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7ndipity · 3 days ago

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Them With A Plus-Size Partner

Ot7 x Plus Size Reader

Summary: What the members would be like with a plus-sized partner

Warnings: mentions of body image issues and fatphobia (I tried to keep it light tho), slightly suggestive, swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to my darling @bethanysnow for this request. This is something I’ve actually wanted to write for a while but for some reason hadn’t gotten around to. It’s essentially just more dating headcanons but with a focus on plus sized partners bc we need more representation in the fandom dammit!

Masterlist

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Jin:

He’s said in the past that his ideal s/o was someone on the chubbier side, but I honestly think he might struggle a bit with what all that actually entails? Not that he’s shallow or anything, but with the Korean beauty standard as harsh as it is, I think he would be confronted with a fair bit of internal stuff he needs to address.

He would absolutely adore you, though. I see him becoming friends first, just based on his personality, instantly becoming each other's comfort person, but I also think it takes him a while to fully trust and let himself be open with someone. He tends to internalize a lot in favor of keeping things light and unserious, so if he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, you’re a member of one of the most elite clubs ever.

I know a lot people think he would maybe have quite a bit of ‘culture shock’, for lack of a better term, when it comes to things like the treatment of plus sized people, but as we’ve seen on his more recent solo content, he’s a lot more observant than we realize. Not to say there won’t be moments where he’s caught off guard or misses something passive aggressive, but I think he’s a lot better at navigating those situations than we’d expect.

Like, we’ve seen how he handles a lot social conventions and pressures, he very polite but genually dosen’t give a fuck. He’s really good at casually reassuring and defending you(like when he shut down the guy on run!Seokjin who was teasing his co-host). He knows what it's like to be judged only by how you look, and so I could see him being pretty defensive/protective over you at times because of that.

Would be the type to discreetly have clothes at his place that would fit you and waits to bring them out when the opportunity presents, like “oh you’re cold? Here, have this sweater!”

If topics like diets and weight loss make you uncomfortable, he would be very diligent about changing the topic, regardless of who was around. Your comfort is always his top priority no matter what.

He would love date nights in together where you can cook together. Even if you’re not into cooking necessarily, he’ll happily turn it into your own personal cooking show,(he would totally have one of those ‘kiss the chef’ aprons)

He’s surprisingly touchy-feely with you. Like it’s not even in a sexual sense, he just takes a great deal of comfort in feeling you in his hands. Love love loves laying on you, you’re his new favorite pillow, and he loves having you lay on him as well. He won’t hear of you trying to argue and say you’re too heavy, he thinks you’re perfect and he wants you on him at every possible opportunity.

Yoongi:

It’s well known that Yoongi’s very introspective and understanding. He’s the type of person where body size either doesn’t even cross his mind or he’s very conscious of it.

Not in a bad way, though. It’s moreso in the sense of yeah, he’s aware you’re bigger, but it’s usually just a simple detail about you like your hair or eye color. But if you’re having a bad body image day or someone’s trying to give you shit, he’s all over it before you can even blink, hyping you up and shutting down any negative comments.

On a more intimate one-on-one level, this mf doesn't give a single fuck about how you look. You could be dressed to the nines or vegged out in sweats on the couch and he would still be swooning over you

He loves how soft and squishy you are? Like we’re talking peak cat behavior with him laying on you, doing the squishy paw move as he buries his face in your chest. You’re basically his favorite napping spot and stim toy

Always encourages you to eat well and not waste a thought on diets. You’ll come home after a shitty day and your favorite food/dessert will just be waiting in the fridge for you. He’ll play it off though if you ask him.

“What’s this?”

“It was on sale at the store,” He replies, barely looking up from his phone. “Why? Do you not like that one anymore?”

“No, I do-”

“Good.”

And that’s it, no questions, no admitting he went to three different stores to find it, just his secret little grin when he sees how happy it made you.

If you’re feeling bad about yourself, he always addresses it very quickly and simply, not wanting to dignify them much by giving them more of your time than absolutely necessary. Just "That's bullshit. I think the real issue we need to worry about is your eyesight, because if you think you’re anything other gorgeous, we need to get you some fucking glasses.” And that would be it, he’d give you a kiss on the head and walk away.

If it was really serious tho, he would listen and try to help and comfort you. He knows he's not gonna change how you feel with some grand gesture, it takes slow, consistent work, and he's committed to being there with you every step of the way reminding you how much he loves you.

He would 100% make sure that there are clothes you can wear in his closet but will never say anything about it.

I imagine him being very clingy in the mornings, arm looped around your waist keeping you close. If you try to get up, he’ll yank you back into the bed, half-laying on top of you now like a stubborn cat, face buried in your chest as he grumbles about it being too early and you ‘can’t leave him here like this’(this being alone in bed).

Hobi:

As soon as he laid eyes on you, he was smitten. Everything about you just drew him in. Your eyes, your smile, your curves. God he bet you look beautiful when you danced…

Cut to Jimin smacking his arm to snap him back to reality and him immediately coming over to introduce himself.

There would be no friends first phase this time with Hobi, or if there is, it’s extremely brief because he genuinely can’t keep a secret worth shit, especially not when it involves how head over heels he is for you. Like, even he doesn’t fully understand it, you’re like his muse or something(Mona Lisa starts playing lol)

All that aside tho, I think he would have the most like random(?) hurdles to get over in regard to dating someone bigger? Not that he’s oblivious or anything, but I think growing up with the Korean beauty standard being drilled into their heads so much, he’s gonna have some slightly skewed perceptions and ideas about bigger bodies that he’d have to unlearn in order for the relationship to grow properly.

Like, there are just so many little things that affect bigger bodies that some people don’t seem to realize, like even something as simple as whether or not the chairs at a restaurant have arms, or if a shop has really narrow pathways can affect whether we can navigate those places or feel comfortable? Once he becomes aware of those things tho, he’s watching for them everywhere.

Is appalled at how restricted and isolated plus size fashion is. Like excuse the fuck outta you, his baby will be wearing whatever designer brand they want, even if he has to threaten a few of his brand deals to get his way(lowkey mafia au Hoseok right here, just saying)

I think the main place he might struggle would be if you had trouble with keeping up with his lifestyle. Like he’s constantly on the move, going to events, working on new projects, touring. It’s hard for even the fittest person to keep up with, let alone if you have mobility issues or get tired more easily. It might take some work to figure out the balance between the two of you, but it honestly helps him remember to breathe? Like it’s okay to not go at breakneck speed through everything,

Is your biggest hype man ever tho, always gushing over how gorgeous you look and how lucky he feels to have you in his life.

Gives you soo many happy squishy hugs. He’s such cuddly softie and you’re literally the perfect hug shape in his opinion, so you’re getting cuddled, snuggled, and squeezed at every opportunity

Namjoon:

Man has written too many lines about bigger/thicker partners in his songs for him not to be into plus sized partners, alright? Like the proof is literally there in black and white.

He’s definitely the type to be friends first, not for lack of interest in you, but because of his own hesitancies and trust issues. He’s had his trust betrayed enough in the past that he tends to keep people at arms length at first till he knows that he’s safe with them.

Once you’re together though, the man is obsessed with you. Like his hands are constantly resting or holding onto your hips and thighs or caressing the sides of your waist. Like for someone who’s claimed to not be very into skinship, he’s very into it with you.

It’s no secret that this dude is BUILT, okay? Like those arms are made for lifting and manhandling you about. And he loves that with a bigger partner he doesn’t have to be worried about breaking you. Goodness knows one good spank from him would probably send a person flying across the room if they don't have some sort of padding.

On a more innocent level though, he’s also very soft with you. You regularly end up staying up half the night talking about thoughts and feelings that you don’t usually feel safe or comfortable sharing with anyone else. He values intellectual intimacy even more than physical intimacy.

I really see him dating someone in the arts, but maybe not necessarily in the music industry. He would enjoy a slight level of separation between your two worlds. Like if you’re an artist, one of the things he loves about going to events to support you is how in your spaces he’s “Y/n’s boyfriend”. Not RM, not BTS, just Namjoon. Your Namjoon.

I also think despite how observant and in tune he thinks he is, he would still catch himself falling for and having to unlearn certain fat stereotypes. Just like “My being fat does not inherently mean that I can cook.” “Right, sorry…”

Honestly I think he’s the most casual with his partner? Like he will accidentally call your bro or dude(or not accidentally, if you’re cool with it). There will be moments where he needs to talk about something and he'll just be like “Can I have a bro moment?” “Sure, *makes show of dabbing him up* whatcha need?”

He’s also soo fucking protective of you though, like he will not tolerate anyone even looking at you the wrong way. If you’re having a tough day or not feeling your best, he will do everything in his power to make you feel better, or at least make sure you know that he’s there for you.

Jimin:

Tbh, I think out of everyone, Chim would struggle the most with dating a bigger person. And most of it is because of his own internal complexes.

Like he grew up doing a lot of martial arts and dance where there is such a focus on what your body can do and how it looks. That combined with how he’s been critiqued in the past for looking ‘chubby’(which is such bullshit, but anyone who has rounder features is labeled that way regardless of their actual weight bc people are dumb) it’s made him think far more critically and not constructively about body.

Despite his own issues, he has a very soft image about what he sees as beauty. One of my favorite clips is him telling Joon about how he saw this elderly couple and how their soft, caring manner for each other really resonated with something in his heart, and I think he really wants that for him and his partner as well. He wants a love that is gentle like that, where you are each other’s safe landing point.

Which is why I think that he would date a teddy bear. Like I’m picturing soft, kinda nerdy science teacher/librarian vibes(totally not leaning into his kindergarten teacher vibes lol). He’s drawn to your cozy aura, and loves how comfortable and safe you make him feel. Lowkey think it plays a little bit into a noona thing? But that’s a topic for another day lol.

Y’all definitely have the whiny boyfriend - calming partner vibe(I just picture that meme of Grizzy from we bear bears crushing NomNoms to his chest lol)

He’s lowkey soo protective of you tho? Like he knows that you can technically take care of yourself, but if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable, or if someone is treating you poorly, he’s stepping in and quietly, but effectively, shutting it down.

He borders on overprotecting you sometimes, though. Like how he doesn’t like anyone talking about dieting of things like that around you, because he’s aware of how toxic these cultures can be and how easily they can get under your skin, so he doesn’t want to even give them the chance. Doesn’t matter how many times you tell him you’re okay, he still worries and watches out for you everywhere you go.

He loves how casually intimate the two of you are. He’s always touching and caressing your hips or waist or arms, and is soo happy if you’re the same with him. Similar to Jin, there’s nothing even sexual about his touches(most of the time) he just loves feeling you close, each little touch is like a silent message between the two of you like “I see you, I love you”

Taehyung:

I totally see Tae dating a muscle mommy, bc he is baby. Like if you can carry him? Ooooh he’s gonna koala you soo fucking hard, lol. Loves being wrapped up in your arms more than almost anything else in the world.

He doesn’t really pay too much mind to your size honestly? At least on a surface level. He falls in love with your energy and personality first and then your body. Which yeah sounds cliche and a little frustrating honestly, but that’s just how he works. It might take him a while to realize that comparing you to statues and paintings from the renaissance doesn’t quite answer your question of if he finds you hot, but he catches on eventually.

He’s kinda obsessed with you tho honestly, he’s always touching and cuddling you, nuzzling into your chest or tummy, and leaving little kisses on any bare skin he happens across.

Gives extra love to the places he notices you’re more self-conscious about, tracing over your stretch marks or caressing your rolls with an almost reverent tenderness.

Being with him is just so domestic tho? Like he is just this big ol' teddy bear(especially now that he’s bulked up from the military). He brings you flowers all the time, takes you out for brunch dates every weekend, buys y’all matching pajamas, etc

Loves how you take care of him, whether it’s making him dinner or just holding him when he’s feeling down. He feels soo safe and protected in your arms.

He really loves it though when you’re open and vulnerable with him. Being plus size, you tend to develop a thick skin to protect yourself because people, and society at large, can be ridiculously cruel. And so it’s a little harder to let people in sometimes. But with Tae, he wants nothing more than to be your soft safe place where you don’t have to pretend. It doesn’t matter what’s bothering you, he’s always ready and waiting with a hug no matter what, and it makes his heart swell with so much pride and love when you let be there for you.

So soft and encouraging. He’s always doing cute little gestures to cheer you up, like the ‘when life gives tangerines’ pose thing. Anything he can do to get a smile out of you is worth it.

Jungkook:

I honestly think he would be in denial that he likes you at first? Not because of your size, he’s like this with everyone he likes. Like he flirts with you constantly, teases you, even engages a lot of casual skinship, but he always holds off on calling it anything more than friendship. He’s just afraid of commiting and then fucking things up, so he thinks it’s better to stay as just friends, until you finally corner him and get him to fess up.

I feel like he thinks he’s above having any sort of toxic perceptions of bigger bodies, until you call him out one day for some offhand joke or comment that he made. He may not have meant anything by it, just trying to tease you like he does his other friends, but once you explain how those comments come across and how they’ve been weaponized, he’s horrified and begging forgiveness.

But once you get through those early rough patches, you have the biggest dork and hype man on your hands.

Quietly squeals and does lil happy hands every now and then because he randomly remembers like “omg, I'm dating this person!!”

Quietly supports everything you do. Like, he’ll hide outside the door when he hears you singing, having his own mini hype party for you, bc he knows if he comes in, you’ll get shy and stop.

He dotes on you all the time and is soo fucking touchy. He loves just laying on you, squishing your face in his hands and kissing you whenever you start to complain. He can’t help it, you’re just so soft and warm, he’s practically addicted to touching you.

He would work really hard to better educate himself about that actual science and facts about plus size bodies, and to try and be more in tune with your needs and any subjects that are particularly sensitive for you.

But also, everybody know that boy is soo fucking strong. Like he we’ve seen how much time he spends training and building up his body, he would love being able to show off to you by picking you up and manhandling you just a little bit(or a lotta bit, hehe)

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @feminympho @classicalelephant @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @comingupwithacoolnameishard @bo0ghol @seleneacyoflove @k4ngelz @universal-travel-er

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aleese1111 · 3 days ago

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Hi!

I’ve been diving into your Weak Hero class creations — you nailed it!

Would it be possible for you to write something for Ahn Su-ho? With a mix of heavy angst and some fluff at the end? Maybe they're in an argument — slow burn style.

not about trust, but fear | ahn suho x fem!reader

summary : they've always been each other’s safe place—until one night in suho’s room when a name, a worry, and a few misunderstood words nearly tear them apart. an argument fueled by fear and love spirals out of control, but in the aftermath, they find each other again.

warnings: heavy angst, yelling, emotional vulnerability, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, slow burn to fluff, established relationship, anxiety, past trauma references .

author's note: ops with this one .. anyway! my first ahn suho fanfic hooray! requests ,,

The rain was soft against the windowpane, a rhythmic tapping like the pulse of a quiet heart. The glow from the small lamp on Suho’s desk threw golden halos against the walls, and the room—though small and plain—held a lived-in warmth. His backpack sat by the door. A few stray books were stacked unevenly on the floor. A hoodie—hers, oversized and faded from too many washes—was folded neatly at the foot of his bed.

The silence was the kind that stretched too far, hanging heavy between two people who knew each other too well. She stood by the door, arms crossed, chewing the inside of her cheek like she was keeping something bitter from escaping. He sat on the edge of his bed, hands braced on his knees, watching her with guarded eyes.

She was the first to speak.

“Why him?”

Suho blinked. “What?”

She stepped forward, her arms still folded. Her voice was quieter now, but the edge hadn’t dulled. “Beom-seok. You keep bringing him up lately. You said he’s your friend now. That you hang out with him after class, that he’s... what? Part of your little group now?”

His brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face. “He is. Si-eun, Beom-seok, and I—we’ve been through some shit together. He’s not as bad as you think.”

“I didn’t say he’s bad. I said he’s… off.” Her fingers tightened around her arms. “Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. I’m just... worried.”

Suho exhaled, the sound sharp. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t need to know him to feel—”

“—To judge?”

The word cut her off like a slap. Her arms dropped to her sides, eyes widening slightly.

“Seriously?” he continued, standing up now, voice rising. “You’re going off of a feeling? Do you even hear yourself? You don’t like him, and now you’re acting like I’m the one in the wrong for making new friends?”

Her chest was tight, her breathing shallow. “I never said you couldn’t have friends. I just—I don’t trust him. Not you. Never you.”

“Right. Of course. You don’t trust him,” Suho said, his laugh short and humorless. “Is that really it? Or is it just that you don’t trust me?”

That landed like a blow.

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again, but nothing came out at first. “Don’t twist this,” she said finally, the words barely above a whisper. “Don’t you dare twist this into something about me questioning you.”

“Why not?” His voice was a low thunder now. “It’s always the same. Every time I try to let someone else in—even just a little—you get like this. Suspicious. Defensive. Like I’m going to disappear on you if I let someone else stand next to me for five minutes.”

“That’s not what this is—”

“Then what is it?” he demanded. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re waiting for someone to hurt you. Like you expect it.”

Her voice broke when she spoke. “I never doubted you. I just—Beom-seok feels wrong. I don’t know how else to say it. It’s not jealousy, it’s not possessiveness—I’m scared for you.”

The words were raw, straining at the edges. “I see the way he looks at you sometimes. The way he talks. There’s something in his eyes. I can’t explain it. But it makes me uneasy, and I just... I don’t want you getting pulled into something that hurts you.”

Suho didn’t reply right away. His jaw was tight. His shoulders stiff. And when he spoke, it wasn’t anger anymore, but something quieter.

“Of what?”

Her throat burned. “Of losing you. Of something happening that I could’ve seen coming and didn’t say anything about. I’m not trying to control you—I’m trying to protect you.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

His eyes—soft brown, usually so warm—were unreadable now. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Couldn’t tell if she had just made everything worse.

Then Suho looked away, raking a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”

She waited. Her heart was thudding too loudly in her chest.

Finally, he looked back at her. “I shouldn’t have said that. About the trust issues. That was... cruel.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him, eyes glossy, shoulders trembling under the weight of too many emotions.

“I didn’t mean to throw your past in your face,” he added, stepping toward her with slow, careful steps, like approaching a wounded animal. “That wasn’t fair. I was pissed, but I wasn’t thinking.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “You meant it, though.”

He hesitated. “I meant that I was hurt. That you didn’t believe me when I said Beom-seok’s okay. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you’re broken. You’re not.”

Her arms wrapped around herself again, this time not out of defense, but comfort. “It’s hard. I want to trust people. I do. But every time I try, it feels like a risk I can’t afford.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen how hard you try, even when you don’t think I notice.”

She looked up at him now, eyes brimming. “Then why’d you say that?”

“Because I was scared too.” He let out a heavy breath, gaze dropping. “Scared that you’d never fully let me in. That no matter what I do, you’d always keep one foot out the door in case I left first.”

The words were raw. Honest. The kind of vulnerability that was too heavy for a teenage heart to carry, and yet they both held it like it was the only thing anchoring them.

She took a shaky breath. “I don’t want to keep doing this. The fighting. The pushing.”

He reached for her hand slowly, and when she didn’t pull away, he threaded his fingers through hers. “Then let’s stop. Right now. Let’s start over.”

She stared at their joined hands. Then, finally, she nodded.

A pause passed between them—still, but not tense anymore. More like the eye of a storm after the destruction had cleared, the quiet relief that came after surviving something painful together.

He tugged her gently toward him, and she followed. Her forehead met his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her without hesitation.

No more words were needed.

Not yet.

They’d talk more—explain more—when their hearts weren’t so bruised. But for now, they held each other in the soft lamplight, the sound of the rain filling the gaps.

And in that silence, they began to heal.

#weak hero class x reader #weak hero class #whc #ahn suho #ahn suho x reader #kdrama #kdrama x reader #x reader #aleese1111

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allhalemischief · 1 day ago

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Scott McCall is a good person.

But he is also a bad friend and, subsequently, a bad alpha.

He is morally righteous, quite literally he always does the morally right thing. The core of his character is that he is a good person. It is impossible for anyone else to live up to his moral standards because 1. its his story and he’s the one telling it and 2. narratively no one else can be as good or better than him because then his character is obsolete.

However, despite being morally perfect, he is also extremely self centered. As a result, he tends to be judgmental and neglectful to those around him.

He is capable of being a good friend, we’ve seen it. Yet he is, more often than not, focused on himself and whoever he happens to be dating at the time than anything else.

In order to be a good alpha, you have to be a caretaker. An alpha’s responsibility is, first and foremost, to take care of their pack. While not to the same extent, you also need to be willing to take care of your friends to be a good one.

Scott never wanted to be a werewolf and for most of the show, refuses the responsibilities of it. While he obviously will deal with problems that arise, it is begrudgingly. Even as an alpha, he shirks the responsibility of making sure everyone in his pack is okay.

But before he even becomes an alpha, we see how he treats Stiles, his best friend - his brother. He is focused on getting on the lacrosse team, getting in with the popular kids, and Allison. Stiles is consistently an afterthought or a tool to use.

Everyone Scott purposely engages with is someone who can provide him with something. Even his girlfriends, who he seems to grow to care for eventually, start out as more for the sake of being in a relationship than because he wants them in that position in his life or because he’s is interested in them as people (I am specifically looking at Allison and Kira for this bit).

The disregard for Stiles’ theories is a mix of it requiring him to give something of himself and his anything supernatural is not my problem attitude. Although, for some asinine reason he also tends to disregard the fact that Stiles is usually right when he does try to do something about it, refusing to listen until after he has already failed (the ego that comes with being so self centered probably).

I love puppy Scott. This is a side of Scott we see in canon. He is adorable and, while naive and a bit oblivious, he tends to care.

Scott McCall is capable of caring for others.

I love getting to see Scott and Stiles be brothers but those times are few and far between because Stiles is a giver and Scott is a taker.

Neither of these are inherently bad to be but only if you find balance. If a giver fails to set boundaries and gives too much or if a taker doesn’t accept those boundaries or takes too much with or without them, the consequences are their own fault.

Stiles has trouble setting boundaries with Scott, which is his own fault, but Scott regularly uses this for his own gain.

It’s never really acknowledged but, even if it is subconsciously, Scott is aware and doesn’t stop taking.

We see him be a good friend and sometimes a good alpha even, but it isn’t consistent because usually someone else has to point out the issue before he will notice and do something about it.

My issue is that this happens frequently enough that he has so many opportunities go oh, this is obviously something I am struggling to do so I should work on that.

As someone who is supposed to be so morally good, you would think he would want to be as compassionate and caring as possible.

But. He. Doesn’t.

I do not hate Scott for the core of his character - although it definitely gets on my nerves on occasion - I hate him for being a waste of his potential.

I love when people make Scott the bad friend in fics. I know Scott is such a puppy in most peoples eyes and they say that it hasn't been easy for him but FUCK that. IMO he was such a bad friend to Stiles. He was so quick to shoot Stiles theories down and ignore him when Stiles was always the first one there for him. I love fics where Derek and his pack take Stiles in and Scott is just confused but we all know why. Like yes, push Stiles away so Derek can pick up the pieces. Stiles joining the Hale pack is one of my fav tags. Idk. I just also didn't like Scott at all in the show.

#teen wolf #teen wolf scott #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #teen wolf stiles #tv: teen wolf

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contamination-zone · 3 days ago

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5 times Fresh acted like an animal, and 1 time Color 'Got it.'

[first chapter - prev chapter - next chapter]

beta read by @/calamarispider

[UTMV fic] Contains: Platonic Fresh & Color, Fresh & Killer, and Color & Killer, misunderstandings, abuse, food warning [forced to eat dog food] [4,000~ words]

“What would you do if you got out?” It took Fresh a moment to realize it hadn’t imagined Killer speaking. “Nightmare knows we all want out. Saying something to me can’t make this any worse with him.” “I don’t know, run off? Hide in a ditch? What do you want me to say?” Its voice got scratchier and more rough as it spoke, leaving it to end the sentence coughing. Killer was quiet as he watched it, his eyes those same empty black pits. “Okay.” He finally said. What was that supposed to mean? He believed it? Got what he wanted? Just felt like saying that? It stifled a growl and just silently followed him.

Fic undercut or on ao3!

“You look tired.” From behind him; Killer, he recognized instantly.

Color turned to look at him, smiling something small, “how can you tell? You were looking at the back of my skull.”

The other didn’t answer, just slinking closer so they could settle their head on his shoulder, and their hand on his other. Color laughed; the slant of his shoulders told them all that? Trust his closest friend to always notice when he felt off.

“Is it really that bad…?” He asked. Sometimes it wasn’t. They were scarily observant, and when they pointed things out to Color, it wasn’t always something anyone else would notice.

His hopes were dashed when Killer huffed, annoyed, “Yes.”

“Sorry about that…” Color said, lifting a hand to cup Killer’s cheek, “you know why.”

He leaned into the touch, but let his eyes fall half-lidded in a ‘done with this’ expression. “If I’d know you’d want to keep it, I wouldn’t have brought it here.”

“Hey!” Color chided, “don’t talk about Fresh like that. And I’m not ‘keeping it,’ it just… needs a little help getting on its feet. I’m sure it’ll strike out on its own when it’s feeling better.”

Killer gave him a piercing stare [it resembled all his other expressions, but Color could guess the intention]. He was still happy they felt comfortable enough to get snippy with him; it hadn’t been too long since Killer got away from Nightmare, and any agency they showed couldn’t help but make him smile.

“Okay,” he huffed, “even if it doesn’t, I’m happy to give it a place to stay. You know that.”

They wrapped their arms around his shoulders, more of a hug than the lean they were doing beforehand. “Yeah yeah, just the type of monster you are.” The words were blasé, nearly apathetic, but Color knew there was affection underneath. It made the guilt worse.

“Yeah.” It felt bad to agree, when he knew Killer clearly felt a little jealous of all the attention Fresh was getting, but he really couldn’t do anything else. Even without the six Soul’s influence, he didn’t think he could leave a monster to flounder without help, let alone one as clearly traumatised as Fresh.

“I’m going out tomorrow,” Color said, instead of any of the words he’d wanted to about duty or greater good, about how really, he was sorry, “just ah, to get clothes for Fresh. Want to come with?”

A silent stare, so he knew Killer was really considering it. Finally, just before he could take it back, affirm that Killer didn’t have to do anything they didn’t feel comfortable with, they answered, “sure, Color. Sounds good.”

He smiled. It’d be nice to spend some time with his best friend.

———

He woke early, because he knew he’d need that sort of energy.

Any type of routine was difficult to manage for him, after so long in a space without time or need for anything of the like, but he thought he’d been getting his morning routine pretty locked down lately. Brushing his teeth, getting dressed, cooking breakfast- all things he’d struggled with right when he got out of the void, but not as much these days. It made him feel good, that he’d made such clear progress, hopeful for those he was helping to be able to do the same.

Of course, there was more than just him who relied on that routine [probably the only reason he tried so hard with it]. With that in mind, he knocked on Killer’s door, letting him know breakfast was ready.

They were opening the door before he even stepped back, already awake and waiting. A little unsettling, but he knew Killer just liked to follow the routine they usually did, even if it wasn’t enforced at all; that meant, of course, leaving his room when Color went to fetch him for breakfast.

“Breakfast is on the table,” he told Killer, already moving to Fresh’s room. Killer followed him instead of heading to eat right away— a clingy mood already, probably because Color promised to hang out.

“Joining me?”

They gently pushed their shoulder to his as they walked, a silent confirmation. He smiled, “Got it.”

He gently rapped his knuckles against the door, with a warning that Killer would be joining as well.

Fresh made an acknowledging noise, and he wondered if everyone woke up before him.

Just like always, when he entered it regarded him with wide eyes and an attentive posture. Nothing too nervous though, and he smiled at it, glad Killer’s presence didn’t seem to be a problem.

“Morning, Fresh.”

“G’morning.” It mumbled back. It eyed Killer and gave him a slight dip of its head in acknowledgment, to which they regarded it with a blank stare in turn. Neither seemed to be blinking.

“Ooookay-“ Color interrupted, “Got breakfast! Bacon and eggs good?”

It turned its attention right back to Color at that, giving him a shaky nod before standing up, silent in its movements. It was almost alarming how such a large and imposing monster just disappeared into the background.

On the way to the dining table, Killer and Fresh regarded each other again with nothing but a quick meeting of eyes before their attention went back to him, and he wondered how well they knew each other from before they got out from Nightmare’s thumb. There had to have been a little affection on Killer’s half, else Color didn’t know why he’d decide to take Fresh with him at all. Neither showed it though, barely even acknowledging the other ever, so he wondered if his theory was wrong. Still, the little glances could mean anything. He knew they were both very clever.

They made it to the table before the silence got too awkward, and the three settled in to eat breakfast. He passed Killer the bottle of ketchup for his eggs before he asked.

“We’re, me and Killer,” he said, once they were all sat, “going out to buy you some clothes. Got any preferences?”

It shifted awkwardly at that, frozen with a fork halfway to its mouth. “Uh- I’m good with anything, man.”

“It likes colorful things.” Killer said as Color was trying to figure out how to press for more info without spooking it.

“Killer,” he hissed, though there was no vitriol. While he did trust Killer to be right about things like this, he just… wanted Fresh to feel the agency of choosing to reveal facts about itself. Make it feel like what he got for it was its choice.

Killer had no remorse on his face, though he did do a token, “sorry.”

He sighed, though didn’t push further. There was no was no way he’d be able to stay mad at him anyway, and they both knew it.

Looking back at Fresh, it had a pinched look on its face, eyebrows pressed downwards and mouth in a frown. When it noticed him looking, it quickly schooled its face into something more ‘open’ looking [though he doubted it really was].

“Were you confused on something?” He asked.

It was silent for a bit, but after a glance at Killer [for support?], it mumbled, “You ain’t mad? That sorry was sooo off base.”

There was a well of sadness in his chest at that. Did Fresh think he’d get angry at Killer and treat them as badly Nightmare assuredly was when he himself got mad at the two of them?

“No, no,” he reassured it, “I love Killer, he’s my best friend- I just got a little annoyed is all. And even if I did get mad, we’d talk it out.”

Fresh hummed, the picture of easy acceptance, but he could tell it was going to be mulling that over for a while underneath the surface.

Coughing into its fist, it changed the subject, “I do like colorful things- brighter the better.” More shifting, eyes catching sneak peeks at him before skittering away. He made sure to smile encouragingly. It couldn’t keep eye-contact. “The sweaters you let me borrow were pretty rad too…”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled wide, something settled in him knowing he didn’t shove it into anything it didn’t want to be wearing. His eyes couldn’t help but drift to the collar at that, but he didn’t linger. Anytime it caught him staring it would clutch at the tag and press it close to itself— whatever meager comfort it brought to it, he would never understand. That was okay though, he wasn’t going to force the issue.

It nodded, shy, and didn’t say anything else, fully focusing its attention on breakfast. He didn’t press, letting it retreat out of the conversation.

Breakfast was done quickly and he was left feeling satisfied for more reasons than how good the eggs tasted. Progress was made today, which he was glad for.

Killer had already ambled out of the room, in the direction of the door most likely. Before Color left, he turned to Fresh.

“We’ll only be gone for a few hours, hope you don’t get too bored without us.” He laughed, “you have free reign of the house, just don’t go into either me or Killer’s rooms without a good reason, yeah?”

It nodded, giving him a thumbs up, “you got it. Same as always.”

He… did usually give the same spiral every time he left. “Sorry sorry, repeating myself here” He laughed, “I’ll get outta your hair. Bye Fresh.”

“Ah- see’ya.” It said, awkwardly.

He took that as his cue that he’d probably started to overwhelm it, and left to follow Killer out.

He’d left it alone in the house a few times already— things were going to be fine, he reminded himself.

Killer bumped shoulders with him as he got out, and he smiled, relaxing at the support. With his best friend at his side, things felt a lot more manageable. Maybe it really was going to be okay.

———pov: Fresh———

It woke to a kick to its side, and a sharp hiss from above ordering it to get up. It sounded like Killer.

The other must have been on pet duty. Usually he didn’t feel so energetic to it though. Maybe that was because it felt so awful today— it must’ve not woken up when he’d first tried to rouse it. Everything felt kind of hazy, a rare occurrence even though it just woke up; it was almost always quick to categorise its surroundings, it had to to survive.

His hand curled around its collar and dragged it up. Speaking back was usually useless, and it didn’t really want to deal with whatever power trip Killer was on, so it went limp. He wasn’t allowed to harm it too much, so it had some leeway to make his life difficult, at least until Nightmare got back from his trip and heard about its attitude.

This was doing nothing for the phantom of throat pain it was already dealing with, and it choked down any coughs. It needed to look unaffected— coughing and spluttering would be the opposite of that.

A pull, “get up.” The sharp words weren’t helping Fresh want to work with him anymore than the painful tugging.

Still, it noted something; a hint of genuine emotion colored his words. It hadn’t seen that with Killer often, the other usually a mask of empty cheer. “There’s even something innit for you.” He continued.

It regarded him with a half-lidded stare, asking, “What?” in a voice sounding a bit gravelly, and it forced itself not to cringe. Even after years away from its normal act, things that contradicted its image still got to it.

It tried to ignore the discomfort, focusing on the moment at hand, Killer’s offer. There wasn’t much that interested Fresh these days, except the possibility of escape; it highly doubted that was what Killer was suggesting.

“Got a special treat to go with your food today.”

Boring, bordering on insulting. Treating it like a mangy mutt excited for a bigger slice of meat, as if it wasn’t still going to be rotten.

“It’s going to be dog food either way.”

“Cat food.” Killer corrected.

It regarded him like he’d said something particularly stupid, but didn’t argue further. Whether it was dog food or cat food, neither made the idea of a treat alongside it any better. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, ‘boss’”

Killer didn’t take the bait like the other two would. Maybe he really didn’t care how similar to Nightmare he acted. He just pulled harder on its collar until it had no choice but to get its feet under it. At least it could be comforted by the fact Killer was going to be punished for leaving bruises on its neck.

Once up, Killer wasted no time in clipping its leash to the collar, before setting a brisk pace to the kitchen. A no-nonsense attitude. It was both better and worse than the others. They, at least, seemed uncomfortable interacting with it. Still, it meant there was less hesitance, that things would be over with quickly.

It wouldn’t have been able to keep pace if its legs weren’t almost double Killer’s in length. Normally it didn’t have trouble with that, but its joints ached and it felt a headache forming. It didn’t want to be doing this right now.

Its feelings on the matter didn’t matter though, not to anyone but Nightmare anyway [and he certainly cared about them in a way wholly unhelpful to it]. They found themselves at the entrance to the kitchen much quicker than Fresh would have liked.

Killer looped the leash around one of the many knots of stone and wood the castle seemed to have in abundance [courtesy of being made by Nightmare, a plant adjacent… thing, Fresh thinks], and started prepping Fresh’s ‘meal.’

It hesitated to call it that. Meals were supposed to be alive, squirming, and, most importantly, containing magic. What Nightmare had scheduled it to eat whenever he was gone was not that, not in anyway at all. The cheapest dog or cat food one could buy, usually smushed up with a spoon and mixed with kibble. All served up to it in a little red dog bowl, only labeled ‘pet.’

Another way to demean it, Fresh was sure. When Nightmare was in, he’d only feed it new hosts or sweet treats Nightmare was enjoying himself. An association the guardian of negativity was trying to brute force into existence, that he meant it was getting fed real food.

It stubbornly refused to wish Nightmare was here so it wouldn’t have to eat this horrid mixture while sick just to spite him, resolving to be extra awful to its ‘owner’ when he got back.

Of course, if Killer really was giving it a treat along with its dish, that could throw a wrench in things. It couldn’t see any reason Nightmare would want it to associate good things with anyone but him.

It was shaken out of its thoughts by the sound of Killer setting the bowl down on the floor. It was the usual fare, though something about it seemed… off.

“And the treat?”

“It’s in there.” He pointed at the bowl of slop. So the treat was a lie.

It huffed, but settled on the floor and picked up the bowl to start eating anyway. Killer, similarly, took a seat at the kitchen table.

It couldn’t really refuse to eat, even if the meal served no purpose further than making it suffer. Nightmare would be less than happy to hear it wasn’t following one of His orders. Egotistical prick.

It tipped the bowl and resolutely ignored as much sensory data as it could. It was the same as always, but it couldn’t help but think Nightmare got it the most putrid smelling wet food he could find because he knew its sense of smell was strong. Unfortunately it had no nose to pinch, so it just tried not to breathe until it was done.

It could feel Killer’s eyes burning into it as it finished. The gaze didn’t wander as it coughed and gagged, nor when it pushed the now empty bowl back in his general direction. What a creep— not as bad as Nightmare, but that would be impossible.

There was a slight, almost imperceptible, sweet after-taste. It didn’t believe Killer would actually put a treat in, so maybe it was a placebo. It didn’t have time to linger though, because Killer was already wrapping the end of the leash back around his clawed hands. And well… tiny sweet aftertaste didn’t make up for the fact that the rest of it tasted rancid.

“What would you do if you got out?”

It took it a moment to realize it hadn’t imagined Killer speaking, and another to understand he was talking to it.

“What?” Fresh hissed, eyes narrowed. The words just screamed ‘trap.’ It would make the rest of the day make more sense too; Killer could definitely be trying to influence it into disobedience with the treat and the extra emotion in his voice could be from the stress of the plan.

He didn’t respond, just looking at it with his awful empty eye-sockets. It glared back, spines raising as he didn’t elaborate or back down.

Eventually, seeming to realize he wasn’t going to get anywhere unless he gave in more, Killer said, “He knows we all want out. Saying something to me can’t make this any worse with him.” There was a gentle tug on the leash, a silent continuation it could practically hear in the air ‘and not answering could make things worse with Killer.’

“I don’t know,” it grumbled, annoyed, “run off? Hide in a ditch? Go back to eating people? What do you want me to say.”

Its voice got scratchier and more rough as it spoke, leaving it to end the sentence coughing.

He just hummed, and it felt like tearing something apart with its teeth. Would it kill someone for these people to say what they thought aloud? Did they get some sort of sick thrill in leaving it confused?

“Okay.” He finally said. If it wasn’t so frustrated with the lack of information it had, it would find that fascinating. What was that supposed to mean, ‘okay.’? He believed it? Got what he wanted? Just felt like saying that?

It stifled a growl and just followed him silently.

——

It couldn’t stop thinking about the day before Killer took it here, to live with him and Color. Looking back, the signs that something strange was going on were so obvious. He was just digging for information on how it would act once he took it here— see if it would be a good gift for Color, it now knew.

The fact that he did, took that short and angry response and decided it was worth it to steal it away as a gift for his… for Color, it didn’t know how that made it feel.

Insulted, to be treated like a commodity to pass around, or… it shook its head, it couldn’t be thinking about this right now. Already it could hear the gentle knock at the door; Color, coming in for their morning routine and inviting it for breakfast.

It did as it was bid, replying with polite little one-word answers to all his questions, ignoring how Killer was at Color’s heels. Not regarding them with suspicion like it wanted too. Clearly he was Color’s favorite— it couldn’t get on his bad side.

It kept trading glances with Killer as they made their way to the table, wondering why he decided to follow so closely to Color’s morning routine to even follow him to its room. They gave nothing away, of course, and it nearly stuck its tongue out in annoyance. Nearly, of course, because it still didn’t know these monsters’ preferences, no matter its best efforts. Nightmare would have found the brattiness cute [except the times he very much didn’t], but it couldn’t get a read if the same would hold true for Color— and Killer, but he wasn’t in charge, so it didn’t care for his response much.

The meal turned awkward when a question aimed at it, and that it thought it’d answered… not well, but good enough, was answered by Killer as well. Color hadn’t said he wanted Killer’s opinion.

It froze, carefully still as if that would make it turn invisible. It barely kept in the stressed squeak when Color berated Killer and they gave an absolutely lacklustre apology; Killer was valuable, liked, Color’s favourite, so of course he wouldn’t punish him, but what if Color decided to take out his anger on Fresh instead…?

There wasn’t any type of explosion though, and Color didn’t even seem particularly angry. Just a bit miffed at Killer’s actions. That was- that was just weird!

The emotion must have shown in its face, because Color was asking if it was confused. It felt stupid, but quickly hid anything negative before it could get too annoying.

A response was probably still expected though. It looked at Killer, who didn’t seem stressed at all, and it nervously asked, “You ain’t mad? That sorry was sooo off base.”

There was something so soft on its owner’s face, it felt a little sick looking. “No, no,” he cooed at it, like it was a skittish animal, “I love Killer, he’s my best friend- I just got a little annoyed is all. And even if I did get mad, we’d talk it out.”

That was… really weird. Best friend privileges maybe? It really couldn’t see a world so nice to it that that courtesy would extend to it as well. The information was still useful though, so it stashed it away.

It couldn’t focus on that right now though, remembering the actual focus of the conversation. He’d appreciate it keeping on topic, hopefully. “I do like colorful things- brighter the better,” It mumbled, eyes darting towards him nervously as it tried to gauge his reaction. Neutral still, so it flaked on some flattery, “The sweaters you let me borrow were pretty rad too…”

There it was, a wide satisfied smile. It relaxed as it heard his next words, “I’m glad to hear that,”

Thankfully, it didn’t have to navigate any mine-fields as breakfast was finished and Color told it all the rules for when he was out.

“You have free reign of the house, just don’t go into either me or Killer’s rooms without a good reason, yeah?” He reminded it. He always mentioned the free reign of the house everytime, and it could hear a hidden order when it was given one— it would be expected to not be in its room when he was out. An easy enough task.

After some painfully awkward farewells, it skittered off to the living room and to the couch in front of the TV. It knew it was probably allowed on the furniture, but didn’t really want to do so when Color wasn’t there to invite it on.

Instead, it carefully settled behind the couch, pressed in-between it and the wall. Small and comfortable, a perfect place to wait until Color got back.

It smiled to itself, feeling proud of how well it had been doing recently. Maybe it could even get as much affection and leniency as Killer. Maybe it could even get more. A pipe-dream, but… it wanted Color to look at it like that too.

Only for its safety of course. Having his affection, his attention, his soft smiles, gentle laughs— it shook its head before settling more comfortably behind the couch. Now was not the time for those thoughts; it didn’t know how it was supposed to compete with Killer and… it already lived a life more pampered here than nearly all its time with Nightmare.

It let itself relax and get ready for its long wait. It liked this. It didn’t need to sully it with even more wants.

#fresh #fresh sans #fresh!sans #color #color sans #color!sans #killer #killer!sans #killer sans #fresh & color #fresh & killer #utmv #undertale multiverse #puppydraws #puppywrites

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yuzukult · 2 days ago

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shooting your shot [preview] | kmg & reader

title: shooting your shot pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader/oc - preview genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, coffee shop owner!mingyu, assassin(?)!oc, hitwoman(?)!oc wc: ~3.8k for teaser summary: settling down, getting married, having kids, and having a 9-5 job that you go to everyday isn't really something you've ever thought about. however, kim mingyu suddenly wakes you up with a warm cup of coffee paired with that wide cheesy grin of his, and suddenly... that life doesn't sound so bad. or is it? warnings: mature themes, eventual smut, mentions & utilization of guns and other weaponry, mentions of gangs, drug dealers, etc - additional themes will be added once it is posted officially a/n: i know i have some series that are incomplete (i'm sorry) but i honestly lost a lot of inspo for writing... i want to get back into it bc it was such a fun hobby for me, so i figured i'd start over and release a preview of something new i was working on !! it's similar to the themes of i'm bad too (a doyoung fic i wrote years ago) but this is a bit more mature imo !! enjoy the teaser :)

“I like you.”

You blink blankly.

Kim Mingyu always manages to put himself in the worst situations. Last week, Hana, his employee at the cafe he owns, had asked him if he wanted to go out for dinner—being as naive as he is, he assumed a group dinner, only to find himself sitting across the table from her at some fancy three Michelin star restaurant with a small candle lit between them before she confessed her heart out to him. A month ago, he agreed to help his friend Joshua fix up his house and without asking for details is how he ended up stuck on a roof because the shingles needed to be replaced… and well, he’s afraid of heights. Then at another time, his sister asked for a ride and he quickly agreed without any questions when he clearly should have because he was sitting outside of a sketchy ass alleyway in center city. It’s where the boy he disapproved his sister of dating lived, right beside all the homeless people and junkies resided.

And now, with you laying flat on top of a building somewhere downtown, he says those words nervously over your earbuds as you watch your target through the ocular lens. Does he know what he’s getting himself into?

“What?”

Mingyu takes in a deep breath of courage to reiterate himself. “I like you. Like, a lot. I know you’re gonna say that I don’t know you well enough to like you—”

“—you don’t—”

“—but you make me feel things in my chest that I can’t control.”

“What? You’re mistaking heartburn with how you feel for me?” You spot the four blacked out Cadillacs parked outside of the building across the street with bodyguards that begin to surround the area. Mingyu better speed this up or you’ll have to hang up on him.

He sighs. “It’s not heartburn. I like you, really. I wanna give this a shot, but only if you let me.”

“Ask out Hana. She’s pretty.”

You could hear the hint of irritation in his voice from your lack of hesitation. “It’s not just about a girl being pretty. It’s about her personality too—how she is, where she’s from, what she does for a living…” you laugh quietly and he barely catches it. “… see! You think I’m funny too. It’s a great trait in a guy. Doesn’t hurt to give me a shot, does it?”

Ironically, it does hurt when you get shot, especially with the intent you have at the moment with a rifle in hand.

You spot one of the bodyguards pressing against the buds in his ear.

“Let me call you back.”

“Wait, what—” Click.

Just seconds later, the middle aged man in a black suit comes out within a herd of security, all dressed in a similar fashion with dark shades and an earpiece. A warning shot, that’s all this was. It’s supposed to scare him, threaten him enough to do what your client says, because that’s what you’re always hired to do.

Shoot the warning bullet.

All the years of training, going undercover, working for the good and the bad guys have brought you to this—a third party contract killer—wait, rephrase, not a killer, but rather just a shooter… well, not only shooting either. A threat, not a promise, and if your client prefers the commitment, you’d advise them to another person who can pull that final trigger.

A hitman? With no intent of death? Is that a better name for it?

Today, your mark is Jeon Jungsik, or better known as J.S., a drug lord in the city that’s planning to expand his market into illegal weapons. He has a wife, two daughters and three sons, all which he plans to take under his wing during this development however is slowly treading the line of your current client’s objectives.

“I don’t kill,” you told him, the leather gloves in your hands snap with the adjustments you make. “So if you’re trying to take out the competition, I should be clear that I’m not gonna do this personally. I can refer you elsewhere, if you’d like.”

“That’s fine,” the man said, leaning back in his exorbitant chair. You could almost smell the unlawfully obtained crocodile leather material of his seat. “It’s just to scare him a little. Give him a running start to get out of the game. I wanna give people a chance to become an ally. Then maybe I’ll reach out to you for your associate’s number. I like to think of myself as a nice guy.”

It doesn’t take long, but with one press of the trigger, the man recoils and collapses on the floor with his whole team pulling out their weapons in all directions.

“Oh.”

“What? Shocked to see me?”

His face heats up but could anyone blame him? The girl he’s been crushing on is standing before him, hours after he confessed his feelings only to be hung up on. In all fairness, he thought that was a sign that you weren’t into him.

“Kinda, yeah. I thought you said you’d call me back.”

“You were on the way,” you reply, fingers skimming through the laminated menu taped to the plexiglass. “Thought I’d stop by so we could talk. If you still want to talk.”

“I—Hm,” he begins, unsure how to even talk to you at this point. “How about I make you your usual, and we can talk over a cup?”

Nodding in agreement, you shove your hands into the front pocket of your blue jeans. You’ve since switched out of your work attire, tossed and stuffed into a duffle that sits underneath the flooring of your car, along with your disassembled rifle.

That, exactly all of that is why you could never hold a serious relationship. And that’s what you want to tell him—honestly and genuinely, it had nothing to do with him but rather everything to do with you. How could an innocent guy like him, someone who ran the neighborhood coffee shop with regulars that worked in such mundane jobs ever be with someone who was considered a hired sort-of-assassin? Marksman? Markswoman? Was there even a word for it?

Finding an empty table, you plop yourself in the seat. He’s really cute, you have to admit that, and despite keeping yourself at an arm's length with every person you meet, somehow Mingyu always oversteps those boundaries and you’ve never even thought twice in trying to stop him.

Tousled hair and apron on, he’s got some coffee stains on the sleeve of his shirt, light bags under his eyes from waking up at the crack of dawn to open up shop, he still manages to radiate that same bright energy as he always does.

“Black coffee and one sugar,” he announces with a cheeky smile, pushing the ceramic cup to you. “Your usual. Kinda reminds me of you. Bitter, but you’re just a bit sweet.”

Gross. But why do you kind of like it?

“Why do you like me?”

His smile fades. It’s mostly out of embarrassment and nervousness, not because he lost feelings for you in that span of time, but he feels like this is grade school all over again. “I thought we went through this already.”

“I know, but…” grabbing the spoon that sits on the plate underneath, you sir the dark liquid with the steam rising. “I don’t know if I can give you what you want, Mingyu. I’m just a regular customer that helped you out once when you almost got robbed. Maybe you’re thinking that you owe me or something.”

Almost a year ago, when the shop was closing up at midnight, a man in a ski mask attempted to steal the money at the register with a loaded gun.

Truthfully, you weren’t really planning on stepping in at all. On your way home from another job, the thoughts that crossed your mind didn’t include going into that café, but after seeing that scared college girl’s face behind the counter with a gun to her head, you let out a sign before swinging the front doors open.

Needless to say, the man in the ski mask was flipped, kicked, and shoved, his gun thrown to the side as you call her to grab zip ties from the back so you could tie him up for the cops to arrest him formally.

“Here,” you handed off your own personal number to the girl, figuring she’d use it in case of another emergency, only for it to fall into the hands of Kim Mingyu, the guy who had already been ogling you everyday during your morning routes.

“OK, ok,” he says, placing his hands flat on the table. “Maybe I don’t know you, but I want to. I wanna learn about you, I wanna know what your favorite foods are and if you like Post Malone or if you prefer rock bands. Are you a morning person or a night owl, and if you’re just stuck waking up in the early hours because of your job because that’s the only time I see you here. I—I really like you, and I can’t seem to put into words why, but I want to get to know you.”

You roll your lips. It takes you a minute to respond, but the minute seems like hours to him. Bringing the drink to your lips, the warmth hits your tongue and you can feel it in your chest.

It’s dangerous, letting someone like him in your life. In the chance that someone figured out your identity and realized he was your weakness, it wouldn’t be long for him to get captured and kept as a hostage.

“I’m not a good girlfriend,” you warn him, fiddling with the spoon.

“And where’d you hear that?”

Maybe it was the guy who you binded up with rope last weekend, delivering him to one of your clients when you recalled him saying something along the lines of, “Is this the type of shit you’re into? I bet you don’t even have a boyfriend ‘cause if you did, he’d fucking hate you.” Or a couple weeks ago, when that one dude groped you from under your skirt and you twisted his arm, wincing with, “you’re so sexy but you’d be an awful fuck anyways.”

Sure, they weren’t word-for-word “you’re not a good girlfriend,” but you’d say it was pretty fucking close.

“Men,” you retort nonchalantly, grabbing your drink again. “I don’t think I’m good at commitment, Mingyu. You seem amazing at it. Wasn’t there a girl that stopped by a while ago who was begging you to take her back?”

He grimaces, running his fingers through his disheveled hair. You wish it was your very own, threading through them with his lips pressed against yours, the taste of a vanilla latte lingering on his tongue, along with a sharp inhale of coffee beans from him carrying the bags over his shoulders all morning during inventory restock.

But it doesn’t work like that. You and Mingyu can’t work out like that. Not while you remain in this profession.

“An ex-girlfriend. But you don’t have to worry about her.”

“Never said I was.” You were. Maybe just a little.

“Can… Can I at least try to pursue you? You’re not flat out saying you don’t like me, it just seems like something is holding you back.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, because it’s exactly that.

Your colleagues don’t settle, or at least, they don’t settle while they’re still taking jobs. There’s too much risk involved, all which include putting your loved ones in danger.

But for some reason, a flat out rejection doesn’t come out.

“Don’t get mad if nothing comes of it.” With that, you grab your coffee and engulf it like a shot before placing it back on the table.

“Girl, you really don’t need me to be here.”

You sigh. Arguing with Sunny on a Thursday morning isn’t really something you want to do, but Sunny loves to bicker.

She’s the opposite of her name—Grumpy is what her parents should’ve given her, instead they chose the bubbliest and warmest name for the coldest and most bitter person.

Nonetheless, you do like her.

She makes the job more enjoyable, somehow her dark casting clouds are a distraction to what this job really entails because your attention is too busy being on how she responds groggily to every little thing.

“Why do you say that?” You ask, adjusting the kevlar vest around your upper body. It’s tight around your frame, as it’s supposed to be, but you admit it’s a bit hard to shift into any position with this on. “I always need you here.”

“You really don’t,” Sunny glares at you, slipping into her jacket before she zips herself up. She’s a trained assassin—keyword: assassin. Her job is to leave the assigned Target dead, without a breath or a heartbeat left. Bringing her here only serves the purpose of her making the final shot. “You are perfectly capable of following through with this job—your aim is impeccable. Why the fuck did Summers assign me to this? Does he think I need a chaperone?” With the Boss being her brother, it’s fair that Sunny thinks that Summers did this on purpose; he’d been on her ass these past few months when she accidentally missed her marque—but it wasn’t entirely her fault, there’d been a sniper on the opposing side playing defense.

With a laugh, you snap your precision sniper together. It reminds you of those toys you’d find in the aisles of stores growing up, the ones your parents pulled you away from because they were “made for boys.” Meanwhile, there’s two girls who stand on the roof of a building in the city, holding two real ones. “It’s more so for me than for you,” you admit, popping the ear piece in. “I don’t kill, remember? I’ll aim for the warning shot first, the Client will call the Target, and if it doesn't go well, you’ll make the final hit.”

Groaning, she climbs onto her stomach. “I don’t get why you don’t kill—your fucking accuracy is off the charts. You know Summers framed your training targets? That’s how he gets clients—that shit is hung in his office when they come in. Raves all about you.”

You can’t hold back the flattering smile as you mimic her lying position several feet away. “He assigns other people for the job though.”

She turns to roll her eyes at you. “Yeah, because you won’t fucking kill.”

You shake your head. Now, the waiting game starts. “Well, my hits are impactful and torturous. I’d say that’s worse than killing. Plus, why kill when I can use it as an excuse to hang out with you?”

“Or—hear me out,” Sunny begins, peeking through her scope, “you could just fucking answer my texts when I hit you up to go clubbing.”

“I don’t ‘club,’ Sunny.”

“Why? Are you afraid you’re gonna upset Summers?”

You furrow your brows. What does she mean by that? “What?”

“Oh, come on,” she’s turning the rifle from side to side, skimming the area. “You’re his literal favorite. My brother practically has heart eyes whenever you’re around. Like I said, he hung your training targets in his office. Last week, he told me he thought you were pretty.”

You narrow your gaze through the scope but the scowl was for Sunny. “What did you ask him? Pick between me or the Wicked Witch of the West? Who’s prettier?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Ahhh, I see,” you snicker. “Plus, even if he was interested, I might be into someone else.”

Did you really just say that?

It flowed off your tongue a lot more smoothly than you’d prefer, catching even yourself off guard.

Sunny’s mouth drops as she looks over at you. “You’re lying.”

“Pay attention,” you gesture ahead. “And… I’m not. Someone asked me out and I’m considering it.”

“Normie?” A voice through the earpiece says. “Or is it another hitman?”

Sunny grins when she hears her brother. “Hey, Summers. What are you doing on this line?”

You suck in your cheeks.

From what you understand, Summers doesn’t get involved in any of the on-the-ground work. He’s bound to his desk at this point—besides constantly networking, and meeting with Clients, he’s writing contracts, all while managing to assign the work to his hitmen and stuffing money into their pockets. Summers is the mastermind of this all, the head of operations, and it never minded anyone that he didn’t get into the details of everything.

That’s why when you hear his voice over the line and not Chan who sits at his computer (with the ten monitors on display) all day, you’re suspicious.

“Just making sure you’re doing your job,” he says, clearing his throat. “You’re not giving her a hard time, are you?”

“No, but you’re giving us a hard time just from your attendance.”

He clears his throat and diverts his attention back to you. “So…” Summers calls out your name gingerly. “Is… Is he a normie or another hitman?”

You and Sunny lock eyes for a moment; yours glaring and hers content, proud of herself for making the correct observation.

“A normie,” you state calmly, and you can almost picture Summers doing that awkward neck rub. “Nothing serious yet, we’re just talking.”

“Ah,” he chuckles softly. “Just like your mentor, right? Seungcheol? Didn’t he quit the field so he could be with his normie wife?”

“Summers, Target acquired. Status update?” Looking through your scope, your rifle follows in suit of the direction he’s walking. “Did the Client call?”

Summers uncomfortably coughs at the situation and hands the mic over to Chan. “Sorry, uh. Chan, give direction.”

Sunny shoves Summers after tossing off her gloves. “Summers, what the fuck was that? You were distracting us from our mission. If it weren’t for our prized Hitlady here, we wouldn’t have gotten the Target. Are you crushing that bad?”

Standing outside of the van parked blocks away from the setpoint, you both switch out your gear.

Your ears heat up, and so does Summer’s. “It’s fine,” pulling out the earpiece, you toss it into the bin Chan provides. “He’s our Boss anyways. He makes the calls, so if he distracts us, that’s his decision.”

“Yeah, see? Also, can you stop treating me as just your brother? I’m running an organization here. Give me some credit.”

Chan snickers quietly from the sidelines and you grin in his direction.

Sunny takes a deep inhale. “Look, whatever. We did the job, and it worked out. I didn’t even have to kill anyone, our 98% aimed so well, the guy was so scared that he admitted defeat. Another win in our book.”

You groan. Not the “98%” shit again—a couple years ago, there’d been an internal competition between all the assassins. It was pretty much an accuracy test; how precise were your shots, the amount of times you were able to hit that same spot, and additional factors such as weather, timing, and so on were factored in.

Needless to say, you got a 98% accuracy score.

Grabbing your coffee cup from the table, you bring the slightly cold liquid to your lips. It was hot when you picked it up this morning at Mingyu’s coffee shop; his bright smile illuminated the entire restaurant, almost (keyword, almost) causing your heart to do flips in your chest, but now it’s a bit cold since you were too busy to finish it all.

“I’m not that good, Sunny. That’s why you’re here today—covering for me if we did have to aim to kill.”

Sunny raises a brow before twisting the cup in your hand.

“Is that… hearts around your name? Who’s Mingyu?”

You turn it to your direction and your face warms up instead of the coffee. There’s scribbles and doodles around your name, signed by Mingyu at the bottom. As corny as this is, it’s… kind of cute. “Oh. He uh…. He’s the guy I’m sorta seeing. The Normie, if you will.”

Summers looks at you with a concerned expression. “Is that what you want? To date a Normie? He doesn’t know anything about this side of you—how’s he gonna react when he finds out you hurt people?”

“I mean, we’re just talking.”

“But what if he wants more? Then what? Are you going to tell him that you’re an assassin?” His tone is stern, and you sneak a glance at Sunny who just gives you that I-told-you-so look.

“I… I’ll work on that when we get there,” you blink blankly. “Is there something wrong?”

He sneaks a glimpse at his sister and Chan who watch him attentively. “Uh, no, there isn’t. Just uh… expressing concern, is all, from a boss’ standpoint. You know. I have to make sure my people don’t have any obstacles that can affect the workplace.”

When Sunny rolls her eyes and drags Summers away to avoid another uncomfortable conversation, you sigh in relief while climbing into the back of the van and shutting the door closed.

“Well, that was entertaining.”

You toss the vest into the bin. “Yeah, I don’t know what to do about that,” you shrug, plopping into the seat next to Chan. “Do you think I should quit? I feel like this whole thing with Summers, the missions, and potentially settling down in the future might fuck everything up. Do I even want to settle down?”

“Are you kidding me? If I had at least a third of your skills, I’d be signing up for every mission possible. Your skills will go to waste.”

You sigh, rubbing your face with the palm of your hands. “I feel like I’m at a bit of a standstill, if I’m being quite honest.”

“About this Mingyu guy?” Chan swivels his chair back to his 10 monitors propped onto the walls of the inside of the van. His fingers dance along the clackiness of the keyboard, but his ears stay perked at your responses. “I thought you said you guys were just talking.”

“We are, I just…” shoulders slouching, you release another weighted breath from your chest. “I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever it is, you probably need to establish some boundaries with Summers,” Chan says, shutting down the system before turning back to you. “You know how he is.”

You quirk a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s a nice guy, but he can be a little possessive,” his eyes have hints of pity in them, like they’re directly toward you. “Even with Sunny. Like come on, when’s the last time she’s ever introduced a boyfriend to him?”

“Sunny doesn’t even really date.”

“Not since Summers punched her last boyfriend.”

Oh. Well that’s new. “I’m not his girlfriend though—and I’m definitely not his sister either.”

“You’re on his radar, that should be enough.”

thanks for reaching the end !! :) thanks for being so patient with me throughout all the years, i'm excited to start my journey all over again.. so bear with me if i suck lol pls lmk what you think !!

#seventeen fanfic #svt fanfic #seventeen #kim mingyu fanfic #kim mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu fanfic #mingyu #gyukultfics

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trothplighted · 2 days ago

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I was going through some of Rowling’s old interviews and came across one in 2004 where she spoke of Sirius:

“I am so proud of the fact that a character, whom I always liked very much, though he never appeared as much more than a brooding presence in the books, has gained a passionate fan-club.”

This wasn’t the only time she expressed surprise that Sirius became a fan favourite, and it’s honestly baffling to me??? He had an entire book named after and primarily revolving around him, and is canonically the closest thing to a parent that Harry, the protagonist of the series, ever had. Even if we disregard everything else we know about Sirius and his storyline, there’s no way in hell he wasn’t going to be popular. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said that a character like that was specifically designed for fan service (I mean...he's hot, has a flying motorbike, and is literally named after a star, lol). It’s bizarre that Rowling seems to have had no idea, and that she believed he was / intended him to be nothing more than a “brooding presence” in the series – which is at any rate an appalling and deeply unsympathetic way to describe his trauma and depression.

It made me think of how there's such a major disconnect between authorial intent and authorial execution when it comes to his character as well, especially in Order of the Phoenix. Characters like Molly or Hermione call him irresponsible/reckless/immature, claim he confused Harry and James, that he treated Harry like a friend rather than a godson, that he was biased against Snape, etc. Rowling’s interviews confirm that she intended to characterize Sirius in such a way and that Hermione and Molly are meant to be viewed as her mouthpieces. But Sirius’s actual behavior and relationship with Harry does not correspond with any of this and his actions + dialogue are for the most part very reasonable and sympathetic. (There’s also Kreacher’s storyline, which made me dislike Sirius a lot when I was younger, but upon my reread comes across as almost entirely nonsensical, contradictory, and seems specifically designed to paint Sirius in a bad light to the point where he’s compared to VOLDEMORT of all people by Hermione - who, in the process of criticizing Sirius, dehumanizes house elves entirely by claiming that none of them are capable of individual morality or have any ethical agency of their own. It's frustrating because she's 100% right that house elves should be freed but the way she infantalizes them is...pretty shitty and not the way to go about it. But I digress.)

Rowling seems to have done a complete 180 degree turn on how Sirius is presented by the narrative between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix, and I can’t really understand why.

I get the sense that the creation of Sirius’s character in particular was, at the very least, partly accidental on Rowling’s part. She didn’t expect him to blow up the way he did, and I get the sense that she doesn’t seem to have been thrilled by how much the early HP fandom liked/valorized him. There was an interview where she was asked if she liked him, and she said that she did, only to immediately list down all his alleged flaws and emphasize that “I do not think he was wholly wonderful” (which character in the series is wholly wonderful, lol? Sirius came across as a great deal better than most to me). There have been so many other interviews where she’s done the same thing despite the fact that Sirius's faults or perceived faults had absolutely nothing to do with the questions at hand. It’s such a startling contrast how she talks about pretty much everyone else from his generation, all of whom she seems considerably warmer and more sympathetic towards in varying degrees.

As I haven’t been back in the fandom for very long, this is the first time I’ve come across her interviews - I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into them or not. I wondered if you agree/disagree, as you’ve been in the fandom for much longer and I love all your metas about the series. Thanks :)

You’ve hit upon my personal Rage Point for the entire series, anon.

I want to start by pointing something out about Sirius and Kreacher, which is that in GoF Sirius tells Ron and Harry (and Hermione, though he brings it up to compliment her observational skills) that Crouch Sr.’s mistreatment of Winky is an indicator of his character. (“If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.”) This is, somehow, the same man who one book later is egregiously dismissive of and abusive toward his family’s house-elf, to the point that this dismissal causes his death (oh, and Albus blames him for dying, too.) Despite Sirius expressing two wildly different viewpoints from book to book, we’re intended to take that as his true self, as the authentic expression of his beliefs and position.

I’ve spoken before more than once about other drastic character shifts that happened as a result of the Three Year Summer, both as a writing break and as a paradigm shift in the notoriety of and ubiquity of the series thanks to the movies being released starting in 2001. I was in elementary and middle school while the books were being published, and OotP was the first book I remember seeing large-scale advertisement for in my school outside of a book fair - there was a big larger-than-life poster teasing the book cover with a release date during the summer to get us all hyped up for it. I’d obviously heard of Harry Potter before that, but that was the moment when the books went from “famous book series” to “cultural phenomenon,” at least in my mind. And I think that we can trace this shift in opinion on Sirius Black back to the Three Year Summer, too.

In my opinion it’s obvious that Joanne really liked Sirius, when she first developed him. I don’t think she’s telling the truth when she says she doesn’t think he’s wholly wonderful - when she first came up with him she absolutely did. He’s got pride of place as a Cool Character in all the ways she loves to lavish attention on someone. He’s set up with a phenomenal entrance in PS chapter one and then he spends all of PoA in the spotlight. He has a dramatic reveal of his true allegiances and his innocence, and he’s Harry’s best and most supportive parental figure throughout GoF who consistently gives good advice and who risks his own life and liberty to make sure his godson is safe. He considers coming back to England and living in a cave and eating rats to be his duty as a godfather, and while Harry feels responsible for his circumstances he’s always really clear that he (1. doesn’t care about the risks to his health and safety (2. will gladly sacrifice comfort and stability if it means being able to protect this boy (3. will not let Harry feel guilty.

These aren’t the actions of a man who confuses Harry with James - throughout GoF he continues to insist that his decisions are his own, made as an adult trying to parent and support a kid who desperately needs a stable presence in his life. Harry’s used to taking the blame for the actions of adults (my heart is still rent asunder by his expectation that Lupin is going to gaslight him about denying him the chance to face the boggart in their first DADA lesson) and he’s also used to feeling like he has to manage the emotional state of a household (see: all the times he plans out what to say or not to say to the Dursleys to get them to do what he wants), and Sirius doesn’t let him sink into either of those pits. He also prevents Harry from bottling up his feelings or concealing his distress, and never lies or twists the truth. He’s being very deliberately written as someone who serves as a positive role model and positive mentor figure for Harry, and then suddenly come OotP he’s moody and immature and subject to a number of very strange smear campaigns from characters the author confirms are intended to reflect her real opinions.

So… what happened, over the course of the Three Year Summer, to make her change her mind? We can’t ever know for sure, obviously, because Joanne hasn’t ever bothered to lay out how her feelings on each member of her cast changed and evolved, and she’s unlikely to do so at any point in the future because now when people talk to her they mostly talk to her about transphobia. But I have a theory.

See, between 1998 and 2003, the HMS Wolfstar set sail. While most of the seminal meta came out after OotP (see “The Case for R/S” as probably the one I and others my age are most familiar with as an introduction to the ship) and most of the really famous fanfics started trickling out around that time (The Shoebox Project started in 2004), there were fanfics before that point, a growing fan community, and a number of pieces of fanart and fancomics (check out the list of doujinshi in the linked Fanlore article, some of those date back to 2001). Edit: here is an archived humorous/gently snarky list of Wolfstar fanfic tropes created in 2002 - while I can’t personally remember the names of fics from before 2004 or so I want to point to this as evidence that there was an established fan community, even using the “WolfStar” name, prior to the publication of OotP.

Normally, I wouldn’t think that fanfic from prior to 2010 or so had much of anything to do with the author’s opinions on their work, because norms and fan culture around fanfic were much more focused around keeping these stories private and away from the prying eyes of The Powers That Be/TPTB.

I say normally, because Joanne was aware of fanfiction, and aware of fanfiction remarkably early in her career as a public figure.

Younger fans are almost certainly not going to know this, but one of the first real fandom divides in HP had to do with fanfiction, and specifically the question of how to treat fanfiction written by and for adults that featured sex scenes or other mature content. Since the books were children’s books (though there was an adult fandom since the start, especially online - the Harry Potter For Grown-Ups/HP4GU mailing list and its descendant communities still loom large in fan history as some of the early pillars of today’s digital scene) a lot of people didn’t know what to do or how to treat fanfic. This was also compounded by fanfic being a lot more subject to legal action or takedown notices - Anne Rice, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, and Anne McCaffrey all became infamous either for pursuing individual authors and archives until they took down their stories or instituting guidelines about what kinds of transformative works were acceptable, or both in McCaffrey’s case.

Rowling, however, was different. Rowling said that noncommercial fanfic was completely fine, that she wasn’t going to pursue any kind of legal action against fanfic authors, and that as long as adult-oriented fanfic was appropriately warned for and not shown to or targeted to children, she didn’t care if it existed.

This laid the groundwork for the founding of Fanfiction.net, for fanfic communities on LiveJournal, and eventually for Archive of our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works. In an era where legal disclaimers were common on fanfics as a mostly-useless attempt to prevent being shut down by IP holders, Rowling threw the doors open and democratized her stories in a way she - I would argue - ultimately came to regret.

I can’t prove that her sudden slander of Sirius was a result of latent unexamined homophobia and a desire for revenge against the fandom for daring to claim one of her favorite characters as a gay man. I can’t prove that his backstory of being kicked out of his house (for unspoken Family Drama reasons centering around him being filthy and disgraceful) only to be shoved back into it, or Trustworthy Adults suddenly painting him as dangerous to children and inherently irresponsible and reckless, or all of his trauma being ignored and painted over, or every scrap of his heroism being erased, has to do with Joanne deciding that if we’ve made him gay he shouldn’t get to be a character anymore.

I can’t prove it.

But I do believe it. I believe it because when you ask yourself “is this queercoded character being subjected to authorial homophobia”, suddenly everything about Sirius’s arc in OotP makes complete and total sense in the worst way possible. This is also why I think Tonks and Remus were paired off, why Tonks suddenly becomes more gender-conforming, and why Bill Weasley transforms into Normal Settled-Down Hetero William. It feels like her desperate attempts to take her characters and shove them back into a box that she controls. I don’t think she was at that point consciously and virulently homophobic, but I think her clear and evident discomfort with fans interpreting these characters who she wanted to be straight comes through in her writing.

I also believe it because she does the same thing to Albus, after his death. Someone who’s been uncomplicatedly heroic and praised by all parties and even used as her mouthpiece to pass judgment on Sirius suddenly becomes morally suspect and untrustworthy and shady and secretive, with enemies lining up as soon as he’s dead to slander him - and again, just like with Sirius, we’re meant to accept this as the correct version of events. He even confirms all of this to Harry himself in the King’s Cross afterlife. The old Albus can’t come to the phone right now, he’s dead, and only his critics remain. Coincidentally, Albus is of course the only confirmed gay character in the entire story. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?

I’ve been angry at her for 20 years for killing Sirius, and angrier still at her straightwashing efforts. I wouldn’t believe her if she said she wasn’t doing that, at this point.

It’s not as if I expected her to be a perfect ally as a center-left moderate cishet white woman in the late 90s/early 2000s, and I do think that Dumbledore being gay was revolutionary in a way that most modern audiences seriously fail to appreciate, but I wish she wasn’t so damned insistent that no one else could be queer in any way at any point. She’s also really evidently uncomfortable about any displays of affection between confirmed same-sex pairings - she was absolutely neurotic about the amount of physical contact between Mads Mikkelsen and Jude Law during FB3, to the point that she fought with David Yates about it. And her behavior contributed to the intense homophobia I and others experienced in our formative early years in fandom - no-slash mailing lists and archives, the immediate classification of all queer fanfic as inherently more mature or more sexual simply by virtue of having queer people in it, Wizards For Bush, etc. As a result, boycott or no boycott, I hope that Wolfstar is canon in the new series, I hope Mundungus stays the crossdressing icon that they are, I hope Tonks is canonically nonbinary, and I hope Joanne loses sleep over it.

#hp #hp meta #sirius black #wolfstar #sirius/remus #on joanne

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thesevro · 1 day ago

Text

my bsf goin' crazyy

Love & Deepspace Caleb/Fem!MC MC/Reader is also a DAA pilot cadet Content tags: penetration, p in v sex, AFAB Female reader, non-consensual drug use (aphrodisiacs), spiking, virginity loss, cunnilingus, confessions, overstimulation, Caleb gets all mean and edges you a bit too 5.2k words because these two are emotional PREVIEW: “If you don’t nail me to the bed with your dick right this second I swear on Gran’s life I’ll crash into your craft on the next aerial pursuit—” EXPLICIT CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Links: Trans Male Version Cis Male Version (in progress)

—

“Ohh, you got another box!”

You run up to Caleb and poke him in the side until he opens one of the pink boxes full of Valentine's chocolates. The delight in your smile has him grinning back at you.

“I’m praying this happens again next year,” you tell him with a mouth full of chocolate. He presses another chocolate into your mouth as you open your mouth to speak and you smack at him but continue your words nonetheless. He snickers at your big-backed, chipmunk-like expression. “What a way to be welcomed to the Administration.”

“I don’t think I want this to keep happening,” he says, tone teasing, “I feel so bad for the poor girl who didn’t get any. Now she has to share with me.”

He pouts down at you.

You know he isn’t really sad about it.

“Calm it, I already know you’re for the community.” He side-eyes you at that. “It’s tradition for them. Even I’m thinking of giving a box to someone next Valentine’s. Everyone here is a hot pilot-in-training.”

You don’t notice the way he suddenly goes alert. Your hand hovers over the box as you contemplate which chocolate to shove into your mouth next.

“Huh.” He pretends to give your words some thought. “Who’s this someone you want to give chocolates to?”

“Let me think. You, of course,” you say casually. “Since you’re a good friend and all, and your height makes you kind of cute. But I wanna make sure all the cuties here at the DAA feel special, so I think I’ll be buying in bulk.”

He’d bash his head into the next wall if you weren’t here right now.

“I’m flattered,” he deadpans. “Will that be your way of confessing to someone?”

“We’re flight cadets. I might have considered doing that in university, but at this point I just want to make new friends.” You shake your head at him, picking up a chocolate and pushing it onto his tongue. He gets the feeling you’re trying to shut him up. But you did pick his favorite, and he ends up savoring the tang of lemon that spreads through his senses. “We’re here to be fighter pilots. Don’t tell me you’re still thinking like a teenager!”

—

“Caleb.”

His head tilts upward. He turns back, a smile already coming over his face at the sound of your voice. He tilts his head backward to meet your gaze as you stand over him. Lucky that you didn't get caught wearing another cadet’s jacket. His larger Aerospace Av jacket clearly doesn’t fit on you. But he likes the way it looks, keeping his favorite girl warm.

“Why so serious, pipsqueak?” he teases, curious about your lowered tone.

“Was there—” you swallow, the intensity of your gaze fading as you look away from him. Almost like you’re embarrassed. “Was there something in those chocolates?”

“Huh?”

You shove your hands deeper into the pockets of your casual sweats, and your eyes dart around the room, where other cadets are busy closing flight reports or enjoying their own boxes of Valentine’s chocolates. You lean down and whisper into his ear.

“What the fuck,” he says, appalled. He looks up at you like what you just whispered in his ear could only be a lie.

“I’ve been trying to—” your words falter. While he feels like tracking the person who drugged the chocolates, tying a boulder to their ankle and lifting him them with his Evol to throw them into the nearby river, the image that crosses his mind is impossible to resist. You were trying to satisfy yourself?

Your fingers between your legs. Your thighs spread apart. Your wetness, your moans—

“Just—listen, we’ve always been close. I don’t wanna file a medical report for this!” you say in a whispered shout. “I’ll report the girl, there are still some chocolates left and I can write up the ratio between aphrodisiac and regular chocolate later but—nobody can know about this.”

He blinks. Caleb touches your forearm in concern, rising from his seat.

“But you let me know about it?”

“Because I need—” None of your words are flowing coherently. Each sentence is embarrassment incarnate. And you seem to look at him differently, your eyes having glazed over the moment he touched you. He watches the open part of your moist lips. “I need h-help.”

He gawks at you. Mouth closed, but expression indelibly shocked. “You need help. You… you need my help? You need help from me?”

You fidget, agitation burgeoning with each passing millisecond. “It hurts so much. No matter what I do, it won’t go away.”

No matter what you do.

It hurts.

That awakens an instinct inherent to Caleb.

“You know what, never mind.” Your words become a quick, jumbled mess. “I’ll tough it out. It’s too much to ask for, I’m sorry, it’s so weird and I shouldn’t have asked, I guess just don’t come in my room—”

“There’s nobody in my room. Let’s go.”

He takes your hand.

—

He closes the door with urgency. Like you’re injured and all he has to do is bandage you up quickly.

“Caleb, are you sure?”

He hesitates. He can’t look at you, because he knows if he does he’ll do all the things he has ever wanted to do. Even if you need it, he will make no room for his selfishness.

“You know, you can leave if you want!” You laugh. The distance between him and you only stretches from his bunk to the door. It would only take several steps to cross, but he knows that the actions he’ll commit that will follow are impossible. “I mean, I don’t think I can go back to my room anymore since even my legs are hurting now, but if you can keep the rest of your bunkmates out of the room for a few hours I might be able to—”

“Do you think I’m not good enough to help you?”

He finally crosses the space.

When he approaches, you almost feel trapped. His gaze is almost as powerful as his Evol, rooting you to the space in front of his bed. He stalks towards you like a predator closing in on a vulnerable mouse.

You scramble for words. “No, I don’t want to force you into doing anything. I know you’re a virgin!” A nervous laugh bubbles in your throat. “It’s not like I’m your girlfriend.”

He finally reaches you, but doesn’t stop when his space invades yours. The backs of your knees hit the bed. You feel the breaths from his words as he speaks. “Yeah, I know I’ve never touched anyone. But it’s because I want it to be someone close to me. Someone who's always been close to me.”

He tilts his head at you. The aphrodisiac truly works wonders. His proximity has altered the levels of oxytocin flowing through your core, has pushed the rush of four different hormones to unreached heights all at once. Your body detects him in ways you’ve only just now discovered possible.

“You need to get fucked?” he asks.

You swallow as you look into his eyes. “Only if you’re willing, Caleb.”

He looks down. You realize he’s looking at your lips. “Push me away if you want me to stop.”

His fingers come up to hold your chin. Caleb steals your first kiss.

The aphrodisiac has explosions of need and feeling bursting in your body. You immediately pull him closer, mewling with pleasure as you kiss him back. He makes a noise against your lips. He uses his weight to press you forward, a hand coming to the back of your knee, and takes your legs out from under you.

Caleb presses a hand to the back of your head to cushion your fall, but none of it registers in your head. You spread your legs for him, the ferocity of his lips on yours on his a fiery rush. Soon he realizes he can finally release a hunger he’s been hiding from you nearly all his life. He shifts on the bed and grips your hips to grind you into his cock. Through the stupidly thick layers of fabric, you feel his hardness drag against your folds.

“I want to see you,” you say into his mouth. You tug at his shirt and he rips it off, allowing for only a millisecond to exist where his lips aren’t on yours. You caress the hard planes of his torso and he shivers at your touch. Half-naked above you, he grinds his dick against your combat trousers, moaning at the stimulation and the feel of your mouth on his.

“Take my shirt off,” you tell him. His breathing is labored. Synapses connecting rapidly all so he can memorize every millisecond of these moments with you beneath him, of how it feels to kiss you, to be between your legs and to have the permission to bare your body to his waiting eyes.

“(Name)...” He gives a pleasured sigh at the very sight of you. “You're so beautiful.”

He moves to give you one last kiss. It’s chaste. When his lips leave yours, he kisses downward along your skin, savoring how the skin on your collarbones feels on lips. How the rise of your soft breasts fills his eyes, and how they fit into his hands as he cups one to bring your nipple to his mouth. He tongues it in an experimental circle, inexperienced and unfamiliar with what you like. But when you breathe a lovely sigh of his name, legs tightening around his waist, he knows he’s doing all the right things. He slides further down your body, lips parting from your nipple with a soft pop.

Smooth as butter on a hot knife, Caleb kisses every inch of your skin for the first time, until his head is between your thighs. He smirks up at you, fingers curling around your trousers and around the waistband of your panties. He catches a glimpse of pink.

“Let me taste what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

—

You’ve never known Caleb to be this cruel.

He let you cum on his tongue. But he wouldn’t let up until you were kicking at him, pushing his face away and sobbing for him to stop at the overstimulation. He kept on insisting he had to stretch you out for his dick. And you didn’t really believe him, because no man could ever be so big.

He was.

When he pulled it out of his fatigues you practically jumped on him, overstimulation all but forgetten as the aphrodisiac kicked hormone production in your body into overdrive once more, but he knew you’d hurt yourself if he let you take control.

Caleb has pinned you to the bed. Cock wet with lube, and only the tip inside you.

He has you begging and begging for his dick, struggling against his Evol as your cunt weeps, mind and nerves stimulated past the point of pain by the aphrodisiac.

“Please please pleasepleaseplease I need it—” you gasp, arching into him, bed squeaking wildly as you try to shove the rest of him inside. Why does he have to be so cruel? Can’t he see you’re in pain? That the aphrodisiac is ruining you, frying your neurons until all you can think about is his dick, his big, stupid fat fucking dick—

“Need what?” he still has the gall to ask. You squeeze around his tip. Tight enough you might just be trying to suck him in. His face twists at the feel but he still manages to be dumbly cocky. “You gotta tell me how I can help you pipsqueak.”

“I need your dick!” you beg. Tears prick your eyes as the throb in your cunt spreads through the rest of your body until you feel like a fresh, aching bruise—nothing has ever hurt like this. You don’t think he can see it. Low-grade aphrodisiacs, the kind most can afford in Skyhaven, don’t typically have this effect according to the cases you’ve read. Whichever girl put this type of aphrodisiac in his chocolate must have drained her trust fund just for it.

It’s why he has the nerve to be so mean. He doesn’t know how much it hurts. Well. Quite good, then, that you’ve little sense of dignity left and will beg for it until he’s fucking his cum into you.

“I need to feel you fuck me,” you say in a sobbed sigh. Rendered immobile still by his Evol, you can only wiggle your hips pathetically, trying to slip him inside you. You even push out your breasts and make sure his eyes fall on them. Through the haze of it all, you see him watch as they jiggle with your movements. “I want you to fill me up with your cum. I want to hear you moan in my ear as I take your cock and have you fuck me so hard all I can think about is how big my best friend is inside me.”

You start babbling, unaware of the serious expression that has taken over his face the second the words ‘best friend’ left your mouth, “I want your babies, I want to be so full of your cum I get pregnant tomorrow, I need it I need it I need it—”

“You think I’ll be good enough for you? Will just your best friend’s dick be enough?”

You don’t pick up on the scorn in his tone. The hatred for the phrase ‘best friend.’ It’s too subtle, so unlike Caleb that you could never conjure a universe where he’d speak to you that way. You simply beg, again. Not as nicely though.

“If you don’t nail me to the bed with your dick right this second I swear on Gran’s life I’ll crash into your craft on the next aerial pursuit—”

“Be quiet for me for a second.”

He tuts. The moment you feel his hips shift, you shut your mouth. Your legs tighten around the backs of his thighs. He begins to slide inside.

“Oh,” you moan softly. Caleb focuses on it. Your open mouth, your mussed hair. The way your body writhes impatiently beneath him. You’re already such a mess and he hasn’t even started. Three inches in, he feels the precum dribbling out his cockhead. When he realizes all of it is filling you up he nearly blows his load then and there.

“You’re so hot,” he groans, breaths fanning across your face with his first thrust. Your name is reverence on his tongue as he moans it into the air.

It’s your first time. You know for a fact it’s his, too. The stretch of his cock is heightened, impossibly good. You hold him close and whimper. You never would have thought it could feel like this.

“Don’t make those sounds,” he whispers, unmoving. It’s then that you become conscious of the unmistakable, harsh throb of his dick inside you. He’s close already. “Fuck, (Name),” he sighs again.

“Caleb,” you say. Something in your voice has him pulling back from your neck to cradle your face. Your eyes still glisten with tears. He softens, forehead touching yours.

“You gotta give me a few minutes,” he chuckles, voice low. “Think I’ll cum if I move.”

“I don’t have minutes,” you shoot back at him in a whisper, but having his dick inside you has returned some of your coherence. “Caleb, please—”

“Shhhh,” he soothes, his hand gripping your hip. His thumb rubs circles into your skin. “It’s okay babygirl. I’ll make sure you cum more times than I will.

“I’ll move, okay?” he tells you, lips brushing yours with the words.

His hips shift. You both groan as he thrusts back inside, a slow, scooping motion that rubs against a spot inside you even your fingers have barely touched.

There’s so much grace to his movements. Strength in the very way he holds his body. You feel safe beneath him, solid. You know he’ll take care of you, as he has a million times in the past and always will.

Your core burns, but you let him take it slow. Nothing will be able to take away the sense of safety and love that fills you in this moment. He throws his head back and you hold the back of his neck, cupping his face with a hand as he fights the waves of an impending orgasm. Caleb only provides a few moments for restraint. Once the approach of his orgasm dwindles, his hunger soon takes over.

“Am I…” he swallows, watching with furrowed brows as you pant beneath him, savoring the sight of your face twisted in pleasure all because of him. His hips ram into yours. The feel is hard. Bruising. His skin slaps wetly into yours with every thrust. “Am I the only man who’s seen you like this?”

Your mind goes blank. You blink up at him, attempting to comprehend, but he never stops pounding into you with this newfound rhythm. Your body gets looser and looser until you’re practically limp beneath him, mouth open, only able to take his cock and nothing else. You grasp weakly at his bicep for purchase.

“Was I the first one you thought about when the aphrodisiac kicked in?” he pants out. “I should be the only one you think about doing these things with.

“Now that I…” he huffs, swearing under his breath. “Now that I have you like this… nobody else will ever be able to. I’m the only one who will ever get to see you this way.”

“W-what?” you stammer, raising your voice against the slick noises of him beating your clenching hole with his dick. “B-but isn’t this just sex—”

Something flashes across his features. You know him so well, but you can’t identify the emotion that fills his eyes now.

“Really?” he asks. His voice has deepened.

You start to ask him a question, but he leans back and pushes a hand under the small of your back. He lifts you easily and uses his Evol to drag a pillow under your back. You shiver at how deep he gets with the change in angle. But that isn’t where he lets this end. He unwraps your legs from around his waist to push them up and over his shoulders.

He fucks you into the rickety bunk mattress, and you cry out louder than the bed can squeak. Your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You dig your nails into his hips, reaching for him wherever you can, the feel of him so deep inside you unbearable. Your pussy gushes, so wet for his dick that every thrust he makes gives a sloshing, sloppy noise.

“Caleb, st-stop—I can’t—”

“I’ll make you see that nobody can make you feel as good as I do.” He gives a rough chuckle. “Even if I’m just your best friend.”

He leans forward, your legs still hooked to his shoulders, bending you in half until every single inch of him fucks into you with every thrust. Your back arches and you struggle as sensation overwhelms you. Your walls squeeze his fat cock, so warm that he feels he might cum at the next thrust. And the next. And the next.

His eyes barely leave your face. Your embarrassment begins to grow with it. You close your eyes, breaking away from his gaze. Try to cover your face with a hand.

Caleb immediately reacts. He leans, folding you until your feet are just above his head, your pussy practically tilted to the heavens. Like this, he’s able to reach for you and pin your hands away from your face.

“Don’t be selfish,” he says. Almost commanding you. “I want to see how good I make my girl feel.”

You sob. His girl. Yes, you're his, you're his. Your climax is building rapidly, the sheer stretch of him overwhelms your brain. The noises he makes above you are so delicious. You can’t believe you can make him feel this good. Caleb is vocal about his pleasure, moaning unabashedly with each thrust. In between his sweet, noisy moans he murmurs nearly drunken praise about how good you feel wrapped around his dick, how tight you are, how prettily your hole is taking his cock.

“C-can you feel—mmmghh” —You squeeze tight around him— “Can you feel how wet I am for you?”

His body lurches. Some of his weight is lifted from your hands as his head rolls back and he gives a loud, sexy moan.

“D-don’t talk like that pipsqueak,” he pants.

“Make me cum then,” you answer. You’re so close it hurts. “Make me shut up.”

He takes your challenge in stride. He leans forward until the backs of your thighs are pressed into his chest and he’s practically thrusting vertically downward into your pussy. You feel his balls kiss your ass gently as he adjusts to the position. Then his musculature steadies above you, his hips piledriving downward. His balls slap into the skin of your ass.

“In this position, you can’t escape me,” he says, thrusts merciless and wet. His gaze encompasses you, impossible to avoid. You blink up, tears on your lashes, into the beautiful supernova of his eyes. “I’ll keep you here until you drench my dick in your cum three times, pretty pipsqueak.”

With these words, he wraps his arms around you, his arms coming around your legs so that the entirety of him envelopes you in his embrace. He cradles your head and brings his lips to yours. You press passion into his mouth, your tongue sucking on his until he pulls your head backward to further expose you and drive his tongue into your mouth. You moan as he sucks on your lips.

“My gorgeous girl,” he moans into your skin. “You’re mine, yeah?”

“I’m all yours, Caleb,” you say. “Only yours now.”

“Only now?”

He changes the pace, moving his hips in circles so that his pelvis grinds into your throbbing clit. You can’t help but squirm at the stimulation when all he was giving you was his dick earlier.

“What about tonight?” he asks. His voice reflects this new insecurity of his, but there’s an edge to it. It’s possessive. Dangerous. “What about tomorrow?”

“Caleb, why do you keep talking like this—”

He’s too greedy to let you reply. And too afraid to. With eager fingers, he reaches between your thighs to swiftly gather your mixed fluids and finger your aching clit with his thumb. Without hesitation, his thrusts return to that hard, pounding rhythm at the very same time. You squeal.

“Caleb!” you scream. “Caleb!”

You feel him grin against your neck. But you aren’t really all there anymore. Your back begins to arch off the bed. Head lolling, hands clawing at his shoulders. He doesn’t bother to try shushing you. The barrack master can eat shit for all he cares when you’re like this, screaming his name until your voice is raw and hoarse enough that it cracks down the middle with your moans.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. “Caleb, you feel so good, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum—”

He pulls back to watch. It’s almost like taming a wild mare as he presses his forehead to yours and you buck against him, writhing wildly with the effects of the aphrodisiac heightening your pleasure and his unrelenting fingers on your clit. You squeeze around him, impossibly tight. He feels his balls draw upward. Drool spills from the corner of his mouth as his eyes roll back into his head. Your moans and his mix together as your sounds spill into the air.

He tries to draw in that pupil of focus once more so that he can memorize you as you cum on his cock. Eyes fluttering, he looks back down at you. His eyes trace your breasts, how they bounce forward with each of his thrusts and how your nipples have peaked from the stimulation. Your beautiful face is open with pleasure. Lips bitten and raw because of kisses he gave you, trembling with high-pitched cries of his name. It’s all you can say through your pleasure. Almost as if you worship the man bringing pleasure to your core.

“I’ve loved you,” he murmurs in an almost incoherent slur as you cum around him, with your hands holding tightly onto his and your pulse beneath his fingertips, “Every moment we’ve been alive. I am so in love with you it hurts. Knowing that you just won’t feel the same. You can’t. But if this is what I’ll get, if this is what you’ll let me have and you let me take care of you like this, then I can just forget. I’ll pretend that you love me too when it’s just the two of us like this.”

When you look up at him, your orgasm fading, you see that same emotion return to his face. He’s looked at you this way so many times before that his confession now gives way to finally show you what it is. You lift a hand to his cheek and he presses into your touch, desperate, fearful perhaps of the way this will end, his eyes closing, his face pained.

You give yourself a few moments to recover. You’ve never reached such pleasure before. And it’s him who gave all of it to you. As he always does. Caleb—calm, encouraging, and bright. Your beloved provider.

“Caleb.” Your voice is so soft, so soothing that the pain on his face eases a bit. “All I have are words. But that’s not enough for me to show you just what I feel for you.”

He opens his eyes to return your gaze. He waits for you to continue. But he seems to be drawing in on himself, as if he’s preparing for the hurt your words will bring. You, more than anything, want to prove him wrong.

“What do I need to do?” you ask. “What do I need to say? What can I show you that will prove I have always felt just the same?”

He leans back and adjusts your legs. You wrap them around his waist once more. But he doesn’t come back to hunch over you and hold you close to him. He’s stopped moving completely. Caleb turns his face away from you, countenance rife with embarrassment.

“I don’t need your consolation,” he says.

“You’re right, you don’t.” You hold his hands in yours, rising slowly, and he helps you until you’re fully upright in the seat of his lap. Still, he won’t look at you. “You need the truth.”

You grasp his hands in yours, pulling them towards your chest. You pepper kisses along his skin, cherishing the hands that have fed you, held you, helped you, and cared for you.

“Yeah, I might have jumped on a grenade for you before,” you begin. He can’t help but shake his head at your words, because while you did do that at 13:29 on a hot afternoon in April, he can’t help but narrow your consolation down to something insincere. You hold his face so he can’t look away from you, continuing, “But when we were kids, you were the only one I wanted my partner as. You were the only one I’d snatch extra candy for from Ms. Xia. I’d win every stupid game the other kids wanted to beat me at so none of them could be your partner. And you always kept losing your basketball a secret from me, but I was the one who’d climb the tree in our backyard just to get it back every time you lost it because it was your favorite one.” You smile at his expression. “You always thought it was the wind, huh?

“You have always been there for me.” Your fingers brush over the apple of his cheek. “But I think you sometimes forget I’ve always been here for you, too. It’s always been you and me, Caleb.”

You clutch his hands to your chest. “And here, at the DAA…” You swallow. “I think I’m learning to fall in love with you.”

There’s a flurry of movement, and you gasp as he gives your mouth a hard, bruising kiss. You’re pushed flat back onto the mattress as he moves his body over yours.

“I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. Then he begins to thrust. There’s an ease to his movements, a sense of freedom. As if he’s finally let go. His hips undulate backward and forward, slowly. He savors this connection with you.

The kisses he presses into your lips are slow. Soft. You hold his face as he makes love to you, as he cherishes your body without that earlier hunger, that fearful desperation founded by the belief that he’d lose you the moment you left his bunk. That you’d be rid of him the second you—

“Don’t look away from me, Caleb.”

You pull him back from the spirals tracing dark, angry paths into his mind. He doesn’t shy away from your gaze.

“Pipsqueak,” he says. He never thought he’d say this childish nickname like this. “(Name). I love you. So much more than you realize.”

He doesn’t need you to say it back. He’ll wait as long as it takes, until you fall for him as deeply and as painfully and with as much yearning as he has for you.

“Inside me,” you whisper, giving him permission for something he’s dreamt of for years, the peak of intimacy he has always wanted to share with you. Only you. He presses his mouth to yours in gratitude.

That’s all it takes.

He doesn’t part from your mouth as he cums. As greedy as him, you swallow his moans as his cock marks your insides white with his cum. You caress his nape, your touch gentle on his cheek as he shudders through the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had in his life. His arms encircle you and he holds you until you're pressed chest-to-chest against him, his moans reverberating against your body. He can’t stop moaning your name against your lips, his voice raised in pitch, shaky. A pleasured sob of your name fills the air as it leaves his mouth. He savors every syllable of your name falling from his lips, because it’s the first time he’s said it this way. With all of the love he truly feels for you. With the intimacy he has always yearned to have you bask in.

He collapses on a hand when he finishes. Tries not to fall on top of you. But you pull him in close and he lets himself go limp above your body. Your heartbeat thuds against his chest, rhythm rapid with the aftermath. There’s not a single centimeter of space against your body does that his doesn’t fill. You stroke his hair, fingers smoothing the disheveled locks. You feel him relax further, muscles losing their tension in your warm embrace.

“You love me?” you ask.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Even if you let me or you don’t,” he says, “I’ll always love you. I won’t ever stop showing it.”

“I think you more than showed me today,” you mutter.

He gives a little chuckle.

“Give me time?” you say. “I’m still learning that I’m falling in love with you.”

He nuzzles into your neck. His lips give your skin a gentle kiss. “You can take a hundred years and I wouldn’t regret a single second I spent waiting.” He wraps his arms around you. “I’ll wait for you, pips.”

—

Some things I noticed about the way I wrote this

I couldn’t help but want to write from both their perspectives, so the story kinda jumps povs in terms of who’s feeling or doing what

I really wanna know your thoughts

Is it not smooth? Too many jumps from Caleb’s to MC’s pov? Let me know u freaky ahh

#love and deepspace #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #l&ds caleb #lads caleb #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb/reader #caleb x reader smut #caleb/reader smut #caleb/reader fluff #lads caleb x reader smut #lads caleb x mc #lads caleb smut #caleb love and deepspace smut

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hedwig221b · 3 days ago

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Howdy di Hedwig, any chance you got some sub drop Stiles and aftercare? Would be swell, thanks!

I didn't find a lot, but here's what I have

Even Forbidden Fruits Get Picked by flitterflutterfly

When Stiles’ best friend gets himself bitten by a rogue werewolf, Stiles convinces him to seek aide from the local pack. Stiles tags along, ready to help Scott despite the knowledge that he likely wouldn’t be welcome. After all, Doms rarely ever approved of Stiles and he thought the Hales would be no exception. So he was surprised to find that not only had the rogue seemed to develop some kind of creepy fascination with him, the young alpha wolf, Derek, seemed to want him as well.

Said Sleeping Beauty To The Big Bad Wolf

The guy zeroes in on him with such intense focus that Derek kind of wants to run away, or maybe drown in those eyes, or maybe wrap the guy up in cotton and protect him from everything forever. Instead, wracked with indecision and overstimulation, his brain just shuts off. He doesn't know if he's thankful or mad at it for that, because that just leaves him looking into warm honeyed whiskey eyes which are as wide and inviting and beautiful as the day is young. Cinnamon-spice attraction, tangy lemon curiosity, all wind-swept and coated with wild berries. The smell of him is overwhelming. Considering who he's engaged to, though? The influx of interest on his part is a little worrying and not something Derek wants to trust at all. Laura is wrinkling her nose, at this point. Derek doesn't necessarily blame her. His Mom, however, just gives the guy a sharp look before schooling her expression, standing from her chair at Peter's bedside and saying: "Are you Peter's fiancée?" [Or: The one where Peter is the Beast and Stiles is Sleeping Beauty and Derek is the Big Bad Wolf, only, the Beast is the one sleeping, and all the Big Bad Wolf wants to do is save Sleeping Beauty.]

Do Not Go Gentle by MojoFlower

Derek Hale, Beacon Hills Alpha and Dom, wakes up in a dark cell already housing another captive – a mute, traumatized sub with a cruel collar around his neck. His only goal is to get them both free of their brutal circumstances; but even as he tries to get his young companion home, a bond between them grows. Nothing comes easily: danger and harrowing echoes of their ordeal shadow every step they take.

Tax Evasion by standinginanicedress

Stiles chews on his thumb a bit harder, and for a second he thinks about saying no. He thinks about letting the whole thing go and just going back to his life, the safe and easy way out. He considers just settling for someone who’ll never really get him, some boring guy who touches him the wrong way and buys him flowers sometimes. He’s been doing it for years upon years, now, and really, what’s a little bit longer? And then, what’s the rest of his life? What’s the worst that could happen, he wonders? Trying something is better than not trying at all.

For Your Eyes Only by standinginanicedress

"Are you a fucking psycho? Be honest. Are you sick in the fucking head?” “No,” Derek says. “I’m a rich guy who likes twinks.” “Uh huh,” he doesn’t sound convinced. “You have twenty thousand dollars just lying around waiting to be spent on having cam sex with me?” “I do,” he shrugs. “And then some.” Silence. “You’re rich?” “Yes. I have money. I have an important job. That’s not what we’re talking about. Are you in or out?”

[masterlist link]

#sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek fic #sterek fanfic #stiles x derek #anon asks #hedwig221b replies #derek x stiles #sterek fic rec #sterek fanfiction #sterek ao3 #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fic rec #teen wolf sterek #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf derek

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midnightquips · 2 days ago

Text

What We Never Were

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N needs a fake boyfriend for her sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, her childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth.

She thinks he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for her to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff, smut, mild praise kink, foreplay, 18+

Story Masterlist

___________________________________ Chapter 2

Part I - Where the Lie Lives Easy

“So tell me again why Rooster can’t go with me?”

Jake doesn’t even bother looking at you. He keeps his eyes on the road, one hand lazily on the wheel of his truck while the other taps on the steering column like a ticking clock.

You’ve been agitated since you landed, wondering if you actually have the guts to pull off this ruse. The idea of Jake telling everyone that he had suddenly fallen in love with you after all these years, had stirred feelings of insecurity you thought you’ve successfully overcome.

Moreso, it made you uneasy how Jake seems to be at peace despite the situation you were both entering. It was as if he had fully accepted the situation that you would be lying for a week to basically everyone who knew the two of you since childhood.

“Because,” he says calmly, “I’ll tell everyone the truth.”

You blink at him, mouth falling open. “You wouldn’t.”

It baffles you that Jake had been so stubborn about this. Had you successfully convinced Bradley to play the doting boyfriend, you assumed Jake would take the opportunity to make fun of the situation.

“Oh, I absolutely would.” He glances at you then, eyes gleaming with the kind of smugness that only years of history could cultivate. “I’ll walk up to your mom, your aunt, your grandma—hell, even the DJ—and tell them all how you begged Bradley Bradshaw to play pretend with you so no one would remember you were dumped by a marine biologist who lives in a boat.”

“First of all, Mark lives in a houseboat—”

“Which is just a moldy studio with plumbing.”

You groan and smack your hand against your face. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the most qualified,” he corrects. “And I’m the only one who won’t make it look like you paid someone off Craigslist to smile for family photos.”

You glare at him. “You’re so confident it’s sickening.”

Jake grins like it’s a compliment. “And yet, you still almost asked Rooster.”

“Okay, but to be fair, he does look like the type to show up with a tux and flowers.”

Jake scoffs, pulling into the gas station on the edge of town. “Oh sure, if the flowers were from a strip club parking lot.”

You smile despite yourself. And then sigh. Loudly.

“So tell me, what’s the plan then? How do we explain this sudden whirlwind romance?”

Jake parks, turns off the engine, and finally gives you his full attention. “You let me handle it.”

“Oh god.”

He leans his elbow on the back of your seat and grins like a fox. “We’ll say we reconnected when you came to visit me last year in Norfolk. You came for a weekend and just never really left me alone after that.”

You leer, tempted to smack him, “Excuse me?”

“THEN I visited New York. Slept on your terrible couch. That was when I knew I couldn’t live without you.”

You cross your arms. “This is already sounding like a rom-com Netflix would reject. Why am I the one who seemingly flocks over you?”

Jake smiles smugly, “Because I like it.”

“Well, I don’t.”

He simply shrugs, “Too bad, because your cousins are going to love it. Especially the part where you tell them you seduced your childhood best friend with a Yankee candle and a bowl of cereal.”

You groan, pressing your forehead to the dashboard , when a question comes to your mind, “Why cereal?”

“It’s believable.”

Seduction over cereal is believable than two friends who wake up one day realizing they’ve always been in love with each other. Right.

You’re quiet for a moment, watching the sun dip lower in the sky through the window. It bathes Jake’s profile in orange, casting soft shadows along the bridge of his nose and jawline.

Jake knows you’ve been on edge about this whole idea so he lets you go through the motion. To be honest, he’s not quite sure himself about what’s going to happen. All he knows is ever since that night in his truck, when you made the ridiculous suggestion, every fiber in him simply refused to entertain the idea of you and Bradley even playing pretend.

“It’s not real though,” you mutter. “None of it is.”

Jake reaches for your hand, threading his fingers through yours. “No,” he agrees softly. “But we’ll pretend so damn good, they won’t even have time to question it”

You hadn’t been back home in two years.

You stand outside your childhood house for a few minutes just staring at it. Your parents still lived in the same two-story house in your quiet little Texas suburb, two doors down from where the Seresins used to live. The street hadn’t changed much—same mailboxes, same oak trees, same peeling basketball hoop at the end of the cul-de-sac that had seen one too many failed dunks.

Carefully approaching, it takes a few more seconds for you to brace yourself.

”Hey, we got this.” Jake’s voice soft in your ear

You nod firmly. This was it, no turning back.

The moment your dad opened the door, it was as if someone had shouted “Action”. Jake stood behind you with that dumb, charming smile on his face while your mom looked nearly ready to burst into tears.

“Oh my god, Jake!” she exclaimed, pulling him in for a hug. “You still smell like cologne and trouble.”

Jake chuckled. “Hi, Mrs. Y/L/N. Good to see you too.”

Your mom had always loved him. Jake didn’t turn charming overnight, he was born with that charisma. The kind that developed by being doted on all his life, which his own mother did since he was born, then and later on the entire town.

Your dad just stood behind her, nodding once. “Boy hasn’t aged a day.”

That was as rich as a compliment could be coming from your dad. He never said it out loud but just like every dad in town, your own was no different in capturing his approval when Jake became the highschool football star then got into top gun. A true hometown hero.

It was apparent that Jake was far more at ease seeing the familiar faces than you did. You, on the other hand, felt like you’d aged ten years the moment you walked through that door.

After the greetings and motions were exchanged, your sister comes charging down the stairs before throwing herself at you.

”Thank GOD you’re here! I told you to come a week ago!” Celine whines

You knew she was stressed by the preparations and your mother severely aggravated this because they were so similar it was truly laughable that they didn’t realize it.

Celine takes a look at Jake, warmly acknowledging him before she says, “Well, at least you’re not balding.”

Jake barks out in laughter. He was always fond of your little sister. He remembers how bratty she was as a child but was a nice kid overall. It was obvious that if there was something you taught her well it was a signature sense of humor, “You finally tricked some man into marrying you?”

“Successfully.” She grins

She pulls back and takes you both in, eyebrow raising inquisitively at the way Jake held your hand. Sisters have a way of communicating and the message was clear: What’s this?

You shrug. Jake understands and decides to take lead. “Darling, have you told them yet?”

Your parents and Celine look expectant. No need to prolong. Just rip off the bandaid.

”Uh well, so yeah. Jake and I have been seeing each other.”

Your mom is seemingly perplexed. An exaggerated surprise comes from your sister Celine. “What the hell do you mean you’re dating now?”

Another shrug. You say, “It just happened.”

Celine is suspicious but doesn’t push. Some awkward minutes later, after the announcement has been made, your family reluctantly lets you and Jake settle in. It was clear no one quite knew what to make of it. There were too many questions forming but a silent agreement that it’s too soon for an interrogation.

But just because there were no answers, doesn’t mean the seed didn’t propagate.

The aunts know. A simple text from Celine confirmed it.

The lie spread like butter on toast. Fast. Easy. Warm.

You and Jake decided to walk down the street that night—no destination in mind. A breather from the chaos. Just two old sneakers moving in sync across the sidewalk, nostalgia creeping in the air. You had your hands in your coat pockets, while Jake’s were stuffed into the front of his jeans.

“It’s weird being back,” you said.

“I know.”

You haven’t really talked. Since the revelation was fresh, your mom initially set you both up in separate rooms. Being separate from Jake was a relief. He had not let go of your hand since you had gotten off the truck, intimately intertwined that it was starting to prickle your skin. Thankfully Jake has also not said much.

You glance to your right. There, just beyond the fence, was the house you’d grown up in. And beside it—the place you had basically also grown up in. The Seresin house.

“Remember when we used to climb that tree?” you ask, nodding at the giant oak in your old backyard.

Jake grins, nostalgic. “Yeah. You fell out of it once and I cried harder than you did.”

“You thought I died.”

“You looked dead.”

You both laugh as the memory floods in fast.

--------------

FLASHBACK — AGE 6

“JAAAAKE!”

He heard you before he saw you—a loud thud, mud smeared on your knees, tangled hair half-covered in grass, holding up your scraped elbow like you’d just been stabbed.

He gasped so loud his mom ran outside.

“She fell!” he shrieked, fussing around you, feet stomping in panic. “SHE’S BLEEDING, MAMA!”

His mom was checking for any serious injury. Luckily you had none. With bright eyes, you looked up at him with your little round face, an assuring tone as much as a 6 year old can. “Don’t worry Jake. I’m okay.”

He had cried anyway. You didn’t. You never did when it counted.

--------------

Back in the present, you nudge his shoulder teasingly. “You were such a crybaby.”

“Still am,” Jake replies lightly. “Only now it’s in the shower with a bottle of whiskey and a sad country playlist.”

It makes you chuckle, “God, you’re depressing.”

Jake smiles softly, “Nah. Just honest.”

The walk takes you past your old elementary school. You slow down when you reach the playground fence.

“You remember when you punched Chase Keller in the face for calling me a whale?”

Jake’s jaw clenches. “Still one of my proudest moments.”

You smirk. “You broke his nose.”

“He deserved it.”

Your smile fades as the warmth of the memory gives way to something quieter.

“He didn’t even apologize. Just cried and told the teacher I sat on him.”

Jake sighs. “I hated that shit. People never saw you the way I did.”

You pause, heart stumbling over itself. Why did he have to say things that trigger your fragility?

Don’t read into it. It had become a mantra.

It was just Jake. The boy who defended you. Who stood by you. Who always made you feel like you were enough… even when you didn’t believe it yourself.

And yet—the ugly truth was there, he dated everyone but you.

--------------

FLASHBACK — HIGH SCHOOL

You sat in the bleachers, books in your lap, watching Jake make his way down the hallway in his letterman jacket. Tiffany Holden had her arms around him, laughing at something he said. He grinned, tugging her in for a kiss.

He didn’t even see you.

You looked back down at your books, reminding yourself that Jake always looked out for you—but not like that.

Never like that.

--------------

“You okay?” Jake’s voice brings you back to the present.

He notices the faraway look in your eyes. Pulling you back to him before you get too in your head.

You nod and offer a weak smile. “Yeah. Just a lot of memories, you know?”

Jake gently bumps his shoulder against yours. “We’ve got a lot of good ones.”

You hum. “And a lot of confusing ones.”

He stops walking. “Which ones?”

You turn to look at him. “Well, this whole thing when it becomes one for starters”

He stares at you, “ Should it?”

You sigh dejectedly, “I think it already is.”

Jake doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smirk. He just looks at you, eyes unreadable.

“We’ll be alright.” He hums

You’re not quite sure it will be.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry guys, I had to change the sister's name. I wasn't feeling Catherine so much.

Taglist: @kvmitchell @mrsevans90 @natureartisian @purplefluffycows @eolsens

#jake seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake hangman fic #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fic #tgm x reader #tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman seresin

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mike-wachowski · 2 days ago

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for those of you that are still here for this heres a sneak peak for the second part of your doorstep calls my name

She invites Yelena to her archery competition, mostly because they’re friends, but also because it's the final competition of the year and it's been a hot minute since Kate’s invited anyone to one of these.

It’s not like these competitions are anything special— this one is basically just a qualifier for the actual All-American tournament in January, and it’s all the way out in fucking Ozone Park, so even if Kate had anyone else to invite, she doesn’t really expect them to enthusiastically agree. It was weird, though; Yelena seemed really excited about it, at least when she had first extended the invite. The blonde had been lounging on Kate’s bed, flipping errantly through one of her psychology textbooks, as Kate packed up all of her bow gear and tried to pick out a good outfit from her endless collection of NYU team polos and athletic shirts.

“What is all this for, again?”

Kate is elbow deep in her closet, trying to find her lucky purple armguard. “Just an archery comp this weekend. Me and a couple other NYU students made the cut for qualifiers, so this basically determines who goes on to compete at the national level.” Her hand brushes against something plastic, and she grabs onto it and yanks back— nope, just an old Nalgene.

“That’s cool,” Yelena says, not pulling her eyes from her book, but Kate knows she’s paying attention. “I didn’t know you were so skilled with the bow, Kate Bishop!”

Kate thinks back to her box of trophies that used to adorn every shelf in her childhood home that have sat in storage for the last five years. She shrugs. “It’s only what I occupy just about every other evening with.”

“So this event is a big deal, yes?”

Kate’s fingers finally brush foam and resin and she pulls out the treasure she’s been looking for. “It’s not that special. It’s another step on the road to the Olympics, though, so I have to be there.”

This makes Yelena bolt up on Kate’s bed. “The Olympics? This is major!”

She tosses the armguard into her bag. “Honestly, Yelena, it’s nothing. A bunch of East Coast college kids all pack into a warehouse in Brooklyn and take turns shooting seventy-two arrows for a table full of judges. Then we take a break, and when we come back, we shoot,” Kate gasps, waves her hands, “you guessed it, twelve more arrows for a table full of judges!”

Yelena squints at her. “You love it.”

Kate collapses on the bed beside her. “I do. I fucking love it. I’m so competitive, Yelena, you have no idea.”

“I had to fight you for the last ounce of creamer this morning, Kate Bishop. You threw a fork at me. I think I have an idea.”

Kate chuckles despite Yelena’s annoyed tone. “You dodged it.”

“You could have killed me. Or blinded me. What if the fork stabbed me in my eye?”

She shoves Yelena’s shoulder. “You’re fine.”

There’s a beat of silence as Yelena tries to stifle her laughter. Then she asks, “Is this the kind of thing with a crowd?”

Kate traces a pattern on her bedspread, picks at the fraying thread. “Sometimes. It’s one of the last comps of the season, so there’s bound to be a bunch of people there to watch.”

Yelena hums, noncommittal.

“Do you want to… come, maybe? And— and watch?”

A coy smile tugs at Yelena’s lips. “Oh I suppose, Kate Bishop. If it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition… I wouldn’t want to be a distraction.”

Yelena’s nose is scrunched up playfully. Her fingertip brushes against the pointed edge of her textbook, circles it.

“Okay,” Kate sighs out, entranced, a little bit stupid. “Yeah. You should come.”

Yelena slaps the textbook closed. “Great! Text me the address.”

“You heard me when I said it’s in Brooklyn, right?”

“And you remember when I told you I grew up in Ohio? If you think Brooklyn is far for something this important, you wouldn’t last a day in the midwest.”

“Whoa! Okay, my bad.” Kate chuckles awkwardly to herself. She hadn’t expected Yelena to be interested in her archery, and she certainly hadn’t expected the woman to come watch her compete. “If you want to come, come. Just don’t get mad at me if the whole thing is a total bore.”

“I very much doubt that, Kate Bishop,” Yelena says. “I like to watch.”

Kate doesn’t have any response to that.

“What’s all this for?” Kate mirrors Yelena’s early inquiry, grabbing her textbook from where it’s tucked under her arms, reading the words on the cover: Psychological Perspectives on Human Trafficking; Theory, Research, Prevention, and Intervention. “This for a class or something?”

Yelena goes still beside her. “Or something, yes.”

“That’s cool,” Kate drawls. “I mean, I knew you were studying psych but I didn’t know you were focused on all this stuff.”

Yelena says, “Yes. It’s research for my thesis,” like someone has a knife to her throat, and Kate is becoming increasingly uneasy that she is prodding at a subject that she never should have touched.

“That’s awesome,” Kate says, lost, and then, “I mean that's great! You know, I totally have not been great about asking about your studies. You should tell me more sometime.” She rolls off the bed and hops to her feet, stalking over to her bedroom door. “Want to help me make a quizlet on predictive analytics algorithms?

Yelena shakes the ghosts from her eyes, and maybe Kate is reading too much into it, but she thinks Yelena is grateful for the subject change. “No,” she clumsily scowls. “But I will put on Riverdale while you work, and when you start to moan and groan we can go get pizza.”

“How kind,” Kate grumbles. Her heart bumps, how domestic, and she shoots it down. “As long as you don’t put buffalo sauce on it again, because buffalo sauce is nasty, and I’m not trying to have a workout in my mouth while I eat.”

Yelena gasps. She grabs a pillow from the bed and aims for Kate’s head, but Kate ducks in time for it to sail above her and crash into the living room behind her.

Yelena hums, “So rude, Kate Bishop,” in the loaded tone, the one she uses when Kate is being exceptionally kind or exceptionally dumb. “You’re supposed to say yes darling, whatever you want darling, I’ll put buffalo sauce on the pizza if you like it, darling.”

“I would not fucking say that.” Kate chuckles, tips her shoulder against the doorframe so she’s leaning at an angle. “You are not my darling. If anything, you’re baby.”

Yelena rolls her eyes, but Kate swears she sees the tips of her ears burn red— her brain rationalizes that she’s projecting. She turns around before Yelena can say any more, like what she thinks Kate’s preferred pet name may be, or if any of her previous partners have called her baby, not that Yelena has ever mentioned a previous partner.

They spend all evening yelling at Kate’s TV and passing a bottle of wine back and forth. When Kate gets tired of graphing market degradation simulations in Excel, she slams her laptop shut and groans so loud that Yelena howls with laughter, and they both slip on their winter coats and trudge down the snow-mantled block. Yelena doesn’t complain when Kate orders their pizza without buffalo sauce and Kate doesn’t complain when Yelena covers her half in sambal, and they eat in companionable silence until a dog walker with a pack of dogs on leashes passes by the shop window and Yelena dashes outside to pet all of them.

Kate watches on with fondness, and when they walk back to the apartment building, shoulders brushing, Yelena tells her dreamily that she’s always wanted a dog named Fanny, and Kate likes her so much that she doesn’t even laugh. She just nods, all serious, and thinks damn, I like this woman so much I’d let her name our dog Fanny, and avoids diving into the implications that would mean them co-parenting a dog.

They part in the elevator, Yelena getting off on the second floor and Kate getting off on the third. The goodbye is stilted, awkward— Yelena doesn’t want to step away, Kate doesn’t really want her to leave.

“I’ll see you this weekend?” Kate asks, finally, after Yelena’s hand has gotten smashed by the elevator doors twice.

“Yes,” Yelena breathes out, tired, a bit too honest. “Wouldn't miss it, Kate.”

“Okay,” Kate sighs, and actually, maybe she's the tired one, the honest one. “Love you.”

Yelena pauses. She looks at Kate like she doesn’t quite hear her right; looks at her like her words haven’t taken the right shape. Then she relaxes, and she smiles. Yelena says, “Get some rest, Kate Bishop,” and she slips out the automatic doors smoothly, leaving Kate in an empty lift with only the scent of lavender and smoke to keep her company as she ascends to the next floor.

Kate spends the next two nights tangled up in cold sheets, eyes trained on her balcony door for any signs of lithe fingers and messy blonde curls. When she dreams, she dreams of fingers tracing their way up her neck, across her jawline— knuckles brushing the edge of her ear—

—knuckles pressed taut against the edge of her ear, and then she releases her bowstring, letting the arrow fly loose.

A judge approaches the target. Her arrow has landed squarely on the line between the gold and the nine ring. The judge pulls out a little magnifying glass like he’s fucking Sherlock Holmes and inspects it.

“Nine!” He calls out to the table, and the other judges scramble to take note while Kate combats the impulse to stomp her foot in disappointment. She takes a deep breath, then resets. There’s a fresh arrow nocked in her bow, taken from the quiver that rests on her hip. She pulls the string taut— glides the pull of the string so her knuckles brush against her jaw, past her cheek, extends all the way to her ear. Kate centers herself. Takes a deep breath. Her fingers pulse—

“Kate Bishop!” A voice calls out from the back of the court, jostling Kate and breaking her concentration. She drops her bow down and snaps the tension from her string, letting her arrow clatter to the ground.

“Scratch!” A judge calls out. “No points. No shot taken.”

“Sorry I’m late! Traffic was terrible.” Yelena is climbing her way through the stands, pushing past parents and families and coaches for a spot near where Kate is positioned.

“Hey Yelena,” Kate calls out, and she’s sure all the judges are scowling at her, but really, she doesn’t care. Not when Yelena is here. “Glad you could make it.”

“Don’t mind me!” Yelena says, partially to Kate, partially to the grandparents she’s just clambered over. “Good luck!”

Kate grins, yells back “Thanks!” and then a judge hisses Bishop and points to her watch.

Kate levels her bow. Archery is second nature to her; the bow is an extension of her own arm. She’s always taken comfort in the way the world around her eyes when she’s looking down the sight of her bow, eyes trained on her mark. Everything else fades away, and all that exists in that moment is Kate, the target, and the distance between them.

Her elbow snaps back. There’s a tightness in her bicep as it pulls the bowstring taut that burns euphoric. She inhales a shallow breath— feels the strain of her body, one and the same with the strain of her bow— then grounds herself, down into the linoleum floor, and lets the arrow fly.

Her exhale isn’t even finished in the time it takes for the arrow to find its home deep in the center of the target, punched through the bullseye mark. Kate lets her bow fall sideways, expelling the rest of its momentum out of her fingers.

Sherlock Holmes raises his magnifying glass to the arrow. The crowd watches on in rapt silence.

“That’s in the pinhole,” he finally says, after a drawn-out moment of consideration. “Perfect score.”

Over the polite clapping and cheers from her team, Kate hears a loud, exuberant, “Kate fucking Bishop!” She looks behind her to see Yelena standing, staring at her in awe, fists pumping, while the rest of the onlookers around her stare up at the woman like she’s an early morning lawnmower waking up the neighborhood.

Kate just laughs. They can stare all they want— Kate will never be ashamed that someone cares about her so much to cheer. She may have taken the shot, but Kate is pretty sure Yelena is the one that guided it home.

#mike writes #bishova #kate bishop x yelena belova #bishova fic #they kiss in the next scene. hehe

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bloomzone · 17 hours ago

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💭. ˎˊ˗Jα𐓣𝗀 wo𐓣𝗒oυ𐓣𝗀 o𐓣𝖼𝖾 𝗌α𝗂ᑯ

Okay, sometimes wonyoung says things that just hit. It’s stuff that actually gives you a little push when you need it . I’m not here to just repost her quotes (wish I worked hard to extract them and translate them ) I’m here to talk about them, break them down, and explain why they matter. Like how they can help you with your mindset and life in general.

if y'all like it i will make more of them !

enjoy part 1 !

"Which is worse: the struggle of preparing, or the disappointment of a bad result?For me, I think I’d hate the disappointing grade more.So even though it’s tough, try to use this time wisely study efficiently, and work hard so you can feel proud.Once the exam is over, you’ll have time to rest and enjoy yourself. Even just a little bit.That’s why I think the most important thing is to give it your best, so you have no regrets."

- jang wonyoung vlive

﹙ ✿ ﹚

🗒️: the question of “Which is worse the struggle of preparing, or the disappointment of a bad result?” is a reality cuz the truth is, both are uncomfortable. But one of them builds you up, and the other just breaks you down.The struggle of preparing it’s tiring ofc no doubt. You have to push yourself when you’re sleepy, bored, or overwhelmed. It’s showing up for yourself again and again, even when motivation isn’t there. But there’s pride in it. A kind of strength that grows with every small effort and when it’s done, even if the result isn’t perfect, you still walk away with no regrets. You know deep down: I tried. I fought for this.But when the result is bad and you know you didn’t try... that’s a different kind of weight. It sits in your chest. It makes you wish you could go back, change things, redo the moments you chose to scroll or sleep instead.So when you think about it, studying hard isn’t just about getting a good grade. It’s about giving yourself the chance to feel proud, not guilty. Even if you don’t feel “ready” or perfect effort is always better than avoidance

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me : like always keep some backup energy. Whether it’s ur fav food , a calming playlist, or a memory that reminds you why you’re doing this your why your dreams and ofc your future self have something in your pocket for those tired moments. It helps more than you think.

"I think the most important thing is to cherish yourself and make yourself the top priority.Of course, I have to love myself first for others to love me.So I hope you all can think of yourselves as the most beautiful, the coolest, and the most precious.I hope you see yourself that way first.I already love you all, don’t I?So there must be so many people who love you, including me.Got it?"

- jang wonyoung vlive

﹙ ✿ ﹚

“Cherish yourself and make yourself the top priority.” it’s hard for some people ikr especially when you’re used to pleasing others, hiding your feelings, or not even knowing what you want.

Loving yourself isn’t just looking in the mirror and saying “I’m pretty.” It’s more like choosing not to talk badly about yourself when you feel down. It’s not easy, because your brain is used to doubting you. That’s why this mindset takes practice.

So how do you even start doing that? Start by treating yourself the way you’d treat someone you really love. Would you tell your friend they’re not good enough? No. So stop doing that to yourself. If you mess up, forgive yourself. If you’re tired, let yourself rest without feeling guilty you are ur own home treat it and tidy up yourself and take care of urself .It’s small stuff, but it builds up. You say no when something doesn’t feel right. You take time to listen to your feelings instead of pushing them away. You stop chasing people who don’t see your worth AND THIS IS VEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERY IMPORTANT and it’s all about being honest and gentle with yourself.And just like Wonyoung said even if you don’t see it yet, there are people who already love you. So try to see yourself through kinder eyes.

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me : life moves on. The people who try to bring you down now u won't see them forever. Start slipping away from them, little by little. Even if it feels like you have something good to hold onto some old memories, shared laughs, or habits that make you feel stuck you can let go. You can change your way of thinking. You don’t need to give your energy to people who drain it and stop giving a damn about their opinions. Block them from ur phone ur mind and ur heart You don’t need to make a big show out of it. Just slowly get busy with yourself. Your goals. Your peace. Your healing and look around for good energy ... They’re not worth the tears or overthinking.You’re allowed to choose yourself. To say, I want better and this is ENOUGH .The more you build your world, the more you’ll realize they were just noise .

"Even if someone says something hurtful, if it doesn’t feel true to me, I don’t take it personally.Honestly, things would be a lot simpler if everyone thought that way.If it’s not true, then it has nothing to do with me.But if it is true something I actually need to work on then I just focus on improving it.It’s all about knowing what to let go of and what to take in.Being able to tell the difference is a skill in itself."

- jang wonyoung for salon drip

﹙ ✿ ﹚

This wonyoung helpful way of thinking can really help us protect our peace. When someone says something hurtful, we don’t have to take it to heart if it doesn’t feel true to us. It’s like, if it’s not part of our reality or doesn’t resonate with who we are, we can just let it slide. This takes a lot of emotional strength and self-awareness n it’s about trusting ourselves enough to know that other people's words don't define our worth. But If it’s something we do need to work on, though, then we take it as an opportunity to grow and improve, rather than let it bring us down.

The real key here is knowing what to absorb and what to release. It’s a skill like developing emotional intelligence, and it can make a huge difference in how we handle life’s ups and downs by experience ! . Learning to distinguish between helpful feedback and unnecessary negativity allows us to stay focused on what matters our own growth and well-being so it’s about being strong enough to choose what gets under our skin and what doesn’t.

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me : Always take time to reflect in a journal and organize the things u want to work on. It's normal to be critical of areas where we're not perfect, and sometimes others may notice things we don’t. Use that as a chance to grow and improve, without letting it affect your confidence. Journaling helps u process these moments and stay focused on your personal development.

"I hope you live with the joy that comes from chasing and achieving your own goals. Rather than worrying about how others see you or trying to meet their expectations, focus on what you truly want to do and accomplish. I hope you can move forward in life not for others, but with the excitement of reaching your own dreams."

- jang wonyoung for youngji show

﹙ ✿ ﹚

The first key takeaway is focus on what YOU want, not on what others think or expect. This means getting real with yourself about what truly excites you, not what’s expected of you by others family, friends, or society. When you spend all your time trying to meet external expectations, you lose sight of your own desires and dreams. This shift requires clarity, so the first step is to figure out what goals genuinely make you feel alive and excited. It’s not about impressing anyone it’s about getting yourself to the finish line of your own goals.

But It’s easy to say, "I’m going to stop worrying about what others think," but in practice, it’s hard. There will always be moments when you’re tempted to compare yourself or feel like you’re falling behind. But YOUR life is YOURS. No one else is living your journey. The most important thing is not to beat yourself up when you feel unsure or when you hear those voices telling you you’re not enough. It’s normal. When you feel like you’re not meeting others’ expectations, take a deep breath and remind yourself: Your goals, your pace, your happiness are what matter most . It’s okay to disappoint others if it means you're staying true to your path. Move forward not for anyone else but for YOU. The excitement and joy that comes from chasing YOUR dreams will be more fulfilling than anything else.

♡ ﾟ a little tip from me :when the noise gets loud and you start doubting yourself, take a moment to unplug grab your journal, go on a walk, do something u love or also u can watch something that bring u back to ur passion... Ask yourself “Is this what I truly want?” Coming back to your own voice helps you stay grounded and protects your energy. The more you listen to yourself the less space doubt and outside pressure take up.

@bloomzone ✧⌨️👛*⁠。

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sahrberrii · 22 hours ago

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I’LL STAY HERE ｡｡｡

↳ 「 issei matsukawa 」 ␥ 松川一静 .ᐟ

college has been feeling a bit lonely and your friend promises to stay till it doesn’t. but are you really only friends?

event masterlist, general masterlist

His big, calloused hand found its way to the arc of your head, thick fingers entangling with silken locks of hair, freshly cut fingernails barely grazing the surface of your scalp.

The swell of your cheek was pressed against the solid surface of ISSEI MATSUKAWA’s chest, the palpitations of his heart as loud as ever against the lobe of your flushed ear.

His other hand rested parallel to the small of your back, the ridged pad of his finger lingering for a moment of time before unconsciously tracing unsteady lines along the curve of your hip. In a way that makes you wonder, is that really how friends act?

“Do you feel better?” he asked, his lips airily moving against the stands of your hair, almost imitating the feel of a soft breath.

“…Yeah, a bit, I guess,” you mumbled into his shirt.

He hummed in response, eyes trailing along the ceiling. He thinks he wants this moment to last till he draws his last breath.

Occasional sniffles filled the silence and the scent of your freshly washed hair engulfed the little space remaining between your bodies. In return, the tip of your finger lazily traced distorted flowers along his chest. Mattsun’s breath hitched and he just wished you knew of the effect you had on him.

“Mattsun,” You mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“When…When are you leaving?” Your voice slightly dipped, the question asked as your eyes traced the t-shirt lazily draped over the back of the arm chair. His t-shirt.

He’s been here for 8 days, the decision of the nearest train ticket and a packed bag made on his part after earning a shaky phone call from you. No questions asked.

The thought of him leaving did bad things to your heart. The subtle traces he’d been weaving into your life—subconsciously—made it damn near impossible to imagine him not being there. Not having his scuffed shoes next to your smaller ones. Or his green toothbrush idly sitting next to yours in a shipped ceramic holder. Or having the room filled with the smell of his fresh cologne. And worst of all—the touches. His big arm around your shoulder. His hand within your hair. His lips teasingly lingering around your temple.

“When you tell me to,” He grinned. That stupid, smug grin that made your heart beat slightly faster.

You angled your head to stare at him. “What?”

“You heard me. I’ll be gone whenever you want me to be gone,” His hand left your hair to wrap around your own, fingers threading their way through yours.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” He replied. “Until you feel better, and you no longer need me,”

“What if I never feel better—I mean, making friends is not the easiest thing in the world,” You pressed.

“Then I’ll stay here,” He reassured.

The way your hands fitted together, the way they moulded into one another, as if one, made your throat a little dry. Your cheek goes back to its previous position, pressing against his clothed skin.

“Okay,”

Moving cities sucked. Making friends sucked. Loneliness ate away at your very skin. But it’s okay now. It’s okay because ISSEI MATSUKAWA was going to be here until it truly is okay.

hello mey i hope this was what you just wanted help idk but ily and you’re gonna do soooo well in uni i just know!!!!

#sahri scribbles 𓇼 #mattsun x reader #issei matsukawa #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #mattsun #matsukawa issei #matsukawa x reader #hq #hq x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! x reader #matsukawa x you #issei x reader #hq matsukawa #hq mattsun #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you

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multiheadcanons · 8 hours ago

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MY OWN PERSONALLY LONG AWAITED SEQUEL. MURDERING ASS MERCS.

scout: scout doesn’t put a body on his hands unless he’s asked to. he doesn’t mind, by any means, but he does prefer to just beat someone within an inch of their life and send them home as a warning. that’s his personal preferred method. usually the bodies he’s gaining are from him just… forgetting what he was doing, and realizing he’s mid-swing, and thinking “damn… i guess im killing this guy” and just continuing until they stop struggling. and they see he’s genuinely lost as to what he was doing, and they don’t realize that is not the time to try to plead their case. in fact, he’s more likely to finish the job if they start yapping. then he’s gotta deal with the body. this is much more where he’s suited. he can get a body across town without showing up on a CCTV or a single offhand witness statement. and he’s not bad with a butcher knife. he’s not scientific like the doctor is, nor particularly skilled at butchering, he’s just trying to get the body into the smallest pieces to toss in a bag and sink in the farthest body of water in the state. and the willis family has friends everywhere. he can get it somewhere to get it as compact as possible.

soldier: soldier doesn’t kill people. soldier just does his job. and sometimes that job is making every living thing in the room that did not travel there with him not live anymore, but that’s not killing. that’s him doing his job. though soldier is a verified violent and bloodthirsty man, he’s got some restraint to him. nobody dies by his hand unless he’s told specifically people have to die. once the magic words are uttered, get out of the way. he’s been known for friendly fire when he’s really involved. soldier also doesn’t have a give for his murders. they’re bloody and sometimes fast. sometimes the victims end up in pieces and he’s gotta pick up the pieces in plastic bags. normally, soldiers own body count goes under the radar in comparison to his teammates, who have more gruesome and defining murders. for soldier, if the body isn’t breathing then it’s a job well done. he might take some teeth, or some fingers, or an ear or both of them, but nothing he does can really hold a candle to his more morbid teammates. at least he’s kind enough to make it quick. sometimes.

pyro: the team definitely knows when pyro is in a mood and on a roll, for lack of better term. most people, in fact, who are aware of pyro’s existence will know because the news won’t stop talking about a string of arsons and fire related murders. and when the team looks at pyro and asks “pyro, Did You Do That?” pyro will absolutely get red hot pissed off. yes, they did do it, but holy shit, what happened to innocent until proven guilty around here? why is it okay for everyone else to kill and bludgeon people— hell, the doctor is straight up kidnapping people off the streets and selling the organs but the second pyro kills one measly person it’s a crime? there’s one charred body and now it’s a crime? all of a sudden setting things on fire is a crime? give them a fucking break. get off their tits, clit, dick and balls. are we not all criminals here? do we not all have a side hobby? god forbid pyro has a hobby. pyro is the only mercenary who doesn’t need a reason to add another body to the list. them waking up in a good mood is enough reason for them to go spread some cheer. funerals are fun if you plan them right.

demo: the first of three of the most passionate killers on the team, tavish is a man of action and commitment. he is fiery, and bright, and generally lovely to be around! however demo has a penchant for getting very carried away in the heat of a moment. this can go so well in so many ways (so many ways…) but this can also become a nightmare scenario if demo thinks you’re worth the trouble. sometimes he also cannot help himself. he just gets so mad. and before he knows it there’s blood on his hands and he can’t see very well and he feels… fuzzy. satisfied. exhausted, somewhat. demo also, arguably, has the bloodiest murders on his rap sheet. if he’s got death on his mind, he’s going to achieve it, and the harder the victims fight the worse it will be. and of course, nobody wants to die, and victims don’t realize that when he asks them not to struggle, that it just hurts them both more in the end, they don’t realize that’s genuine. he’ll just slit their throat and let them bleed out if they would let him do that. but they end up unidentifiable. he takes the teeth for that purpose specifically. gives them to the blu soldier. it’s a gift!

heavy: heavy will swear up and down he does not “have a passion for killing”. the team tells him to not make them laugh. the enemy team would just laugh. the second of the three most passionate killers on the team, heavy never realizes how much he savors the feeling of violence because he is mentally checked out. so only the team registers the way he chews at his bottom lip before battle. how he almost seems impatient, no, excited. they’re the ones who register the glint in his eyes when he’s given a new contract, and how he comes back with a bigger ego than when he left. hell, they see the way he treats his guns. the enemy team notices how, even with his hands around their neck, there’s a smile creeping its way on his face as they lose their life. nobody would ever want to be on heavy’s bad side. but heavy doesn’t target people who will be missed, either. nobody really knows what he’s done. he doesn’t find it particularly interesting to talk about in states of sobriety. but both teams are pretty aware as to what he’s willing to do. what he won’t add is that whatever they think he’s willing to do, he’s willing to take it further. on solo contracts, he brings sascha. if it’s just him, he doesn’t mind making a little more noise. he’s not quite competent again until he’s reloading. but he never feels guilty. in fact, he feels great. it’s what makes losing with the team on the field feel so horrid.

engineer: engineer’s criminal record is clean because he has friends in high places. so he’s less a convicted felon and more a cleared person of interest in many, many missing persons cases. many people want to see this specific conagher fry. and most of those people have been taken care of, as well. the third of the three most passionate killers on the team, dell used to be a real spitfire. he would get someone’s existence wiped clean from american records if he didn’t like how they looked at him. and with his more influential friends, he got away and still continues to get away with it. the conaghers have a chokehold on the bee cave and surrounding county politics. and every conagher uses it in their own way. as engineer has grown and matured, he feels a lot more regret about his actions. but they’ve already been done. and if you put him back there, he’d probably do it again. and he will continue to indulge the urge if he feels he has enough reason to. and none of the bodies will ever be found. but with the gravel war, and being on the front lines of it, he gets his fill of violence. he normally has no need to target others. he’s pleased with his share!

medic: the only people who call medic’s long list of egregious acts against humanity “crimes of passion” are people who are sexually attracted to him. and most of those people are promptly dismissed. this isn’t a passion, it’s his career. when business is good, this shit makes him so much money he doesn’t fucking care. the experiments are his passion (but he’s not going to get on the news to explain that). the man makes his money murdering and harvesting and occasionally butchering and selling and framing whoever he can for it. and the man is so big brained in his frame jobs, by the time anyone actually questions it he’s skipped town. he’s taken out so many academic rivals that way. murders are normally coined by the distinct lack of organs. something is always missing. it makes the victims’ families sick. their loved ones will never be whole again. and he doesn’t really give a shit either. firstly, it wasn’t like he autopsied them alive. they were dead before they experienced that, and frankly the drug concoction he gives is quite humane. secondly, the organ was used, or sold. they didn’t go to waste. but they wouldn’t get it. they never do. this is no longer something he has to do. if he harvests the corpses on the field fast enough, they don’t dematerialize. most of the time.

sniper: sniper is arguably the most normal man here when it comes to murdering. he’s not killing people out of a passion of any kind. as a matter of fact, his hands aren’t bloody unless money’s involved. it’s also why his rap sheet is arguably the cleanest, with only a few charges, and none of them are particularly serious. because he will also sell you out in a heartbeat to get a lesser sentence. sniper isn’t a murderer as much as he is a man willing to do anything to keep himself afloat. and he doesn’t think that’s a shameful thing to admit. his survival must come first. whether that’s an honest days of work stocking canned tomatoes or blasting heads, it’s about the money. and one of those, he is really good at and it pays… so well. he’s willing to sacrifice most morals depending on the figure of the check. and he’s clean with it. nobody suffers more than they have to. you could call him the nicest.

spy: there is no such thing as spy showing mercy. spy gets so many solo contracts through mann co, and some unrelated requests that there is never a day spy’s hands aren’t bloody. and most people know when the frenchman has struck. there will always be one clean stab, unless you fought him. then it’s a single stab and a clean bullet between the eyes. unless you really pissed him off. then he might just unload the entire clip. on those, he’s convinced authorities there’s a copycat killer out there, even though they haven’t caught the first one yet. spy is one of the few mercenaries who still kill recreationally. though it is very rare nowadays, when spy gets an itch, every county he steps in goes into martial law, because he doesn’t leave without a minimum of five bodies. and there are never survivors. then he goes back to the base and watches the news segments. the team will join him for this, since he rarely shows himself in the base. only a few have had the sense to ask whether he had something to do with it. he answers with another question: “did i?” the team finds the question off-putting. it never seems like spy gets pleasure from murder on the battlefield. so they don’t imagine him being the type. and they would be right, it’s not a joy he gleans from it. it’s just a form of control he exercises over others when he feels like he’s unable to control anything else.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 pyro #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 engineer #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 demo #mmmmm this was so yummy to write… i love these criminals…. i want them all on a platter.#i have another installment for this in the works

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marvelavengerspovs1 · 23 hours ago

Text

Winter Wolf Ch. 9

Winter Wolf Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of Y/N, mentions of violence

Length: 1k

A/N: Hello! I just finished finals and I wanted to post something. I have two WIPs and I'll put up a poll later this week when they're done!

I do not give consent for my work to be translated, copied, or sold!

Bucky stares at the wall, trying not to think. His doll was taken from him and he wasn’t able to stop it.

Sam couldn’t help but feel bad for Bucky. The two never really saw eye to eye and the only common thing they shared was Steve. However, Sam could tell your disappearance was taking a toll on Bucky.

“I can feel you staring,” Bucky says.

“We’ll get her back Bucky,” Sam promises him.

“How can you be so sure?” Bucky was always pessimistic, but this was a new type of pessimistic for him.

“Because Y/N is strong. She can hold her own, she doesn’t need the rest of us.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if Wanda protected her.” Bucky looks up at the entranceway and maintains eye contact with Wanda.

Bucky could tell that she was there before she even let herself be known. Not only did his super hearing help but he was an ex-assassin. He was trained to know what his targets would do before they even knew what they were going to do.

“Bucky-” Sam tried to reason but Wanda spoke up.

“I said I was sorry! I protected her the best that I could! There wasn’t anything I could do!” Wanda’s Sokovian accent became more prominent as her voice rose.

“But did you really?” Bucky stood from his place on the couch and got in Wanda’s face.

“Of course I did! She is one of my best friends and I would never let her get hurt!” Wanda started to cry.

“Well, you didn’t try hard enough! If you did, she would still be here!” Bucky was yelling in Wanda’s face at this point.

He knew that he would have to apologize at one point but he couldn’t be bothered. You were missing and in Hydra’s hands. That was not a good mix and Bucky knew from personal experience.

“That is enough!” Sam gets between the two.

Bucky looks at Sam with a glare before backing up slowly.

“He’s right Sam,” Wanda whispers.

“No, he’s not. And Bucky knows this. We’re all feeling affected by Y/N’s disappearance but going at each other’s throats like this is not going to help us. Now I want both of you to go and clear your heads. Tony is going to call a meeting in 20 minutes and I don’t want you both to be killing each other.”

Bucky is the first to leave. He couldn’t stand being in the same room as someone who claims to have protected you to the best of their abilities. She was the most powerful Avenger and she couldn’t take on Hydra. He went to your room to lay on your bed.

He looks around your room. You never painted your room so the walls were the same boring beige it was when you arrived, but everything in the room screamed Y/N. From the paintings on the walls to the knickknacks lying around. Bucky closes his eyes as he breathes in your smell from your pillow, willing for you to come home soon.

Meanwhile, at a base in Sokovia, Hydra has you. This was one of the last remaining bases that had gone undetected by the Avengers. They had used the base the Avengers had thought they destroyed when Ultron was around.

Your screams filled the room as they continued to use electroshocks on you. Hydra continues to wipe your memories as you try to hold onto them.

Flashes of Bucky’s face come to your mind as you scream and cry. You had already forgotten the others but you were trying desperately to hold onto the good memories.

His face soon begins to fade and your cries start to slow down. You don’t know why you’re crying but you know you’re in immense pain.

A man in all-black clothing brings a container that is illuminating a yellow light. You’re still screaming but the brightness of it entrances you. It’s nothing you have ever seen before but then again, you can’t even remember your name.

The man hooks the container up to the machine that is currently holding you. Fear runs through your veins as you realize that these people are the reason you are in pain.

You start to thrash around, screaming for them to let you go.

“Inject her and then shock her again.” Another man says.

“Yes sir.”

You see large paddles with needles coming at you and you scream louder. You beg them to let you go as you cry, but it was no use. Hydra is too inhumane to care.

The needles inject the glowing yellow light into you and you feel something tighten around your head. Flashes of pain go through your body until you don’t feel anything anymore.

There is no pain. No emotion. Nothing. You sit there, staring off into the void. Not a single thought crossed your mind. You were empty.

“She’s ready sir,” A woman also dressed in black says.

Back at the Avengers compound, Bucky is woken up by a hard knock on the door. He had fallen asleep in your room.

He got up and quietly thanked whoever was pounding on the door. The dream, or rather a nightmare, he was having about you was horrible.

He opened the door and saw Sam standing there. “Tony is wanting everyone in the meeting room now.”

“I’ll be there, give me a minute.” Bucky rubs his right eye and yawns.

Sam nods and stands there for a second before saying what he has been wanting for the past few days. “If you need anyone to talk to, I’m here Bucky.”

Bucky only nods his head and closes your door. He heads to your bathroom and looks at your stuff.

Your makeup was littered across the counter, and your face creams and lotion sat in the corner. Even your toothbrush left Bucky feeling empty.

He didn’t want to touch anything so that everything would return to normal when you came home.

“I’ll find you Y/N. Even if it kills me,” Bucky whispers to himself.

Bucky looks around your room one more time before leaving and walking to the meeting room.

Tagged Readers: @ordelixx @bellabarnes1378 @sukaibg @angel-xx-1 @spookydestinydonut @harperkenobi @mcira @yeehawbrothers @waywardhunter95 @blackbirdwitch22 @baw1066

#avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut

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