finding yourself getting distracted again. 

“What are you thinking about?” Aaron asks, and you mentally curse yourself for letting your guard down in front of your boss. 

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just tired. But really grateful to be here, of course, and--”

“I wasn’t asking as your boss, you can stand down,” He smirks, dipping you quickly and it takes your breath away. “You’re thinking of leaving.” He says as he lifts you back up, and it’s not a question. 

“How did you-- I can’t believe-- Damn profilers.” You harrumphed. 

“You’ve been distant, the past couple weeks. You’re in your early twenties accepting an award at the White House, by all accounts you should be ecstatic. That’s when I knew something was wrong. And when I saw you with Peter, or whatever his name was, who you couldn’t be less interested in, that’s when I knew it was us.” 

“See, and that’s exactly why I need to leave. Because I’ll never be able to do that.” You tell him, finally looking him in the eye.

“You will,”  He says in a self-assured tone that does nothing to assuage your anxiety.

“I don’t know,” you sighed. 

“I do.” 

“Maybe I’m not good enough, Hotch.” You confess carelessly. He’s already figured you out. Might as well fess up to your deepest insecurities while your boss holds you and stares you down with his deep brown eyes in the middle of the East Room.

“You are,” he says in that same tone, that you’re sure is supposed to be calming but is only infuriating. 

“But maybe I’m not! Maybe I’m one of those people who always wanted to do it, who always wanted to be an agent, but it’s like a pipe dream for me. I don’t contribute to the team the same way everyone else does. I don’t pick up on the things that seem so obvious to all of you, and it sucks. I can still do good work, but you know-- you change your dreams and you grow up. Maybe I’m one of those people and I’m just not supposed to be here. I just can’t stay knowing that I’m not supposed to be here-- I have to leave.” You’re not even sure if your soliloquy makes any sense, but Aaron pulls you a little closer, so he can speak the next few words lowly, directly into your ear. 

“You’ve been here eight months. It takes time. You are an incredible agent, and an asset to this team. I don’t need another profiler that sees the same things we all see-- I need you, and your observations, the things we missed-- those are the things that solve cases. I can’t-- I can’t allow you to change your dream. I can’t let you leave. I need you here.” 

You let his words hang in the air for a moment before he speaks again. 

“The, uh-- the team needs you. We all need you, and your observations, is what I meant.” He stammers. 

“Hotch?’ You ask, confused by the sudden change in tone. 

“Do you want to go get some fresh air? Get away from the crowd?” He asks, pulling away to look at you, and there’s an invitation in his eyes. Maybe a more seasoned profiler would know exactly what it was, but you were excited to find out nonetheless.  

“Yeah, I think I do.”

You’re certain that you’re breaking some sort of law as Hotch pulls you out of the ballroom and down a hallway, his fingers interlocked with yours. You try not to think about it too much. Your heels click against the marble floors as you follow Aaron’s brisk pace, and eventually he finds a door outside, opening it up and allowing you to pass through it first. It takes a minute to place yourself, especially under the cover of night, but after a moment you realize you’re in the rose garden. 

“Toto, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore,” You say under your breath with a little laugh as you look out over the sprawling display of flowers and plants. 

“It definitely beats the Quantico courtyard,” Aaron agrees.

“Never thought I’d make it there, either.” You confess, not looking at him.

“But you did. It wasn’t meant to be easy, but you made it, and you’ll grow. You just need time.” He tells you. 

“How can you be so sure?” You ask, feeling your eyes well up. 

“I was young once, too.” He tells you with a self-deprecating grin. 

“You can’t play up the wise, ancient elder with me, Hotch. I’ve seen you chase Jack across a soccer field like you’re still in your twenties.” You laugh, but he can hear the emotions behind it.

“Hey, come on, I mean it. I’m not Rossi, but I’ve got my fair dose of wisdom to share,” he says, moving closer to you and placing a hand on your arm, trying to comfort you. “Let’s keep dancing. If you want to talk, you can talk. But you thought you couldn’t dance, and you could dance, right? So we can keep doing that until you believe me.” He said, pulling your hand up in his and placing his other on your waist. 

The two of you moved slowly, the orchestra from inside only barely audible from where you were standing. With Hotch’s bad ear, he could really only hear it when his body was angled just right in the direction of the East Room, but somehow he had perfect rhythm regardless. You move in silence for a song or two or three before Hotch speaks up again. 

“I lied to you, earlier.” He confesses, still guiding you effortlessly through a simple waltz. 

“How do you mean?” You ask, suddenly nervous that you were right, that you’re a complete failure of an agent, and that you need to pack your bags and head on back to Kansas.

“I lied when I said that I’d told you my last secret.”

“Oh,” you said, too caught up in your own head to try to understand what he was saying.

“And I lied when I told you that I meant the team needed you--” you felt that bone-crushing weight on your soul again-- “we do, of course, but that’s not what I meant.” 

“Hotchner, what are you talking about?” You finally asked, no longer able to tolerate the emotional whiplash of his conversation.

“When I said I needed you, I meant it.” 

“Oh,” you say, your face a portrait of shock and confusion, even though you understood him completely. 

“That’s selfish of me as a person, and wrong of me as your superior, and maybe that means that I’m outing myself as the kind of fucked-up person that isn’t worth another second of your time, but I needed you to know.” He stops dancing now, tries to hedge a bit of space between you without letting you go entirely. 

“Aaron,” you whisper, clinging to him more tightly as he pulls away, feeling his jacket wrinkle under your fingernails. 

“Yes?” he whispers back. 

“I’m glad you told me,” you tell him, and that’s all the permission he needs to take your face in both of your hands and kiss you, with a gentleness that makes you feel like spun gold, with the reverence of a man who knows that love is not a game, with the hunger of one who has been starved for months. 

He pulls away from you, too soon, and your eyes are wet. “My resignation will be on your desk by Monday morning.”

He takes a step away. “What do you--” 

“Goodnight, Aaron,” You tell him with a sad little smile, turning around towards the door you came from and leaving him in the garden.

You’re drowning your sorrows in a pint of Ben and Jerry’s when the doorbell rings the next day. You swing the door open grumpily, to reveal Aaron. 

“It’s Saturday, and you can’t turn in your resignation until 9am Monday. What can I do in the next forty eight hours to convince you that you belong here?” Aaron asks, still standing in the hall of your apartment complex.

You sigh, stepping aside to let him in. You can’t give him what he wants, but you won’t have this argument where all the neighbors will hear, either. “It’s too late, Hotch.”

“It’s not too late,” he argues, checking his watch. “I have forty six hours and thirteen minutes.”

“I’ll still be the girl who got this job on her back forty six hours from now.” You tell him, folding your arms.

“You’ll be what?” He asks, incredulous. 

“I know that you heard me loud and clear. 

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t know that you slept with Erin Strauss. I didn’t think you were her type.” He says, and you let out an exasperated sigh. 

“You’re absolutely incorrigible!” You cry out. 

“Who implied that you got this job on anything other than your own merit?” Aaron asks, a glint in his eye that lets you know that they’ll be handled just as soon as he gets you to shred the letter of resignation you drafted last night.

“Didn’t I? You didn’t clear my promotion because you were attracted to me?” You asked.

“I cleared your promotion before we even met-- your interview was a bureau formality. Your reputation and the glowing recommendations from your peers in counterterrorism spoke volumes.”  He assures you.

“Oh,” you let out, your anger deflating. 

“If you want to leave because of my inappropriate behavior, please reconsider. I’m incredibly sorry for--” He starts, but you cut him off, placing your hands on his face and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“Nothing to be sorry for. Please continue to be inappropriate,” you tell him in between kisses. 

He smiles as he continues to place kisses across your face, your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Right now?” He asks, slipping a hand underneath your shirt.  “You want me to be inappropriate right now?” 

“If you’re really good at it, I’ll let you tear up my resignation yourself.” 

@romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @rousethemouse @scuttling

[outerbankspreferences]

Let Me Make You Feel Good – Rafe Cameron

A/N: Just a random thought I had last night. 

Word Count: 2951

WARNINGS: SMUT NSFW 18+

MASTERLIST

The two of you sat in Rafe’s bedroom. You were looking through a magazine while Rafe was cutting up his recent drug supply from Barry. You didn’t agree with his unhealthy habit, but also knew how upset he got when you mentioned something to him about it. He always swore it was the last time or that he owed Barry a favour, but you knew that your best friend was falling down a slippery slop that you couldn’t pull him away from.

You and Rafe had been friends since the eighth grade when you got partnered together for a project at school and you’d been friends since. You two were completely different but in a good way. Rafe was always outgoing and confident while you preferred to keep to yourself. Rafe was always seeking adventure and excitement, and he soon discovered that you did too. Rafe would always push you out of your comfort zone, but never to far. You had been there for him when his dad was being a dick, or he just needed someone that wasn’t going to be so hard on him.

 You hadn’t realized you’d been lost in thought when Rafe spoke up pulling you from the dreamland you were in. “Huh?” You questioned completely missing what he said to you, “I said, have you heard back from that art school you applied too?” “Oh, sorry, yeah no I haven’t but they just closed registration so hopefully I’ll hear from them soon.” You explained going back to your magazine.

 You couldn’t help but get distracted by the way Rafe’s muscle would flex with every move of the illegal substance. Every time he went to crush a pill his hands would flex, and though you didn’t approve of the lifestyle you couldn’t deny how hot he looked right now. You had been avoiding your feelings towards Rafe because you knew how cliché it was to fall for your best friend. You also knew Rafe’s track record with women, he was more of a one and done kind of guy.

 You had been with a few guys but nothing like Rafe. You had only gone all the way with one boyfriend and then he broke up with you a couple of weeks later. You always blamed yourself, assuming you weren’t good at sex, so you never really tried again. Recently you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be with Rafe. You had heard so many stories from you friends, but you wanted to experience it firsthand.

 “Hey Rafe.” You spoke trying to get his attention, “yes.” “Why do you do drugs?” You asked as if it was the most common question ever and caused him to look at you. “I mean, what makes you enjoy them so much if you know it’s bad for you, and not to mention illegal.” You explained yourself more. “I don’t know, I guess it makes me feel something, y’know? I know it’s cliché, but it makes me feel something other than insignificant to everyone.” He was now facing you, legs spread apart so you could get a good look at his thighs. You shook your head in confirmation going back to your magazine. “Why the sudden interest in my extracurricular activities?” He spoke in a hushed tone knowing the Wheezie could be listening in. “I don’t know, I guess I just never understood why you choose something like that.” You said trying not to sound judgmental and it was his turn to shake his head going back to his previous plans.

 “I could make you feel good.” You spoke half under your breath hoping he wouldn’t hear you, but the way he turned in his chair defied what you wanted to think. “What did you just say?” “Nothing.” You responded too fast for his liking. “Oh really?” He asked smirking. He was playing with you. You weren’t stupid, you knew his game you had heard about it too many times from other friends. “I didn’t know you thought of me that way Y/L/N.” he spoke in a teasing tone and you weren’t sure if you should be offended or not. “It’s not funny Rafe.” You spoke half annoyed throwing a pillow at him causing him to laugh.

 Rafe didn’t realize that you had thought of him that way. Of course, he had thought of you that way on more than one occasion, but he never acted on anything out of fear. For years he listened to his father call him a failure, always telling him he wasn’t good enough for anyone. He thought you deserved the world, and he thought he couldn’t give you that. “I’ve thought about you that way too y’know.” He said turning back to what he was doing, “yeah right, you don’t have to lie just to make me feel better Rafe.” You snorted back. “I’m sure Riley told you all about how terrible I was in bed, I’m pretty sure that’s why he broke up with me.” You explained not looking at him. “That’s not why Riley broke up with you, I thought you knew that.” He questioned. “What are you talking about?” You asked. “He broke up with you because Topper caught him cheating on you, and then Topper told me. Then I not so kindly asked Riley to break up with you. I didn’t want you to get your feelings hurt. I’m sorry.” He explained.

 You should have been mad about him doing that, but you weren’t. It was just Rafe protecting you. He always had you best interest in mind and you loved that about him. “Oh, I didn’t realize. Is that why he had that black eye? He told me it was a misunderstanding in the locker room.” You questioned him further. “Well, that wasn’t a complete lie, we were in the locker room, it just wasn’t a misunderstanding.” Rafe laughed to himself again. “What did you mean when you said you could make me feel good.” He asked again and you were hoping he forgot about your comment.

 “I don’t know Rafe, it just slipped out. I’m not sure I know how to make a guy feel good that way anyways.” You spoke and Rafe could hear the embarrassment in your voice. “Has a guy ever made you feel good that way?” He wondered, not sure if he wanted the answer. “I’m not sure, it didn’t not feel good, but it didn’t feel great.” You explained thinking back to your only sex experience. You didn’t notice that Rafe was no longer at his desk but instead was moving towards the bed. He grabbed the magazine you were looking at and threw it on the floor and you looked up at him. The innocent look in your eyes only edged Rafe on more. “How about we help each other out. I’ll show you how to make a guy feel good, and in return I’ll make you feel good.” He spoke in a hushed tone getting down on his knees in front of you.

 You thought about Rafe’s proposition for a moment. It was what you always wanted but you feared not being good enough for him. “I don’t know Rafe, what if I’m not good enough?” You asked nervous. “That’s why I’ll show you. We don’t have too if you’re not comfortable.” He spoke, pulling your face towards his. You pulled him closer to you placing a kiss on his lips. It’s felt so natural like his lips were made for yours. He wasn’t a sloppy kisser, every move he made was calculated to prefection.

 Rafe moved the two of you so he was hovering above you on his bed, and you started to move your hand towards the bulge in his pants. He stopped your hands before you could move any further and looked at him. “Ladies first.” He winked at you before trailing kissed down your neck, each spot left tingling. He slowly moved to take your shirt off, “is this, okay?” and you confirmed by taking it off yourself. “You see Y/N/N, the thing about girls is you need to build the pleasure up, take things slow, let them enjoy every moment.” He whispered into your skin and placed more kisses on your collarbones, sucking into the swell of your breast. You let out a soft whimper, and Rafe knew you were puddy in his hands. His hands gently groped your breast over your bra, and you couldn’t remember a time Riley ever made you feel this good. “Can I take this off?” Rafe asked and you nodded your head, “words pretty girl, I need to hear you say it.” Riley never asked this many questions. “Yes, please Rafe.” And with that he reached behind you snapping your bra off without struggling. “How did you do that do so easy?” You asked surprise. “I’ve had some practice.” And with those words, you were reminded how inexperience you were, and how experience Rafe was.

 He could sense the nerves in your body and started to kiss you again removing your bra completely. His eyes went right to your breast and he swore he died and gone to heaven. “Gorgeous.” He looked back at you to see the blush on your cheeks and without breaking eye contact, Rafe took one of your nipples in his mouth, teeth grazing over it. You let out a sigh at the new sensation welcoming your body. He sucked gently at your nipple, tongue circling the sensitive nub and massaged your other breast. He could watch you squirm under him for the rest of his life. “Does this feel-good Y/N?” He asked not breaking eye contact with your face. “Yes Rafe, it-it feels so good.” You spoke up, “more please, Rafe. I need more.” You struggled to form sentences and you barely started. “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” Rafe spoke and he meant those words in more than just a sexual way.

 Rafe started to kiss down your body, pulling your shorts down with your underwear. “I want you to tell me if it doesn’t feel good and I’ll change it up, okay?” He asked concern lacing his voice. Your voice let out a shaky okay, and Rafe started to kiss up and down your thighs before opening your legs to him. “You are so beautiful. You’re soaked for me. That’s good.” He whispered kissing your clit. You jumped at the feeling and Rafe looked at you trying to judge your feelings. “Did that feel good?” He asked. And you nodded your head, “yes please Rafe. I want you.” You spoke and all you could think about was his tongue on your most sensitive body part.

 Rafe took that moment to dive into your dripping core. He licked a long stripe up your cunt, wrapping his lips around your clit again sucking harshly. He continued his movements until his teeth brushed your cunt causing you to flinch and Rafe pulled away. “Sorry, did that hurt?” He asked, and you shook your head. “Okay let’s try this,” he moved his tongue to slowly enter your core and he could feel your clench around him. You threw your head back in pleasure, running your hands through his hair pulling gently. Rafe groaned into your cunt and pushed your hips closer to his mouth. “That’s it pretty girl, are you going to cum for me? Is this the first time you’ve ever cum?” He asked wanting to be your first. “Yes Rafe, you’re the only person that makes me feel like this.” And you didn’t realize what this did to his ego. Eating you out was like a drug he had never done before, and he knew he would never get enough. “You can let go, you can cum for me baby. Let go.” He spoke into your cunt introducing his fingers, his tongue going back to flicking your clit back and forth and you welcomed you orgasm. Your legs were shaking, and it took everything in you not to scream. Rafe helped you all the way to the end of orgasm pulling every bit out of you. He enjoyed watching you like this. The sweat on your forehead, the twitch in your leg, the way your chest heaved up and down. He was falling in love with every little thing.

 He placed kisses back up your body and then on your lips and you pulled him close to you. You could taste yourself on his lips. It was always a taste you didn’t think you liked but on him it just seemed right. “That felt amazing.” You spoke between kisses, “but now it’s your turn.” Rafe had almost forgot about you pleasing him and he’s not sure if he could wait that long. He wanted to be inside of you, “no I’ll wait for another time. Please Y/N I just want you.” He spoke between kisses. “But Rafe”- “No buts. I’ll show you next time. I promise.” “There’s going to be next time?” You asked. You had thought he would do it with you and not be impressed. You had been trying to commit it all to memory, not wanting to forget a single thing. “Of course, I mean, as long as you want there to be another time.” You smiled looking into his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes you feel in love with, “yes I want there to be another time.” “Okay, well let’s get this show on the road then.” Rafe spoke making you giggle. “I’m not an expert at this put I think you need to have less clothes on.” “Oh yeah? You think.” He said getting up taking his shirt off tossing it on the floor, his pants followed and then his underwear and you were greeted with him in all his glory.

 Rafe was handsome with clothes on, and you had seen him shirtless countless number of times, but something about him like this made you intimidated. He was bigger than your friends had told you, and you weren’t even sure he was going to fit. It’s like Rafe could read you like a book, “don’t worry, it’ll fit. I promise to go slow.” He spoke climb back on the bed hovering above you before placing a loving kiss to your lips. He lined himself up to your entrance and pulled you closer to him. “Wait!” You spoke up and Rafe moved away immediately. “I’m scared.” You whispered not looking at him. You were embarrassed and he moved so you were looking him in the eyes. “It’s okay to be scared. If you want to stop, then we’ll stop, but I promise to take good care of you.” He whispered placing another soft kiss to your lips. This time it was slow, nothing about this moment he wanted to rush. “Okay, I’m ready.” You said, and Rafe looked in your eyes making sure you weren’t lying to him. Once he confirmed it himself, he lined up at your entrance pushing in. He groaned at the feeling, but as soon as he saw you wince, he kissed you again. “You’re doing so well love, so prefect. Tell me when I can move.” He whispered in your ear and you took a moment to get use to the stretch. Once the pain started to subside you confirmed he could move. Rafe pulled out slowly and pushed back into you causing you both to let out moan. “It feels so good Rafe.” You praised him and he start to pump into faster, letting his head fall into your neck placing sloppy kisses there. You could feel your orgasm building again, while Rafe whispered dirty praise in your ear. “you make me feel so good.” “you’re taking me so well.” “you’re so perfect for me.” Each dirty praise bringing the both of you closer to your release. “Rafe, I think I’m gonna”- “I know beautiful, me too. Just a little longer.” He spoke and reached his hand down to start rubbing your clit and it took everything in you not to topple over the edge. “Now pretty girl, cum with me.” He spoke and you could feel him release into you. His orgasm and deep groans triggered your own orgasm. Your walls clenching around him felt amazing and Rafe was sure no one had ever made him feel this good.

 Once the two of you recovered from your orgasm you laid back on the bed and Rafe got up to go to the bathroom. “I heard girls are supposed to pee after sex Y/N. Something about infections.” Rafe spoke from his bathroom. “I don’t know if I ever want to get up, I think I want to stay in this moment forever.” You spoke wrapping yourself up in Rafe’s blankets. He came over and placed to soft kiss to your forehead, “are you saying that because you can’t get up?” “oh Rafe, you know me too well.” “come on, I’ll help you and then we can get in the shower.” He spoke lifting you up effortlessly and caring you into the bathroom. You both stood there, “well…” Rafe motioned to the toilet. “Well Christ Rafe, I can’t pee with you in here. It’s too much pressure.” You explained. “You just came in my mouth, didn’t seem to be too much pressure then.” He teased before leaving the bathroom to get some clothes. Once you finished your business, you opened the door to see Rafe waiting by it. “Let’s get in the shower, maybe I’ll teach you how to make me feel good in there. I always keep my promises y’know.”

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